Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 164
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.
Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More?
"… Be cautious. Once a pawn moves, you are committed to that position. If your opponent then tries to attack your center, you can only defend it with your minor pieces…"
Vieni Giocare means Come Play. Italian.
Control the Center of Your Board… Part I
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."
Robert Frost
Continued.
"No," John hissed angrily. Suddenly John's eyes flew open. He ran and got his gun. He tucked it into the back of his trouser. His door keys jingled, and clinked together, when his free hand grabbed them. Still running, he grabbed his dark beige- colored jacket; and then he scrambled through the window. He stood outside the window on the fire escape. He was suddenly motionless. He heard his breath coming too quickly.
His eyes darted around. He looked up.
No.
Down?
No.
Left?
No.
Right?
Right!
John noticed a blur of dark curls, and an upturned collar of a black coat, turn right at the end of the alley. Within a second, it disappeared. He cursed. He had forgotten how fast the man was.
John took a breath, and then moved. A calm came over John. He did not see London's alleys, streets, or lamppost any longer. He saw the battlefield. It was not a welcome feeling, but it least it was familiar. The familiarity of it all in the sense was its own comfort. Within a minute, he was outside the alley.
John easily blended into the sea of humanity as they passed through the streets of London. The foot traffic was heavy. That was good for surveillance; it was harder to be noticed. Nevertheless, he had to be careful; a target could be lost easier. Now, Sherlock was the target. Luckily, his friend was tall. Within a few tense moments, he had gotten close enough to feel comfortable. John closely watched for the dark tufts of curls that moved up and down. He slowed his steps and forced his body into a slower pace, and a more casual stride.
He noticed as Sherlock glanced down at his mobile. He must have been receiving directions. For a brief moment, he saw his eyes glanced back. He thought he saw gray-blue eyes locked with his, but then he glanced away. Sherlock shifted as if he would enter the alley, but at the last minute, change directions staying on the main walkway.
If Sherlock knew that he was following, he did not give anything away. John wondered why he was standing on the main road. Normally Sherlock would have weaved his way in and out of alleys, sometimes through buildings, or over buildings. It suddenly occurred to John. Sherlock was aware that he was being followed. He was trying to make it easy for John, without being too apparent. Whether Sherlock agreed or disagreed with John's decision to follow, he was demonstrating his respect of that decision.
The foot traffic was unusually heavy. John was falling behind, and was about to slowly advance. He quickened his pace. He flicked his wrist upward, as he glanced at his watch. It was almost the time that Sherlock indicated that he could call Mycroft. John picked up his mobile without taking his eyes off his friend.
John positioned his finger above the mobile phone number keys. He was to ring a number that had become rather familiar to him. At least, that had been his intentions. Unexpectedly, John's breath was forcibly pushed from his body by the sudden impact. John desperately grabbed at the air, as his body spun. He watched helplessly as the world twisted.
Current Day
Current Time
Her eyes shifted nervously behind her. She walked quickly. One hand held her mobile, while the other hand attempted to hold on to her lab jacket, coat, and purse. Her long brown hair bounced in time to her rapid steps. Her eyes glanced behind her again, as she moved quickly toward the lift.
Sherlock had contacted her minutes before. He sounded breathy as if he was moving. He told her to leave. He reminded her of their plan for such emergencies. The mobile call had been interrupted before they could finish talking.
In case of any emergency, or if she felt threatened in any way, she was to contact Sherlock's brother Mister Holmes. But, her phone was useless. From what she heard from several of her coworkers, everyone's phone was useless.
Molly's eyes darted nervously down the hall, behind her, and then at her phone screen again. Her hand impatiently pushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. Her mobile was still flashing the same two words, over and over again. She had tried to call Sherlock back, and she had tried to call his brother, but the phones were useless.
She huffed with frustration, as she walked hurriedly through a particularly dim and narrow hallway. She rounded a corner.
She thought that she heard footsteps behind her. She frowned. This particular portion of Barts, was usually deserted. Not too many people came down to the morgue for fun. She quickened her pace, as she held onto her coat more securely. Despite the fact that she saw no one, she thought of taking the stairs instead of the lift. She glanced back at her ghosts.
Molly walked for several long minutes. She heard the footsteps again. She was sure of it. Wasn't she? She looked back again. This time her phantoms had taken form.
She inhaled audibly, as she rounded the corner. She could no longer see them. She broke into a run. She pushed the doors to the staircase open so quickly, the door bounced on the wall. She ignored the loud sound. She also ignored the burning in her legs as she scampered up the stairs. She was careful not to fall.
Half way up, the doors to the top open. Two men and a woman were on the top. She turned around to run back down, when that door opened as well. Two men were at the bottom, two rather large looking men.
She dropped everything and pulled out her pepper spray.
"I'll use this," she warned. She ignored the slight shaking of her hands. She also ignored the slight shaking of her entire body.
"Miss Hooper we need for you to come with us."
"I don't think so," she said with the most defiant voice that she could manage. She was proud of the fact that she did not stutter. She would tell Sherlock, if she survived that is.
"Miss Hooper, we were sent by Mister Sherlock Holmes." The man in front of her looked more amused than angry.
"I didn't have a chance to send for you, the mobile phones stopped working," she said with suspicion. Her pepper spray was still aimed at the man closest to her.
"Mr. Holmes said you might be," the man paused as he raised an eyebrow, "resistant. He said to tell you something that would assure you that I am, who I say I am."
"What is it?" She asked. She was still on guard.
The man in the suit said one word. Molly relaxed as she leaned against the cool tiled wall. Within minutes, they were moving toward a dark sedan. Molly slid into the back seat as two agents watched for danger. The car left quickly as it was followed by another car. They were heading for one of Mycroft's secure locations.
Molly's hand pressed on the darkened glass windows. As they drove away, a thought came to her mind. She hoped that Sherlock was safe.
He winced then opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, disoriented. Suddenly, his thoughts became clear.
"Sherlock," John said breathlessly, as he struggled to get up. Several pairs of strange hands helped him.
"You all right mate?" A gray-haired man asked. Several people stood around with concern looks. Within seconds most started to leave, when they assured themselves that the man was okay. However, two stayed quietly by, along with the gray-haired man.
John did not answer. He looked into the crowd for any indication of his friend. He saw glimpses of two dark curly heads, with black coats. They were both walking in an opposite direction. Decoys, he realized. He ignored the dull throb to left side of his forehead, shoulder, and thigh.
"Those two lads knocked ya down, they didn't even stop to ask if you were okay. What's the world comin ta." The man tutted.
John watched helplessly. Within seconds, both dark curly tufts of hair, blended, and then disappeared completely into the sea of humanity.
"This was anticipated, planned," John whispered.
The gray-haired man looked at John curiously. "Are you sure, you're alright young man?"
John said nothing, but looked hopefully at his mobile, which had just begun to ring. He smiled. Maybe, it was Sherlock. His smile faded quickly as mobile, after mobile rang, vibrated, or sang tunes of songs in unison. The symphony of competing sounds blended together uneasily. It was surreal.
The unusualness of it all caused most everyone to slow down, change pace, or stop completely. Various people within the crowd, looked first at their mobile phones, and then at one another. The volume of noise changed. Many people started to talk at one time, while others were stunned into silence. The electronic billboard for restaurants, and professional buildings, all blinked out, became dark, and then started to transmit two words, repeatedly. Everyone looked at the electronic billboards now with question.
Something knotted in John's stomach. He winced slightly, as he turned toward where a group of bystanders was pointing. He studied the electronic billboard. Blonde colored eyebrows knit together in annoyance, anger, and if he was honest, fear. His face transformed into a grim expression. He would wait to call Mycroft. His mobile would not work now. None of their mobiles would work now anyway.
A few yards away, a little girl stood close to her mother. She held her mother's hand as she looked around at the odd behavior of the adults. She called her mother's name. She received no reply. She tried again. Her mummy did not answer her. Annoyed, the little girl pulled harder. Her mummy looked down at her, but her mummy had a funny look on her face. All of the little girl's annoyance left when she saw the look in her mummy's face. Still, she had to ask. She was a curious child.
"Mummy what does that say?" Her eyes glanced between her mummy, and the electronic billboard.
"Vieni Giocare," her mother said simply.
The little girl rolled her eyes exasperated, "But what does it mean, mummy?" the annoyance was starting to slip into her voice again.
"Come play," her mother whispered.
Her two missing front teeth were evident as she smiled broadly. The little girl was suddenly very happy. She loved to play.