Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 167
*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.
Note: Chapter 123, 124, and 126, will be referred to on the next post.
"… 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…"
Control the Center of Your Board… Part II
"She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good is often an occasion more than a condition." ~Gilbert Parker, Pierre And His People
The French Riviera in Western Europe
The Principality of Monaco
She walked onto the balcony, which was located at the back of the villa. The large stone structure, was located an hour into a treacherous car ride up the beautiful, but dangerous rocky mountainous road.
She slowly walked to the rock wall. She paused for a second, looking. It overlooked rocky hills with sharp drops, which overlooked the small country. The rough stone created a slight friction as she pulled her fingers lazily against the top of the stone hued barrier. She usually stayed at the exclusive Hotel the Paris, but a more intimate setting was needed to help her contact, as well as herself to feel secure.
She glanced down at the steep drop beyond the stone walls. If one did fall, it would be a quick, sure death. It was at least fifty kilometers before one would reach the next level area. Her eyes traveled around, as the wind played with her hair. Pockets of green shrubbery, were deposited generously along the sides of the mountainous terrain, and on flat surfaces of the ground. Elegant hotels, and businesses, along with tall palm trees, lined the flat coastal areas, which were near the open blue-green waters. From her view, she could see kilometers of brick buildings, and the beautiful yet densely populated coast. The wind was starting to increase its activities.
She watched a large yacht sail a distance away from smaller boats. The clear blue waters were relatively calm. The skies were flawlessly clear, except for a few rebellious clouds, which crowded themselves along the distant horizon.
She took a moment to close her eyes for a brief moment of reprise. She breathed in the cool ocean breeze as it blew soothingly onto her face. Unfortunately, not even the beauty of such a place could pacify her fears, or still her racing mind. She sat down in the iron chairs, as she waited patiently for the approaching footsteps.
"Ma'am, your appointment has arrived." A voice announced.
The tall man moved the short distance quickly, and quietly. He immediately set with only a quick nod of greeting. He almost seemed to melt in relief, onto the unyielding chair. This time he had spoken in English. She knew that it was an ominous sign, when the former officer of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, had felt so insecure. His countenance was solemn, yet betrayed the shadows of something deeper. His thick accent resonated in the open space.
"It will happen in thirteen to sixteen days, the project is further along than we had imagined," he began. The cool ocean breeze that blew, carried both his strong tenor voice to her ears, and his fears to her heart.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand the
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep—while I weep!
~ Edgar Allan Poe, creep
Current Day
Before Dawn
He opened his eyes, blinking, at the odd sound. His breathing came in rapid, heavy burst. Sweat covered his bare, chilled skin, reminding him of his sweat soaked tee shirt, which had been abandoned on the floor beside his bed earlier. The air felt thin. His mouth helped to take in gulps of it. Several drops of sweat, slowly rolled down his bare chest and neck.
There it was. The sound came again.
The last of the images of his dream, slipped through his mind, like sand through open fingers. He stared at the familiar hairline crack in the ceiling corner, above his bed. Because of his exhaustion, he had managed to get to sleep only an hour ago. He clenched his jaws, as his eyes scanned the dark for the light of his mobile, which was on the bedside table.
The sound resonated for the third time.
He contorted his upper body. The thick duvet and silken bed sheets slipped down to his waist, as he stretched, reaching for his mobile. He touched the phone screen and the display light, lit up. It casts a ghostly shadow on Sherlock's face. Sherlock exhaled heavily, he was not surprised. He wondered with morbid humor, if the man had him on speed dial now. He pushed to connect.
"Morning sunshine." Jim said with entirely too much cheer for such an early hour.
"What do you want?" Sherlock voice was a mixture of curiosity, fatigue, and irritation.
Moriarty's voice, in contrast, was annoyingly pleasant. "My, we're in a bad mood this morning. Maybe I can help brighten your day."
"I think not."
There were a few seconds of silence. There was a clicking sound on Moriarty's mobile phone line, as if someone was tapping computer keys.
Sherlock sighed. "You know how I loath to repeat myself Jim so," there was a pause, "what form of torture do you have for me today."
"They're not torture, they're tests. I need to show you who you really are."
"And, who am I?"
"Me."
"Back to that, are we?" Sherlock lay flat on his back. One hand-held the mobile. The palm of his other hand, rubbed tiredly over his eyes.
"Something's coming Sherlock. Something personal." Moriarty's voice lost all trace of mirth. "It's not even me this time, okay, maybe a little." He giggled, "Did I say a little? Maybe a lot is more accurate. He was going to do it anyway, I just instructed him on how to do it with style!"
"Who is HE, and what exactly is HE going to do?"
"That would spoil the surprise Sherlock. Let us just say that what will happen; has happened. By the time it's over, they might find you in an alley with drugs coursing through your veins. I would be disappointed if that happened Sherlock. You can inject yourself with all the drugs in the world and you still will not forget. Do you think you'll be able to get off of them this time?"
The sound of Moriarty's breathing filled the phone line for a few seconds. "You do realize you were practically begging me to do what I'm about to. You've been a little naughty. I know it wasn't just your brother who has been hindering me lately, not that it will do either of you any good, that." Moriarty whispered as if they were sharing a secret, "We both know that he doesn't have the imagination."
Sherlock said nothing.
"This can all end if you come with me now, of your own free will and … give yourself… completely to me. Or, prepare for it to start." Moriarty waited for an answer, but first added in a deadly serious tone." You've made things most inconvenient for me of late. I need for you to stop interfering. This is your last warning. Don't take it lightly, my dear."
The sound of Sherlock inhaling deeply was heard. "When will it start?"
"It has already begun, Sherlock." Jim Moriarty did not sound gleeful like he normally did. If Sherlock did not think it impossible, he would think Jim sounded regretful.
"Burrrr…n," Moriarty whispered as he disconnected the mobile line.
Sherlock remained on his back in bed, thinking. Sherlock held the forgotten mobile in his outstretched hand, as his brilliant mind went through the possibilities. They were several that he could identify immediately. Moriarty would be correct, if any of those possibilities that he was thinking of were chosen, his heart would burn.
Sherlock lay in bed, thinking, as time passed in rhythmic waves around him. He did not notice. Soon the sun warmed his skin and face. He still felt cold.
A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Lots of Love.
Optional Fun Question: In which BBC episode did Sherlock Holmes first use the words, "… all that matters to me is the work, without that my brain rots."
Good luck!
More on the weekend. Deleted memories will be heavily referred to in the next post.