Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 171

*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's not nice*****. ***M rated ****. ****Need I Say More?

"… I can't count the times I have lagged seemingly hopelessly far behind, and nobody except myself thinks I can win. But I have pulled myself in from desperate [situations]. When you are behind there are two strategies – counter-attack or all men to the defenses… " chess strategy - Magnus Carlsen

Final Moves… Part I… "Attack or Defend… It Begins."

"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."

Breathe, he told himself.

This is John, Sherlock reminded himself. John would never judge him or hurt him knowingly. He never thought that he was the kind of man to care, or be affected by such things as what a person thought of him. Apparently, he was wrong. He knew this because the thought of him being so emotionally intimate and open was terrifying to him. He had been trained all his life to disregard emotions, by his father in the most brutal ways. Even, by Mycroft. How could he now cross that last line? He told John things that he told no one. John had also shared things that he shared with no one else. However, there were still somethings, about his time being held captive, about his childhood, about…this… that he had kept safely locked away.

Sherlock looked at John now. His eyes, those eyes, they were still full of trust and admiration, even now. That brave soldier that would follow him into danger, who would protect him, who would give his life for him. He knew those things as surely as he knew his own name. He glanced away again, frowning. He was not even sure if he was emotionally able to do what John was asking of him. But, this was John. He had to try. If only he could speak.

There was silence for a few minutes.

"What exactly am I supposed to say?" He started in a whisper, his voice rough and heavy with contained emotions. "That I felt, feel humiliated, John? Embarrassed, angry, very, very angry? It should not happen to anyone. It was not suppose to happen to me. I'm young, strong, and confident. I'm supposed to have a genius intellect. I stared down killers and outsmarted the most brilliant criminal minds in the world."

Sherlock shook his head. "It didn't matter John. I couldn't think my way out. I couldn't reason my way out. I tried, but I couldn't fight my way out. They…" Sherlock's hands came up to cover his eyes as if he could block out the memories.

After a few minutes, he felt John's hand on his back. He heard a sound beside him. He saw an opened bottle of water next to him. He wondered when John had gotten up.

John. He was always there. This was John. He was safe. He took a deep breath.

"I… I was … afraid, John," Sherlock said quietly somewhat embarrassed.

"You know me; you once told me that I didn't have enough sense to… to be afraid." Sherlock half smiled now looking at John who kept eye contact with him. Sherlock's smile faded into a grim look, "It was four men, the leader Veselý and three that restrained me."

Sherlock took a shaky breath before continuing. "They laughed at me, well, three of the soldiers. The leader Veselý looked almost apologetic. He did not want to be there, but he was following orders. He has been determined to not just carry them out, but to be the one to finally succeed in breaking my will. It was nothing… personal," Sherlock said bitterly.

"I fought John. I did try. I did not stop fighting."

Sherlock swallowed hard and voice lowered, "They demonstrated to me in the most severe ways that they were not happy about this fact. I managed to bruise them some, even broke one of their noses."

Sherlock smirked sadly then frowned. "This only angered them more. Struggling stopped me from going to Ayyad directly, but I still had to deal with his man, Veselý. Unfortunately, Veselý was not a complete idiot like his men. He knew how to break me, as he put it."

"When Veselý kidnapped me, I fought. I fought in the car as they drove me to the location. I fought forcing them to drag me up the stairs. I fought when they undressed me…" Sherlock bit his lips and suddenly loss his voice. He wondered why it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

Where did all the air go? Sherlock wondered.

"I'm here Sherlock. Slow your breathing down. It's alright…" John just reassured with his voice, talking constantly to his friend until his breathing became closer to normal. Sherlock looked at John as though he was his lifeline.

Just keep talking, Sherlock reminded himself. He opened his mouth and spoke.

"I always seemed to fight, John. My fighting did buy me time but still, in the end; it came down to the same thing. What did it really matter? They told me in great detail how they would alternate between torture, and beatings. The … equipment they would use to torture me. How they would take turns… sexually assaulting me for two hours. They worked it all out, the details. It was quite brilliant actually. How they would not kill me but leave me blind. He let me see the knife that they would use to carve the name of Ayyad on my chest." Sherlock did not notice that his hand ran reflectively across his chest, "Still I fought."

"That is one of the things that I love about you Sherlock, your, I will not give up attitude. Your fight. The way I see it, that fight in you, saved not only my life and your brothers. It saved London from a bomb," John commented.

Sherlock continued, John wondered if he heard his comment. "One soldier went to get the bag containing tools to assist with my torture, one held me in place while the other brutally… forced… penetration. The… event was short-lived. Thomas came in shooting."

"It was so painful. I tried not to scream. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. I muffled my mouth against my arm, but I could not help it. The pain was so sudden and intense I didn't have time to prepare for it. I felt like my insides were being split in two…" Sherlock almost sounded apologetic for not being able to take the pain without crying out.

He paused for a few minutes before speaking again. "That still wasn't enough John. Not the … the…" Sherlock closed his eyes and swallowed, "… rape, not the beatings, not the torture, they wanted to break me John. Completely shatter who I am."

He took a deep breath. "They were interrupted when Agent Thomas came. He ended the torture." He looked at John. "I think he saved both my sanity and my life." I would not have survived another hour and forty–five minutes. Maybe my body would have survived but my mind…" Sherlock looked at something unseen by John.

Sherlock smiled darkly. "However embarrassing it might have been; I do admit to the fact that I wished that Thomas had come fifteen minutes earlier."

"You were rap… assaulted and beaten and told no one." John asked. Sherlock looked away again.

"It was a busy day, John." Sherlock smiled darkly. "I could not hide the fact that I was beaten or in pain. Everyone assumed that the pain came from the beatings and car accident. It was easier to let them assume. Thomas suspected but I did not confirm. To my surprise, Veselý allowed me to dress during the gun battle before they reached where we were."

Sherlock paused. "I must have retreated to my mind briefly, Veselý seemed to notice and reminded me to continue to get dressed so that no one would find me, exposed. He did not seem happy with himself for what he caused and allowed. By the time Thomas shot his way up to me, I was dressed, everyone else was dead." Sherlock shrugged.

"So you told no one." John shook his head, unbelieving as he tried to hide his anger.

"I was going to tell you John. I called you on your mobile phone but…" Sherlock looked pleadingly.

"… But I was kidnapped. I wasn't there." Understanding hit John like a hard slap. John knew he had no control but still felt guilty.

"You feel guilty, why?" Understanding emotions, even his own has always been Sherlock's area of weakness.

"You were there trying to save everyone, who was saving you, Sherlock? You were in such pain that day..."

John stopped suddenly and turned away, thinking. His eyes closed then opened wide.

John looked incredulously at Sherlock. "Your coat," he whispered, more to himself than Sherlock. "Your bloody coat."

Sherlock sighed, looking away from John again. "Worked something out, did you John?"

"That's why you kept your coat on the day you rescued me. It would have been easier to fight with your coat off. It struck me as odd later, but it was so much happening that day. The first thing that you did when you gained consciousness, when you found out about Mycroft being injured was to ask for your coat. You would not take the bloody thing off."

"Why Sherlock?" John asked grimly.

"If you know the answer why do you ask?" Sherlock said evenly.

"Why Sherlock?" John asked as he put his hand back on his arm. Sherlock sighed dramatically and looked toward John. John looked into his friends eyes and his frown grew. Sherlock's eyes spoke before his words.

"As the day drew on, it was becoming, shall we say, more clear where some of the blood was coming from. It was easier to cover it with my coat on." Sherlock said quietly.

"Sherlock you were bleeding, you could have died. And, you call me an idiot. No wonder you were so weak toward the end. You could not even walk unassisted." John paused frowning. "I'm somewhat angry at you for not saying something."

"John I was bleeding from various cuts and a few lacerations, not just… the assault. I tolerated the pain. I always do."

"Don't do that." John voice deepened with anger.

"Do what." Sherlock asked confused.

"Dismiss your pain; the body is just transport crap. Your pain is important and matters. Is it some childhood thing Sherlock? Why do you almost seem to accept pain? Tolerate it as if it was some normal thing?" John was getting emotional at the thought of Sherlock's easy acceptance of his personal suffering.

"John, can we discuss my childhood another time. Let's measure out the trauma, shall we."

John looked chastened. "Sorry Sherlock."

"It's alright, you meant no harm."

John looked Sherlock in the eyes. "It's just… it's just I want you to understand that you matter. I want you to remember that you have a family now who wants you around and that you matter. I want you to know that you are important too."

"You were there for so many people that day, who was there for you?"

"Many people were John. They tried to be there but they did not know all the facts, and I was more concerned with…" Sherlock turned away.

"Finding me." John said knowingly.

Sherlock shrugged.

John looked alarmed. "Sherlock did you ever get treatment, a blood test."

"At the hospital when I um…" Sherlock searched for a word.

"Fainted?" John offered.

Sherlock corrected. "Lost consciousness, John. It was obvious when they changed me into a hospital gown what happened."

Sherlock frowned at the memory. "I assure you John, it was quite disconcerting to wake, forgetting for a moment where you were, thinking the hands holding you, touching you …"

"Strangers staring at you, and asking the most unwelcome questions. I'm afraid that I knocked down two of the medical workers before I remembered where I was. They had to find Lestrade to calm me. Mycroft's personal physician arrived. He told me that Mycroft earlier that day instructed him to give me a full examination and treatment whether I liked it or not, his words exactly."

"Lestrade stayed right outside the room waiting the entire time. Later, when the doctor finished and I was transferred to the hospital room, he stayed in the room with me until he was called away by the Yard. Lestrade never said a word. I didn't want to worry you. You were down getting X-rays and scans of your head. Maybe a small part of me wanted to forget the entire event."

"Sherlock why didn't you have them get me?"

Sherlock smiled at John. "You were beaten for hours, hit in the head, drugged, and dehydrated John. You had some blood loss yourself. What were you to do? Tell them to stop stitching you up? Would you have them pull the Intravenous fluids from your arm so that you could hold my hand and sing to me? What would you have done, Stop your own medical treatments, never mind the fact that you were close to fainting yourself?''

"Yes!" John answered passionately.

Sherlock smiled sadly. "Don't you see John, that's why I didn't tell you."

"What about later Sherlock?"

There was silence for several seconds.

"I started to tell you several times. I opened my mouth, I just couldn't… I couldn't say the words. I did tell you John, Just not directly."

John searched his mind, then his eyes widen as he recognized the truth of his friend's words. Again, guilt washed over him.

"Stop that John, It wasn't your fault. If anything, knowing that I would see you in a few hours helped me to tolerate the procedures. I kept myself busy once Lestrade left. I snuck in to see Mycroft, to see Thomas."

"But not me?" John asked a little hurt.

"No, I needed time to get my, um," Sherlock frowned searching for the right words.

"Emotions?" John offered in a supportive voice.

"Yes… those… under control. I would have fallen apart if I saw you then. I knew that you would have seen through me."

"That explains a lot," John nodded and smiled guiltily.

Sherlock looked in John's face, raised his eyebrows and said simply, "Confess."

"Um… Well, I sort of did sneak in to see you Sherlock while they were still treating me. That's when I discovered that you weren't in your room. I went ballistic and notified the agents to search."

"John." Sherlock sounded impressed, "You're always so… cooperative."

Sherlock had a real smile now. It left and was replaced with a look of supremacy.

"John I think that you owe me an apology for the times that you've accused me of being, and I do quote, uncooperative in my medical care." Sherlock glared at John.

"Perhaps," John said looking away.

"Definitely," Sherlock insisted.

"It would seem that I was the cooperative one in my medical care that day while you were not." Sherlock was happy to point out the fact with a smug look.

John just folded his arms and raised his eyebrows glaring at his friend.

Sherlock frowned. "Apart from the withholding important medical information, and sneaking around the hospital thing," Sherlock conceded while waving one hand in the air dismissively.

"How did you manage to get four floors away without anyone noticing anyway?" John wondered out loud.

"It's easier than you think. Act as if you belong and most people do not question you. I could not remain still until you or Mycroft was in the room. My mind would become… unpleasant if I did." Sherlock paused briefly, "Besides, I had to make sure that Thomas was receiving proper medical care. You'd be surprised at the level of incompetence that exists today."

John looked at Sherlock. "You do realize that we found you nearly passed out close to Thomas' room?"

"A mere miscalculation." Sherlock dismissed quickly, "I don't remember much. I just remember waking up in my hospital bed and Mycroft staring at me from his hospital bed." Sherlock frown and had a faraway look, "He wasn't very happy John."

"How many stitches?" John asked quietly. He immediately realized it was a mistake.

Sherlock looked haunted, he seemed to be staring, yet seeing nothing for a long time.

John regretted the last question. He was an idiot, John decided. He wondered if he had pushed Sherlock too far. He was about to say something, to change the topic when he heard him speak in a little more than a whisper.

"Two." After a brief silence, "Mycroft's private doctor stitched me up, gave medicine and blood, did all of the appropriate tests." He looked resigned, "Mycroft woke up in the hospital long enough to call his private physician in. I couldn't argue my way out of it. Honestly, I was so glad that my annoying brother was alive, and tired of hurting, I would have done pretty much anything that he had asked. To this day, surprisingly, Mycroft has never commented on the entire…event."

He spoke again in a volume that was barely above a whisper, "I was lucky John. I was kidnapped twice by terrorist. The first time I was kidnapped for two weeks. You found me barely alive, but I recovered. The second time was…most unpleasant, but short-lived. I was rescued quickly. If Thomas did not find me when he did… I was lucky…" He swallowed hard, "That's what I keep telling myself at least."

Sherlock sighed before saying tiredly, "It's over and done John. I would have been happy to never give the subject another thought," He laughed bitterly, "It would appear that my choice have been taken away from me."

He paused quietly and stilled himself before saying. "Again."

John said nothing else. He just sat next to Sherlock shoulder to shoulder. He noticed that his friend's body had fine tremors consistently now. He was about to get up and get him a blanket when Sherlock spoke. He felt that it was more important to let him speak and to listen.

"John, they were supportive, after all I was beaten badly. Lestrade was being supportive. Mycroft was doing the overprotective thing that he does. Mrs. Hudson helped me the most. She even gave me your gun and bullets."

"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked, not surprised.

"Mrs. Hudson, John." Sherlock's voice became tender.

"I had just had a panic attack after auguring with Mycroft. She somehow knew that I was about to sneak off to find you. I supposed I must have looked a proper mess. She sat me down wiped my face clean, gave me your gun with bullets, gave me a hug and told me, off with you.

Sherlock smiled briefly as he looked at John, "We both know that I normally have no trouble with self confidence. However, that was a difficult day for me, for us all I suppose. I was so tired John and weaker, and hurting despite the pain medication. I needed someone to believe that I could do it. She was that someone who believed."

There was a moment of quiet reflection for them both.

John swallowed hard. "You never allowed me to say it Sherlock."

"I told you before, no." Sherlock sighed quietly.

"I need to say it. Why won't you ever allow anyone to say it?" John was persistent.

"I don't need you to; you would have done the same." Sherlock dismissed his friend.

"You heard me, but you weren't listening Sherlock. I need to say it." John pleaded with his eyes.

Sherlock looked at him intently and nodded listening.

"Thank you for coming for me, for saving me from being assaulted, and tortured." He put his hand on Sherlock's arm. "Thank you for saving my life Sherlock."

Sherlock's voice was full of emotion. "You're welcome John."

There was a moment of silence. Neither felt the need to say anything during it.

Sherlock turned to John and frowned. "John, I'm cold."

Sherlock was shaking more now. John got up and held out a hand to Sherlock. He pulled Sherlock up and led him to the couch to sit. John left briefly then came back with a thick blanket. He wrapped a blanket around Sherlock's shoulders.

"J...John I think the events of today may have produced mild s… shock." Sherlock said as he looked curiously at his shaking hands. "Traitorous transport," he whispered, adding almost as if it was an afterthought.

"I never would have guessed that Sherlock." John said somewhat sarcastically. "Let's get your mind off of… well everything for a while. Lay down. I'll put the kettle to boil and make a few sandwiches. Maybe watch crap telly. It's too early for Jeremy Kyle, but we can find someone else for you to yell at. We need to get you warmed up a bit, before it gets bad."

John's hand froze on the handle of the refrigerator. "Sherlock you didn't mix the lunch meat with body parts again did you?"

"No… John." Sherlock said insulted. "Um… but, perhaps it would be best not to use any milk."

A knock on the door and then a voice, "Yoo-hoo."

"You don't usually knock?" John commented as he came into the room and took the eat-off tray from Mrs. Hudson.

"I just made some tea, your favorite Sherlock dear and those sandwiches that you like. I'll bring a little something up later loves."

John deposited the tray on the table by the couch. "Raise your head, Sherlock."

"What for?" But even as he asked, he had already lifted his head and John sat down putting a pillow in his lap.

John sat down, "Lay your head on the pillow."

"You're being… ridiculous John. I'm not a child in need of cuddling." Sherlock said shivering. However, even as he said this, he laid his head down on the pillow in John's lap.

"Warm up a bit then you need to finish off at least one of those sandwiches," John was rubbing circles with his flattened hand vigorously on his back, and limbs, to try to warm his friend up. "You actually have muscles now. We can't have you going back to bones in a suit, like you were when we first met."

Sherlock rose on one elbow to drink a few sips of the hot liquid then stretching his arm; put it back down frowning.

"I was never… bones in a suit." Sherlock was insulted but he had to admit, just the slightest bit warmer.

"Yes you were!" Both Mrs. Hudson and John answered simultaneously. They both looked at each other surprised.

"F… Fine, one sandwich." Sherlock said begrudgingly. He took the sandwich and slowly munched on half.

"Crap telly Mrs. Hudson?" John asked.

"Later. Right now you boys go about what you were doing." Mrs. Hudson disappeared down the stairs after giving both Sherlock and John a kiss on the cheek.

There was a moment of silence. Sherlock shaking was present, but had lessened even more.

"Sherlock."

"Yes John."

John was hesitant. "What will you do?"

"I refuse to be blackmailed John. Whatever that means, I'll have to face it."

"I'm not saying that you should be blackmailed, but," there was a brief pause by John, "… what about Mycroft. Are you sure you should keep him out of this?"

Sherlock turned from his side to his back. He stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

"Are you prepared to read about the most difficult and personal time of your life in print?"

Sherlock looked John in the eyes, said nothing for a few minutes.

"John, it would probably be best if I am not left alone tonight." John looked at Sherlock then understanding came to him. "You mean it's a danger night?"

Sherlock gave his friend a don't be an idiot look.

"Is anything here?"

"I haven't even had the desire for years."

"Is that a no, Sherlock?"

"That's a no, John."

"How strong?"

"Not very, but the thought of numbing myself mentally and making this all go away, occurred twice now. I once promised that I would say something. Consider this me saying something. I'll try to sleep. It should not be too hard considering how the events of the day have drained me."

He then closed his eyes. John did not notice that he was stroking his friend's hair as he frowned, thinking. Sherlock did not comment or argue.

If he had noticed, it may have given John cause for alarm that the normally independent Sherlock Holmes was not just allowing it, but welcoming it. He seemed to lean into his friend's hand. He was asleep within minutes.

Sherlock's sleep clock made no distinction between night and day. He would, on a good day without cases, average four hours of sleep a day. He never woke as he lay on the pillow in John's lap, and later that day on the couch as Mrs. Hudson and John watched television, and ate close by. He never knew that Lestrade came by to check on him, or Molly came by with body parts to cheer him up. He never knew that John had spoken with Moriarty, or Mycroft had come by. He never noticed when Mycroft returned at two in the morning, sitting in a chair and looking at him, as he made and received calls and texts. They took turns watching him as the others rested in two-hour shifts.

He never woke.

He did not stir.

He never knew of the cocoon of people that surrounded him with protection. All determined to help him make it through that long night.

Sherlock slept a dreamless sleep as they prepared for the morning to come.

A/N: Next post on the weekend.

Optional Fun Question: What non-Sherlock film is Benedict Cumberbatch currently featured in? Or, what non-Sherlock film was Martin Freeman featured in? I hope everyone knows this. I thought I would give you something easy after the trauma that you've been through.

Lots of love.