Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 174
*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?
A/N: Hi everyone. After today there will be four more post, and then, an epilogue. I have decided it would be fun to title these last posts.
1 It Begins.
2. Feed the Fire. (This week's post.)
3. Burn Baby Burn.
4. Ashes.
5. Epilogue
"… 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 II…"Attack or Defend… Feed the Fire.
"Well, remember what you said, because in a day or two, I'll have a witty and blistering retort! You'll be devastated THEN!"~ Calvin & Hobbes
Thirty Hours Earlier
Unknown Location
Moriarty ducked easily behind the wall with irritation. The news conference for Sherlock Holmes still played in the background on the telly, forgotten. He had been so distracted, he had not noticed until it was too late. Stupid mistake, he admitted to himself. He would never admit that small fact out loud, of course not. He looked at his mobile with impatience. It only had one word on it. He hissed as he slid it back into his pocket. It was no mystery who the message was from. The bullets flying his way, confirmed the fact.
He had not been shot at in many years.
He glanced around at the complete chaos. The chairs to his conference room were overturned. Papers were scattered on the floor. Worst of all, his computer was there. It had to be destroyed.
Before Moriarty could complete his thought, sparks shot from the computer, along with smoke, and the distinct ping sounds that resulted from metal hitting metal. It filled the space. It joined the chaos of the sounds of bullets flying, flesh being struck, men shouting commands, and from pain. The noises, and sounds, competed against each other to add to the chaos that was already present. Several bullets had hit the computer. He noticed Moran's outstretched hand and smiled.
Jim noticed several of his men grunt in pain then slump to the floor. Whether dead or unconscious, he did not care. He ran, picking up the gun from the fallen man, and fired back. An agent spun and fell. Moriarty's aim with bullets was as accurate as his talent with knives. The fact that he was shooting was tedious. He had not had to shoot anyone for years. Isn't that what he had paid gunmen for?
The idiots.
Moriarty fired twice. He heard a grunt of pain and smiled.
Jim heard several bullets as it whizzed by. He heard someone inhaled sharply, as his head snapped to his right. He ran until he was safely behind the opposite wall. Now he was sweating, how irritating. In the back of his mind, he noticed that he might have felt a burning sensation, but ignored it. It was unimportant at the moment. Moriarty's eyes glanced to his left. Moran was fighting his way toward him, with several of his men, firing. Moran was ignoring the bullets that were directed at him, his one goal was getting to Jim.
Moran looked at Jim with steel in his eyes. Moriarty nodded his understanding.
Moriarty ran toward Sebastian. Within minutes, two assigned man were holding back the agents. Moriarty's men who were left would be killed or captured soon. No one acknowledged this verbally. Those who were left, retreated through a disguised door, which exited half a kilometer outside the building. The men jogged to safely. Moriarty easily kept up the pace.
Twenty minutes later, they were driving.
"Find out who betrayed me. I would normally torture them slowly over the course of three days, but there's no time. So this is what I want you to do for me Seb. When you find out who it is, wait to kill them. First, kill their family, their friends, their neighbors, any primary school teachers they liked. Kill their dog. Kill their cat. And if the cat didn't eat their goldfish, killed the goldfish too." Moriarty turned to look at Sebastian. "I'm sure you know what to do after that."
Moran raised an eyebrow. "Basically, kill everything, and after they've grieved, kill them as well."
"You do know me well, don't you Seb." Moriarty shifted his body as he raised his arm and placed it on the armrest.
Sebastian looked at the man he practically worshiped with concern "Sir, are you shot?"
Moriarty rolled his eyes irritably, He looked at his arm which had a small amount of blood on it. His suit was torn. That explained the stinging sensation on his right arm. It was a good thing that he was left-handed. He glanced down. It was only a flesh wound; small amounts of dried blood was on his suit. It was barely even bleeding anymore. He was unhappy, but not about the wound.
"I loved this suit." Moriarty sighed.
"Yes Sir. I know Sir," Sebastian said sympathetically. He handed a sterile dressing to Moriarty, who applied it over the wound and pressed.
"Choose one of the backup locations." Moriarty said needlessly. They were already on their way. Moran, if nothing else, was efficient.
"Yes Sir," Moran said quietly.
"Well, someone's got a bee up their arse." Moriarty commented as he pulled out his mobile, and started to text.
Sebastian Moran wisely remained quiet.
Twenty-five Hours Earlier
221 B Baker Street
Sherlock was in bed with his eyes closed. He did not bother to take his dress shirt or trousers off. Only his shoes and jacket. He felt his bed dip but did not bother to become alarmed. He felt hands rest on top of his head.
"You should not be here, it's not safe," Sherlock said with a sigh.
"Your text was odd." Adler said softly. "I'm sorry, I came as soon as I could." There was quiet for a few moments.
"Mycroft's men do not know that you are gone." Sherlock did not ask a question, he made a statement.
He opened his eyes for the first time and looked at Irene with a smirk. "You do realize that I have a front door."
"What's the fun in that love?" Irene asked just as quickly. She looked at him in the low light. The full moon illuminated half of the room creating lines of darkness and shadows. "You're worried," she said.
He looked back at her, "So are you," he informed her as he studied her in the dim light.
"You're worried about me but there is something else. It concerns me though." Sherlock eyes almost seemed to pierce into her despite the darkness. Irene turned away under the scrutiny then back again.
"Don't deduce me Mr. Holmes, I will tell you. I promise but right now there are other things that you need to concentrate on, isn't there."
"I cannot turn my mind on and off, or my deductions. Trust me, I've tried as a child, it did not work. Nevertheless, I will try." He attempted a smile.
"You need to sleep."
"You know that I do not sleep well on the best of days."
"Yes but this is different even for you, there are bags under your eyes."
"How could you possibly know that, it's dark." He challenged.
"I have eyes like a cat. Besides, I could tell by your voice." Irene took off her shoes then sat on the bed and laid down beside him. Sherlock contorted his head as he followed her shadow. "Raise your head Sherlock."
"I am not a teddy bear Ms. Adler."
"Rise up," she said more firmly with a hint of exasperation.
Sherlock raised his head as Irene moved her body next to his. "Lay your head down."
"Any other orders," Sherlock asked as he laid his head down on her chest.
John's voice was at his door. "Sherlock are you okay, I heard you talking."
"It's me John, come in," Irene said. It was Sherlock's turn to raise an eyebrow. With anyone else Sherlock would have been embarrassed, but not with John. John opened the door after asking. "I'm not going to see things that I regret seeing, am I?"
"It's safe," Sherlock said slightly annoyed. John walked in and after a brief hesitation shrugged then sat on the side of his bed. Sherlock glanced at John but did not move his head from Irene's chest.
John asked after a moment of silence. "Irene don't you ever use the front door?" Irene only smiled at John.
"Should I move over John, Who else is coming? Mycroft?" Sherlock was fully annoyed now.
"Well, he did call me earlier," under John's breath he added, "Smart arse." Irene heard and giggled softly.
"I'll make sure that he gets to sleep tonight, John. You don't have to keep checking on him," Irene said suddenly serious, "you need to rest as well."
"Would you believe that I was up getting tea?" John asked quietly.
Sherlock snorted in reply. Irene said nothing but her lips corner rose.
"Well good night," John said. He looked at Sherlock briefly then squeezed his ankle. John kissed Irene and turned to leave. "Irene don't run off later, have one of Mycroft's men take you back."
"I can take care of myself," Irene said stubbornly. Both Sherlock and John looked at her without saying a word.
"Alright, I'll call before I leave. I can feel the both of you glare, even in the dark." Irene surrendered.
He kissed Irene again and turned to leave. "Where's my kiss John." Sherlock joked.
"Later Sherlock," John said as he walked and quietly opened the door, "As I said, smart arse." John smiled sweetly as he closed the door.
Sherlock chuckled for the first time now as he closed his eyes again. "You know, I still won't go to sleep." He said quietly.
"Of course not." Irene smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair soothingly.
Soft snoring came from Sherlock half an hour later. Irene looked concerned. Sherlock only snored when he was exhausted and had not slept properly, if at all, for days.
She disregarded the fact that she would wrinkle her Challis cloth dress. She lay with her face firmly pressed against his back. She pressed her body to his. She wrapped one arm around his body. The other hand lay gently on top of his hand. His body, even in sleep, moved toward her. He mumbled incoherently, as he pressed more firmly against her, and then stilled.
Emotions coiled tightly within her chest. She ignored the contraction of emotions. She kissed his head and finally closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was also asleep.
Twenty-five Hours Earlier
221 B Baker Street
Sherlock woke in the morning. He blinked away the night, as he turned his body and stared at the ceiling. He stayed in that position for a few minutes. Sherlock generally disliked sleep. He thought that it was a waste of time that he could be doing important things instead of sleeping. However, he had to admit that he felt better physically, perhaps emotionally as well. He reluctantly, got up and after a stretch, stood. He walked over to the door and walked out to the kitchen table.
"John," Sherlock said.
John pushed a cup in Sherlock's direction. John, at the look on Sherlock's face said, "Mycroft's men picked her up."
Sherlock nodded and looked at his text messages. He sensed John watching him so he was careful not to smile as he read it.
"Tell her I said hello," Sherlock was texting back as John made the comment.
"How do you know that it's Irene? I receive a lot of texts." Sherlock commented curiously.
"You always try not to smile," John said with amusement as he took a sip of coffee.
Sherlock glanced at John with irritation but said nothing. "Let's hope that you pay this much attention with our next case. Lestrade will pick us up in an hour and a half." Sherlock looked at his wrinkled dress shirt and trouser.
"Sherlock you can't be serious?"
"Scotland Yard have been trying to solve it for three days," he smirked, "which means it will only take me an hour. Two the most."
John folded his arms, and pursed his lips together. He, however, did not say a word.
"Best if I keep busy. Think about it John, do you really want me irritable, bored, with ten thousand negative thoughts ricocheting around in my mind, confined to this flat?"
John still looked unconvinced.
Sherlock folded his arms before adding, "In this flat with only my experiments and you to entertain me," he added with a raised eyebrow, and a false smile.
"I'll be ready in ten minutes Sherlock." John practically jogged up toward his room, and his shower.
Sherlock mimicked his friend's actions, as he walked off quickly to take a shower.