Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 178

*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?

Note: Radionuclide Identification Device (RID) measures radiation.

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) Part A today/ Part B Saturday/ Part C Monday or Tuesday.

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 III … "Attack or Defend… Burn Baby Burn."

Part B

In darkness of the night
I spied him in a tree
Sat I froze by the sight
He was looking at me

Udiah, Witness to Yah

Undisclosed Location

Current Day

The agents had broken into small groups, as they moved through the building. The sounds of gunfire sporadically filled the space. A battle was taking place, as Moriarty's men engage agents, and agents fought for ground. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen.

Sherlock, John, and another agent had split from the group. While John and the agent were holding back several of Moriarty's men. Sherlock slipped away to look for his brother.

After a few minutes of searching, he came upon a moderately size room. Sherlock slowly entered with his gun drawn. He stared at the two men, who now had their guns trained on him. Mycroft looked on quietly, his face was unreadable.

Anger coursed through Sherlock when he saw his brother. He quickly pushed it down and made his face blank, and emotionless. The two guards that were on his left, and on his right stood nervously.

"Let him go," he said with an even voice. The gunfire seemed to be closer. "It's over, give yourselves up."

Sherlock glanced at his brother. He made instant observations and deductions. Mycroft Holmes sat, handcuffed to a chair. His face and clothing were disheveled. One side of his shirt was untucked and out. His suit lapel was ripped and two buttons were missing on his inner vest. His normally impeccable hair was out of place, and partially covered his eyes. His face was bruised and lower lips split. Dried trails of blood ran down his nose and the right side of his face, disappearing under his torn shirt collar.

The younger Holmes noticed the subtle shift in his brother's eyes

The slightest tightening of Sherlock's mouth indicated that he wanted his brother to not do, what he knew he was going to do.

Mycroft's eyes became wider.

Sherlock gave a subtle shift back, surrendering. The entire silent argument had taken only a few seconds, and was missed completely by both of Moriarty's men.

Within seconds, bodies were falling, and shots ringing out. In the end, one man was shot, the other one was unconscious, and Mycroft was laying still on his side. Sherlock ran to his brother's side. Mycroft shook his head and winced realizing, that shaking his head was unwise. His hands were on Mycroft head, as he checked his head and body for any serious injuries, or wounds.

"Fine, I'm fine Sherlock," Mycroft said in a voice that he had hoped was stronger.

Sherlock's only response was to grunt noncommittally. He left his brother for a few seconds, to search the two men. He hurriedly returned with keys. He was quickly released from the tight metal restraint.

Sherlock's expression was a mixture of relief and extreme irritation. "Mycroft Bartholomew Holmes, if we survive this, we're having a little chat."

Gunfire seemed to be getting even closer. Their eyes simultaneously snapped toward the sound. Without saying a word, there seem to be in unspoken agreement to hurry.

Mycroft spoke as he struggled to stand. "I had the entire event under control."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but did not say a word as he stared at his brother.

Mycroft looked in Sherlock's eyes, "It was not an idiotic thing to do, Sherlock." He answered his brother's silent accusations.

"Best to stay off that subject." Sherlock said as he raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

Mycroft tried to straighten his crooked tie out the best he could. His long fingers unsuccessfully tried to press the wrinkles from his torn shirt.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Even now, there was an elegance to the battered man. It was irritating.

"I put a tracker under the car seat. We should be able to at least's track their movements, while in England." Mycroft struggled to stand.

Sherlock's mouth opened in amusement and slight unbelief.

Mycroft noticed and was annoyed. "I did work in the field as an agent when younger you know."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow concerned as he gave his brother the chance to adjust his clothing before they ran. And, they would be running.

The remark seemed to leave the younger Holmes lips out of habit. "Your field experience was for training only. We both know that they were interested in putting you in a position of authority. They were interested in your formidable mind Mycroft. We both know that your former rugby days are long past."

Mycroft finally got upright, offended. "I still fence."

Sherlock said with sugary sweetness. "If any of Moriarty's men want to sword fight, I'm sure your skill with the blade will save us."

Mycroft gave an indignant huff, as he tried to take an independent step.

Sherlock bit his lips to hold back the two, no three comments that begged to be released. Instead, he said, "You might be dizzy. You'd better let me help you."

"Don't be ridicules Sherlock. I'm not helpless," Mycroft took a tentative step, "I can walk."

Sherlock rushed the short distance in a blink. He caught Mycroft in his arms before he could hit the floor.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft as he shook his head and blinked away the fog. "I can see that your okay."

They both looked at each other. They communicated their concern and care without saying a word. Sherlock looked away first. "Well, that's enough of that."

"Agreed," Mycroft, said as he allowed Sherlock to put his arm around his shoulder. Mycroft smiled a small smile, as he allowed Sherlock to lead the way out. "Sentiments make me itch."

Sherlock snickered then became quiet. Both men concentrated on moving, and looking for danger. He pretended not to notice, as his brother bit his lips from pain, and his ragged breathing increased.

"John is close by," Sherlock said as casually as he could under the circumstances. He bore most of his brother's weight. But, he did not complain. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than John and several men ran in their direction.

John looked displeased. Very displeased. "We'll discuss this later Sherlock," was his only comment. He did not know that his rushed words had mimicked Sherlock's earlier comment to his brother.

Everyone in the small group became silent, and solemn, paying attention to every sound and shadow of movement. They had a new goal, as a battle took place around them. It was to make it out.

Alive.

Undisclosed Location

Current Day

The British agent walked into the darkened room. He was dressed in all black, and had a black knit cap on his head. The powerful stoplight that was positioned just beyond the barb wired fence, sent shafts of light into the windows on the east side of the building. It had been just one, of thirty-two identical buildings on the compound. He had to be quick; the cut in the chain link fence would be discovered in another two hours, when the next patrol would take place.

He stepped carefully around, as he cautiously took in the sights. Someone had informed whoever was here. The building had been abandoned quickly. He bent down and picked up a large, black flexible wire. It was a centimeter thick. He put a broken section of the coiled wire into his backpack.

The British Agent turned to walk away, but stopped and frowned. In the corner, in the dark, something white shown. He walked over and picked up a piece of a torn document off the floor. He picked it up and frowned. He turned the mini torch on with a quick twist. He held it between his teeth as both hands pressed the crumpled paper straight. He angled the beam of light and read with squinted eyes. He raised his eyebrows. It would appear that the Russian informant was spot on.

The British Agent put the crumpled piece of paper in his backpack. He turned off the light beam with a quick twist at the base of the torch. He waited a few seconds for his eyes to readjust. With a rapid glance at his watch, he walked toward some scattered rubbish on the floor. He pulled a small, black device out of his thigh pocket. His thumb firmly pushed the on button, until there was a click.

The Agent took out a Radionuclide Identification Device to measure the radiation. He nodded grimly when the RID light lit up. A clicking noise sounded much too loudly in the small space.

The agent turned his head suddenly to the right. The sudden rush of sound caught his attention. He clicked the RID off and moved quickly through the opposite window.

The British Agent's breath fogged the cold night air. Shafts of light from the full moon cut through the forest. He altered his path first left, then right to avoid the small trees. His rhythm was steady, as he ran carefully toward the ocean. The sound of the waves as it crashed into the shore and rocks fill the air.

The beach was wide. His feet crunched rhythmically into the sand as he ran. The small jagged rocks demarcated the edge of the water. White foam kicked up into tiny whirlpool swells as the water came crashing in, it's only witness was the man, and the moon. He quickly pulled the camouflage covering from the small motorboat.

Within minutes, the coast was a darkened outline. The agent sailed toward the small red light, as he headed toward the large hidden water vessel.

221B

Current Day

Anthea glanced at the two men. Her eyes lingered longer than necessary on Mycroft as she exited the room. The normally composed woman openly frowned, as she noticed Mycroft's bruised face.

Mycroft Holmes sat composed in John's chair. He had showered and changed his clothes. Every hair was in place. His normal umbrella was resting against the small table's base, which was a short stretch away from him. If it was not for his bruised face and split lip, he would not seem as if he had been held captive just hours ago.

"Mummy, and Mrs. Adler, are alright?"

Mycroft placed his arms gently on his crossed legs. "Yes Sherlock. Mummy is on her way. Ms. Adler is slightly behind, timewise, she will be arriving soon. And before you ask, she will be staying with me at the manor with a protective detail. After she settles she will be over."

"You have someone following Lestrade, and Molly, she's safe?" Sherlock resumed his pacing.

"Yes Sherlock, and we took Mrs. Hudson into protective custody as you've requested." Mycroft answered the repeated questions patiently. His brother did not normally ask the same questions. He shifted slightly in the chair and winced before he remembered his brother's stare.

John and Sherlock looked at each other. Within minutes, John disappeared returning with two white pills. "These won't make you drowsy," John said with folded arms, as his glare joined Sherlock's glare.

Mycroft looked at both men, annoyed. He wordlessly held out both hands and dry swallowed the pills. He accepted the glass of water that John handed him. He pretended not to notice Sherlock's wordless communication with John.

John nodded once. "Well, I'll pop out. I'll join everyone in Mrs. Hudson's flat." Even though the door normally remained opened, John closed it on his way out.

"You need to go to the doctor. I can't believe that you are acting so uncooperative and reckless." Sherlock did not realize the hypocrisy of his own words. "Aren't you supposed to be The Government behind the British Government…"

Mycroft allowed his brother to continue to rant. He knew that he had been worried and frustrated, and did not know quite how to handle the emotions.

"Anthea should be back in about and hour. We have a lot to go over Sherlock. Aren't you the one who said that you suspected that Moriarty would do something dramatic, in forty-eight hours. Once he finds out about my escape, I'm sure his mood will not improve little brother." Mycroft looked seriously at Sherlock. "We both know that I have to keep moving. I have a meeting across the pond in," Mycroft looked at his pocketwatch, "less than fourteen hours."

He would have to allow an extra half an hour for a makeup artist to meet with him. He did not intend to meet with such important people, with bruises on his face. His brother's irritated voice came to him again.

"… I want Anthea with you, and Myers or Thomas. Pulled them off of whatever secret assignment you have them on." Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short. "This is non negotiable Mycroft." Sherlock gave his most intimidating glare, and raised one eyebrow to stress his seriousness.

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes again as he commented . With great effort, he put on a false smile, "Anthea and Myers," he said simply, before his resolve to be civil left him.

Sherlock wanted to argue more, but his brother's cooperation deflated his anger. At least some of it. He flopped onto the chair next to his brother and crossed his arms. His face contorted between anger, concerned, and irritation. He wrestled within himself for a moment before sighing dramatically. There was a moment of quiet.

Mycroft had thought that the drama was over. That's why he was surprised to hear his brother say quietly, yet with sincerity.

"As irritating as you are," there was a beat of silence, "I can't lose you Mycroft."

Mycroft turned toward his brother. Sherlock was not looking at him. His hands were playing with the edge of his dress shirt's sleeve. He seemed suddenly fascinated with the piece of cloth.

Mycroft exhaled so quietly it was barely audible. He looked away from his brother to the floor. He did not know why he suddenly missed his umbrella. He needed something to hold. He settled for running his hand along the edge of the chair. The slight friction as he ran his thumb back and forth was comforting in a strange way.

Mycroft wondered within himself for several seconds. His brother could deduce anyone. He could deduce the deepest secrets, even though he may not completely understand the emotional components. Yet, he had a blind spot. He could lack insight into how his actions affected those around him, and were close to him.

"Did you ever consider the fact, Sherlock, that I felt the same? That's why I did what I did. I had to get Mummy back, yet I would rather die than turn you over to that lunatic. There was… something in his voice. He's grown impatient Sherlock, Moriarty, I mean."

Mycroft looked intently at his umbrella. He needed something in his hands. He felt self-conscious in the way that he stretched his body, wincing. In the way that his right hand reached for his umbrella, in the way that it lingered as his fingers slid repeatedly over it smooth end. "He is determined to have you Sherlock. I'm determined to stop him."

"I can't lose you either, just for the record." Mycroft risked a glance at his brother. "We have to work together Sherlock. No more going off on your own."

At Sherlock's raised eyebrows, he added with a guilty smile, "Yes, I know that I'm a hypocrite. I've learned from the best." With that statement, he glared at his brother.

Sherlock gave a partial smile that he tried to hide. Mycroft tried to hide his smile as well. The brothers were not fooling each other, but it was their way.

Sherlock got up abruptly, "Tea?" He asked.

Mycroft nodded.

Sherlock got up and walked to the kitchen. He heard his brother's voice flowed from behind him. Mycroft gave him information, and generally spoke of new sets of information that he wanted him to investigate while he was gone. Sherlock listened, but did not stop his movements. He needed to keep busy, to move. Mycroft suddenly stopped speaking. After a second's hesitation, he made a simple statement.

"Sherlock, when I get back, I'd like to meet with you. Immediately."

Sherlock paused briefly before continuing his movements. The sound of the kettle, as it boiled, filled his ears now. It melted into a background noise, as he automatically walked toward it, the tray, and the teacups.

It was a simple enough statement. However, something in his brother's voice made him conclude, that whatever he had to say to him, was important, very important. His normal curiosity and impatience begged for attention. He denied himself. Although he would not admit it out loud, Mycroft had better timing than him. He would trust him; he had enough to concentrate on now. He put the teacups on the tray. He followed with the cream, and sugar.

As he walked back with the tray in hand, he wondered why the fact that he did trust him, was so difficult to express. He pushed the question aside for now, as he poured his brother tea.

Both brothers sat quietly deep in thought. If Sherlock was correct, within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, Moriarty would do something unpleasant to get the attention of the world. Worse, they only had a rough idea of where the events would take place. Mycroft also knew that within the same time, Sherlock's world would shake. He could not delay any longer. Jim Moriarty had forced his hand. Mycroft frowned. He hoped that his brother had the strength to stand.

Several footsteps were heard coming from behind, and down. It was one particular set that caught both brothers attention. Holmes noticed his brother standing out of the corner of his eyes. Sherlock's full attention seemed to be on the door. John's voice was heard downstairs. There was no panic in it, but only surprise. There was another familiar voice.

Current Day

Current Time

Warm sunlight flowed into the room. Sebastian Moran smiled as he looked at the hotel windows. His tall, lean body walked toward the oversized glass panes, as if the sun drew his body to it. There was a satisfied tiredness that was soaked deep into his bones. Sebastian's fingers spread out as if in worship of the sun. His eyes darkened, they had malice behind them that was not well hidden.

He turned and walked away from the sun. It would be dark in a few hours. A sigh sounded in the luxurious room, as he sat in the overstuffed, striped wing-backed chair. Almost immediately, his mobile rang.

His eyebrow rose as long fingers firmly pressed the connect button. "Yes."

"There have been some complications," the voice on the other end of the line said.

"Explained," Sebastian Moran hissed.

"Mr. Holmes men engaged us Mr. Moran." The voice on the other end hesitated.

Moran felt the profanity build inside him like steam in a kettle. He felt the curses on the tip of his tongue before he had even heard the rest of the conversation. Hesitation, when talking about a Holmes, has never ended well for him.

"What has happened?" He asked. Both irritation and apprehension wrestled in his mind with equal strength. He could not ignore the facts that his palms became sweaty, and perspiration gathered on his brow.

The voice on the other end of the mobile phone finally continued.

"Irene Adler escaped, along with the child," there was a bit of silence, "and, um, Sir; Mycroft Holmes is gone. A substantial amount of our men are dead or captured." The line became silent again, but the silence was pregnant with the need to be filled.

Sebastian disconnected without another word.

A voice from the doorway said, "Sir, the limousine has arrived."

Sebastian was still for a moment, thinking. His jaws clenched tightly. All of the preparation was in place. If he did not get Holmes one way, he would get him another.

He turned and walked toward the door, as he prepared to returned to Moriarty's side. He would have to remember to bring someone for Moriarty to shoot. He pulled out his mobile and dialed the phone number. It was answered on the first ring.

"Hello Sir. Everything, and everyone is in place. However, I regret to point out that there have been one or two," he sighed, "maybe three unexpected turn of events." He told Moriarty everything as they moved. Moran's men walked beside him as they approached the lift. A frown creased the corners of his mouth, as they entered the vertical transport. He held back the sigh, as his eyes locked on to the digitally displayed numbers in front of him. The slow decrease in numbers seemed to mock him.

Moran's eyes shifted away as he looked at his shoes, and listened. One eyebrow rose. He had never known the Consultant Criminal to use such profanity, and with such enthusiasm. His frown deepened.

Yes, Sebastian thought to himself, as the lift doors opened, he definitely needed to bring someone for his boss to shoot.

221B

Current Day

Mycroft's eyes followed her as she walked in. Several agents trailed behind her. Every eye in the room traveled to her. John Watson followed Mrs. Holmes up the stairs and looked at Mrs. Holmes. He noticed the fact that although his mother was supposed to be thought dead, John Watson did not look surprised. Mycroft glanced from one man to the other briefly, before returning his gaze to his mother. John and Sherlock seemed to not be able to keep anything from each other for very long.

Mycroft now stood, while remaining in place. The three stood close to each other, but without touching.

Miranda Holmes looked at Sherlock and smiled, before her eyes traveled to Mycroft. Although she had spoken to him, and was warned of his injuries, she still inhaled quietly when she saw him. She walked up to him and touched his face gently. His forehead was uncharacteristically moist and shiny, and fine beads of sweat were forming above his upper lip. She touched it with hesitant fingers. No comment was made on the fact that it felt slippery.

"You should be in the hospital," Miranda said. Her tone made it clear that she was not impressed with his bravado. She could tell that he was fighting, and hiding pain.

"I'm fine." Mycroft said.

Miranda said nothing; she simply raised an eyebrow.

"I have important matters to take care of immediately, but I'll have Doctor Watson look me over if I continue to have any… Discomfort." Mycroft offered.

"Doctor Watson will have a look now," Miranda countered.

"I'll turn myself over to Doctor Watson's capable hands in forty minutes." He raised his eyebrows with a slight smile. "Happy now, Mummy dearest?"

"Quite," she said simply.

He allowed her to examine him. She did not say a word but her eyes conveyed her concern. Once she was convinced that he was in no immediate danger, her eyes turned to her youngest son. He remained frozen in place, as if he was not convinced that she was not an apparition.

Sherlock watched the exchange silently.

She walked up to him smiling. "Hello dear," one hand came out and firmly held his arm as she added, "I'm here."

Sherlock blinked a few times and seemed to come to himself. His eyes traveled over her, deducing. It lingered on every bruise, and slight wrinkle, or tear in her clothing. After a minute, he cleared his throat before commenting in an unsteady voice, "Your hair is short."

"I thought I would try something new," the front of her hair was longer than the rest. A hand automatically moved a curly stray strand out of her eyes.

Sherlock looked thoughtfully, as his mouth transformed into a slight smile, "Very modern, I like it."

The two stared at each other for a second, before the distance was closed in a hug. The activity around them resumed. John smiled, lowered his head for a few seconds, and then walked down the stairs to join the other agents in Mrs. Hudson's flat.

Mycroft stood for a few minutes, looking.

Sherlock, after a few moments, caught eyes with his brother. His eyes held a rare display of respect, and gratitude.

Mycroft smiled with a graceful nod. While Mycroft moved, he was careful to hide his facial grimaces as the pain flared up. He steadied himself before moving to join the group that was gathered a short walk away.

He gave one last glance, as he left his mother and brother, before walking down the stairs. He held on to the wall as he descended. Mycroft had not noticed that his brother frowned, when he glanced at his retreating form. But then, Sherlock inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, as he allowed himself the rare moment of comfort. Everyone noticed that they did not seem as if they were in a hurry to part.