Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 180
*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?
1 It Begins.
2. Feed the Fire.
3. Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) Part A today/ Part B Saturday/ Part C Monday-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
"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow." ~Mary Anne Radmacher
Manchester Airport
Current Day
The couple sat close to the boarding gate. The woman looked around at the sea of humanity, as they passed back and forth. Her attention was drawn to a mother who busied herself, as she entertained her three young children. They were apparently playing some sort of guessing game. The children looked at each other, and spontaneously burst into a fit of giggles. She couldn't help the smile that captured her face. They reminded her of her grandchildren. She chuckled quietly, as she whispered to her husband. He nodded noncommittally.
An automatic, "Yes love," came out of his mouth.
An intercom announced the boarding of the flight to Italy. They both looked wordlessly at each other before they started to move.
The man sent off a quick email to their grandchildren before closing his Mac. He quickly deposited the laptop into a suitcase. She glanced again at the woman, who was four rows of seats behind her. The woman did not move. Apparently they were going to take a different flight.
As they moved toward the doors to the airplane, the woman caught the mother's eyes, and smiled. The mother smiled back.
The woman took her husband's hand. He looked down chuckling at her, as he squeezed it. They disappeared into the shuffle of people, which were entering the boarding ramp to the flight.
Current Day
Current Time
He suddenly turned into the alley. His long black coat swirled in protest at the sudden movement, before disappearing along with its master.
John quickened his pace. He broke into an easy jog. His eyes strained, as it adjusted to the dimmer light. A hand held him. Sherlock hand froze mid-air, before he could strike his friend.
"Hello dear," John said with raised eyebrows.
"What part of needing to be alone did you not understand?" Sherlock asked.
"You're Sherlock Holmes. The fact that you did not realize that you were being followed, is the reason that I am here. You are distracted Sherlock. You do not need to be alone." John folded his arms.
"What part of, I need to think alone, do you not understand." Sherlock challenged.
"What part of dangerous, do you not understand?" John held his ground.
Sherlock deflated slightly. But he was still not ready to give up completely.
Sherlock hissed in frustration. "I could've punched you, you idiot."
"I've had a punch or two in my time mate. I would've lived."
"I suppose Thomas is close by?" Sherlock asked finally.
John chose not to comment; he simply raised an eyebrow, and folded his arms defiantly.
Sherlock's mouth thinned as his eyebrows knit together in frustration, irritation, and a hint of something like relief.
"Don't speak!" The taller man hissed petulantly.
"Alright mate." John said as his arms gestured his surrender, and cooperation.
"That was speaking, John." Sherlock commented irritably. With the swirl of coat and curly hair, his long legs moved.
Without turning around, he added dramatically, "I want absolute quiet." He took ten steps before adding. "You might know me well, John, but I know myself better."
John quickened his pace; he was used to keeping up with his friend's long legs. John turned his head slightly to the right. Sherlock stride reminded him of a soldiers. It was as if he was heading for battle, or retreating from a war. He waited for it, it was not long before he heard his friend's voice again.
"I mean it's not as if I'm in the mood."
"Of course you're not mate." John said quietly, agreeably.
There was a few beats of silence.
Sherlock continued to look straight ahead with purpose. Of course, even the younger Holmes did not know what that purpose was. "I mean things happen in life, surprises come. It's not as if I can't handle it John." He stopped walking and turned to John with both hands on his hips. "You do realize that I lived alone years before you came along," Sherlock added irritably.
"Of course you did Sherlock." John said soothingly. He added his most comforting smile.
"I can handle stress John… I really can… I mean… Stress is a part of life… Never bothered me before…" Sherlock's rant deteriorated from there. Within seconds he was speaking in a foreign language. John thought it was French.
John raised an eyebrow, "Sure mate." John was not exactly sure, what he was sure about, but it seemed like agreeing with Sherlock was a good idea at the moment.
Luckily, Sherlock started to speak in English again. "All right, bombs are about to fly. They tried to kidnap my mother, brother, son. A son that I didn't even know I had, by the way, thank you very much! Irene is in danger, bloody hell; everyone I love is in danger. Bloody fabulous day, I would say!"
John listened quietly. He would have been shocked at the use of the word love, which dropped so freely from Sherlock's lips. But, Sherlock was so far gone, he doubted that Sherlock had even noticed that he had openly used the word, love. He could not be one hundred percent sure, but he was of the opinion that his friend was having a meltdown. Nuclear size, if he was to guess.
"By the way John, did I mention, I have a son! A son! Me! I can see the headlines now, The Sociopath and the Baby, details on BBC One." Sherlock twirled suddenly and started to walk again. The shoes tapped on the ground. It sounded almost painful. It was as if he intended to punish the ground for his frustrations.
John was a bit stunned by his sudden retreat. He jogged quickly to catch up. "Um, Sherlock, maybe we could not talk, a little more privately. How about we not talk back at the flat?"
"I told you I don't want to talk." Sherlock rolled his eyes irritably at his friend's comment.
"Alrighty then," John said as he kept pace with Sherlock.
Sherlock exited one alley, daringly dashed across the road, and then entered another alley.
They walked in silence for a few seconds before John heard Sherlock's voice, again. "Babies are illogical, and messy, and have you seen what comes out of them John? I'll be a terrible father. That unfortunate child. I'll probably scar my son for life." Sherlock suddenly stopped. He stood next to a huge rubbish bin. "My son. My. Son. My son will… My… My son."
Terrified eyes turned toward John. "John, I have a son I have a…" Sherlock found it difficult to breathe. Partial breaths pulled in and out of his chest, with increasing effort.
"Sherlock, you're hyperventilating." John said, as he grabbed Sherlock's arm in case he fainted.
"I… Don't… Hyper – Hyperventilate, J – John." Sherlock said, with an approximation of a glare. It lost its sting.
"Sure you don't," John whispered sarcastically to himself. More loudly he said, "Let's not hyperventilate over here then. Sit down before you fall on your bum, and cracked that brilliant head of yours open. Where would we all be then without your magnificence."
Sherlock obeyed, as he focused on slowing his breathing down.
John stooped beside him. "You'll make mistakes, all parents do, but you will be a terrific father, Sherlock. Despite your rough edges, I have found you to be the most generous and caring of friends."
Sherlock looked at John. "I thought that I was an irritating sod," Sherlock looked down from John. "You may have mentioned that fact a time or two."
An uneven smile grace John's face. "Yeah, yeah you are that. Yet, I find that I would not change who you are, for all the gold in the world." John realized that he meant those words with all sincerity, odd that.
"What do I do John" Sherlock looked loss, which seemed out of place on the normally confident man's face. "How can I make it up to him for not being there at the beginning of his life? And, Irene, I don't know how I feel about what she did. I suspect she did it to somehow save me from responsibility, but that was not her right. That's why I avoid emotions John. They're unpredictable, messy, inconvenient, and confusing as hell. Part of me feels regret that she had to go through all of it alone. But, another part of me resents her for her strength. What am I supposed to feel John. Would you share it with me. Because for the first time in my life I haven't got a bloody clue. I don't think I have the answers. I'm not even sure where to start looking for them."
John looked at Sherlock as he sat beside him. He patted him on the thigh gently before frowning. "I don't have the answers Sherlock. But you're not alone. You have a family now, people who care about you, and little William. He will have an Uncle John who will be there every step of the way for not just him, but for his slightly irritating father."
Sherlock looked into John's eyes. There was the smallest hint of a smile on Sherlock's lips, as he looked at John. He saw his friend with new eyes. His respect for him increased even more.
"As I said Sherlock, I don't have the answers. But I know where we can start to look for them." John got up. He held one hand out toward his friend, as he said, "It's time to go home."
Sherlock exhaled quietly. He took John's hand and allowed his friend to pull him up. They then made their way toward the flat, walking side–by–side.
221B
Current Day
As he entered the flat everyone turned toward him. There was a sudden, quiet hush. He glanced at Irene to let her know that he was okay, that they were okay.
She stood and walked over with William. William had a curious look on his face as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock returned Williams stare. His eyes were lit with curiosity, astonishment, and a bit of fear.
His hand ran unbidden through William's hair. At the same time, the child took one hand, and with a wet popping sound, he took his thumb out of his mouth. He felt Sherlock's face and nose, leaving wet trails behind. Sherlock smiled at the child. The child smiled back. After a few seconds of the two generations staring at each other, William laid his tiny head on Sherlock's chest. His thumb returned to his mouth. He sucked the sodden digit with enthusiasm. His eyes started to become heavy.
"He's so small John."
John smiled as his hand touched the side of William's head. "They usually are Sherlock."
"He looks like me."
"Yes, yes he does." John agreed.
At that moment, the Consultant Detective, someone who prided himself on being a sociopath years ago; felt a tug in his chest. He noticed that his breathing was a bit irregular. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed that everyone was looking at him and smiling. It was annoying.
"What," he asked in a whisper, not wishing to disturb the child. He wondered why his voice sounded funny.
Williams thumb had slipped out of his mouth. It laid loosely by his side. His eyes were closed. Every now and then he would try to force them open, as if he was fighting sleep.
"Nothing mate." John said quietly. He cleared his throat. His own eyes were strangely bright.
Sherlock noticed something drip on his suit jacket's lapel. He frowned confused for a second. He took one hand and made sure that William was secure. With his other hand, he touched his cheek. It came back wet. He rubbed his fingers together, as they easily slid back and forth. He had not noticed that tears had been flowing down his face. He put his free hand again on the child.
"I'm not sad." He looked curiously at his wet fingers, "Sentiment?" he whispered the question, as he looked at John.
"Yes," John said simply.
As Sherlock looked on, his best mate suspiciously wiped at his eyes, as he cleared his throat.
A fire came into Sherlock's eyes. They shone brightly through the tears. "I can't lose him John, I've just found him."
"You won't." A similar fire lit John's eyes.
That fire must have been contagious, because that fire moved from one person to the other, until the room was ablaze with determination.
Mycroft looked quietly around the room. His eyes rested on his nephew and his brother. He did not interfere. His mind worked quickly. If their eyes were fire, Mycroft Holmes' eyes held a storm.
A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Part C Monday late or more likely Tuesday .
Love to all.