Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 182
*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. We're on the third post. However, I ran into a little problem. I thought that the post was too big to give to you at one time. I didn't want to overwhelm. I broke it into three parts. Enjoy.
1 It Begins.
2. Feed the Fire.
3. Burn Baby Burn. (This week's post.) Part A today/ Part B Saturday/ Part C today
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 C
"All the worlds a stage, and all the men and women, merely players." ~ William Shakespeare
221B Baker Street
Current Day
The tall lanky man ran up the stairs. The organize chaos filled the room. There were several conversations. Mycroft, and Lestrade were in their own corner, speaking to their group. Every surface was covered with paper, computers, and cups of coffee or tea. Still, he caught their attention. Eyes turned.
Thomas ran up to Kevin Patel. He was followed closely behind by John, Sherlock and Mycroft. Mycroft noticed that the vein in front of the younger man's forehead was physically palpating.
"What did you find?" Thomas asked in a rushed voice.
A commotion sounded behind him, as Lestrade, Donovan, agents, and Yarders rushed toward the door.
Lestrade ran to Sherlock, as he caught his eyes hurriedly, and spoke. "That young fellow of your homeless network was right. We've evacuated the area. It would have killed the passengers who rode the Tube. I have to go."
The Detective Inspector felt a grab on his arm before he could leave.
"Don't be annoying and get yourself shot." Sherlock stared into the older man's eyes.
Lestrade smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
Sherlock nodded as he let the DI go.
His attention immediately turned back to the young man who seemed to be hopping from one foot to the other, with nervous energy.
"We've decrypted the locations, there were seven in all. Five have been evacuated." Patel looked at his feet before adding, "Two sites are in the process of being notified of the need for evacuation... However…" He didn't finish; he didn't have to.
First, Mycroft looked at the young man curiously, he was rarely impressed with anyone outside of his brother. A thought occurred. He turned his eyes on Sherlock. Sherlock mimicked his brother's sour expression.
"We've missed one. They won't have any warning at all." Sherlock said to no one in particular.
"Yes," Mycroft agreed simply.
"How do you know that Sherlock?" John spoke for the first time in minutes, as everyone looked to Sherlock, and Mycroft.
Sherlock's eyes flashed with anger, and something else that was undefinable. "I know that because Moriarty wants to impress me. And because there's eight letters in my name, John."
The United States of America
White-house Dinner
Current Day
The President was giving a speech at a ball. Laughter filled the air at the appropriate times. Crystal candles centered each linen covered table. The American Secret Service had agents lining the room.
A beeping sound interrupted his speech. Curious eyes looked at the President, as he glanced at his beeper then frowned. Suddenly, another beeper sounded. In the corner of the room, a third rang out. Within minutes, men in tuxedos and a few women in dressed gowns stood and quickly left the room.
No one noticed when a glass of wine spilled then shattered on the table. The liquid absorbed into the off-white tablecloth, coloring it, red.
" A happy day? I'll take it away."
Tokyo
Current Day
Current Time
Five-fifteen AM
The buzzing sound woke up the government official. He rolled over tiredly in the bed, but had trained his body to become alert quickly. No one would call at this hour unless it was important.
The official spoke in his Japanese dialects, although his words were slightly slurred with sleep. "This phone call had better be because the world is coming to an end," he said with light humor. His hair stood up at odd angles. He stifled a yawn as he pushed his slightly oversize body, until it met the firm surface of the head of the bed.
He suddenly stilled. He blinked a few times to clear away the sleep, wishing that he was still dreaming, but knowing that it was anything but a dream.
His horrified eyes turned toward the clock on his bedside wall. The loud clicking of the second-hand dial, mocked him.
Tokyo
Current Day
Current Time
Five-seventeen AM
She was walking quickly. Her feet hurt. She sighed. She should have known better than to wear new high-heeled shoes on such a busy day. Even at this hour, there were a good amount of people in the building. She had been working all night and was ready to go to her small flat with her cat, and her comfy slippers. She sighed in anticipation.
Tokyo's Tall buildings were beautiful. Ayaka smiled as she looked at the multicolored lights from the other buildings. The pinks, greens, yellows, oranges, and blue lights lit beautifully, against the dark night background. The sun would be rising in less than two hours.
She turned the corner. Shin was walking up to her. Ayaka put on her best professional face, as she passed him. Shin's hands pushed a rebellious strand of long, dark hair backwards slowly. His Rolex watch glistened against the artificial lights. He smiled and winked at her, as he passed.
She kept her face neutral until he had completely past her. A smile lit her face.
Ayaka looked out of the, floor to ceiling, glass pane. She turned from the window to glance at her watch, when a blinding flash of light was seen out of one corner of her eye. Something pushed her in the air. Her body left the ground. She was flying, but that wasn't right, people could not fly. She felt tiny pellets, paper, and bodies hit her, fly past her, around her, under her. Was she still flying? She felt like eternity was squeezed into a few seconds.
The world and time, shifted into nothingness.
Several strands of her brown- colored hair flew in the wind like flags. She felt the hot wind first. She blinked repeatedly, her eyes starting to open, willing herself to wake. They rebelled and fought against her. Eventually, the battle was won and her eyes opened. She slowly and painfully pushed herself up to her elbows. She did not notice the crunch of glass beneath her hands. The window panes were completely gone now.
She looked around confused. Except for a low ringing sound in her ears, the world was silent. The color had disappeared. Everything was gray; shrouded in a gray dust. She looked a few yards away and saw something. It was a gray lump. She looked closer. That was a hand, a dust covered hand with a watch. It was a Rolex watch.
She noticed his open vacant eyes for the first time. She was wrong, not everything was gray. There was one other color. She noticed that darker color slowly spreading under his head.
Ayaka frowned as her mind tried to catch up with the reality of the horror that entered her eyes.
It finally did.
Someone was screaming. Long, primal, blood curdling screams. She did not hear. Her ears and her mind were broken. She could not know that the unnatural sounds were coming from herself.
The Coast of the United States of America, Bay Area
San Francisco 49ers American Football Stadium
Current Day
If there was ever a beautiful day for a game, this was it, he thought. A sea of bodies stood in the stadium. Hands were raised in unison, and placed on the heart, as voices joined in harmony to sing. The singer finished the last notes of the National Anthem. The crowds cheered happily.
The vendors moved up and down the stadium steps, like they were on escalators. They stopped and started, as they fed the crowd. Everyone seemed excited to be at the game, and away from where they had been all week.
The player's uniforms, the fake grass, the flags, the scoreboards, and the oversize electronic advertisements; overwhelmed the senses with color, movement, and sound. The moment was right, for beer, hotdogs, and colliding human bodies.
Down on the field the play started.
The home city quarterback squatted behind his line. A long legged, dark skinned player, with a perfect physique, tiptoed to the end of the line, and stood motionless. He looked like he could out fly the god Mercury.
The black and white stripe official, lean forward and harked. The volume of noise dropped in the stadium. As the quarterback yelped suddenly with the ball in his hand, making sounds that only his teammate could interpret.
The quarterback quickly fell back from the line, prepared to throw the ball. Suddenly, everything was in motion, the wide receiver shot down the field.
Suddenly, the round spear was hovering high in the air, matching the speed of the receiver.
The receiver caught the ball, and niftily sidestepped several opposing players. No one was anywhere near him, and he had fifty yards to run. He was showboating, and held the ball high in the air, looking back at the crowd. He didn't slow down but ran faster. The football fans roared.
The American Secretary of Defense, was enjoying the game. As a part of public relations, he had attended the game. It was an election year. It was one of the few times that his job was not stressful. He rarely got a chance to relax. He chuckled when he looked at the lone receiver who was far ahead of anyone else.
He took a bite of his hot dog before glancing down. His mobile phone sounded. He sighed as he looked at his mobile phone screen. He pushed a button that converted speech to text. He would not be able to hear. His eyes went wide with astonishment, as his mouth opened in disbelief. Before he could respond, several men in suits surrounded him and manhandled him out the stadium.
His pleas were ignored. He repeated three words over and over again.
The head of his Secret Service detail, replied to the Secretary of Defense, and said, "It's too late Sir. We have to follow protocol."
He still had to try. He insisted again. But, his pleas fell on deaf ears. "Get them out…" The Defense Secretary pleaded.
The car door slammed. The head agent hit the top of the car hood, to signal to the driver that he could leave. The black Cadillac Escalade truck peeled away from the parking garage. One truck drove in front. One truck drove behind. The sound of peeling tires was the last thing that the head agent heard.
The secret service agent hoped that the Defense Secretary would make it far enough away. He ran back into the stadium. He had to reach an announcer. He probably would not make it, but he had to try.
With a smile, the wide receiver looked back at the players he left in his wake. He heard a rumbling sound, and felt a fine tremor under his feet. A second of confusion entered his mind. This was San Francisco, he was used to earthquakes, but this, this was something else.
His strong athletic legs continued to stretch and contract, as he increased speed. He held on to the football reflectively. He turned his gaze to the back of him. The right side of the stadium disintegrated before his eyes. The left side crumbles slightly. At the same time, a blast of dust, soot, smoke, and debris, seemed to shoot up and outwards. This was followed by a heavy billow of dark gray smoke. It was surreal.
His head snapped forward. He ran faster. His own breath harsh now in his ears. Still, he held onto the ball.
He heard a strange sound. It was a tearing, screeching sound. He glanced backwards again. A huge tear appeared in the Astro turf. It was as if someone took the ground and ripped it in two, and that tear was moving toward him, fast.
Perplexed, he picked up speed, but the terror was moving faster. There was a simultaneous rumbling sound, which vibrated across the ground as he ran. He saw the whole stadium floor begin to heave and tear apart.
Chaos reigned, as people ran for their lives. The sound of screams joined the pandemonium. Smoke billowed from a huge gap behind him. Soon, debris flew upward from the hole. Everything seemed to be on fire. He fought to stay upright.
The movement of the ground, caused the receiver to stumble. Shocked by what was happening, he fell forward. But strangely, he did not hit the ground. It was as if a strange sort of hot wind blew him violently forward.
He wasn't sure how long it was before he opened his eyes. Probably only seconds. Sitting up, he twisted his body. He looked back, shaking. He realized with terror, that one foot lay centimeters from the opened, broken, hole in the ground.
The ground had disintegrated. Alarmed, he scampered back on his buttock, until he hit the partially erect cement wall. His body shook.
The ground had swallowed everyone. His team, the other team. They were gone. Vanished. It could not have been longer than two minutes, One hundred and twenty seconds. How can the world change so quickly? They were all gone. He was the only one left.
He opened his mouth to say something. Nothing came out. He closed it. He stared straight ahead, as a hot wind blew on his body. He looked down shaking, he opened his arms. He was a little sore, but otherwise seemed unharmed. He looked in shock, now realizing that he still had the football in his hands.
Over the Coast of the Mediterranean Sea
Current Day
Nine kilometers above the earth, the aircraft was cruising. The skies were surprisingly clear with just a few wisps of clouds below them. They would be arriving on time. There were two rows of passengers. Some were laughing, sleeping some were watching the telly. They were businessman and women who prepared for important meetings. Their hands flew back and forth hurriedly on their laptops.
A couple was watching quietly. His hand stroked his gray beard once before returning to the armrest. Over forty-three years of marriage had taught him when to nod at the appropriate times, while he kept the attention on his Mac. His wife occasionally whispered comments about the different passengers to him. He finished what he was doing and gently closed his laptop.
He looked over to his bride of many years. Her hair was mostly gray although he pretended not to notice when she colored it. She had a few more wrinkles, and a few more pounds, but her heart was still full of fire. His lips turned up slightly. She was still beautiful in his eyes. He simply looked at her. She stopped talking mid sentence, and stared oddly at him.
"What is it," she asked gently with a slight look of confusion.
He looked into the same gentle eyes that had looked back at him through good times and bad. He said quietly, "Nothing, my dear."
She smiled as he took her hand in his.
A sudden jolt of the cabin caused those walking to stumble. A, put on your seatbelt light, started to flash in repetition.
The man looked out of the airplane window. His eyes narrowed as he squinted through his eyeglasses. His mouth opened slightly. Was that smoke coming from the wing of the airplane, he wondered slightly numb. He did not notice the click of his seatbelt, as his wife first buckled him in, before she repeated the process on herself. He ignored everyone around, but his wife. Some were stunned into silence, others gasped, or cried. Airline personnel were giving instructions. All other noises around him seemed to melt away.
Realization came to him. He knew before he saw it. There was an orange ball of fire with yellow edges that was licking greedily at the wing of the plane. Simultaneously, an unidentifiable sound traveled through the airplane cabin as it jerked violently this time.
He turned to his wife and saw her looking at him. Her eyes were shining with tears yet she refused to let them fall. One rebelled and escaped down her cheek. Her husband leaned in and gave her a kiss. That kiss was filled with sorrow, and joy, gratitude and apologies, and a deep, passionate love.
Their forehead touched lightly. "Don't be afraid," he whispered barely able to speak.
The airplane began to rock violently now, the oxygen cannulas dropped, some of the luggage broke free from their prison and dropped on both passengers and the floor. They both ignored everything around them.
The noise was getting louder, the shaking, more violent. She smiled at him as her lips shifted closer to his ear. She kissed it before saying, "I love…" She never had the chance to finish. She did not have to.
He knew.
The destruction was mimicked in several countries around the world. Most had minimal casualties, due to the warnings that were given. In each country a black mushroom cloud ascended upward. It gained velocity and violence. Many kilometers into the atmosphere, it finally spread outward, as it increased in volume. A strange, hot wind accompanied it.
Eyes of all different shapes and colors, looked out through varied colored skin. Young and old, rich and poor, all economical, and cultural differences melted away at that moment. It did not matter.
There were no black, red, yellow, or white men, there were only humans united together, in fear. Each one was determined to win the race, for their lives.
221B Baker Street
Current Day
John ran up the stairs and headed over to the telly. He caught Sherlock's and Mycroft's eyes. His face was grim.
The flickering light, and images from the television contrast with the beautiful pre sunset lights. She rose without realizing what was happening.
Mrs. Holmes felt her sons come beside her, offering a solid presence, and comfort. Her eyes never left the television. She reached out her hands. Her left hand clasp Sherlock's hand, her right Mycroft's. They both squeezed her hand reassuringly. No one let go for a few seconds. They were not ashamed of the activity that went around them.
Mycroft spoke first. "Well, brother dear, I think we have awoken the sleeping bear…,"
The BBC reporter continued to speak. There were images of twisted metal, soot, and blackened debris. Images of utter shock, and grief, contorted the faces of the bystanders, which the news cameras transmitted around world. The scene changed. From the utter destruction of the business area of downtown Tokyo, to one of the United States. It was San Francisco, apparently.
Crying individuals, some battered and injured, others blemish free, spoke in breathy tones. Professional reporters interjected comments, with practiced looks of sympathy.
The scene switched again. Now it was one of debris, floating luggage, and areas of oil on ocean waves. Black smoke and fire was still burning on spotted areas in the water.
Mycroft looked intently at the telly as he added needlessly, "... And I think the bear is angry."
A/N: I hope that you enjoyed. Have some tea. You probably need it.
This week optional fun question:
"I dislike being outnumbered, it makes for too much stupid in the room."
In which series and episode is this statement found in?
Have fun.