Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 183
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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.
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Warning, Moriarty, having a good time. *****. *** T rated ***. *****
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? Answer: A Scandal in Belgravia: Series 2, Episode1
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A/N: Hi everyone. We're on the last post before the epilogue. Like the previous post, I broke it into three parts. Today's part one. Enjoy.
1 It Begins.
2. Feed the Fire.
3. Burn Baby Burn
4. Ashes. (This week's post.) Part A today
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 IV…"Attack or Defend… Ashes "
Part A
Chapter Notes: Little William is about one and a half years old. He had been hidden with his grandmother and Agent Thomas for almost four months before they were forced to move him to England.
Chapter References: Captain Mogoro chapter 38/ and Abdul chapter 43/ The bent over old man chapter152/ Dodger and Buzz chapter 181
Ring around the rosy
A pocketful of posies
"Ashes, Ashes"
We all fall down!
Current Day
Current Time
18 Hours to Go
"John," Sherlock called.
John's hand stilled. He replaced the half buttered slice of bread back on the countertop. He sighed resigned; he recognized the tone in his best mate's voice. He had hoped to get at least a piece of toast into Sherlock before Mycroft's car arrived. A few hurried steps carried him into the adjoining room. A few more steps and he was next to Sherlock. He followed Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock had his mobile phone in one hand, as he looked intently at the television.
A BBC1 News Broadcaster, with an expensive looking suit, a lighter colored shirt, and matching necktie, spoke with polished professionalism.
"The current threat level in the UK is considered critical. Government representatives are appealing to everyone to remain calm. Those who were unable to evacuate earlier are asked to please remain indoors. A mandatory curfew will be issued starting in two hours. Regular update broadcasts, will be transmitted hourly.
Members of the public should always remain alert to the danger of terrorism and are encouraged to report any suspicious activity to the police on 999 or the anti-terrorist hotline: 0800 789 321…"
John and Sherlock looked at each other with folded arms. They both glanced down at Sherlock's phone, as it began to ring.
Undisclosed Location
Earlier
32 Hours to Go
He smoothly removed his tired body from the Jeep. It had been a long ride through the winding, and at times treacherous mountain roads. They were just outside of his compound, which was hidden deep in the mountains of Southern France. There wasn't much light. The sun had set moments earlier. Only a faint orange glow on the horizon remained. He stretched slightly, as he removed his sunglasses. They were not necessary, and had not been for quite a while.
He watched from a distance, as truckload after truckload move toward the hidden facility. Soldiers walked about with automatic weapons. They periodically pushed their earpieces and spoke in unknown conversations with one another.
Despite Moriarty's wariness, he smiled. The final moves of the game. The game was everything. And it was his game. His smile widened.
Moriarty took several steps then stopped. "Sherlock?"
Moran was careful to keep the irritation out of his voice. Because of the genius of his mind, his boss was about to rule the world, yet, his focus was on the annoying man, Holmes. "His brother is keeping a careful eye on him, as well as Watson. We've made several attempts." There was a hesitation, "Sorry Sir, we will keep trying."
"Follow him from a distance. Don't let him out of your men's sight. Whether it's through his annoying brother or myself, I don't care. Make sure the Sherlock Holmes is protected." Moran looked at Sebastian with amusement, as they started to walk towards the compound. He had noticed Sebastian's attempts to hide his irritation. Sebastian obediently followed.
"You do understand those instructions, don't you, Seb?" Moriarty's dark eyes turned toward Sebastian.
"Yes Sir," Sebastian frowned as he grit his teeth together, "I understand Sir."
221B
Earlier
29 Hours to Go
After a week of constant activity, and agents, and Yarders in and out of the upper and lower levels of the home; the quiet seemed odd.
John's eyes squinted as it adjusted to the dimmer light. He walked with quiet, purposeful steps toward the silhouette on the couch. Light from the kitchen entered the moderately sized space, in broken shafts of light. Half of his body, his face, sweater, and checkered shirt were dimly illuminated. He took two steps closer. He stood for a moment, as blonde eyebrows knit unseen in the dark. Sherlock remained unmoving. Most people would have thought him to be asleep, or those that knew him better might have guessed him to be in his Mind Palace. He was not. John knew this.
John stood directly in front of him, but slightly to the left. It had been quite a day. His body shifted slightly as he frowned. He shifted his head again. He now noticed the timed, dripping of water, as it escaped the kitchen faucet, and collided with the sink's solid surface. He must not have turned off the kitchen faucet tight enough, he decided with half of a thought.
He turned his body around and sat heavily on the edge of the couch. He could see Sherlock better now that his eyes were adjusted. A deep breath was taken, before a resigned sigh was pushed out between pursed lips. He knew he had to say something, but what words would he use? A hand ran across his face tiredly. In life, there are moments, which are too big for the words, and the words too inadequate, and small for that moment. John recognized that this was such a moment. But what could he do? Although intelligent, he had no genius mind, no special gifts. All he had were words.
His voice seemed too loud in the darkened living room. "You've saved a lot of lives today Sherlock."
"Three things are wrong with that statement John," Sherlock informed him with a quiet sarcasm.
John sighed, "I'm sure that you are going to tell me in great detail about all three." His voice was slightly annoyed, but somewhat relieved.
Sherlock turned his head toward John. "How about I tell you quickly? The first is that, technically it's a new day, John. Secondly, I didn't exactly do it alone, did I." He paused slightly, "And what was the last?" He turned and looked away from John, "Oh yes, I remember now. A significant amount of people died, John."
John raised his eyebrows, frowning.
Sherlock chuckled once without humor before adding tiredly, "I know what you're about to say, John. Look how many people are alive because you acted quickly. It could have been a lot worse. A good amount of people are alive in London today because of you Sherlock." Sherlock raised his voice in a type of self mockery, as he imitated the higher pitched voice of a woman. "Aren't you wonderful Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock Holmes the magnificent. Sherlock Holmes the hero. Sherlock Holmes, the all seeing. Sherlock Holmes the…"
"Stop it!" John hissed quietly interrupting. He put his left hand on Sherlock's wrist. "Just stop…, Please."
"And you accuse me of not having a sense of humor," Sherlock said with false cheerfulness.
John said with all seriousness, "I won't allow anyone to insult my best mate, not even you. Do we understand each other?"
Sherlock Holmes brought his hands together, pressing his fingers tip to tip, as it rested gently under his chin. There was a moment of silence before a quiet, "Yes," was heard.
After another brief silence, John said, "You need to get some rest."
Sherlock sighed, "Lovely thought, John, but," he pointed to his head, as one finger came up, tapping three times. "It won't shut down; every possibility, anomaly, everything and anything that could have changed the statistics, keeps replaying in my mind." There was a gentle, humorless chuckle. "It's my greatest treasure, and my persistent curse, John… my mind."
They were both quiet for a few minutes. John's steady, quiet voice broke the silence.
"I was cross-trained as both a sniper and a sharp shooter, in the military, of course. For a brief period of time, eleven months that is, I went on multiple missions, as part of a specialized unit." John looked at the darkened floors. He seemed to be examining it.
"I've suspected, of course, but, this is the first time that you've admitted that fact to me," Sherlock commented. He did not notice that his body had lost some of it's stiffness. His head was leaning on the back of the couch.
John pursed his lips in concentration and some embarrassment. "It's because I became quite good at it." He looked toward his friend, and Sherlock looked back. "I'm a Doctor Sherlock; I'm supposed to save lives. The fact that I was accurate with a weapon was never something I planned…" He worried the inside of his jaw, as he bit gently with his teeth, "… or was particularly proud of." There was a beat of silence before he added with a shrug, "It seemed like a contradiction."
Sherlock nodded and looked at John briefly. His eyes held support, not judgment. John noticed Sherlock's look of support and smiled gratefully, before he lowered his head. This time, the silence was not forced, but comfortable. John heard Sherlock's voice again.
"John."
"Yes Sherlock?"
"It's not over."
"I know Sherlock," John's voice was steady.
Both men sat side-by-side for a moment. Sherlock spoke with an uncharacteristic hesitancy. "I still have my pirate book, the one I read as a child. The pages are worn, but I've never tossed it in the rubbish bin. Despite the fact that I am a grown man, I still have it." Sherlock nodded once at the end of his speech, as if the physical act had solidified his confession.
John turned to look at Sherlock, and twisted his lips as he said, "I still have my first set of action men. I don't actually play with them anymore, mind."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but knew it was wise to remain silent.
"… But I do like to pull them out every now and then, and sort of look at them." John added innocently.
Sherlock's mouth turned up into a half smile. Oh well, he tried. He couldn't resist commenting. "Do you define looking at them, as playing with them, as you change your voice to match the different pretend characters?"
"Yes, yes I do for the record, smart arse." The former soldier chuckled lightly as he glanced into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock's rich baritone voice joined John's quiet laugh.
"John," Sherlock turned toward John again. "I… I read the Pirate book to William, the day I was left with him. He seemed to like it as much as I did at his age. From what Irene told me, he seems to love pirates. She never understood it. She didn't know that I liked pirates at his age." Sherlock's voice held amazement and wonder. John smiled at the look of astonishment on his best mate's face.
They both spoke for close to an hour, they had shared almost everything with each other, but the few hidden places seemed as if they were now revealed. Sherlock shared with John about his feelings of Irene. Of his confusion when she disappeared for ten months. Of how they would communicate by text daily, and talk sometimes. But how she made him promise that he would not look for her. John spoke of his childhood, and of wanting to please his father. He talked about joining the military to please him, of never quite feeling good enough, or wanted by the strict, cold man. They went back and forth for a while, first listening, then talking, then listening again.
They had been silent for close to ten minutes; as both men just listened to the other breathe. John's eyes were drifting shut, when it opened suddenly at the sound of Sherlock's voice, "Be warned. If I ever hear about me keeping my childhood book, on your blog, John Watson, they'll be a nice fresh body part in your bed when you wake up."
John chuckled softly before turning toward Sherlock. He had no doubt that the git would do exactly as he said. "Never mate. Besides, you're Sherlock Holmes, no one would believe me." He turned to look at Sherlock, but his eyes were closed, and soft snoring sounds were coming from him.
"Sleep well," John half slurred before leaning his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closed within seconds.
Undisclosed Location
Earlier
22 Hours to Go
The room contained leaders of the world. Mycroft listened as the men, and a few women discussed, and sometimes argued, back and forth. Several persons, including himself, had made their positions known. The giant monitor in front of them was being readied. A secure satellite feed, with new and critical information was being prepared.
Mycroft pulled out his pocket watch, glanced at it casually, and then returned it to the inner vest pocket of his suit. They had a busy schedule that day, and they were slightly behind schedule. He had a meeting with the Director General of JTAC, in a little over two hours. He needed to get back to his office, then Sherlock. In the last twenty-four hours, he had stopped two attempts at kidnapping Sherlock. The attempts were almost sloppy; it was not Moriarty's usual style. Moriarty wanted Sherlock with him. Strangely, the older Holmes believed it was an attempt to keep him safe. This was troubling because that also meant that whatever the Consultant Criminal was going to do, he was going to do it soon. Very soon.
There were a few clicking sounds in the room, as some men prepared to start the video feed. Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes with impatience. The video feet started.
Mycroft blinked a few times as he looked around the room. There were over thirty-two men, and three women in the room. The video feed was very secure; he looked around as his eyes narrowed. With a subtle movement of his hand, he took out his Smartphone and started to text without looking at the screen. He glanced down briefly, as he looked at Anthea's response. Someone in that room was a traitor. His eyes looked from one person to the other deducing. It landed on one representative from a particular country. He text again, this man needed to be watched. A familiar voice drew his attention back to the large monitor.
Video Monitor
"Hello- Hello- Hello. I apologize for crashing your little party, but I didn't get an invite. Naughty, naughty." Moriarty's image was dim. It was as if he did not want the people in the room, to get a full picture of what he really looked like. His voice however was full, rich, and annoyingly clear.
"Gentlemen, I'm sure that you have questions, many questions. Who is that man? How did he get on our secure network? Why is he so devilishly handsome? Where does he purchase his suits?" The outline shifted and moved. "I'll answer some of your questions, but first, since I like stories, let me tell you a story."
"It can be a fictional or a true story. The choice is yours. Years from now, two people will be talking. They will remember how nuclear war tore the world apart, and twisted nature until it was unrecognizable."
"The humans who are left wondering, formed small communities. They manage to find a way through life. The snow turns to fire. The rain becomes acid. Nations break apart. Small groups control the world. One man controls the small groups."
Moriarty stopped suddenly, "I know what you're thinking. I just read you the first page of some crappy science fiction book. But you know it could be true, don't you. What I say could happen."
"Most people in the world would laugh. They would think this is a fantasy. Something that could never happen. If that is their thoughts. And that is your thoughts as well; may I remind you of one thing? August six, 1945. I am sure that most people of the world at that time would have thought that it was impossible. That there was a weapon so massive, so destructive, that it would change the face of weaponry forever. The bombing of the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, by atomic weapons, proved those critics wrong. Everyone in this room knows that there's something far worse today. You've kept it from the public, haven't you? But I know about it, and soon so will the world.
"There is an advance weapon system J.A.N.D. The Joint Arsenal and Nuclear Defense system. Whoever came up with the idea of Project Lazarus was quite brilliant. I hope that you at least gave him, or her a cookie. It gave all the countries in the United Nations the ability to launch defensive strikes simultaneously, as well as jam the satellite signals of aggressive country. Everything being controlled by one computer program. It also gave you the ability to protect yourself against a new weapon that kills using microwave emissions. No buildings, or infrastructures would be destroyed, just the people." Moriarty's smile happily, "Neat!"
Although it was hard to tell in the dim light, Moriarty's outlined face gave what appeared to be a wink, as he added "Do you agree, Commrade?"
Mycroft noticed as the Russian representative notably squirmed. Of course he pretended not to notice; most people in the room did the same.
"If someone was to ... Say... Control the system, it would be catastrophic. They would be capable of destroying your countries, twice. Three times in the case of North Korea." Jim's wink was clear this time. "I'm not supposed to know about this so Shhhhhh…" He held up a finger to his lips. "Guess who is controlling both weapon systems as we speak."
Several people in the room took out their cell phones, and started to speak quietly. Several more had motioned for their assistant to come near them. They started to speak in hushed, quiet tones. Mycroft took it all into a corner of his mind. His attention, however, never wavered from Moriarty. He took in every movement, inflection of voice, and mannerisms, as he deduced.
"The only question I'm here to ask you today gentlemen, and ladies, is what will your choice be? Will you bow to me willingly, or will you be forced? The choice is yours. But, make no mistake about this one fact," his eyes became dark, his voice low with deadly intent, "you will bow."
"Before you make up your minds gentlemen," Moriarty peered into the camera as if he could see the two women that were in the room before saying, "Oh sorry, and ladies, I have a question for you. Do you know what time it is?" Moriarty notably raised his hand and tapped repeatedly on his watch. At the bottom of the screen. The numbers started to count down electronically from twenty-one hours and ten minutes.
Moriarty sat back and folded his arm. "I suspect that that you might have guessed who I am, but let me confirm your suspicions. Mycroft Holmes has been kind enough to introduce me, but for the sake of manners, let me formally introduce myself." He paused for what would have been a comically long time if it was not for the seriousness of the dialog.
"I'm Jim. Jim Moriarty, and I want you to bow. The only question left is… Will you bow to me willingly, or will you kneel to me… in ashes."
Mycroft did not notice that he stood. His body was still as he looked at the monitor. His eyes narrowed as he heard Moriarty say, "Let me tell you what will happen if you do not comply. But first the fun part." Moriarty's overly white teeth shone, as he smiled broadly before adding, "Let's start with a list of my demands..."
Mycroft felt Anthea's presence before he saw her. Both of their eyes traveled to the monitor. "Evacuate the cities," he whispered quietly.
221B Baker Street
Earlier
20 Hours to Go
The sound of hushed voices floated into his subconscious mind. Within a few minutes, he was blinking his eyes open. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were talking quietly as she poured him tea. Sherlock was sitting quietly. He had showered and changed his suit. The Consultant Detective's hair was still wet from the shower.
John ran a hand over his face as his other hand pushed his body up into a sitting position. He took a few seconds to acclimate himself. He had been lying on the sofa. Apparently at some point in the morning, Sherlock had put a duvet over him. He looked at his wrinkle shirt, and trousers, before looking over to Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. If it was anyone other than the three, he would've been embarrassed.
He took a second to stifle a yawn. When he was finished, he noticed a patterned teacup in front of his face. He nodded gratefully as he accepted it from Lestrade. Sherlock stopped reading a document and sighed. He seemed to notice his surroundings for the first time as his eyes traveled around the small group, and came to rest on John. The two men held each other's gaze for a few minutes, as a sort of silent understanding passed between the two. Lestrade noticed, yet did not comment. Within a few seconds, The Consultant Detective's eyes picked up another document and started to read it.
John got up and moved up toward his bedroom and his shower.
Within fifteen minutes, a much more alert John Watson was walking back down. Several new voices had joined Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock. Donovan was there talking, and Agent Pearson glanced at Watson, as he walked toward the door.
John walked toward Sherlock with question in his eyes as Sherlock walked toward him. Judging from the noise that was coming from Mrs. Hudson's flat, several of the agents and Yarders had returned, and were using it.
"John," Mycroft has a lead; we've discussed several possibilities on Moriarty's next possible action and..."
Before Sherlock could get another word out of his mouth, his mobile rang. Both men looked at each other warily, before Sherlock's long legs carried him the short distance almost instantly. A quick glance at John told him that it was not Moriarty as they had expected.
"What did you find out?" Sherlock asked his brother without a greeting. As Sherlock listened, his face took on a grim expression. Most people would not be able to tell, but Lestrade and John could tell. It was the slight tightening of his facial muscles and slight wrinkling to the corners of his eyes. Donovan watched quietly as her eyes traveled erratically from John, to Sherlock, to Lestrade, back to Sherlock.
He disconnected the phone and remained quiet for a second. He looked at John.
"I'll call Buzz and Milty," John said as he pulled out his mobile and moved away. Sherlock nodded relieved as he followed John's movements.
"Do you care to share with me what the bloody hell is going on?" Lestrade's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Moriarty has left a love note." Sherlock's eyes then shifted to Lestrade as he said, "I need you to do something that I trust only you to do. And Greg, you need to hurry."