Forgotten Memories Chapter 185, a sherlock fanfic

Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 185

*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?

Acknowledgements' and fun question winners will be announced in Part C. There is still time to answer the fun question if you like. It was "Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others." Which series and episode is this sentence found in?

1 It Begins.

2. Feed the Fire.

3. Burn Baby Burn.

4. Ashes. Part B today. Read both chapters or split them up. It is up to you, make yourself happy. (The last part before the epilogue, part C will be up soon.)

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

ashes

***If you want to know what music Moriarty was listening to, go to YouTube and put in, Flower duet-Anna Netrebko-Elina Garanca (Lakmé de Delibes)+lyrics (paroles) No spaces. It should work in most countries. The opera song is titled, Delibes Flower Duet.

ashes

"The day you allow others to stand in your way is the day you allow yourself to fall. You must prevail to your last breath. Failure is not an option."

~Michael Kilby

He refused to look away. Even though his friend's eyes were filled with pain, and he knew that, although it was not his intent, nonetheless, he was the cause of it. There was no more moisture in his mouth, his mouth was so dry, and yet he had to speak.

"Don't." There was an acquired desperateness in the normally composed man's voice. "Don't you dare John Watson." Sherlock's voice broke, "Don't you dare."

John wanted to listen. If only he could.

"I'm sorry." John whispered comfortingly with a weak smile. "I'm sorry."

That is when it happened. Sherlock's world stopped burning. There was nothing left to burn. All that remained was ash.

Undisclosed Location

Current Day

The volume of the music was turned up to an almost painful level. He took a deep, peaceful breath. He exhaled all the recent tension. The voices of the two Sopranos floated around him in a gentle caress. He said in his red high wing backed chair, that he had one of his men bring into the room. The two voices continued to sing as they pulled and pushed at each other and harmonious tones.

The voices sang, "… Darns land fre´missante…," as the musical notes became more forceful. The sweet melody raised higher, and higher, in a crescendo of sound. One finger twirled in time to the music.

Moriarty opened his eyes and sighed contentedly, before looking up and away to the left wall. It had five side-by-side monitors. Each monitor had its own clock, which was centered directly above its monitor. The clocks represented the time in the country that he was viewing. On one monitor, he watched as a tall and slender silver missile lifted itself into the air. The missile traveled upward at an alarming speed. It raced toward the atmosphere in a straight line before its trajectory started to curve its descent toward the Earth, and England.

"Beautiful," Moriarty breathed, as the silver container of death descended. His mobile phone was still clutched loosely in one hand, as it gently rested on his left thigh. He slowly brought the wine glass to his lips with the other hand, as he took a sip of the expensive red wine. He thought of Sherlock.

"Burnnnnn." He whispered as his lips turned up into a satisfied, malevolent smile.

Current Day

The Streets of London

Lestrade and Donovan walked about in their riot gear. Several officers stayed close to them as well. They had made three arrests in the last hour and a half. Except for one man, these were not hardened criminals, but desperate and perhaps stupid people.

Donovan handed over a drunken youth to a constable. He was loaded into the police car, as he went in-between singing happily, and giggling uncontrollably. He thought it would be fun to start throwing beer bottles through windows and cracking them.

Donovan watched as the police car drove away. She walked up to Lestrade. The Detective Inspector's attention seemed to be upward, he was looking at the sky.

She frowned, "What are you looking at?" She started to ask as her eyes followed his. A few of the officers and the few people who were on the streets unlawfully, looked up as well. There was a bright light that shined across the sky. There was a burst of pure white light, with reddish orange edges. It rapidly expanded in a perfect circle outward. It reminded her of the circles of a cigarette that expanded outwards while dissipating until gone.

Donovan's mouth hung open. "Lestrade?"

"Bloody hell," Lestrade whispered. "Bloody hell," he repeated for no reason at all.

Undisclosed Location

Current Day

Kevin's fingers flew frantically across the keyboards, as he tried desperately to finish entering the sequence of codes. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, as they waited to see if the Project Lazarus system would respond. After several long and excruciating seconds, the computer blinked a series of rhythmic noises. The prompt to enter the command came to the screen. Kevin's eyes widened in both surprise and slight disbelief. His fingers flew frantically across the keys, as he entered the codes in the sequence of fours instead of three. Another series of command prompts came onto the screen, as he quickly filled the prompts. The automated system automatically verified the entered codes.

"It accepted them," Kevin said a little too loudly, breathlessly.

Several persons next to him automatically started the sequence. Suddenly, the computer blacked out; all the screens in the room went black. There were three more beeping sounds, and then the computer screen came back up again. Words and numbers flew across the screen at a dizzying speed, unaided by human hands.

Kevin looked at the people next to him and said desperately, "Someone has taken over the system; I thought that I had gotten through."

A man in the suit, one of the supervisors, put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't worry son. You didn't fail, that is the Project Lazarus System taking over the controls."

Patel inhaled, as the burning in his lungs informed him that he had been holding his breath. Everyone's eyes were glued to the monitors as they looked at the rocket that had become smaller in the distance. It started its descent toward the Earth, when suddenly, its direction corrected in an attempt to correct its course.

A man from the corner, with a white lab jacket, and sweat covered brow, explained.

"… The system is built to defend. It's attempting to shift the missile's course to take it outside of the stratosphere. Even an explosion above the Earth would affect us in some way. Radiation would descend. But, if we could get it above our atmosphere, The stratosphere," the man paused at the confused looks of some the non-scientists people in the room, "That's one of the outer layers of our world; it will protect us the same way that it protects us from the sun's radiation. " Several heads in the room nodded, before eyes returned to the video screen. Everyone watched quietly, as they hoped that it would make it above the atmosphere before it exploded.

A distinctive thick gray cloud trailed behind the white fire of the missile's tail. It looked as if a child had drawn a line marking where the ship had passed. Several tense minutes passed, as the rocket slowly continued to correct its direction, and ascend upwards again. Within a few minutes, an explosion was seen. It colored the atmosphere reddish-orange like fireworks. It was almost beautiful.

Cheers simultaneously broke out around the room. Startled by the sudden noise, William jumped in his mother's arms, and clung heavily to her. She rubbed soothingly, as she made nonsense noises of encouragement. Miranda Holmes joined rubbing Williams back reassuringly. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were hugging one another.

John was standing next to Sherlock. He closed his eyes and breathed a few times to get his emotions under control, before opening them and looking at his best friend. He found Sherlock had already been staring intently at him. What was there to say?

"Well," John said. "That was exciting," he purposely imitated his flatmate's tendency to understate the dramatic.

"Quite," Sherlock said simply, with raised eyebrows. A slow smile started to creep on his normally stoic face.

Both men just stood still for a moment, before Sherlock walked the short distance over to Kevin Patel. The young man looked shaken, and was visibly trembling. His eyes were closed, as he sat with folded arms. He seemed to sense Holmes presence and opened his eyes, turning them to glance up at the tall dark-haired man.

Sherlock locked eyes with him for a moment, deducing. He finally spoke. "Not too bad." He said simply.

Holmes looked at him for a few more seconds before turning and walking away without another word. Doctor Watson gave Kevin a warm smile, before he too turned and followed the taller man. Kevin watched as Holmes took the young child into his arms, and simply looked at him. The beautiful woman beside him was quietly looking at them both. The small group of several persons seemed to move closer to each other. Kevin noticed as Holmes took the hand that was not holding the child, and held the beautiful woman's hand in his much larger hand.

Kevin turned away suddenly, feeling as if he was intruding. His mind returned to his own mother, and sisters. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, before picking up his mobile. He ignored his shaking hands, as he concentrated to make sure he pressed the right phone keys. The send button was pressed. Within a few seconds, his call connected.

"It's me," he said as soon as the line connected. Kevin smiled as he listened to the caller on the other end speak frantically with concern. "I'm fine." He closed his eyes and said again more quietly, gratefully. "We're all fine."

Undisclosed Location

Current Day

The red wine slowly found its way into the cracks of the concrete floor, as pieces of glass shards were propelled by the force of the impact into unexpected places. Moriarty stood rigidly with clenched fixed against his sides as he looked at the monitors. The calls continued to come. He knew the source of his irritation.

Mycroft Holmes.

Everything was falling apart at once. The sound of the crash could almost be heard. His armies were currently being surrounded on all sides, and subdued. Most of the nuclear and weapons countdowns had been stopped. Only two missiles had managed to go into the air. One had headed toward London; he had looked forward to seeing it burn. Instead, that same missile had exploded after being guided directly into space. The other missile was nonnuclear and had been directed into the middle of The North Sea.

It was so quiet that if a safety-pin was dropped on the floor, it would have been heard. His men and the scientists in the room looked at each other wordlessly, before looking at their boss. Everyone in the room that knew him, subconsciously, or purposely moved away from him. Those that knew him knew it was not wise to be close to him when he became angry. Those who were new to the organization looked at the men and women who moved away curiously. Moran stood the closest to him in silence. Sebastian turned his head slightly, as he looked straight ahead at the monitors wordlessly.

All of Moriarty's connections to the satellite, and to the Project Lazarus System had been severed. Someone had also managed to sever his connection to the advance weapon system that he had hidden in Africa.

So, Sherlock had managed to figure out the puzzle. Interesting, Moriarty thought. Part of him was annoyed beyond belief. But, a very small and tiny part was proud that Sherlock was still at the top of his game. He had thrown everything at him but Holmes still managed to stay standing. He had not collapsed into a sniffling, fragile, and pathetic lump of humanity. A normal person would have. He had to admit, that would've been both dull and boring, not worthy of his adversary. The phone rang yet again, he overheard one of his top men taking the call. He gritted his teeth with irritation, as he listened to one side of the conversation. He already knew that within forty-eight hours, it would all be over.

He looked at Sebastian without saying a word.

Sebastian looked into the eyes of his boss. Moriarty was unnaturally quiet. Moriarty was never quiet, even when he was still. He would subconsciously tap a finger or foot. And those few times when he was perfectly still, there would be a raging fire behind his eyes. Madness would dance back and forth behind them. And yes, for the record, Sebastian knew that Jim was quite mad, but he still worship the man. He frowned. Now, Jim was perfectly and completely still. It reminded Sebastian of when he was a child, there had been a bad storm. It had uprooted small trees and broken windows. The hail had come and done damage. Then a quiet calm had come, and airy stillness. Beautiful blue skies had returned, and not even the wind had dared to blow. As a young child, he had thought that the storm was over. But it was not. It was simply the eye of the storm. Within an hour, the storm had returned with such a devastating vengeance, his family had barely survived with just their lives. Many people who lived in the area did not survive the day.

Sebastian sighed deeply, as he pulled out his handgun, and handed it to Moriarty. Moriarty locked eyes with Moran as he released the safety off the gun. Within less than a minute, a body slumped to the floor. The man who was the closes to his left gargled and moaned in pain, as the warm, red liquid ran out of his mouth. No one dared to move or to help him.

He handed the gun back to Sebastian who quietly put it back into its holster that was under his suit.

"Better?" Sebastian asked.

A simple rising of one eyebrow high up on Moriarty's forehead, communicated that Sebastian was an idiot for even asking the question. Sebastian's frown deepened apologetically. He, however, did not say a word.

Moriarty moved toward the exit without another word. Within forty-eight hours he would be a wanted man. Not just by Mycroft this time, but by the international community. He had outfitted the compound with enough food, weapons, and self-sufficient energy to survive for years if needed, without emerging. He now left hurriedly without even packing his suitcase. Moran, and his key men and women left with him. They would be driving most of the night.

Two Days Later

Current Day

Sherlock sat quietly by. They had been listening to the elder Holmes for almost forty minutes. It was unusual for Sherlock not to interject a comment. John glanced at his friend before asking.

"So, it's over?" John looked him

Mycroft sat quietly as he thought. "The man has disappeared," he began easily, as if it was an expected thing. "He's been placed number one on Interpol's list. Multiple nations are racing to see who could capture him the fastest. The Germans, Americans, and of course the British governments have sent agents to actively pursue him. More countries are helping in small but important ways." Mycroft pursed his lips. "Normally, when this happens, I would say that he will be captured within weeks, a month at the most," he smiled without humor, as he interjected, "but this is Moriarty. We know that he's not exactly… Ordinary."

He looked at his brother as he said it, "The criminal groups that he had organized into one big organization have split. Some of them are even doing our jobs for us, and exterminating rival groups. His hold on them seems to have been broken when his little," Mycroft thought for a few seconds before continuing, "party was broken up. The government has confiscated more money, bank accounts, and properties, I'm sure that he has some unknown hidden properties. And enough money to live his life comfortably. That's if he keeps a low profile. Can he do such a thing is the real question, isn't it."

Sherlock glanced at his brother, then John before nodding once. He stapled his fingers under his chin and looked at nothing in particular.

Mycroft sighed briefly before adding, "It would appear that Robert Anderson has disappeared. It was during the missile crisis. Apparently, he was being transferred."

"Moran." Both brothers echoed at the same time. They looked at each other surprised before Sherlock looked away.

Sherlock listened patiently without saying another word. The Consultant Detective could normally not keep quiet during a conversation without at least saying a word, or demonstrating his brilliance in some way. John face contorted into an expression of concern. He listened as Mycroft continued to tell them the details of what had occurred during the last two days, and what would be occurring within the next several weeks to come. After listening silently for an hour, Sherlock walked quietly to the window and look reflectively at the passing crowds. Although there was minor damage to the city, most everything has gone back to normal. The mandatory curfew had been lifted, and all public transportation had resumed. The news media still ran daily stories of the devastation, and the potential near catastrophe. However, an easily bored humanity was now interested in more relevant topics, such as who the latest television personality was dating, or who was the baby's real daddy on the Jeremy Kyle show.

The younger Holmes continued to glance. Mycroft had grown quiet. Sherlock's eyes traveled, as he scanned the streets, the buildings, and then the sky. Everything looked peaceful. If one did not know about what had occurred just days before, one would've thought that nothing had happened. For most people, the memories would fade to a curious event, and then an occasional thought. Something that one spoke of at parties or in private conversations for excitement. But, he knew that he would always remember everything in great detail. It was at times like these that the Consultant Detective envied those who did not have his mind.

He exhaled quietly as he looked at the window. A few early risers walked below. The sky had scattered pockets of heavy clouds, which golden edges reflected the early morning's light. The ground was still wet from the night's downpour of rain. He did not bother to turn when he heard soft footsteps to his left. He could tell the pattern of the man's steps anywhere.

"It looks like the worst of the storm has passed, then." The voice floated from the side of him.

Sherlock said nothing. He's simply continued to look at the sky, and edges of the buildings, and the few people who were below. He felt John moved even closer to him. John, however, did not say another word. He just watched with him.

Mycroft watched them both from Sherlock's chair. Surprisingly, he did not even make a phone call. They all just sat quietly, as each one simply remembered what it felt like to…. Breathe.