Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 187
*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.
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The last optional fun question 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?
Answer: The Hounds of Baskerville, Series two, episode one.
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Warning Moriarty*****. *** T rated ****. ****Need I Say More ?
1 It Begins.
2. Feed the Fire.
3. Burn Baby Burn.
4. Ashes. (The last part of part C ). Multiple chapter. Read slowly or quickly. Make yourself happy.
5. Epilogue ( One chapter. In 2 weeks)
Final Moves… Part IV…"Attack or Defend… Ashes
Note: in vino veritas means truth in wine (latin), or the truth is found in the wine.
**Instead of the fun question, to honor the brilliant series, I have scattered phrases from both the cannon and all 7 episodes of BBC Sherlock. Feel free to mention any that you might notice.
Here is an example of a phrase that is hidden in the chapters; "There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before." This is from, A Study in Scarlet. Have fun.
PART C
*** Sorry for the delay. It was unavoidable. Love to all. Enjoy.
"All the worlds a stage, and all the men and women, merely players." ~ William Shakespeare
Near the Thames
Current Day
His roaming eyes took everything in, quietly. It had taken fifteen minutes before Lestrade realized that something was wrong. It had taken another ten minutes to become concerned, five more minutes to ring Mycroft, and another five before all hell broke out. They discovered that they had been in the London area when Sherlock's tracker was activated. The tracker, however, was unnecessary. It had been the call from the missing Consultant Detective, which had told them the missing pair's exact location.
A raised voice got his attention. The elder Holmes raised an eyebrow, and pursed his lips, before exhaling softly and walking over. His brother was in rare form. As irritating as that fact was, he resisted a small smile. If Sherlock was being difficult, it meant that he was unharmed.
"… I do not need you to take my vital signs. I feel perfectly fine. My blood pressure's fine. My pulse is fine." Sherlock raised an eyebrow with crossed arms, as he glared at the thermometer. "If you try to stick anything in any part of me, I'll return the favor." His words were slow and clear. His smile was razor-sharp. The startled medical worker took one step back.
Mycroft did not turn around when he heard quickly paced steps coming from behind him. "John, would you do something with my brother." Mycroft did not bother to look to his left. Within seconds, he noted John's silhouette out of his peripheral visual field.
John did not say anything at first. He noticed the orange shock blanket that was lying in a heap on the ground beside the ambulance. He was surprised to notice that Sherlock had not completely left out of the ambulance, or area. He seemed to be staying close to Donovan. Even more amazing, they weren't in the middle of their normal argument.
John's eyes turned toward the Sergeant. He noticed Sergeant Donovan quietly sitting on the trolley, while her blood pressure was being taken. An ice pack was positioned on the side of her face. He frowned slightly; she looked a little… dazed. It was out of character for Sally Donovan not to be up immediately, ignoring the injury, and giving orders. He glanced over her in a way that he hoped was subtle. Except for the bruises, she seemed fine physically.
"Has he threatened the medical workers yet?" John asked offhandedly.
"Just," Mycroft replied.
The British Government's mobile rang. He answered the call. He ignored John's eyes, which seemed to be fastened to the side of his head. Within fifteen minutes, he had disconnected. He was about to speak with John, when he noticed Sherlock's eyes studying him. He glanced at John, and then walked toward Sherlock. John followed wordlessly.
"I thought that we had discussed your need to play well with other children?" Mycroft began without preamble, as soon as he was close enough to have a private conversation with his brother. He did not bother to tell his brother to stay seated and allow the medical worker to administer care. He noticed that Sherlock glanced at Donovan, before he stepped just outside the ambulance.
There was a moment of silence, while both Mycroft and John took a closer look at Sherlock.
Sherlock lost patience and rolled his eyes before saying with slight exasperation, "I'm fine."
When John pointedly looked at his bruised jaw and bloodied nose, Sherlock smiled.
The Consultant Detective said matter of fact, "They look worse."
John exhaled relief before turning to look at Donovan.
Sherlock answered his unasked questions. "She's a little banged up, but she's strong." The younger man seemed to be searching for the right words to explain her unusual quietness. He finally settled on one word. "Sentiments."
Mycroft spoke, as Lestrade made his way over to the small group "All of the men who kidnapped you are in custody except for Anderson. He seemed to have disappeared." He became quiet, as his eyes traveled up to Sherlock's. "I don't believe he's clever enough to outsmart both my men, and Scotland Yard."
"Agreed," Sherlock frowned. "You know what that means."
"But of course," his brother replied.
Lestrade walked up and quietly joined the group. John's eyes traveled between Sherlock and Mycroft. The two seemed to be looking at each other with knowing eyes? John looked at the brothers.
John finally rolled his eyes in exasperation and said, "For the rest of us who don't have psychic powers, could you please finish the conversation with words, and English is preferred. How do you think Anderson managed to not get arrested? Moran?"
They both turned toward him simultaneously with raised eyebrows before Sherlock spoke. "No. Moriarty."
Lestrade spoke for the first time. "Blimey, that's going to be unpleasant."
No one responded to Lestrade's comment. Within fifteen minutes, they were heading back to their homes. Everyone pretended not to be surprised when Sherlock volunteered to transport Donovan to her flat, or when she went quietly, walking closely beside Sherlock, without saying a word.
The Holmes Family Manor
Current Day
The service worker smiled and nodded as he moved into the kitchen. There were several workers who had gone in and out of one area of the mansion. Apparently, one of the rooms was being renovated. He had been employed to work in the manor for the past two weeks. All the activity had double. They wanted all the work to finished in the next week. This was his fifth time coming in and out in two days. The security checks that they had been subjected to, bordered on the ridiculous. However, the job paid exceptionally well. Most people would have thought the money was worth the invasion of privacy. A month ago, he would have thought the same thing.
He shivered slightly, as he lay on his back on the cold tile floor. His shirt slid slightly against the unforgiving surface, as his arm forcefully turned the pipe joint, which yielded to him after a slight amount of protests. A few drops of water dripped slowly on his shirt and face. He took one hand and held the pipe joint in place, as his other hand wiped both the water, and sweat into his hairline. He adjusted his body's angle. He whispered a swear, as his grip tightened. The fight against the metal pipes continued. A shiver ran through his body; it began in his middle, and seemed to travel to his toes and fingertips. It was the cold that made him shiver, he told himself. He continued to work quietly.
The man that watched him closely was not there today. In fact, he had not been there all week. What was the man's name, the service worker wondered. Thomas, he thought he heard other people call him Mister Thomas. Mister Thomas' replacement was not as cautious. The newer man had stopped paying attention to him after the first fifteen minutes. He went about his duties in the second partially renovated smaller kitchen/laboratory. They were renovating half of it into some kind of a laboratory. He was redirecting some of the plumbing into the small, newly renovated area.
He watched the movement in the manor with what he hoped was a non-interested expression. Twice, he saw new furniture arriving. A small size bed, and other furniture were currently being moved past the doorway. It disappeared down the long corridor. The furnishings seemed to be made for a child; however he did not notice any children around. He had also noticed when they brought small toys into the mansion. He tried to find information by gossiping with the people that work there, but they were of no help. Everyone who worked there was very tight-lipped.
Nervous eyes looked around cautiously. It had taken him a week but now was his chance. Probably the only one he would have. He watched as the last person left the newly renovated lab. It was late; most of the people who work during the day were getting ready to go. There was some kind of staff change that would take place in ten minutes. He had to do this before the man Thomas returned. He would not have a chance then. The service worker thought about his daughter. He knew what he had to do. He pulled out his phone, and pretended to look at a text. A blueprint of the mansion came on the screen. His thick, calloused hands, which were shaking earlier, had stopped. They were steady with determination. He wiped his grease streaked hands on his soiled shirt, before he picked up his large tool bag.
Within minutes, he disappeared through a set of unguarded doors, which were considered service entrances. His steps were conscious, and quiet. He made his way to the lower level. His slightly larger form disappeared down the dim and dark stairs.
Four Months Later
Undisclosed Crime Scene
Current Day
Sally's eyes rolled almost on their own accord with extreme irritation. She watched the three people walk toward her. One was being carried. She watched as first Sherlock, and then John ducked under the police crime scene tape with relative ease. John was carrying William. The young child had grown in the short period of time that she had known him.
The young child squealed with excitement when he saw Donovan. Sally, almost against her will, started to smile. To everyone's surprise, the child was quite taken with Donovan and Donovan with the child.
After accepting the sloppy, wet kiss from William, she took Sherlock's wrist and pulled him away from the child. She was not happy. "I thought that we discussed you not bringing William on a crime scene." She dramatically poked him softly in the chest for emphasis. "He's a young child."
Sherlock looked down at the offending finger, unaffected. He was apparently not impressed with her display. "There's no blood. This is just a burglary case. Really Sally. I have enough sense not to take him to a murder scene."
Sally smiled a little too sweetly. "I'm sure. Your diplomacy and good sense are well-known." She put her finger to her lips as if she was thinking. "I'm sure it was another Sherlock Holmes who almost had his arse bitten by a dog, when he was foolish enough to follow a suspect over a fence just last week." Her smile became real.
He looked her up and down quickly once.
Her smile left.
She protested when she realized what he was doing. "Don't you dare deduce…"
Sherlock's voice interrupted her. "So, things didn't work out with your ex boyfriend. Don't give up Sally; I'm sure someone as lovely as yourself will eventually find someone to put up with your attitude, and busy schedule. Would you like me to have John bring you some coffee? The caffeine should help balance out your hormones from your feminine cycle." Sherlock raised an eyebrow in challenge. He didn't try to hide the smirk that pulled at the left corner of his lips.
Sally's eyes narrowed dangerously. With great effort she wiped her face blank, and she made her expression neutral. "I'm sure there's hope for me, thank you. After all, you found someone, didn't you."
She took a step closer; she whispered, "Or, are the rumors that you had to drug her true?"
Sherlock blinked once, as his mind process what she had said. He huffed, as he moved toward her. A firm hand on his chest stopped his advance. John stayed a distance away. He attempted to distract William from the normal shenanigans between Sherlock and Donovan.
Lestrade kept his two arms outstretched, he pushed the two apart. The Detective Inspector sighed tiredly. "This is not a murder scene. Let's keep it that way, shall we."
Both people looked at the Detective Inspector. The angry look on Sherlock left instantly. His face returned to his normal expressionless mask. Donovan's face, however, held a defiant smirk.
John's footsteps were heard, as he came up with William still in his arms. He had a disapproving look on his face, which was directed at Sherlock. Sally noticed and resisted the urge to comment. That was, until John's disapproving look turned toward her, as well. Donovan's smirk left instantly. She cleared her throat.
William looked at the adults in the room with curiosity. His eyes travelled from one person to the other as if he sensed the drama; although his expression made it clear that he could not quite understand everything at his young age. He seemed to sense that whatever the excitement was about, it was over.
After another quick look around, William held out his arms to Sally. Donovan smiled as she received the young child into her arms. They started to talk. She walked a distance away, in an effort to keep the energetic child entertained.
Both William's vocabulary and confidence had improved in the last four months. He had an extraordinary speech and vocabulary for his age; although he still had the normal lisp of a young child. His body movements and physical coordination had also improved.
William was well-liked among the Yarders. He was a warm and happy child. John looked at the two and smile, while Sherlock just looked with curiosity. Within minutes Sherlock was fully focused on the case. John looked on, while staying on the edges of the room.
They were in the vault where the private collections were stored. The surveillance cameras showed several smaller art pieces valuing from 250,000 pounds and above being wheeled into the locked, climate controlled vault. The curator was seen leaving the room alone. The next day the art pieces were missing, even though the door was still locked and untampered. The pieces were reported missing by another employee. The museum curator was witnessed at a party in another city, during that time. She had witnesses that she and several friends had stayed the night.
Sherlock was in the process of walking back and forth, while mumbling something about cat hair, and no sneezing. He sent several texts to Molly and received several more. Another text came in. Sherlock suddenly stopped and smirked.
The Consultant Detective announced dramatically, "Arrest the curator Lestrade. She's the one responsible for the crime."
Lestrade was quickly beside the Consultant Detective. "Are you sure Sherlock? There's a little thing called evidence. She was seen by friends in another city. She has an ironclad alibi. Three experts, including yourself, have confirmed that the vault lock has not been tampered with. Her home has already been searched, and there were no traces of the paintings. Besides, how can a six-month pregnant woman pull this off by herself? "
Sherlock did not answer. His black coat spread, and twirled as his long legs carried him quickly to another room. Lestrade and John, as well as Sally and several officers followed him. He made it to the curator's office within minutes. Within another minute, a guard with keys opened the door. It took another five minutes for Sherlock to find the three museum artworks. They had been carefully removed from their frames, and neatly rolled, and stored in the air ducts above the curator's desk.
"There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before." Sherlock smirked, "This was a well thought out magic act, nothing more. The curator was adopted. She was unaware of it until a year ago, when her adopted sister contacted her. She's the mastermind behind this. Although her twin is a professional magician, they share an important similarity beside their physical appearance. It is a love for art. What you saw on the videotape was her twin bringing counterfeit paintings into the vault. She quickly dismantled the fakes and smuggled them out in the stomach pouch, which was made to give her the appearance of being seven months pregnant. Every good magician knows about the importance of distraction. The video was a distraction. Everyone was busy searching the vault, no one thought to search her office thoroughly. Despite being twins, the curator is allergic to cats. Her twin sister is not allergic to cats, nor is she pregnant. It was the cat hair that gave it away." Sherlock pulled out his phone and began to text again. "I'll have the address of her twin in just a moment. Then you can do what you do best Lestrade, and arrest the curator."
John looked proud. A small smile came to his face. Everyone looked around and started to move, as Donovan and Lestrade gave direction.
"Why didn't we think of that?" One of the Yarders asked innocently.
John, Lestrade, and Donovan looked at each other with a grim expression. John groaned, as he anticipated Sherlock's response.
"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock pulled out his Smartphone, as he started to text distractedly. "Practically everyone is."
The Yarders who had made the comment stood open mouth in shock. He was new to the unit, so had not been informed of the younger Holmes reputation. John saw his expression and became exasperated. He opened his mouth to say something to Sherlock, when a young child's voice interrupted him.
"An. Idiot." A small, young voice said, almost unsure.
Sherlock stopped what he was doing when he heard William's voice. He walked over to Donovan. Everyone in the room including Lestrade sighed with relief. William stopped and looked at his father curiously. He frowned when he noticed his father's stern look.
"Now, William," Sherlock said with a serious voice. "There are other words, which could be used. Cretin, obtuse, imbecile, addlebrain, daft, clot, but my personal favorite is moron. Have fun now, but in the future mix it up." He then gave William a warm kiss on the forehead in a rare display of public affection. "I'm trying to increase his vocabulary," he explained innocently, before returning to his mobile phone.
Several peers of anger eyes turned toward Sherlock. He was oblivious to everyone's stare. John quickly moved to William's side. As he took William in his arms, he spoke to the young child.
"Now, William, we don't use the word idiot…" John tried before Williams voice began again. This time with more enthusiasm.
"Idiot… Idiot… Idiot… Idiot…" The young child sang happily. He swayed his body back and forth in John's arm, in rhythm to some invisible music.
Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose. He exhaled heavily before ordering several officers to apprehend the museum curator at her house. Several more to apprehend her twin sister. And two to take the unframed artwork into evidence. The voice of a young child, and John, as he pleaded with the young child, was heard in the background.
Lucerne Switzerland
Four Months Later
Most people would have considered the structure a mansion, or manor. It was remotely located. The massive structure sat at the bottom of a rocky hill, on a narrow strip of flat land. It was surrounded by trees and shrubbery, which flourished. On the hill behind the estate, thick and lush green shrubbery fought gravity, as it clung relentlessly to the side of the gray, rocky mountainous terrain. It blanketed the stony surface almost completely with a thick green carpet.
Between the manor and the hill, was a side road. One road led to the stone structure, and one road led away from it. It was four levels tall. Its roof pointed toward the sky with several sharp peaks. It was both beautiful and useful in the winter months to prevent the accumulation of the heavy snow. Directly in front of the home was a massive lake, which opened up into the main body of water.
He looked out on the secluded beauty without appreciation. He sat in his chair, as he looked into the expanse before him. A flock of birds flew by unnoticed. A distant boat was seen along the horizon. Armed guards patrolled both the land, and on the water.
It was necessary.
Moriarty sat quietly, unnaturally so. His fingers pressed imaginary creases from his suit jacket, before they were stapled together, and rested on one knee of his crossed legs. He stared intently at the water. To anyone who did not know him, he seemed quiet, content, even peaceful. But there was nothing peaceful inside of him. He had been almost captured twice. Several of his key men were imprisoned, or dead. And he had been shot at three times. Yet, he did not lose his composure once. He was like a steam kettle, which was boiling, yet the building pressure had not yet been released. The staff was wary around him.
He rolled his eyes as he looked toward the mountains now. It was his first sign of any expression in hours. His current location was very quiet. He had been there for three months. In all truth, if he was quiet, and drew no attention to himself, he could probably live a peaceful life. However, dreadfully dull, boring, and predictable that life might be. He exhaled quietly.
His eyes turned abruptly to the left, but he did not turn around. He could tell by the hurried footsteps that there was news.
Several of the footsteps remained behind him, while one advanced until the figure of a man could be seen. Moran stood in front of the man that he considered to be the most brilliant in the world.
"Everything is in place." Sebastian commented.
There was no answer.
There was a small smile on Moran's lips now. Moriarty noticed and raised one eyebrow expectantly.
Moran said simply, "We found a way in."
There were several seconds of silence, as Moriarty's eyes flickered between the water and the crystal blue sky. He did not see the beauty, he was lost in his own thoughts. Moran noticed as the familiar fire came back into Jim Moriarty's eyes. When he spoke, his instructions were as expected.
"You know what to do."
Moran quickly moved out of sight, several footsteps followed his second-in-command, as the small group retreated. Moriarty listened quietly. For the first time in months a small, strange smile graced his face.