Sherlock Story

Forgotten Memories, Chapter 192

*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.

Note: in vino veritas means truth in wine (latin) or the truth is found in the wine.

"If I have played my part well, clap your hands, and dismiss me with applause from the stage." ~ Augustus Caesar

Current Day

Current Time

Moriarty slid into the sedan. "Drive," he ordered distractedly. Before he could finish his sentence, he noticed the figure of a tall man sitting across from him.

The doors to the car locked automatically. He glanced to the lock, then back to Mycroft.

"Maybe I can be of assistance." Mycroft crossed his legs before saying unhurriedly. "Driver, if you would."

The vehicle started to move. Mycroft pressed a button and a black compartment opened up. Two exquisitely detailed crystal wine glasses rested in the compartment. He took one, and then handed one to Moriarty. Moriarty accepted the wine with a slight nod of the head.

Mycroft looked at him intently. Moriarty took his customary small sip, before resting the glass on his leg. After a few seconds of silence, Moriarty giggled, raised his glass in a toast and salute, and then took another sip. 'What the hell,' he thought. He took a gulp now.

Jim locked eyes with Mycroft. "I see my error. It's my only one, of course. All this time I thought that Sherlock was like me, his heart like mine, but I was wrong. It was not he who was like me, it was you."

"Have some red wine, I understand red is your favorite color, is it not." Mycroft gazed intently into Jim's eyes. "Have another sip." He added with a false smile, "I insist."

Moriarty felt her enter the limousine. The temperature seemed to lower a few degrees. Mycroft Homes was looking at him. It seemed as if the British Government's eyes had darkened. Moriarty felt it when she sat beside him. He resisted the urge to squirm or gasp at the shock of the sudden chill.

Moriarty wondered if the countless people that he had killed and murdered over the years, felt what he was feeling now. His mouth suddenly turned up in a humorless grin, before leaving just as quickly. The crystal wine glass was set on his crossed legs. The condensation from the wine produced beads of moisture that stood, before running down the glass. It touched his finger before changing its path and running along his finger to the tip of his fingernail.

"In vino veritas," Moriarty whispered with finality. There was a morbid smile that was on his face, it was twisted with anger, yet, there were the faintest traces of admiration for a game well played.

Mycroft sat crossed leg but said nothing. Both men looked wordlessly into the others eyes. No more words were spoken. They were not needed. The air was so thick that thought became words and words were too heavy to be spoken. The elder Holmes eyes were unreadable. Moriarty turned away and resumed studying the condensation on the wine glass. His pride refused to acknowledge that he could no longer look into the other man's eyes.

Jim exhaled a shallow puff of air through open lips. He felt his heart palpitating, it was an unfamiliar sensation. He felt her move closer then. She touched him. He would ignore her for as long as he could. It would not be for much longer. He could hear himself breathe. How odd.

For the first time in his adult life, he felt her touch him. He defiantly took another sip of the wine. It was good. Despite this fact, some of it seemed to stick in his throat before going down.

Moriarty could not help the shiver, which rippled through him, as she slowly reached inside of him. All of his adult life, he ignored her, at times defiantly mocked her, but not now. Jim blinked, more slowly each time, oddly tired. Jim embraced her presence completely now, as he lay back and surrendered. It was at that moment that fear wrapped her icy fingers around his heart, and squeezed.

Current Day

Current Time

John returned from taking the empty eat off trays to the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson had just left the flat. He smiled, as he listened to Sherlock reading the children's book about the adventures of pirates to William. William insisted on having the book read to him at least once a day. He knew it so well, he was starting to recognize some of the words. Sherlock became distracted and looked at John as his mobile rang. Even now, he would observe John, as if he was afraid he would disappear. John pretended not to notice. He knew it would be embarrassing to his friend if he pointed this fact out.

"Father," William asked, as his chubby fingers pat his father's right cheek; his two seconds of patience evaporating. Sherlock nodded subtly to John, before returning his attention back to his son.

John pushed the connect button. His eyes widened imperceptibly, as his jaws tightened.

"Understood," he said so quietly that his ears were the only witness.

John walked back to the other room. Sherlock looked up briefly, as he played with William. He studied John for several seconds. John allowed him to.

"Something has happened. Something important." Sherlock eyes narrowed.

"Why are you always so suspicious?" John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock's eyebrows mimicked John's. "Should I answer chronologically or alphabetically?"

John looked him in the eyes before saying. "Trust me."

Sherlock held his eye contact for a few more seconds. "I always trust you, John."

Sherlock then looked at William and resumed reading. After a short time, John sat down and listened to Sherlock read as well.

Mycroft's simple statement had changed everything. John remembered his words gratefully.

"Moriarty is found. It's done."

Current Day

Current Time

Sherlock's strong arm pushed the car door closed. He observed Mycroft quietly before he walked up to him. Mycroft's stood unnaturally still, as he stared at the manor. His shoulders seemed to slope downward. Half of the structure was still standing, however half had been destroyed by the fire, and explosions. Men and workers moved around, as they attempted to remove the debris. The manor had been empty for months. Mycroft had other priorities.

Mycroft spoke without looking, "We could sell it if you'd like. Mummy has a life in Dubai. She's happy there teaching. When she comes home for the summer's, and holidays, she could stay with either you or me. She's completely turned the manor over to me. To us. The land by itself is worth a few million pounds. You could use that money for yourself, and William. I have more than enough. Technically, so do you. Although, you have never touched a pound of your inheritance."

Mycroft turned and looked at his little brother for the first time. "At least, not before now."

Sherlock never replied to Mycroft's comment. After a few moments Mycroft sighed, and spoke again.

"The legal papers are in the car. I just need one last signature. Kevin Patel's sisters will have their scholarships for the University. His mother's house will be paid off with enough left over for Mister Patel to purchase a house of his own once it is time for him to start a family. The same will happen to Mister Abdul, his sisters, and his mother. No one will know that it comes from you, as you have requested."

Sherlock nodded once, before turning away from his brother's observation.

He answered his brother's unasked question. "I thought it was time to let go of the past, for William sake…" There was a small moment of hesitation before he added more quietly, "and for my own."

There was a moment of silence, as Mycroft looked Sherlock up and down, observing. Sherlock looked into Mycroft's eyes. He took one step closer to his older brother. His blue-gray eyes turned toward his childhood home. A place of some joy, and great sorrow. Part of him was sorry to see it destroyed. But another part of him did not want to admit to the fact that he wanted to burn the other half down. He was secretly glad that his bedroom was part of the area that had been completely destroyed. Emotions conflicted within his heart and on his face. Mycroft noticed. He stood quietly saying nothing. Mycroft was surprised when he heard Sherlock's voice.

"We should build another wing, next to where my old bedroom used to be. I want William to have lots of room to run, play and explore… To be a child." There was a short moment of silence. "The laboratory will be rebuilt. A place where he can conduct experiments." He could sense Mycroft's raise eyebrows. It made him smile for the first time since entering the grounds. "It will be under my strict supervision Mycroft, of course."

"The problem, dear brother, is who is going to supervise you, while you supervise him?" Mycroft could not hide the smile in his voice.

Sherlock chuckled softly.

Sherlock's voice was full of determination. "The Holmes family manor may be broken now, but there's a good, strong foundation there. Anything broken can be rebuilt, as long as the foundation is sound."

Mycroft voice held a rare display of emotion. He looked into his brother's eyes, as he said softly. "Quite right little brother." He turned and looked at the manor, as he repeated, "Quite right."

A/N: The conversation between Mycroft, and Sherlock, refers to chapter 62 of Forgotten Memories

"Above all we must realize that each of us makes a difference with our life. Each of us impacts the world around us every single day. We have a choice to use the gift of our life to make the world a better place – or not to bother."
~ Jane Goodall

Current Day

Current Time

It had been a good day. Several blankets and two tables were set on the ground. There were a variety of food and drink. Although there had been a brief moment of cloudiness, by-in-large, it had been a beautiful day. There was a slight wind, and the temperature was cool but pleasant.

He looked around the group, which had somehow found their way into his life, and if he was honest, heart. Mrs. Hudson and Molly sat close to Mycroft. Molly was filled with endless chatter, but Mrs. Hudson was unusually quiet, as she smiled observantly. Lestrade and Donovan had left an hour ago. Thomas, was there. Mary had spent the day, before she had departed for her next assignment.

Sherlock pretended that he did not notice the five agents who had disguised themselves as ordinary civilians.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. He found himself glad that his brother had come. Of course he had been on his Smartphone for hours. And, Anthea had made several trips back and forth.

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet. He walked over to his brother. "You don't actually plan to spend an entire picnic sitting at the table, do you?"

"Yes," Mycroft said simply as he crossed his legs and sent another text. Sherlock patiently waited until he finishes text, before he physically took the mobile phone out of his hand. Mycroft looked indignant, as Sherlock put the device in his inner suit pocket. His younger brother then stood in front of him with folded arms and raised eyebrows in a dare.

Mycroft sighed in a long-suffering way, as he pushed himself to his feet and followed his brother to the blanket. He suspiciously looked at the blanket, before he took off his outer suit jacket. He laid it carefully on the edge of the blanket, before he sat down on the blanket next to his brother. His long legs were pulled half up in front of him. It was as if the tall man wasn't quite sure what one did when one sat on a blanket, on the grass.

Sherlock held in his amusement. After several long minutes. Mycroft seemed to relax, as he got used to the unprecedented situation he found himself in. Sherlock then turned on his stomach and watched his son. He unbuttoned and slowly rolled up the arm of one sleeve, then the other.

Sherlock felt Mycroft watching him. He said without looking, "I'm just rolling up my shirtsleeves, Mycroft. I don't plan to wear tight tee-shirts and blue jeans, or tight shorts."

"It's a slippery slope, brother dear." Mycroft said, as he attempted to hide his mirth.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. He was amused at his brother's attempt at humor, but said nothing.

Both brothers watch quietly, as William played. He giggled almost uncontrollably, as he ran in between Irene and John, who halfheartedly ran toward him, before purposely missing him. Mycroft smiled, as he looked at the young child. In his mind, years were erased. That was not William he was seen any longer, but Sherlock. Happy, as he should have been as a child.

Sherlock's voice was unexpected. "I remember Mycroft."

Mycroft was about to ask his brother what he was going on about, when he turned to look into his eyes. One look and he understood. The man who prided himself on being emotionless, was not at that moment. Everything from pain and grief, to fear flashed across his face. He looked at his brother's face expecting to find anger, instead there was sadness with a touch of regret. He could not stand to look for very long. His head turned away from his brother's eyes almost involuntarily.

"When the last two weeks of memories came..." Sherlock hesitated for a beat of a moment and tried again. "When the last of the memories came back. They all came back. The good, the unpleasant, even the ones that I thought were deeply hidden. When you forget the bad, sometimes you also forget the good."

Mycroft nodded woodenly once. He had never considered himself a coward, but he took a few seconds to gather his courage. He prepared himself for anything. He turned and fully faced his brother again.

"I was terrible to you Mycroft. I was so angry, for so long. I tried to push you away." He frowned. "You still stayed in my life." Sherlock's lips turned up into a sad sort of smile. "Annoyingly, at times, but stubbornly you wouldn't give me up." It was Sherlock's turn to look away.

Sherlock looked at William as he played. His voice was laced with emotion. "If William grows up to be half the man that my brother is, he will be a great man."

Mycroft looked straight ahead quietly. He suspiciously cleared his throat. He was used to sarcasm, anger, and fits of rage from his brother. Although he didn't like those moments, he was used to them, knew how to handle them, navigate past them. But the strange admiration, gratitude, and kindness were unexpected. He had no frame of reference for it. What does one do with kindness, he wondered.

After a few moments of silence, Mycroft heard Sherlock's voice speaking again. "When I was fourteen, father tried to kill me. You not only save my life, you somehow helped me to forget the memories, and the pain." He turned away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "Thank you for saving my life, Mycroft." His voice was quieter this time. "And my mind."

It was one of the rare times in Mycroft's life that he was overwhelmed. There were so many words and thoughts, which were bombarding his mind. Words such as; you're welcome… I would never give up on you… I did it because I love you. These things came to his mind. He was rubbish at sentiment, therefore, he did not know how to respond. He did not know how to say everything that was inside of him. He didn't know the words to choose.

He turned unsure toward his brother. He hoped that he would understand. "You're my brother," was the only thing that would come out. One look into Sherlock's eyes told Mycroft that he did understand.

"Always," Sherlock said simply. The two men looked at each other. A comfortable silence settled between them, and a gentle understanding.

After several minutes of silence, Sherlock spoke. "Go play with your nephew, Mycroft."

A frown pulled at Mycroft's face. "That requires movement. I might sweat. You know how I loathe to sweat Sherlock."

"It'll do you good Mycroft. It might work off some of those teacakes that you snuck and ate this morning." Sherlock did not look at Mycroft when he said this, but he couldn't help the smirk.

"Hilarious," Mycroft said quite insincerely. He looked at William, who was waving at him and smiling. He was now calling for his Uncle Mycroft to come play with him. A look of resolve came to Mycroft's face. He had the same determined look he had when he negotiated with the heads of states.

"Well then," Mycroft commented as he stood up, brushed off his trousers, and walked determinedly to his nephew. He ignored the look of shock on both Irene and John's face. William ran, and met him halfway. He bent down and picked up William. William gave his uncle a tight hug on the neck. He giggled happily, while his uncle Mycroft carried him toward the small group.

Sherlock watched as the impossible happened. His brother played with his son. William was laughing so hard, his pale face was turning an interesting shade of red. Something pulled at Sherlock's heart. Memories. The memories of Mycroft, of how he took care of him when he was younger, of how he tried his very best, even though Mycroft was young himself, to protect him.

He cleared his throat and looked away for a few minutes to get his emotions under control. He knew that's what it was, emotions. He no longer tried to deny their existence. Within a few minutes he saw John beside him. John said nothing; he simply looked him over, examining him quietly. Sherlock allowed him to.

"Let's go for a walk." John looked toward the sky as he commented. "We better do it now." Sherlock said nothing. He quietly picked up his jacket, and slipped it on. He buttoned every button. John had already started to walk away. He didn't bother to look back, he knew Sherlock would follow.

The two stood on the bridge, which overlooked the waters. Ripples of waves gently made their way toward the shoreline. They stood for a moment looking, as the sun announced its retirement. The sky was lit beautifully. The tips of the scattered clouds reflected the red and orange sunlight. They had stayed much later than they had first anticipated. It had been an interesting, peaceful, and eventful day. Something that has not come too often to the two men, not with their lives.

Time passed in a comfortable silence. Sherlock's voice was the first to be heard.

Sherlock's voice was relaxed, and uncharacteristically unhurried. "You and Mary, you both seem to be getting quite serious." He looked straight ahead toward the water.

John turned and glanced at Sherlock, before turning and resuming his stare ahead. He knew that this was an important moment in their friendship. He thought about choosing his words carefully, but instead chose to speak from his heart.

"Yeah, yeah mate. I suppose that we are. I… Care for her in a way that I haven't cared for anyone I've dated in a long time. She gets me," he glanced at Sherlock and smiled warmly, "She gets you, and how important you are to me. She doesn't try to change that." There was a beat of silence as he spoke with all sincerity, "No one could." He now looked toward Sherlock, who had turned toward him. The two men simply looked at each other now before John added. "No one."

There was a comfortable moment of silence. Sherlock turned away for some time, as he looked at the waves of the water.

"You seem to be quite fond of Irene. I am as well." John did not ask a question, he made a statement. "Although, I think my fondness is slightly different than yours." John smiled a small smile. "Anyone that could tongue-tie the world's only Consultant Detective, is quite a woman."

John heard Sherlock's deep baritone voice float into his left ear. "I have to mirror what you said John. No one could ever take your place. I feel the same as you."

"What about Irene?"

"I cared for her years before I could even admit it to myself, but, what I … feel for you, no one could ever replace." Sherlock replied sincerely.

"It's not the same as Irene though." John commented.

"Yes, the same, and more John."

John's mouth turned up into a proper smile now, "Not quite the same mate," he raised his eyebrows, "I hope."

Sherlock put on a look of utter concentration. "Well, you are rather cute."

There was silence.

Both men looked at each other, before they simultaneously broke out into childlike fits of giggles and laughter.

John recovered first, as he wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. "Sod."

"Only for you, John." Sherlock smiled fully.

John complimented, "Your sense of humor is improving."

Sherlock smiled. "I've been working on it, Doctor Watson."

The men reverted to a comfortable moment of silence, as they resumed watching the sun. It had lowered to the horizon of the waters. Soon, the day would transition itself into night. This night would be a restful one.

"I wonder what the new day will bring, Sherlock?" John wondered out loud.

The ex-soldier felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder. He smiled, as he realized that Sherlock had been the one to initiate physical contact.

Sherlock voice held a confident determination. "It doesn't matter John. Whatever it is, we will face it together, as always."

John replied with barely contained emotions. "Quite right mate."

Nothing more needed to be said. The two friends stood quietly, watching the orange and red streaks of light shift against the scattered clouds. The colors intensified and became more vivid. The orange ball of light slowly retired along the horizon. They stood still with mutual wonder, as they observed the spectacular sight.

As always…

Together.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. Love to all, Zacha