Chapter 4

Sherlock stared through the car window as busy London rolled by. It was weird how he could rattle off all the names of buildings and streets, but yet he couldn't recall where he lived. Absently, he opened his wallet and looked at his identification card again. Here was tangible proof about all that was said about him in the last hour, and he clutched it fiercely in the palm of his hand. Was it strange that a bit of square plastic could bring such comfort?

With a soft sigh, Sherlock turned his head back to join the gentle hum of conversation around him. John had opted to keep him company in the back seat, while Lestrade drove.

There was a part of him that wondered at these men who were his friends, but he felt the truth of it even without them saying so. He could sense it by the warmth in their touch, by the concern in their faces when they looked at him, and by the way they herded him with their bodies, as they walked through the crowded hospital. It was a different feeling entirely when he had laid eyes on the person who was his brother. His brother was concerned and worried yes, but it was different. He just hadn't decided if it was a good different, or bad different. For the time being, he was relieved that Mycroft was giving him some leeway as he didn't stop him from leaving.

Since John and Lestrade didn't seem to mind that he wasn't participating in their conversation, Sherlock continued looking about with an air of curiosity. Discreetly, he ran his fingers over the worn but comfortable seats of the Inspector's car. The vehicle rattled a bit alarmingly every few minutes showing its age, but it was still perfectly serviceable. A bit like his two companions, he decided as he viewed their lined but cheerful faces.

Again, the detective stared at John's cotton chequered shirt peeking out of his jacket, and then down at his own stylish clothes. In contrast to his mates, everything about his attire screamed rich and sophisticated. He even had product in his hair, for God's sake!

Why was he so different?

'Am I addicted to fashion?' he asked John in a serious voice.

Lestrade roared with evil laughter from the front, much to the doctor's displeasure.

'You like nice clothes,' the doctor replied kindly, after giving the Inspector's seat a hard kick. 'there's nothing wrong with that. Ignore Greg.'

Greg. I have to remember that name.

'And why is my hair so long?' the young man then complained, pulling a strand infront his face, where it bobbed and weaved merrily when he let it ago, 'with my facial bone structure, this style makes me look like a woman. Can I cut it?'

'I know a good barber,' Lestrade said turning around, his eyes alight with massive amounts of mischief.

'Just drive, Greg' John said sternly, 'and you are not getting your hair cut, Sherlock! You could wake up tomorrow as you, and then you will scold me like a fury for not stopping you from changing your appearance.'

Sherlock frowned, displeased that he wasn't getting his way.

'You are very bossy,' he sniffed, pointing his aristocratic nose petulantly in the air.

The irony of this complaint set Lestrade off again but this time he was prepared, and he was able to muffle his laughter in his sleeve. 'Sherlock, if you are up to it, I have some questions.'

'Go ahead,' he replied unsurely.

'When you were running on the roof of that bakery, do you remember..?'

'...wait, I was running on a roof?' Sherlock interjected anxiously, not sure if had heard alright.

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Why what?'

'Why was I running on the roof of a bakery?'

'Well,' Lestrade reflected thoughtfully, 'it's sort of your thing.'

Sherlock shook his head in dismay. He was best friends with a surgeon and a police inspector, and he liked to run on rooftops, which was not only odd but dangerous. He didn't know what to make of his life at all.

John touched him on his arm to bring him out of his confused thoughts, 'did you remember something?'

'No,' he replied, 'but should we be worried that a heavily tinted black car has been following us for the last three blocks?'

'Damn,' Lestrade breathed in admiration as he checked the mirror, 'nice catch, Sherlock. Didn't see that.'

John looked once over his shoulder, 'Don't worry, we know that car. It is for your protection.'

'Do I need protecting?'

'Normally, no,' the doctor said soberly, 'but one of us is going to be with you at all times until you are recovered. You must not leave our side.''

Sherlock pulled back in surprise, narrowing his eyes calculating as John's voice rang out commandingly in the car's interior. He was beginning to get the distinct impression that John was not as simple and mild mannered as he first appeared.

How very delightful! Why is that delightful?

'So...should we swing by the bakery to see if we can't jog a memory?' Greg cut in hopefully in a small voice, balancing his concern for Sherlock's health, with his desperate need to catch a break in the new case they were involved in.

John sighed quietly. Five minutes ago they had passed the gymnasium/pool where they had their eventful encounter with Moriarty. Sherlock didn't so much as turn his head. If that location didn't dislodge a memory, nothing would.

'Just take us to Baker street,' he said softly, 'I want him to get some rest.'

Anote: I only have time for very short stories but I do so like spending time with Sherlock and the gang, and all of you on fanfiction. I enjoy writing and sharing my stories with you nice folks. Thanks and have a great week.