I haven't updated in ages! I'm such a bad author. More Sherlock this time round, sorry again about the lat update!
I have a dream that I hope will come true! That I'll some day own BBC Sherlock and maybe Doctor Who! But until that time, I'm running out of rhymes, I'll disclaim the two! Yes, I have to disclaim the two (of them)!
Mycroft looked at Sherlock's paled face with some alarm,
"Oh goodness, Sherlock, don't pass out!" He leaned over and grabbed Sherlock's wrist his long fingers feeling the pulse. "Your heart beat has accelerated, brother dear. Try to stay calm." Mycroft switched to his gentle voice, "Breath Sherlock, in and out, stop hyperventilating or you'll pass out and then you won't be able to help John at all."
John.
Sherlock blinked and tried to focus. He needed to concentrate on breathing and getting his heart rate down; a quick trip to the mind palace should do the trick.
Molly looked at him; his mind palace was a mess. Blaring sounds and flashing white lights told him that his body was on the verge of passing out,
"Focus." Molly said determinedly; calling his attention to herself, "Sherlock, you need to focus. Get you breathing slowed down: in…and out…in…and out. Copy Mycroft's breathing." Sherlock opened his ears and let Mycroft in. The man stood in front of him and said something. Sherlock couldn't make it out, everything was turning black. Mycroft began to breath slowly. Sherlock watched mind palace Mycroft for a second or two before beginning to imitate and synchronize with him. In and out, that's it, slowly…in…and out…in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Sherlock opened his eyes. He was still copying Mycroft's breathing and he felt his heart rate begin to decrease. Mycroft looked sternly at his brother,
"Breath." He ordered. Sherlock let out another breath and Mycroft reached over grabbing his wrist. Sherlock felt his brother's fingers squeeze gently as they retook his pulse. Mycroft leaned back and looked at Sherlock, "You are definitely unwell. I know someone who can fix that."
"Who?" Sherlock asked in a shaky voice, glancing out the window. He forgot about breathing for a moment as he saw that he was unable to see through the windows.
"Sherlock," Mycroft called sternly, "breath." He instructed and watched his little brother let out a held breath. "Me." He said in answer to Sherlock question. Sherlock looked sharply at him,
"You?" he asked, "What do you hope to accomplish?"
"I'm giving you a case, aren't I? Is anything else required?" The question sounded reasonable enough.
"Yes." Sherlock answered, looking at his older brother, "John. For a case I need John."
"Oh, believe me." Mycroft assured him, "This case is just crawling with John Watson-ness."
The car halted and Mycroft opened the door and got out; Sherlock climbed out his own side and glanced around,
"Where are we?" He asked,
"As if I'd tell you!" Mycroft answered, "You know practically every location in London I'll hold onto the precious few that you don't, if you don't mind."
"I do mind." Sherlock stated. Mycroft grimaced,
"Too bad for you then." He swung his umbrella and headed inside a building. Sherlock turned up his coat collar and followed him. Inside there was a table, full laid with a prepared meal for two, and complete with a waiter. Mycroft seated himself and directed Sherlock to the other side of the table,
"You know I don't eat while I'm working." Sherlock said as he sat down.
"You're not working yet, William."
"And you're not talking yet, Mike." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He supposed he had asked for that one and Sherlock looked pleased at his statement as the waiter served the food for them. The waiter took Mycroft's umbrella and put it at a stand that was set up (probably for that purpose exactly). When the man tried to take Sherlock's coat and scarf, though, he received such a strong death-glare that he stepped back hurriedly. Mycroft made a clicking noise with his tongue,
"Remember your manners, Sherlock and be nice to the poor man with amnesia." Sherlock cast one last glance at the waiter before glancing at his plate,
"You're not going to give up, are you?" He asked. Mycroft had already begun eating; Sherlock picked up his glass of water and took a few sips. He had to break back in slowly, his stomach flipped and felt queasy at the thought of eating anything at the moment. He'd just have to go slow. Mycroft wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it aside,
"John H. Watson is in a coma in the hospital at the moment and no one knows why." He began. "There was nothing mentally wrong with him and, overlooking the shoulder, nothing physical. He was found in the room, alone and unconscious. Now the big questions are 'How?' and 'Why?' and that's where you come in." Sherlock was eating now, slowly, letting his system know what was happening. He nodded at Mycroft to let him know that he was listening, "John was in the room shortly after he ate lunch. Why he was in the room in the first place is unknown seeing as he was due to turn up on the floor below to meet with a patient. There was only one thing that was out of place in the room when my people got there, this watch." Mycroft took it out of his pocket and leaned across the table. Sherlock took the small object in his fingers. "Have you seen it before?"
"No." Sherlock answered.
"It's a fob watch," Mycroft explained, "Seems the owner was rather careless and let the chain vanish or break."
"Or the owner found it annoying and took it off." Sherlock supplied. He turned the watch over in his hands, trying to find out its secrets. Mycroft was looking at him. "Fingerprints?" Sherlock asked,
"Yes, plenty," Mycroft said, "Some were John's, two other were unidentifiable and then there were yours."
Sherlock stared at Mycroft, "What? What are you saying?" He demanded.
"I'm saying that at some point (probably rather recently) you've handled this watch." Sherlock shook his head,
"If I ever saw this I deleted it." He said quietly; Mycroft looked directly into Sherlock's eyes and the younger shifted his gaze.
"Even deleted things can be renewed, little brother." He said, "Do you need me to walk you through it?"
Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. Mycroft wasn't asking, he was telling. The older Holmes leaned back in his chair,
"Enter into the heart of your mind." He began, "Find the door; found it yet? Good." He breathed as Sherlock nodded, "Go through the door and outside. Look around you and locate a large bin: this is the container for all your deleted memories. Remember when I taught you how to delete things I had you put them in a bin? There's the bin. Go to it and open it up; look inside, the watch had to be held recently so the memory should be somewhere near the top. Do you see it?"
"No, it's not here." Sherlock said simply. His eyes closed tighter as he tried to find what he was looking for. "There's no watch here, Mycroft…" the consulting detective trailed off. Mycroft leaned a little closer,
"What?" he asked. Sherlock opened his eyes,
"Nothing." He said, "No watch, no fingerprints, nothing."
"Then how did your fingerprints turn up on the watch?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock glanced at his brother,
"I don't know and I don't like it. But I will take up the case." Sherlock stood up, "Anything else?" he asked.
"No." Mycroft supplied the answer. Sherlock raised his eyebrows,
"A case where someone manages to put someone else into a coma and then manages to escape before the security cameras or anyone else can see them and you expect me to solve it with a watch?" Mycroft smiled,
"Of course, it's to save John Watson, Sherlock. You care about John Watson so you'll make it happen eventually."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and got back into the car, "Take me to Baker Street," he instructed the driver, "I've got a lot to do." The car pulled out and Mycroft took up his umbrella once more.
He sighed; Sherlock was right about the amount of work. It was incredibly ridiculous, how could Sherlock's fingerprints end up on that watch if he had never seen it before. His little brother had been honest at least; in the case of Dr. Watson being in danger Sherlock wouldn't have withheld any information that he knew that his older brother would deem necessary. With a shake of his head, the British Government turned and walked into the darkness of the building leaving the waiter to clear away the table and everything on it.
Sherlock stepped into his home on Baker Street and was immediately alerted that he had a text from Mary:
Hey where R U? Some man brought me food and said that you sent it along
Sherlock wasted no time in replying:
Baker Street. Mycroft found a case that I need to help him with
Sherlock pressed send before turning the phone off and setting it on the dining room table.
"Now," His mind Anderson said, "to work: the watch was hardly used but it definitely wasn't new. Whoever had lost it had most likely received it as a gift." Sherlock grabbed his laptop and typed a few words into the search bar.
3 hours later
That's it. Sherlock slammed the computer closed. The watch had to be custom made, there were none like it. Even the basic style was untraceable. This was going to be hard, very hard. He'd better let Mycroft know of his lack of developments.
Sherlock stood up and straightened his shirt. He looked around before he snatched up his phone and texted Mycroft. After that Sherlock ran his hands over his tired face. He picked up the watch and a fire pain shot into his arm.
'Detective…' Sherlock dropped the watch and took at step backward. His eyes were wide as he inspected the object. Did the watch just speak to him?! It just burned him; but the watch had been on the window sill…the sun? No, the windows were closed. Sherlock bent over the watch, inspecting it,
"What are you?" He asked, "Where did you come from?"
I'd love to hear people's thoughts on this!
Also, please wake up. You've been in a coma for over 2 months and we've been trying our best to pull you out of it. This is a new method we're trying out and we don't know how soon it will get to you but, please, wake up.
~SimmonsButterflys