If you could forget me, would you?
What follows below the cut is a fic inspired by this prompt . It’s set between The Six Thatchers and The Lying Detective. It also turned out to be quite angsty without a happy ending (sorry @ninallthatjazz). A big thank you to all who read this.
Three weeks ago
“Mr. Smith your next appointment is here.”
“Very well, send him in.”
“Ah, Ivan. Thank you for agreeing to meet me so soon, I know you have a busy schedule.”
“Not so busy that I can’t visit a friend. I was however surprised by your urgency to meet me. Tell me, is everything all right? How’s Faith?”
“Yes, yes everything is quite all right, quite all right indeed. I was just curious about the course of development of your new drug, TD12 was it?”
“Yes, that is correct; we are currently in the clinical phase, simply waiting for the results in order to do some fine-tuning.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. How efficient is the drug in memory deletion? Is severe memory loss a side-effect, how far back does the deletion go?”
“I’ll admit there is a concern as in large doses the drug seems to alter previous memories but, given it will be used in small doses it will only affect the recipient for the duration of the procedure, as is its intended use. I promise it’s completely safe, we’re just waiting for these results to release it to the public.”
“That is encouraging so, test subjects must be throwing themselves your way now, everybody wanting to forget a few hours in pain, right?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it throwing themselves my way. There’s certainly interest, especially people who are afraid of dentists.”
“Would it be terribly forward of me then to ask for a little? Just a tiny bit, I’ve an operation coming up you see and would hate to remember all those details.”
“I’d gladly give you some after the initial release, you know the EMA regulations, it would cause serious issues were word of this to get out.”
“Yes, yes I understand, the regulations of course, it would be personal use though, I wouldn’t mention it to anyone else. Come now, you wouldn’t let an old friend suffer, would you?”
“Fine, I will send you a batch. I’m afraid I must leave though, I have a meeting I must attend to. ”
Smiling widely, Culverton rose to bid his friend farewell, shaking his hand as he showed him out. The smile faded as soon as the door closed. Returning to his desk, he picked up the phone and started rethinking the details of his plan. “Well that surely puts a damper on things. The amount won’t be enough to thoroughly discover the extent of the drug’s capabilities… though maybe it will be enough for one subject, yes, one individual lucky enough to experience first-hand severe memory deletion. Maybe I’ll pick up a passerby, a stranger from the streets, make it random.”
Present
John was certainly familiar with nightmares from his time in the army. Dreams of blood, sand and screams. There was a time that he wouldn’t get one night’s worth of sleep without being interrupted by a nightmare. Mary’s presence in his life seemed to make them disappear, it was fitting he supposed that they returned after her death. Waking up with a start, heart racing and blood pounding in his ears, he took a moment to remember where he was. Looking around him he spotted his alarm clock, 06:24, so he got a few hours of sleep at least. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to remember what the nightmare had been about, he recalled running, the sound of gunshots and fighting, tackling a body to the ground. “Definitely an army nightmare then.” Though as his breathing slowed down he was aware of another feeling, a sort of strange elation at the dream, it was a dream right? Surely a nightmare wouldn’t make him happy. Shaking his head he threw the covers back and made to move when he recalled another detail, bright blue eyes.
Meanwhile at 221B, Sherlock was pacing around in the living room, pondering the meaning of Mary’s message. The dvd was authentic, there was no doubt about it, so that eliminated all thoughts of foul-play and left him with the task of deciphering its contents. Sitting in his chair in his customary pose, hands brought together under his chin, he devised a plan and wondered how far along in Hell was he to go. Lost in his mind palace he missed the knock of Mrs. Hudson on the door, bringing a cup of tea with her.
“Woo hoo dearie, it’s me.” Setting down the teacup she decided to lightly shake Sherlock’s shoulder.
“Mrs. Hudson! I told you not to interrupt me when I’m thinking. Just now I was about to solve the murder of a member of the Parliament, I do hope you’re happy with the government scandal you’ve undoubtedly now caused.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll solve that in no time for it to actually be a scandal. On that note, how are you dear?”
“Perfectly fine when you’re not interrupting my thought process.”
“Come now Sherlock, you know I mean how are you feeling?”
“Again, perfectly fine Mrs. Hudson.” He said with a huff of indignation.
“Now see, that is not really how you’re feeling Sherlock. Why don’t you go see John?”
“I believe he made it quite clear that he had no intention of seeing me again.”
“I doubt he meant that, he was just grieving for his wife. I really think your company would do him some good.”
“If you’re so worried about him why don’t you visit him then?” said Sherlock with a snarl.
“I’ve been to visit him, three weeks ago in fact. I would go again but, it’s just my hip’s been acting up, so I stay at home more often. Oh, Sherlock it’s been a month, do go visit him. Look where your stubbornness got you the last time you two fell out. You spent all that time being angry at each other after your return, surely another conversation won’t kill you.”
“Last time was different, John had Mary and it was his stubbornness that kept us apart. John…” he said with a breath, “John dislikes being pressured. He needs to decide on his own if he wishes to do something.”
“Well, even so I do think it would be good to see him.” She turns to leave but as she reaches the door, she partially turns around and adds as an afterthought “You’re right dear, last time was different. Last time he had Mary and though he wouldn’t admit it, he still had you too. This time he has no one”.
Picking Rosie up from her day care, with Mary gone he really couldn’t afford not working to take care of Rosie, John was torn between ordering and cooking dinner for tonight. It hadn’t rained all day so he could tell it was going to be a clear night. Parking the car he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair before getting out of the vehicle to unbuckle Rosie. When had his life come to this? Was what he would have for dinner his only concern of the day? Not that he disliked caring for his daughter, he wouldn’t trade her for the world, but sometimes he felt his choices were a bit restricted. Once in a while he’d like to… to what exactly? Starting on dinner he thought about the things he’d likely do if he had a free night, drawing up a blank. Maybe he’d have a pint with some friends; God knows he’d been neglecting them lately. Reaching up for a plate he felt a twinge of pain on his left shoulder. He frowned, thinking the cold weather of the last few days was finally taking its toll on him. Come to think of it, there were a couple moments when his hand would shake for a couple minutes. It had started last week, or was it the week before? Why was it so difficult for him to remember small details these days? Other thoughts flittered through his mind but he ultimately dismissed all of them as uninteresting. He knew even if he didn’t have to stay inside, he’d turn down any requests to go out in favour of watching the news and maybe a show if he wasn’t too tired. Somehow, something was missing from his life.
Waking up with a start, he shot up with a gasp. The lack of light from his window informed him it was the middle of the night. It definitely wasn’t an army nightmare this time. He could clearly remember running through the streets of London at night chasing after someone, or was it following them? He felt like he was simply running his whole dream to catch up to him; that figure was clearly male, tall, with dark curly hair. Just as his dream ended, the figure turned around to face him, only he didn’t speak. John remembered simply staring at the most peculiar eyes he had ever seen, a glimmering shade of aquamarine.
It took Sherlock two days to make up his mind about visiting John, but in the end he chose the day he left for the surgery a couple hours later than usual. He paid the driver, got out of the car and started walking briskly toward his destination, the third house from where he was standing. He had decided against taking a taxi and simply springing up outside John’s house, he still didn’t know how the man would react to him visiting a second time and surprising him was not on his list. Drawing up a breath and steeling himself, he rang the doorbell. It took John a moment to answer, no doubt making sure Rosie was all right, but when he did his reaction was unexpected. Instead of shouting at him, scowling or even outright punching him, Sherlock found himself on the receiving end of a polite “Hello” and a curious gaze.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
“It’s ‘may I help you’, actually.” Sherlock couldn’t resist correcting.
“Right, sorry” John glanced down for a moment and then continued, “May I help you with something then?”
Sherlock was speechless for a moment, this didn’t belong in any of the 23 scenarios he had calculated the meeting would end up following. “John, it’s me. Don’t you recognize me?”
“I’m sorry no. Are you one of the new neighbours, is that it? Was it your wife I met last weekend? I’m really sorry, Mary was better with the names and your face completely slipped my mind.”
“No I’m not one of your neighbours, I’m… I’m an old friend of Mary’s. I heard she died and came to see how you were doing.” Sherlock effortlessly lied. He originally thought that John was joking, he didn’t have his ability to forget information like him, his mind wasn’t practiced enough. Doing a quick scan: no sign of recognition or surprise in his eyes, posture relaxed, fists unclenched, body turned toward him, overall attentive to the speaker and giving no indication he’d been hiding something, Sherlock came to the conclusion that John really didn’t recognize him. He gathered a lot of general information about John (whether Rosie was awake, what he had for breakfast and at which part of his morning routine he had interrupted) before returning his eyes to John’s face.
“Oh, right. Right, well. Um, were you a close friend? I mean, I’m sorry but I don’t. I don’t remember you all that clearly… Not that it’s your fault or anything. I just seem to forget a lot of small things these days.” Although he tried to reassure the stranger that he wasn’t at fault here, John was clearly uncomfortable at apparently having forgotten a close friend of his late wife. Mentally berating himself for his phrasing, he was preparing to offer the other man a cup of tea when Rosie started crying. “Oh, that’s my daughter, must have woken up. I have to, actually would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?” John said gesturing at the door behind him. “I have a bit of free time before work and you came all this way… you do live in London, right?”
“Yes, London.”
“Right, yes of course. Um, so would you like to-“
“No, thank you, I had better go. I came to say a quick hello and… offer my condolences again.”
“Well, feel free to come again if you find the time. I don’t want it to seem like you’re unwelcome here.” With this John held his hand out for the other to shake and then entered the house.
Sherlock had what he deemed a solemn smile on his face as he shook the doctor’s hand. Turning around he made his way into the street before hailing a cab. There was something going on here, if John couldn’t remember him or anything about him. He had also mentioned inability to recall other memories as well, hadn’t he? This was proving to be a far more serious problem than what he had originally thought.
That night another dream kept John company until the early morning and though the joy brought on by it would last the entire day, its details like impossible blue eyes and a curly-haired individual, whose voice thought had heard this time, were lost as soon as he awoke.
“Tell me what exactly is the purpose of you spying on every moment of our lives if you can’t really do anything useful with the information you gather? Unless something’s changed and you’re not the British Government anymore.” Sherlock angrily yelled as he barged into his brother’s office.
Mycroft for his part remained calm, glancing up when Sherlock entered the room and merely raising an eyebrow at his outburst. “To what do I owe this visit Sherlock?”
“It’s John of course. Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“Ah yes, and how is Dr. Watson these days?”
“You would know; you have practically bugged his apartment to keep tabs on the man. Do not claim ignorance, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Whatever information is obtained on his person is for his own safety, I assure you. So what has brought you all the way to my office, I doubt you require information such as what brand of tea he currently prefers. If anything you could obtain it on your own, dear brother.” Mycroft gave one of his polite, condescending smiles.
“Of course I don’t care for such matters, it’s his wellbeing I’m asking about. The very same thing, mind you, that you have just claimed you were after, dear brother.” Sherlock repeated Mycroft’s words back at him in a mocking manner.
“He is, as far as I am aware, completely unharmed. There has been no cause of concern. His health hasn’t deteriorated and-“
“What of his mind then? What can you tell me of his mind? I believe suddenly not remembering me would constitute as cause for concern now, wouldn’t it?”
This alarmed Mycroft who took on a serious expression and sat up straighter in his chair. “Not remembering you? Are you sure of this Sherlock?”
“What do you think? I doubt I would misinterpret something such as this. He’s missing other memories, too. Now what have your little cameras told you?”
“No report of an incident such as this has been given.”
“Oh, you’re just useless then, aren’t you?” Sherlock was pacing around the office restlessly. If the surveillance hadn’t picked up anything, how was a clue to this mystery to be found?
“I’ll have the information we’ve gathered after the funeral examined. In the meantime, why don’t you occupy yourself with this?”
“Oh for God’s sake, Mycroft! A case from you would be the last thing I’d be interested in right now.”
“You would do well not to visit him again, Sherlock. Certainly not until this matter has been properly investigated. As for the case, your country would benefit from it.”
Mycroft stood up and Sherlock saw this as his cue to leave the room.
“I will see this through. You have my word, brother mine.” was said to the empty room.
John’s days continued largely the same. Working and caring for his daughter took up a large amount of time anyway. At least his hand hadn’t acted up again after the beginning of the week. He felt he should spend whatever free time he had a bit more creatively. Perhaps he could find a hobby, or resume activities he used to do with Mary. Mary, funny thing, she hadn’t crossed his mind at all ever since her friend’s visit. He supposed the empty feeling he was experiencing was attributed to her passing away.
Dreams were a nightly occurrence now. Every night he would dream a different one, maybe it would be daytime or maybe there were other people, but as always the details of his dreams escaped him as soon as dawn broke.
“The case was dull and obvious. Solved it in 27 minutes. SH”
“Your country thanks you. M”
“It was something you could have done yourself had you actually taken the time to look at it. SH”
“Yes but that would require legwork. M”
“Any update on the surveillance? SH”
“The matter is still being investigated. M”
It would seem Mycroft’s advice wasn’t unwise, at least partially. After solving that boring case, Sherlock solved several other cases for Lestrade and the Yard, equally boring, before being threatened with eviction from his landlady, due to his experiments. The latest batch had been studying the various stages of decomposition on swine tissue. Granted, a small sample of the different species would suffice and after experiencing for himself the foul smell that permeated the entirety of the flat (and the one bellow it), he supposed the cadavers were to be disposed of. Well, that left him with an indefinite number of hours needed to air the flat, and if he used that time outside while visiting a certain doctor, who could blame him?
It took Mycroft the better part of the week to sort through all the relevant information and at first nothing seemed out of order. John went to the hospital as usual, took his daughter on walks, spent most of his free time at home. Only when he started looking at security cameras did he finally spot an inconsistency, during one of John’s shop trips a group of three men approached him from behind. The men obviously knew of the presence of the cameras as they were careful not to be seen and made off with their target without betraying their means of transport. Checking the feed from different cameras on the street he finally got a glimpse of one of their faces from a bakery shop’s camera. Cross-referencing the image he was not only able to identify the men, but also their employer, as well as the place were John was taken and what had actually happened there. That was how he came across TD-12 and its uses.
“Any updates? SH”
“John was abducted at the start of the month and was used as a lab rat for a chemical.” M”
After informing his brother of the nature of TD-12 and relaying that he had his people working on an antidote, Mycroft returned to worrying about international affairs. The antidote would cause a few important memories to resurface, something the subject would be likely to remember anyway given enough time. Full reversal of TD-12’s effects would require a few additional doses. Mycroft saw fit not to mention Smith’s involvement in the incident given the extent of his brother’s compassion towards the doctor. Sherlock would surely attempt to reciprocate and the last thing he needed on his hands was Sherlock trying to implicate such a public person.
John’s was sure his blunder the other day was responsible for the fact that Mary’s friend hadn’t attempted to visit again, hadn’t even contacted him. Was he really calling him that? His name didn’t come up in their last conversation. Did he even have his number or was his only connection to him through Mary? He dismissed the thought as he had more important things to worry about. He got his answer a few days later, as he once again felt eyes on him when he got out of the door, looking up he saw Mary’s friend walking on the opposite side of the street. Smiling a little, John waved at him and saw the other man stop in his tracks for a moment before tentatively waving back.
Waking up in the middle of the night again, John frowned as he thought of his dream. The last dream was particularly vivid, he remembered talking to the curly-haired man this time, the deep timbre of his voice taking him by surprise as the man talked about a diamond missing? Huffing a laugh, he made his way into the kitchen for a glass of water. The more he thought about it, the more he realized the strange man from his dream was no other than the man who had visited his house not long ago.
“Great, missing my dead wife I’ve invented a James Bond character whose adventures I’m apparently a part of.”
Because wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing? The man even had blue eyes for God’s sake, but no, that wasn’t it as he clearly remembered Mary’s friend sporting dark brown curls. With a sigh he returned to bed, thinking that the only possible link between the man and his dreams was that he reminded him of Mary. He was troubled yet again by an overwhelming sense of yearning for something he couldn’t quite place. He thought his boredom and his longing as of late were all a natural progression of his sadness at her death. However, it wasn’t grief he was experiencing, rather he had a strong feeling he was supposed to remember something vital. He tried and failed to think of any happy moments with Mary, besides a faint recollection of their wedding and some shared moments with Rosie that is. That was definitely strange not to mention rather worrying. He could not name her favourite colour, the time they met, or any of the countless moments they spent together. Surely when one had lost the most important person in their lives they were supposed to feel sad at their passing, maybe anger and loneliness, not frustration that their life wasn’t as exciting. Deciding once more to ignore the voice on the back of his head that told him there were things he wasn’t supposed to have forgotten, John resolved to meet with the man in hope he could share what he remembered of Mary.
Despite Mycroft’s insistence, Sherlock was adamant about delivering the first dose of the antidote to John himself. That was how he found himself ringing John’s doorbell one Friday afternoon. This time there was the familiar sight of recognition shining in the doctor’s eyes as he opened the door and saw him.
“Oh, hello.”
“Hello, it occurred to me that we didn’t have a proper chat last time.”
“Right, yeah, so would you like to come in?”
Moving to the kitchen, John turned around to inquire after dinner when he felt the other man grasping at his right elbow, the slight pricking at his arm going unnoticed.
“Wha-, um, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, I’m not very hungry, dinner can wait.” said Sherlock with a small smile.
“Right, well I still have to prepare Rosie’s meal so, if you’ll excuse me.” John realized that he still had no idea of the other’s name.
“Sorry, what did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t. I didn’t introduce myself last time, my name is Sherlock.”
“Sherlock… Well I’ll be done feeding Rosie in a minute, so if you could-”
“Of course. I’ll wait here.”
John ended up feeding and putting his daughter to sleep, thinking it would be best if she got her little nap now, leaving him a bit of free time to talk with his guest uninterrupted. Sherlock, the name did sound familiar, maybe he was a closer friend of Mary than he thought. However that thought didn’t quite explain the dreams involving him. Shaking his head, he was suddenly overcome with a feeling of dizziness as he made his way back to the kitchen. He grabbed the wall for support and in an instance Sherlock was by his side, supporting him to sit down in a chair.
“Ta, I don’t know what came over me, I was just walking when I felt faint.”
“No problem, maybe the long hours of work got to you. Would you like to lie down for a minute?”
“No that won’t be necessary, I’m sure it’s noth-“
“Oh, it’s really not an issue, you are supposed to lie down after a fainting spell anyway.”
“Well, maybe for just a minute.”
Deciding not to risk another trip to the bedroom on unsteady feet, John felt the sofa was a more sensible solution, so he simply took his shoes off and laid down. He was out within minutes, Sherlock draping a blanket over him.
When he woke up later, he noticed it was definitely too dark for a couple minutes of lying down. Frowning, he sat up, he was feeling fine even if his head was a bit heavy. Spotting his companion bent over the kitchen table he called out, asking a question that didn’t make sense entirely, but one he felt the need to voice nonetheless.
“Sherlock, how is Mrs. Hudson?”
Taking a breath and turning to face him, Sherlock stood up and moved to crouch by the sofa.
“She is doing fine John. How are you? Do you remember?”
“Remember what? For how long have a slept?” alarmed he started looking around “Where’s Rosie?”
“You have slept for exactly 1 hour and 58 minutes, Rosie is currently being taken care of by Mycroft’s people.” looking down, he hesitantly continued “I thought you would prefer it were she not neglected while you recovered.”
“Mycroft, eh? Can’t imagine you were happy asking him for help.”
Sherlock snorted in response.
“Recover from what? I thought the dizziness has passed.”
“John how much do you remember about me, about us? It’s important.”
“I…How much do I have to say, I mean should I say whatever comes to mind or?”
“Start from the beginning if convenient.”
It was John’s turn to snort a laugh “If inconvenient, start from the beginning anyway.”
The detective smiled happily at that and let him continue.
“I…I guess, I guess I remember meeting you at Bart’s, your brother being a right git, abducting me and all… I remember the cabbie with the pills! God Sherlock, you were so stupid to go after him alone.”
“I seem to recall you shared that sentiment with me then, too.”
“I just, I just don’t know. My head feels so full of information suddenly.”
“Well, there’s no point sitting here then.” standing up, he strode to the chair and started putting on his Belstaff.
“Wai- hang on, where are you going?”
“I’m not going, we are going. You better get dressed, I hear restaurants can be exceptionally picky to whom they serve.”
“Restaurants?” having also gotten up, John was merely staring back at the other.
“Yes, John restaurants. Do keep up.” He was halfway through the door before he turned to announce “I was reliably informed that I need to eat sometimes.” And with that he gave a small wink the same way he had when he had introduced himself to John that first day.
They visited a small Chinese restaurant with Sherlock informing John that it was actually his favourite one, but he had discovered that the second year into their friendship. Seeing that John was just starting to remember main events in chronological order, it was unlikely he would remember such a small detail. Gradually John managed to remember a bit more about their adventures together and they spent the dinner laughing and reminiscing. Sherlock was reluctant to let John stay at his house alone, the man had only remembered a little bit and the incidents that followed were distressing to say the least, with Moriarty being involved. In the end he was convinced to drop him off, thinking that recalling such a large period of events was likely caused by the solution still coursing through his system, with the process slowing down without administering another dose.
“Do you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?”
“No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will.”
“You can’t be allowed to continue.”
John woke up hysterical and drenched in sweat. He fumbled around searching for his phone, he had to find Sherlock, make sure he was all right. Moriarty was not to be trifled with, he nearly blew them up at the pool, where was Sherlock? Finally locating his phone he called Sherlock only to be reminded of the fact that he preferred texting. Sending a quick text asking after him John relaxed and slowly started to realise that they both made it out of the pool unharmed. Slowly, memories of Jim calling off the snipers and leaving after a phone call resurfaced, that finally allowed him to calm down.
“Where are you? Are you ok?”
“Crime scene with the Yard. What is the matter? SH”
“Nothing, I just remember the pool.”
“Your memories returning should be a good thing. SH”
“I was worried about you, you berk.”
“Is that so? SH”
“Dinner tonight? SH”
“Yes, what time should I be ready?”
“I’ll text you the details. SH”
John was glad that Rosie was being taken care of by Mycroft, even if there was nothing physical that troubled him, he could really do with some peace and quiet around the house. He considered calling in sick on Monday, if the situation remained unchanged. He went about his routine more lazily, feeling a bit sluggish as his brain was still trying to catch up with information he knew before, but otherwise fine. He had a quick shower and then made breakfast. He thought about watching some TV since he had the time, but ultimately decided against it as his thoughts proved too distracting. He still couldn’t believe he had forgotten Sherlock, not just the cases but the man himself.
Sherlock texted him a time for the dinner somewhere around noon. Moriarty remained at the back of his mind all throughout the day, in spite of him focusing on other memories and the feelings they brought. Thoughts on Christmas after the incident with The Woman, and Sherlock’s vulnerable state during the investigation of the weird drug at Baskerville had him preoccupied until a mere hour before dinner. Finishing a cup of tea and making his way to the bedroom to get dressed, John was suddenly hit by an onslaught of emotion as images flooded his brain. Fragments of conversation accompanied Sherlock’s sudden rise to fame, the accusations, the trial and finally, the fall. Of all the moments he had been reminded of the last days, John could remember the day the detective decided to jump from the hospital’s roof as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Every little thing he had seen, heard and felt that day, from their talk at the lab to his friend’s body hitting the ground, had him paralysed. When he finally thought he could breathe again he located his phone, which informed him he had exactly 10 minutes before Sherlock would be there to pick him up. Shuddering several breaths he willed himself to move. He felt overcome with emotion but at the same time knew that staying inside glaring at the walls wasn’t going to help, he needed to see Sherlock again.
To say that Sherlock was baffled at John’s change of behaviour was an understatement. The detective had expected John’s doctor side to fuss about him or to be frustrated if he managed to recall events up to the appearance of The Woman. However this frosty demeanor was surprising. After a short taxi ride that was filled with silence, they arrived at the restaurant. Sherlock chose one of his own favourites this time, hoping once again to jolt John’s memory. The other man still didn’t talk except to give his order and that gave Sherlock time to study him more carefully. It was clear by the set of his shoulders that he wanted to talk, the micro-expressions also spoke of controlled anger. It was neither the pronounced frown that betrayed the doctor was angry at one of his latest antics nor the slight tension at his brow that indicated annoyance at the actions of someone near them. So it was something that he did, though not something recent, he could think of no action that would upset the other in the last 48 hours. With the waiter setting down their meals in front of them, Sherlock took the chance to address his companion’s unusual mood.
“You are unusually quiet.”
“Oh?”
“Yes by this time you’d have at least commented on the food.”
“And you’d have commented on our server’s private life, the cook’s new equipment and the state of the kitchen.” John angrily stabbed a forkful of his food.
Huffing, Sherlock decided to change tactics “I was under the impression that dinner managed to lift your mood despite the day’s events. Apparently I was mistaken. If you were feeling unwell why did you agree to dine with me?”
“I’m not feeling unwell.” said John still looking at his plate.
“Then do explain your silence.”
Finally looking up, John licked his lips and raised his voice slightly as he answered “I remember your death Sherlock!”
“I would have thought you would remember me coming back as well…”
“Yeah, that isn’t-“ a thought entered John’s mind abruptly. He did recall a restaurant, something about wine and a waiter, and Mary.
“Hold on, you came back when I was proposing, didn’t you?”
“Technically, I came back before you proposed not during.”
“Same bloody thing. Look, let’s just…eat.” said John with a dark expression on his face.
The rest of the dinner was tense. Neither spoke while they finished eating. Sherlock was torn between saying the things he wanted to say to John that day at the restaurant and waiting until the man remembered the rest of the events that took place until that moment. John for his part tried to make sense of what he was feeling. Eventually he gave up as the memories caused a plethora of emotions that he may have felt before, though that didn’t mean he could understand, and combined with his current mood were responsible for giving him a spectacular headache. Paying for the meal and getting up, Sherlock tried to breach the subject once more before they parted ways.
“See you tomorrow then?”
“Yeah, maybe. We’ll see, let me call you.”
John had a cup of tea and got started on the housework early in the day. The repeated motions of cleaning the house were distracting enough to keep his mind occupied. He had a sleepless night, full of tossing and turning, as every time he closed his eyes images of Sherlock danced behind his eyelids. Knowing now that the other man had returned during his proposal to Mary had him scouring his head for other instances of her throughout their marriage, surely the last years couldn’t have been filled with nothing but Sherlock’s presence in his life. Slowly some memories returned, of him feeling betrayed, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to find out the exact reason for that.
Late evening found him drinking in the living room. He laughed as he thought that the previous day was the worst, after all he remembered his friend’s death, as it turned out however, he didn’t have a clue. He now had the required context to justify his emotions earlier. So, his wife was an ex-assassin who lied to him and shot his best friend. That explained his lack of mourning, some part of his brain must have retained the events and refused to manifest false reactions. Then of course came the black-mailing and the subsequent mission to keep Mary safe. He made to pour himself another glass when he received a text.
“Dinner tonight? SH”
Once again he couldn’t make sense of what he was feeling. Was he angry at feeling sad about Mary, not angry enough, worried about Sherlock or did he want to spend time apart from him? He had a lot of thoughts to sort through, and a repeat of the previous night was the last thing he needed. The text went unanswered.
He had pleasant enough sleep for a change. Scenes kept changing too quickly so he couldn’t tell them apart, but all of them were cheerful enough and left him feeling well-rested. Various memories of his married life with the addition of Rosie seemed to be the main focus of the dream. Then there were a few scenes that didn’t seem to fit well with the others, something about being on cases again and Mary missing. Feeling a bit better than yesterday, he called the hospital to let them know he would not be working for the next two days. He supposed he’d be able to meet Sherlock later, now that he had somewhat calmed down.
The calm was not to last. John increasingly thought about Mary missing, until he could correct himself that she wasn’t missing, she had left because she was in danger. Sitting down with a cup of tea he eventually found out more about the case of the Thatcher busts and his wife’s death. After the last revelation, it was as if a dam had been broken and all the memories of the time after the funeral came forth. He was shocked out of his trance by the doorbell ringing. Opening the door he was at first surprised and then furious to see the detective at the other side.
“I thought I told you I didn’t need your help.”
Sherlock was speechless for the second time in the last month. He decided to visit during the day this time, knowing the doctor would feign illness to stay home, and was ready to propose they shared lunch. He had expected of course that John would continue to remember some of the events that took place after the Fall. He wasn’t in contact at all yesterday and the time since then should have brought him up to speed with the threat Magnussen had posed. The cold demeanor and the fury burning in the other’s eyes told him his prediction was slightly off.
“You have remembered everything then.”
“Not everything, no, but enough to know what really happened. Where’s Rosie? When is she coming back?”
“Mycroft will have her delivered here later today. I-”
“Good. Then that’s all we have to say to each other. ”
John cut the other man off and closed the door. He leant against it breathing deeply, trying to control his anger. When he raised his eyes he gasped; Mary was standing beside the kitchen table looking at him.
Back outside, Sherlock made a mental note to inform Mycroft he’d be responsible for the administration of the remaining doses and turned away from the door. Taking a deep breath and looking at the sky, he started walking. Maybe he’d have to descend deeper into Hell than he originally thought.
