Deleted Memories, Introduction
Author's note: I will be moving back and forth in time. I will clearly prompt. Thanks for reading. This is my first fan fiction, so a special thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or review, it is encouraging as well as helpful. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers and amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money is made. The stories, however, are my original thought, and comes out of my overactive imagination.
*This story occur post Reichenbach
"If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith will last in the midst of the
blackest storm." ~ Mahatma Gandhi
It was a clear sunny day. Everyone was laughing, talking, and smiling. The clear sky could be seen behind the big pane-to-pane glass window. Humanity passed. Some wore suits having hurried conversations on their phones, or typing on laptops. Some were in jeans or some form of casual clothing. There were families, friends, acquaintances, and lovers. In the corner, a couple was kissing. Müller sat back and took it all in.
Love, he thought.
His attention was drawn to the opposite corner; three rows of seats in front where some children were laughing. He noticed a mother who busied herself trying to feed her infant. He heard the beginning of a sniffle. It soon turned into a high-pitched wail. The same mother, now desperate, quickly pulled items out of an oversized bag, depositing them on the plastic seat next to her. She, finding what she was looking for, exhaled in relief. The baby, now satisfied, took the bottle and greedily drank the smooth opaque liquid. The mother sighed deeply.
He caught her eyes and gave a knowing smile and nod. The mother smiled back.
Müller stood and glanced at his watch while walking to the bathroom.
A dark-haired woman stood in front of the entrance to the bathroom, apparently just finished with cleaning. "A nice day," she said with her voice shaking slightly.
"The nicest we have had so far this month," he replied.
She nodded, removed the "do not enter" sign from the floor, and left quickly.
He went into the third stall of the public bathroom and sat shaking. He thought of his wife of one year; of the way, her lips had felt that morning. He knew she liked emeralds. It was her favorite gem. He had surprised her last night, an early birthday present. He wanted her to believe that her subtle hints had gone unnoticed. Of course, he had not forgotten. He smiled broadly. She had been surprised; so she decided to surprise him back. His smile widened at the memory. He was to be in Saints Petersburg in the morning.
A business deal was on the verge of collapse. His company sent him because he was the best. He was given an assignment and it would be completed. He would not fail.
He took a breath as he gathered up the briefcase. A look of determination came on his face. He heard the boarding call.
On the plane, he noticed the same young mother he observed in the airport lobby. He stopped and smiled.
"May I?" Müller asked.
The mother nodded.
He held the baby's hand.
"A boy," he said as he smiled, the tiny fingers gripping his thumb.
Amazing, a baby's grip, he thought.
"My wife is pregnant. She thinks I don't know. She is planning on surprising me when I return," Müller said conversationally.
"Congratulations," the mother replied with a thick German accent. "Your first?"
"Yes; she wants to have four, I think two is enough." The baby smiled crookedly as he wiggled his hands and feet with enthusiasm. Müller looked into the baby's eyes. They were so innocent.
He felt a wave of nausea come over him. Excusing himself, he walked briskly to the bathroom locking himself in.
"Flu," she thought, she hoped the nice young man would be okay. She smiled, as her attention quickly turned back to Brant, her son.
Müller wiped his mouth and washed his face. He looked at his mirrored reflection while taking calming breaths. He looked at his watch and inhaled heavily.
He burst through the bathroom.
Startled, every eye turned to him. Their eyes relayed their confusion. He looked at the young mother.
"Forgive me," he whispered as he pushed the button.
A little girl walked to the window dragging her doll behind, half-forgotten. She thought the fireworks looked so beautiful.
The colors intensified and mixed as they danced on the metallic wing.
Everyone else stopped in horror. Some screamed, some cried, and some stood silent, shocked.
"OH," she repeated smiling; she pressed her tiny face to the window, her breath fogging up the glass, "Pretty."
A text alert pinged loudly in the quiet room. He easily made for it. 'Turn on the news'
He crossed the room, slightly stretching picked up the remote. His fingers searched briefly in the dim light. His eyes had already adjusted to the shadows. He had awakened even before the morning's light and was fully dressed. He slept short spans of time on his best days. The last few months, sleep fled from him and he did not pursue it.
Light suddenly danced with the darkness. The television screen flickered showing images of metal, fire, soot, smoke, and wreckage.
"Good God," he whispered as he reached for the phone. Normally he preferred to text. Today was not normal.
He unbuttoned his dark suit jacket, and sank into the plush armchair by the window. His hair was dyed red. His dark roots were beginning to show. The sides and back were cut short but the front kept long.
A cool morning breeze blew his hair into his face. He combed back his hair with impatient fingers. Someone answered the other line.
"You were right," the voice on the other end started.
Silence, then more words were spoken.
"It wasn't your fault, you gave them warning; they were too slow to respond."
"Then whose fault is it?" He asked.
A sigh, "When do we leave?" The voice asked.
"We do not." He replied. "I need you here; continue to dig, it's not over. Besides, it's too dangerous, I cannot risk you getting hurt."
"Careful, I may start to think you care," the voice said rough with emotions.
The voice continued, "You need someone to watch your back. You're reckless on your own."
A short silence, then he spoke. "I need a few more days, I should be finished here then he will be safe."
"You found Aleksey Ivanov," the voice commented.
"Of course," he could hear the smile.
The voice sighed again then continued, "Are you hungry yet, let's have dinner before you go."
"Maybe lunch," he said, surprising both the voice and himself.
He disconnected the phone, rising. They did not dispense with such pleasantries as hello or goodbye.
He walked out the window to the balcony, hands in pocket. He looked down on the Garden Ring and the Red Square. He preferred Moscow to Saint Petersburg; it really was a beautiful city.