holmes ➢ sequel to athena

Chapter Twelve

Remembrance

It had been a month. A month of doctor's visits and morphine and subtle hints at what she was supposed to remember but really couldn't. A month of Sherlock getting frustrated and stalking away, a month of John and Mary catering to her needs, a month of Mycroft dropping by with gifts.

A month of wondering if this was her life now.

The doctors couldn't tell her if she would get her memory back, and if so, when. That was the most frustrating part, she really did not like not knowing. It was like some innate part of her mind or soul felt the need to learn, gain knowledge, grow.

And here she barely knew her own name.

Not to mention she was being watched all day and night, Mycroft's own security guards sitting outside her bedroom door and a camera's trained on her all the time. She was going absolutely bloody insane.

"Athena," a voice floated through her bedroom door, gentle and treading lightly. Everyone seemed to do that lately, tread carefully around her like she was a a glass doll.

"I just got off the phone with the doctor," said John. "He said you could take your cast off your left arm in a week. And that your ribs should be healed."

She forced a smile. "One whole arm." The sarcasm bit the air with a vengeance. "What about my entire life?"

It was a rhetorical question, and John knew that, she could see it in his eyes. "Perhaps something will trigger those memories one day."

"Perhaps." And then she looked back through the window next to her bed onto the street, watching the people that walked by.

Little did she know that once she could read them like newspaper articles, sketch out their entire lives in a blink and in the next move to a fresh canvas. Now all she saw was people. Ordinary, fuzzy people.

She got her cast removed the next week like the doctor said. She still had to wear a cast on her right arm and her leg, but she tried to look at the bright side. If there was one.

That same night she lay in her bedroom in John's house, staring up at the ceiling and thinking. All she did was think. It was like all she could do was sit there and keep the wheels turning until something seemed familiar. It was about 7 am when she finally drifted off, despite her own wishes. And when she did, behind her eyelids she saw images of Sherlock, falling from a high place, arms raised to the side.

With a gasp, she sat up. "Fuck- ow." Her ribs were still tender. "John?" she called.

Within a moment, his head was peeking through the doorway. "Hey, whats up? Do you-" He stopped short when he saw the look on her face. "What's wrong?"

As he moved to come sit on her bed, she bit her lip. "Did Sherlock-" Her voice faltered. This is silly. He can't have committed suicide if he was still alive. "Did he jump from a building?" The words were so rushed that they crashed together.

John, of course, looked startled. "Yeah. He did... Oh my god, how did you remember that?"

"A dream."

"A dream?" He blinked twice. "I should call Sherlock, he'll know what to do."

"So I don't get any context then?" she mused, biting the inside of her cheek.

As John was standing, he said, "Ah, well, that was- uh- a very painful time for all of us. Especially you. I think you should hear it from him."

And hear it from him she did. When the curly haired man walked into her bedroom and explained everything, she saw images of what he told her flash across her mind. The fall, Moriarty, talking to his grave, Bulgaria, John breaking his nose.

"I remember," she said, cutting him off. "I remember all of it."

Sherlock had tried to stay neutral to the situation around Athena, because he knew how upset it was making her- having her entire life ripped from her own mind. But this time, he couldn't help the excitement that overtook him. "Do you really?"

She squirmed at his gaze, acutely aware of the energy shift in the room. "Yeah.... You bloody prick! Why didn't you call?"

He groaned. "Athena, please. We did this forever ago."

"Well we're doing it again now, Sherlock."

And they bickered for a while— lightheartedly of course. And slowly, as time went on, Athena could remember it all. Even Joseph.

Who, speaking of, was caught pretty quickly after Athena's hospitalization. But no matter how much Sherlock tried, he couldn't get the fucking psychopath to talk. Sooner or later, he just had to let it go. For Athena's sake. But not anytime soon.

So when he cleared his throat at dinner one night and said he had some business to do and would be home late, Athena quirked an eyebrow upward and said, "Yeah? Got yourself a girlfriend then?"

He sputter a few moments. "No! Actual business. Watch yourself, young lady." He was teasing, of course. But even still.

"Aye, aye captain," she grinned.

An hour later, seated in front of the young man, he pulled out a Manila folder and said, "So. I'll ask again. What exactly do you know about LilyAnne?"

Joseph sent him a cruel smile. "You know what? Here's something for you. She's still alive."

***

Back at home, Athena and John were playing Uno and watching some game show on the telly, a glass of red wine next to each of them.

"I wonder where he goes off to, he's been doing it for months now," said Athena, drawing a card from the stack.

"I don't know. He won't even tell me." Then, with a smirk, "Hey, maybe he does have a girlfriend."

They giggled together. "That'd be something," she said.

Then, the door downstairs swung open, and Sherlock's loud steps thumped all the way up to him. He was shrugging off his peacoat and unraveling his scarf. "What are you two still doing up? It's half ten."

"Hello to you too, Dad." Athena took a sip of wine.

"We were waiting for you," admitted John. "Come on, we're playing Uno."

Both Athena and John could tell that Sherlock's brain was buzzing at a million miles a minute. He seemed so far away mentally. But they also watched as he compartmentalized his thoughts and sat down next to them.

"Fine, but just one game. You two need rest," he said sternly, giving a look to Athena.

All she did was grin and shuffle the cards. And of course, they played more than one game.

END.