Fic: A Memory That Never Forgets (1/18)
Title: “A Memory That Never Forgets” (1/18)
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Victor Trevor, John/Mary Morstan, Lestrade, Ensemble
Rating: PG-13; eventual NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warnings (overall): Mystery, language, implied alcoholism and depression, mentions of past abuse, sexual content, angst, fluff
Word Count (overall): c. 90,000 total
Spoilers: Through TRF
Beta: canonisrelative
Summary: The eldest son of a high-profile diplomat has been murdered, and pressure is mounting for the Yard to bring the case to a swift close. But when the prime suspect turns out to be Sherlock Holmes’ oldest friend and a man he knows to be innocent, Sherlock must find a way to clear his name - and uncover the real killer before he strikes again.
Notes: AU after “The Reichenbach Fall.” Title comes from The Who’s “You Better You Bet.” Victor Trevor is a character from ACD canon, and he appears in “The Adventure of the Gloria Scott.” Any other characters you don’t recognize belong to me.
Many liberties have been taken with police procedures, the reality of ambassadorships, etc., so don’t read any further if there’s a chance that will bother you. This was written pre-S3. All my thanks to Canon for her beta skills. This wouldn’t be possible without her.
The beautifully angsty S/V icon above is courtesy of Kim. Thank you so much, my friend - I can't tell you how much I adore it!
Victor Trevor didn’t fall asleep easily.
It was difficult to shut off a brain that never stopped thinking, and usually by the time he managed to do so, an hour or so had passed since his head first hit the pillow. He also didn’t easily stay asleep, though this was a necessary facet of his job. He was constantly on alert, even in his off hours, and could usually be pulled out of sleep by the slightest of sounds. Back when his employers had lived in the heart of a city, he could be awakened by something as small as the sound of a car engine revving, or by the hum of an unfamiliar street lamp turning out outside his window. The Bowers family had only been living in the country for a few weeks now, but already Victor had been woken by owls and frogs at night, and once the entire house had been placed on alert when a deer wandered too close to the security fence and set off the alarms.
But for all those minor annoyances, sleeping lightly was a useful skill to have. More than once in his years of service, it had saved the lives of the family he had been hired to guard - which was, after all, what Christopher Bowers paid him for. The unpopular diplomat had hired Victor fourteen years ago specifically to guard his youngest son, though Victor had looked out for the welfare of the entire family on more than one occasion.
Victor let out a slow sigh and rubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear his sleep-blurred vision. He had already been woken once tonight by his colleague returning home with Anthony, the oldest Bowers child. That had been around two-thirty, and Victor had fallen asleep again soon after that. Now, the clock on his bedside table told him that it was less than forty-five minutes later.
Hell.
He threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the moonlight that seeped through his curtains and straining his ears. This time, Victor wasn’t sure if he had been woken by anything in particular, or if the thud he thought he’d heard had been a part of a dream that he forgot the moment his eyes opened. He pushed himself up on his elbows and paused for a moment, listening. It wasn’t good to ignore these things, even if the rest of the staff goaded him for the false alarm afterwards, so Victor swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up, and grabbed his radio.
“This is Trevor,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice, slipping the earpiece into his ear and clipping the radio to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. “Everything all right out there?”
“Everything’s quiet,” Marie Hammond answered him immediately from the mansion's control room. “Something wrong?”
He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see.
“No, I don’t think so. I heard something. It’s probably just the boys up.”
“Anthony returned a little while ago with Agent Wright.”
“Yeah, I heard ‘em.” Victor rubbed the back of his neck wearily. He was going to feel the lack of sleep acutely in the morning. “Thanks.”
Victor got to his feet and, for good measure, grabbed his gun. He padded out into the corridor. The boys’ rooms were at the other end of the long hall. At fourteen and sixteen, respectively, Timothy and Anthony Bowers were beginning to finally push back against their father’s strict rules. Having a personal bodyguard who accompanied them everywhere they went, in addition to their security detail, was difficult to handle. Having one that stayed in the same house as they did was almost too much, especially at their ages. Christopher Bowers had finally compromised with his children. Victor and his colleague, Stephen Wright, lived in separate suites on the same floor as the boys, but they were placed at the other end of a long corridor. It was as much space as Christopher was willing to give his children. Victor was surprised they were allowed it at all.
In the darkness of the corridor, he couldn’t tell if Stephen’s door was closed until he was upon it. Victor saw then that it was standing wide open, which meant that Stephen must have gone to check on the boys as well.
Victor’s heart rate kicked up a couple of notches. Maybe he had heard something unusual after all.
Timothy’s door was also standing open, though that wasn’t surprising. He had a habit of going into Anthony’s room after the rest of the house had gone to bed, and the two brothers would stay up talking for hours.
Anthony’s door was open just a crack, and Victor rested his right shoulder lightly against it. He held his gun in both hands, and he pressed his ear against the door, listening.
There was nothing for several long seconds. And then he heard what sounded like a sharp crack, which was followed quickly by a strangled gasp.
Victor shoved the door open fully with his shoulder and burst inside the room, gun raised. He registered first that Anthony was lying facedown on the floor by his bed in a pool of red. Then, that Stephen Wright was lying next to Anthony, his eyes black and glassy as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
Victor dropped into a crouch next to Anthony and placed a hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse. There was so much blood, his fingers slipped before finally finding purchase on the underside of Anthony’s chin. He frantically sought out the pulse-point, and couldn’t feel the reassuring beat against the pads of his fingers.
There was a sudden rustling sound behind him. Victor whipped around, gun at the ready, to see a small figure sitting in the corner -
- and then the back of his head exploded in pain as a heavy object slammed into it, bringing Victor to his knees. He kept hold of his gun, just barely, and dimly reached for his radio.
But then he was struck again, this time across the left side of his face, and the world exploded into white before fading into nothing at all.
----
Part 2
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Victor Trevor, John/Mary Morstan, Lestrade, Ensemble
Rating: PG-13; eventual NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warnings (overall): Mystery, language, implied alcoholism and depression, mentions of past abuse, sexual content, angst, fluff
Word Count (overall): c. 90,000 total
Spoilers: Through TRF
Beta: canonisrelative
Summary: The eldest son of a high-profile diplomat has been murdered, and pressure is mounting for the Yard to bring the case to a swift close. But when the prime suspect turns out to be Sherlock Holmes’ oldest friend and a man he knows to be innocent, Sherlock must find a way to clear his name - and uncover the real killer before he strikes again.
Notes: AU after “The Reichenbach Fall.” Title comes from The Who’s “You Better You Bet.” Victor Trevor is a character from ACD canon, and he appears in “The Adventure of the Gloria Scott.” Any other characters you don’t recognize belong to me.
Many liberties have been taken with police procedures, the reality of ambassadorships, etc., so don’t read any further if there’s a chance that will bother you. This was written pre-S3. All my thanks to Canon for her beta skills. This wouldn’t be possible without her.
The beautifully angsty S/V icon above is courtesy of Kim. Thank you so much, my friend - I can't tell you how much I adore it!
Victor Trevor didn’t fall asleep easily.
It was difficult to shut off a brain that never stopped thinking, and usually by the time he managed to do so, an hour or so had passed since his head first hit the pillow. He also didn’t easily stay asleep, though this was a necessary facet of his job. He was constantly on alert, even in his off hours, and could usually be pulled out of sleep by the slightest of sounds. Back when his employers had lived in the heart of a city, he could be awakened by something as small as the sound of a car engine revving, or by the hum of an unfamiliar street lamp turning out outside his window. The Bowers family had only been living in the country for a few weeks now, but already Victor had been woken by owls and frogs at night, and once the entire house had been placed on alert when a deer wandered too close to the security fence and set off the alarms.
But for all those minor annoyances, sleeping lightly was a useful skill to have. More than once in his years of service, it had saved the lives of the family he had been hired to guard - which was, after all, what Christopher Bowers paid him for. The unpopular diplomat had hired Victor fourteen years ago specifically to guard his youngest son, though Victor had looked out for the welfare of the entire family on more than one occasion.
Victor let out a slow sigh and rubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear his sleep-blurred vision. He had already been woken once tonight by his colleague returning home with Anthony, the oldest Bowers child. That had been around two-thirty, and Victor had fallen asleep again soon after that. Now, the clock on his bedside table told him that it was less than forty-five minutes later.
Hell.
He threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the moonlight that seeped through his curtains and straining his ears. This time, Victor wasn’t sure if he had been woken by anything in particular, or if the thud he thought he’d heard had been a part of a dream that he forgot the moment his eyes opened. He pushed himself up on his elbows and paused for a moment, listening. It wasn’t good to ignore these things, even if the rest of the staff goaded him for the false alarm afterwards, so Victor swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up, and grabbed his radio.
“This is Trevor,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice, slipping the earpiece into his ear and clipping the radio to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. “Everything all right out there?”
“Everything’s quiet,” Marie Hammond answered him immediately from the mansion's control room. “Something wrong?”
He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see.
“No, I don’t think so. I heard something. It’s probably just the boys up.”
“Anthony returned a little while ago with Agent Wright.”
“Yeah, I heard ‘em.” Victor rubbed the back of his neck wearily. He was going to feel the lack of sleep acutely in the morning. “Thanks.”
Victor got to his feet and, for good measure, grabbed his gun. He padded out into the corridor. The boys’ rooms were at the other end of the long hall. At fourteen and sixteen, respectively, Timothy and Anthony Bowers were beginning to finally push back against their father’s strict rules. Having a personal bodyguard who accompanied them everywhere they went, in addition to their security detail, was difficult to handle. Having one that stayed in the same house as they did was almost too much, especially at their ages. Christopher Bowers had finally compromised with his children. Victor and his colleague, Stephen Wright, lived in separate suites on the same floor as the boys, but they were placed at the other end of a long corridor. It was as much space as Christopher was willing to give his children. Victor was surprised they were allowed it at all.
In the darkness of the corridor, he couldn’t tell if Stephen’s door was closed until he was upon it. Victor saw then that it was standing wide open, which meant that Stephen must have gone to check on the boys as well.
Victor’s heart rate kicked up a couple of notches. Maybe he had heard something unusual after all.
Timothy’s door was also standing open, though that wasn’t surprising. He had a habit of going into Anthony’s room after the rest of the house had gone to bed, and the two brothers would stay up talking for hours.
Anthony’s door was open just a crack, and Victor rested his right shoulder lightly against it. He held his gun in both hands, and he pressed his ear against the door, listening.
There was nothing for several long seconds. And then he heard what sounded like a sharp crack, which was followed quickly by a strangled gasp.
Victor shoved the door open fully with his shoulder and burst inside the room, gun raised. He registered first that Anthony was lying facedown on the floor by his bed in a pool of red. Then, that Stephen Wright was lying next to Anthony, his eyes black and glassy as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
Victor dropped into a crouch next to Anthony and placed a hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse. There was so much blood, his fingers slipped before finally finding purchase on the underside of Anthony’s chin. He frantically sought out the pulse-point, and couldn’t feel the reassuring beat against the pads of his fingers.
There was a sudden rustling sound behind him. Victor whipped around, gun at the ready, to see a small figure sitting in the corner -
- and then the back of his head exploded in pain as a heavy object slammed into it, bringing Victor to his knees. He kept hold of his gun, just barely, and dimly reached for his radio.
But then he was struck again, this time across the left side of his face, and the world exploded into white before fading into nothing at all.
----
Part 2