Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.
Here is the Great Game.
I own nothing, except Calliah
I get woken up to the sound of gun shots. I rush to the living room with a gun and see Sherlock lying slumped in his armchair with his head resting on the low back of the chair. He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and gazes up towards the ceiling. Sherlock turns and looks at the sofa and I see that he is He is wearing sleepwear and a blue dressing gown and his feet are bare. Above the sofa I see is a smiley face has been spray-painted on the wallpaper. I frown. Mrs. Hudson would not like that. The can is standing on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I hear the downstairs door close. Sherlock sighs, turns his head to the front again and then raises his left hand which is holding a pistol. He points the pistol towards the smiley face and – without even looking in that direction – fires two shots at it. I jump and roll my eyes. I go back to my room and hide my gun. Mycroft gave it to me for dangerous situations. If I didn’t put it away, I would be tempted to shot Sherlock.
I go back down and see John has come up. “Bored!” Sherlock yells. He jumps out of his chair and John recoils and covers his ears with hands.
“No…” John says.
Sherlock switches the pistol to his right hand and turns towards the smiley face, firing at it again. He then swings his arm around his back, twists slightly to his right and fires at the wall again from behind his back. “Bored! Bored!” Sherlock yells angrily. As he brings his arm back around, John hurries into the room and Sherlock continues to glare at the smiley face but allows John to snatch the pistol from his hand. John quickly slides the clip out of the gun as Sherlock walks towards the sofa. I smile at John and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes. Good job I’m not one of them.” Sherlock says sulkily.
John locks the pistol away in a small safe on the dining table and straightens up. “So you take it on the wall.”
Sherlock runs his fingers along the painted smile. “Ah, the wall had it coming.” Sherlock says. He turns sideways and dramatically flops down onto the sofa on his back, his head landing on a cushion at one end and his feet digging into the arm of the sofa at the end nearest the windows.
John takes off his coat and looks at him. “What about that Russian case?”
Sherlock pushes with his feet to shove himself further along the sofa and into a slightly more upright position, and then starts kneading the arm of the sofa with his toes. “Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.”
I move and sit on Sherlock’s armchair. “Ah, shame.” John says sarcastically. He walks into the kitchen and throws his arms up in despair at the mess on the table which greets him. He heads towards the fridge. “Anything in? I’m starving.” He opens the fridge door. “Oh, f…” I hear him say. He slams the door shut again. He slumps against the door for a moment, his head lowered, then he straightens up and opens the fridge door again. He stares inside for a couple of seconds, then quietly closes the door again. “It’s a head.” He turns and calls out. “A severed head!” I frown and look at Sherlock. How did he get a severed head?
“Just tea for me, thanks.” Sherlock says.
John walks back into the living room. “No, there’s a severed head in the fridge.”
“Yes.” Sherlock says calming.
“A bloody head!” John says.
“Well, where else was I supposed to put it?” Sherlock asks stroppily. He looks around at John. “You don’t mind, do you?” John holds his hands out despairingly and looks back towards the fridge. “I got it from Bart’s morgue.” Sherlock explains. John buries his head in one hand. “I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.” He explains. I shrug. Makes sense. Sherlock waves his hand vaguely in the direction of a nearby laptop. “I see you’ve written up the taxi driver case.”
John throws a last glance at the fridge. “Uh, yes.” He says and sits in his armchair.
“’A Study in Pink.’ Nice.” Sherlock says.
“Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, and pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?” John says. Sherlock has picked up a magazine from the coffee table and he now flips it open and addresses his answer to the pages.
“Erm, no” Sherlock says.
“Why not? I thought you’d be flattered.
Sherlock lowering the magazine and glaring at him. “Flattered?” He raises his index fingers and narrates a section of the blog. “’Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What’s incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.’”
“Now hang on a minute. I didn’t mean that in a…” John tries to explain.
“Oh, you meant ‘spectacularly ignorant’ in a nice way. Look, it doesn’t matter to me who’s Prime Minister…” Sherlock says.
“We know.” John says softly.
“… or who’s sleeping with who…” Sherlock continues.
“Whether the Earth goes round the Sun…” I say softly.
“Not that again. It’s not important.” Sherlock claims.
“Not imor…” John starts to say. He shift his position in the chair to face Sherlock. “It’s primary school stuff. How can you not know that?”
Sherlock presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Well, if I ever did, I’ve deleted it.”
“’Deleted it?’” John asks.
Sherlock swings his leg around to the floor and sits up to face John. “Listen.” He points to his head with one finger. “This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful … really useful.” He grimaces. “Ordinary people fill her head with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?”
John and I look at him for a moment. “But it’s the solar system!” I call out.
Sherlock briefly buries his head in his hands. “Oh, hell! What does that matter?!” He looks at us in frustration. “So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn’t make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.” He ruffles his hair with both hands, then glares at us. “Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.” Petulantly shoving the magazine across the coffee table, he lies down on the sofa again, turning over with his back to John and pulling his dressing gown around him while curling up into a ball. John looks away and purses his lips. The front door downstairs opens and closes. John stands up and walks towards the living room door. Sherlock looks over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“Out. I need some air.” John says tightly and puts his jacket on. He heads for the stairs which Mrs. Hudson is coming up. “’Scuse me, Mrs…”
“Oh, sorry, love!” Mrs. Hudson says.
“Sorry.” John says.
Sherlock turns his face away again, pulling the cushion under his head nearer to the back of the sofa and curling up even tighter. Mrs. Hudson chuckles at John as he passes her but then turns and looks at him in concern as he hurries down the stairs. She comes to the living room door and knocks. “Ooh-ooh!” She says. Sherlock stretches his legs out straight and turns his head enough to acknowledge her existence, but then looks away again. Mrs. Hudson carries a couple of shopping bags into the kitchen. I get up and help her. “Have you two had a little domestic?” I see Sherlock look out of the left-hand window. “Ooh, it’s a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.” I nods at her words.
“Look at that, Mrs. Hudson.” He scans the street. “Quite, calm, peaceful.” He grimaces and drags in a long breath. “Isn’t it hateful?”
Mrs. Hudson and I unload some items from the shopping bags and now brandish a receipt at Sherlock before putting it down on the kitchen table. “Oh, I’m sure something’ll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that’ll cheer you up.” She chuckles slightly as she carries her bags towards the living room door. I follow and sit on John’s armchair arm.
“Can’t come too soon.” Sherlock says wistfully.
Mrs. Hudson stops as she spots the damaged wall. “Hey. What’ve you done to my bloody wall?!” Sherlock quirks a smile and turns around to admire his handiwork. “I’m putting this on your rent, young man!”
She storms off down the stairs. Sherlock moves to the middle of the room and grins over-dramatically at the bullet-riddled smiley face, then sighs and turns his head to the front just as a massive explosion goes off in the street behind him. The windows blow in and the blast hurls him forward and to the floor. I fall off the armchair and hit my head on the floor. I hear Sherlock groan as I pass out.
The next day I was sitting on Mycroft in John’s chair. Sherlock was plucking the strings of his violin he is holding on his chest and glares at Mycroft. I glare back. I had a slight cut on my forehead from the explosion and I had sprained my wrist from falling on it. “Sherlock. Calliah!” I hear John calling up the stairs as he runs up. He busts in and looks for us. He see that the boarded-up windows and then looks at us.
Sherlock looks up at John. “John.” Mycroft and I look at John.
“I saw it on the telly. Are you two okay?” He asks Sherlock and me.
“Hmm? What?” Sherlock asks. He looks around at the mess of broken glass and scattered paperwork as if he had forgotten it. “Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.” Sherlock say.
John looks at me and see my cut. “Oh I am fine John. It was a minor cut.” I tell him.
“You also got a sprained wrist.” Mycroft adds. I frown and looks at him. He smiles and picks up my wrist and kisses it lightly.
“I can’t.” I hear Sherlock say. I look over at him and see him looking at Mycroft in fury.
“’Can’t’?” Mycroft asks.
“The stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.” Sherlock says.
John and I look at him in disbelief.
“Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.” Mycroft explains.
Sherlock flicks his fingers across the strings. “How’s the diet?”
I glare at Sherlock and am about to get up. Mycroft holds me to him and shakes his head. I sigh and nod. “Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John.”
John has walked to the windows to investigate the damage. “What?”
“I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent.” Mycroft explains.
“If you’re so keen, why don’t you investigate it?” Sherlock asks.
“No-no-no-no-no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so …” He tails off as John turns towards him in surprise and Sherlock raises his head from looking at his violin. I giggle into his chest. “Well, you don’t need to know about that, do you?” He smiles humorlessly in a clear message to forget what he just said. “Besides, a case like this – it requires ...” He grimaces in distaste “... legwork.” I laugh harder into his chest.
Sherlock mis-plucks one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. I look at him as he turns to John. “How’s Sarah, John? How was the lilo?”
Mycroft consults his pocket watch and doesn’t even looking at John. “Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.” He says and smiles at me. I smile and look at John.
“Oh yes, of course.” Sherlock says.
“How…? Oh, never mind.” He says incredulously. He sits down on the coffee table. Mycroft smiles at him.
“Sherlock’s business seems to be coming since you, he, and this little girl became… pals.” Mycroft says. I pout at him as Sherlock throws him a dark look. “What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.” I nod and smiles down at me.
“I’m never bored.” John offers up.
Mycroft smiles condescendingly at John. “Good! That’s good, isn’t it?” He asks me. I nod. Mycroft pats my back and I get up. He gets up as Sherlock picks up his bow and whips one end through the air in front of him. Picking up a folder which he had put on the table beside him, Mycroft steps forward and offers the folder to his brother but Sherlock just looks back at him stubbornly. Grimacing and poking his tongue into the corner of his mouth, Mycroft turns and offers the folder to John instead. “Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends.” Looking startled, John takes the folder. “A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.”
“Jumped in front of a train?” John asks.
“Seem the logical assumption.” Mycroft says.
“But…?” John says and quirking a brief smile.
“’But’?” Mycroft asks.
“Well, you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.” John explains.
Sherlock smirks noisily.
“The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it’s called.” He looks at Sherlock as John starts flicking through the folder. “The plans for it were on a memory stick.”
John sniggers quietly. “That wasn’t very cleaver.” John says.
“It’s not the only copy.” Mycroft explains.
“Oh.” John says.
“But it is secret. And missing.” Mycroft says.
“Top secret?” John asks.
“Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands.” Mycroft says. He turns back to his brother. “You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don’t make me order you.”
Sherlock breathe in sharply through his nose and raises his violin to his shoulder, getting ready to play. He looks calmly at Mycroft. “I’d like to see you try.”
Mycroft leans down to Sherlock to attempt to look more threatening. “Think it over.” Sherlock stares back at Mycroft, unimpressed. Mycroft turns to me. I go to him and hug him. “Bye Calliah. I will call later about the plans.” I nod and feel him give me a kiss on my head.
Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering him his hand to shake. "Goodbye John gets up to shake Mycroft's hand. Mycroft smiles at him. "See you very soon." John tries to not look nervous. I laugh as Mycroft heads towards the door. Sherlock begins to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes. John and I frown at him but Sherlock keeps playing till Mycroft has left the flat. Sherlock lowers the violin, still looking annoyed. He looks at me. I look back and frown.
"Why do you have to be such a git to him?" I ask.
"I'm not. He is the git." Sherlock says and sets the violin on the ground.
"You are a git. He is trying to help you. He is giving you something to do. I told him that you had nothing. Do you know that he could get one of his workers to go out and do this?" I ask, almost yelling.
"Yeah, why did you lie?" John asks. Sherlock looks at John. I sit back down in John's armchair and play with the tie around my wrist. "You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"
Sherlock shrugs. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Because he is busy and didn't have to come here to ask." I say.
"Oh he would have come anyways. His precious Calliah was hurt." He says. I frown and roll my eyes. He was acting like a child.
"Oh!" John says. I look at him as he nod. "Oh, I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere." Sherlock turns and opens his mouth, but before he does his phone starts ringing. He fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.
"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock says into his phone. His expression intensifies after a minute. "Of course. How could I refuse?" Sherlock stands up and ends the call. He heads for the door. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" He asks us.
"If you want me to come." John says.
"Of course." Sherlock says. He turns to me.
"Of you want me to come?" I ask.
"Of course." He says and picks up his coat. He turns back to us. "I'd be lost without my blogger and rose." He says and leaves. We look at each other and follow him.
We get into the taxi. "How am I your rose?" I turn to Sherlock.
"Your middle name is Róise. It is rose in Irish." Sherlock states. I just look at him and turn forward. I have no idea how he figured out my middle name and I didn't want to know.
We get to Scotland Yard and go inside. Greg meets up and takes us to his office. "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones." Greg asks Sherlock.
"Obviously." Sherlock states.
"You'll love this. That explosion…" Greg starts.
Sherlock and I glare at Donovan as we pass by. "Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock asks.
"No." Greg says and smiles.
"No?" I ask.
"No. Made to look like one." Greg explains.
"What?" John asks. We get to Greg's office and we all stop. Sherlock looks down at a white envelope lying on the desk.
"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box and inside it was this." Greg explains and points to the envelope.
"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock ask.
"It's addressed to you, isn't it?" Greg says. Sherlock reaches towards the envelope. "We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."
"How reassuring." Sherlock says, hesitating slightly. He picks up the envelope and takes it across the room to another table which has an angle poise lamp on it. He examines it. "Nice stationery. Bohemian."
"What?" Greg asks.
"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" Sherlock asks.
"No." Greg says.
Sherlock looks closer to the envelope. "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib." Sherlock explains.
"'She'?" John asks.
"Obviously." Sherlock says.
"Obviously." John and I say at the same time and look at each other, rolling our eyes. We look back to Sherlock. Sherlock has picked up a letter opener from the desk and is carefully slits the envelope open. He looks inside and looks surprised. He reaches in takes out a pink iPhone. "But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone." John says shocked.
"What, from the Study in Pink?" Greg asks.
"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like…" He stops and faces him. Donovan has come into the room and set some files down on a desk near the door. "The Study in Pink? You read his blog?"
"Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you you really not know that the Earth goes round the sun?" Greg asks. I hear Donovan snigger and Sherlock and I glare at her. She leaves the room and Sherlock and I turn and look at the phone.
"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." He looks at the phone. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership." Sherlock throws an accusatory look at John, who ignores him. Sherlock looks at the phone and turns it on. It immediately gets a voice alert.
"You have one new message." The phone says. The message plays but there is no voice – just the sound of the Greenwich Time Signal. There are only four short pops and the longer one.
"Is that it?" John asks.
"No. That's not it." Sherlock says. Greg walks over and he and Sherlock look at the phone.
"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Greg yells.
Sherlock is gazing into the distance. "It's a warning."
"A warning?" I ask.
"Some secret societies use to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again." Sherlock explains. He briefly looks down at the photo, and then brandishes the phone at us as he starts to leave the office. "And I've seen this place before."
John and I follow him. "H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?" John asks.
Sherlock turns back and raises his hands dramatically. "Boom!" He heads off with the three of us following.
We go to Baker street and get out. Sherlock unlocks the front door and leads the way inside, bypassing the stairs and heading along the corridor towards Mrs. Hudson's front door. Just as he reaches it he stops and turns to the left where there is another door which must lead to a basement flat. Numbers and letters stuck on the door read, "221c". Sherlock turns his head and calls out loudly towards his landlady's front door. "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yells out.
Mrs. Hudson opens her door and hands Sherlock a set of keys. Sherlock looks at the padlock to 221C. "You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see the flat."
"The door's been opened recently." Sherlock says.
"No, can't be. That's the only key." Mrs. Hudson says. Sherlock pulls the padlock off and puts another key into the keyhole. "I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements." Sherlock turns the key and pulls the door open. He immediately goes inside and John, Greg, and I follow, taking little or no notice of Mrs. Hudson as she continues rambling on. "I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls ..." Greg shuts the door behind him. We go to the bottom of the stairs and Sherlock slowly pushes the doors open t o the living room. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there is a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door. John stops and looks at them before stating the bleedin' obvious. "Shoes." Sherlock starts to walk towards them but John holds out a cautionary hand towards him. "He's a bomber, remember."
Sherlock stops for a moment, and then continues slowly towards the trainers. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down he moves closer to the shoes and, just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. Sherlock jumps, closes his eyes momentarily and then stands up. I laugh as he pulls off his glove and takes the pink iPhone from his coat pocket and looks at the phone. He pauses for a second, and then answers the phone.
"Hello?" Sherlock says softly. "Who's talking? Why are you crying?" Sherlock listens and gazes into the distance thoughtfully. "The curtain rises."
"What?" John asks.
"Nothing." Sherlock says.
"No, what did you mean." I demand.
Sherlock half turns his head towards him. "I've been expecting this for some time." Sherlock explains. Sherlock moves the phone off of his ear and grabs the shoe. "We need to take a trip to Molly."
We get to St Bart's and we are in one of the labs. I am sitting at the one of the tables, doing some work. Sherlock was looking at the shoe with a microscope and John was walking around. I don't pay attention till I see John pulling Sherlock's phone out of his jacket. I laugh softly. "Text from your brother." John tells Sherlock.
"Delete it." Sherlock says. I roll my eyes.
"Delete it?" John asks.
"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it." Sherlock says.
"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important." John tries to explain.
Sherlock raises his head in exasperation. "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" Sherlock asks.
John sighs tiredly. "His what?"
"Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" Sherlock explains.
"Croft texts me all the time." I tell him.
"Well aren't you so special." Sherlock says sarcastically and looks back into the microscope. I roll my eyes and go back to my work.
I look up to see Molly come in. We smile at each other. "Any luck?" She asks Sherlock.
"Oh, yes!" Sherlock says triumphantly.
Molly goes over to look at the screen, as a man comes in. He was wearing slacks and a t-shirt. He stops apologetically. "Oh, sorry. I didn't…"
"Jim! Hi!" Molly says. Jim makes as if to leave the room but Molly stops him. "Come in! Come in!" I see Sherlock looking over at Jim and then look back into the microscope. Molly makes introductions as Jim closes the door and walks to her. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."
"Ah!" Jim says.
John turns towards them, and Molly looks at him blankly. I laugh softly at that. "And, uh… sorry." Molly says apologetically.
"John Watson. Hi." John says.
Molly points at me. "And that is my best friend, Calliah Mullen." I wave at them and get back to work. I feel Jim staring at me for a little and I look over. He was smirking at me. I frown and try to concentrate on my work.
"He's not hat. Why d'you have to spoil..? He not." I head Molly say angrily. I look up to see that Jim left and Molly looking at Sherlock angrily.
Sherlock snorts. "With that level of personal grooming?"
"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair." John says.
"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." Sherlock explains.
"His underwear?" Molly asks.
"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand." Sherlock says and reaches for the metal dish. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here…" He shows her the card. "…and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain." Molly stares at him for a moment then turns and runs out of the room. Sherlock looks surprised at her reaction.
"God Sherlock. You are a git to everyone you know." I get up and chase her. I find her in the woman's bathroom, crying on the ground. "Oh Mol.." I say softly and sit by her and wrap my arms around her.
"Why is he like that?" She asks me softly when she had finished crying.
"I don't know. He is just being extra git like these days. I mean he made John leave the other day and John stands up for a lot of Sherlock's stuff." I tell her. "Next time, slap him. It helps a lot."
She laughs. "Have you done it?"
"Twice. He deserved it." I tell her. She laughs and we get up. "I should get back to the boys before they leave or blow up the lab." She nods. "We'll go for drinks soon, okay?" I ask. She nods again. I smile and go back to the boys. John was by Sherlock and they were walking about the shoes.
"He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets ..." Sherlock says and trails off. "Oh." He says softly.
"What?" John asks.
"Carl Powers." Sherlock says softly.
"Sorry, who?" John asks.
"Carl Powers, John." Sherlock says, still staring into the distance.
"What is it?" I ask.
"It's where I began." Sherlock says.