Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.
Here is the first part of A Scandal in Belgravia. The introduction of Irene. Duh Duh Duh
I own nothing, except Calliah
It was May 30th. John was sitting at the living room table, updating his blog on his laptop. Sherlock, wearing a red dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, is sitting at the other side of the table drinking from a mug while leafing through a newspaper. I was sitting on the couch reading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen.
“What are you typing?” Sherlock asks John.
“Blog.” John says.
“About?” Sherlock asks.
“Us.” John says.
“You mean me.” Sherlock says.
“Why?” I ask.
“Well, he is typing a lot.” Sherlock says. The doorbell rings. “Right then.” He walks towards the door. “So, what have we got?”
Over the weeks, people have been coming here to consult with Sherlock. We place each of them on a dining chair facing the fireplace as he or she speaks. Sherlock sat in his chair, John in his, and I sat on one of the arms of the boy’s chair.
“My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office.” A man says.
“Boring.” Sherlock says
“I think my husband might be having an affair.” A woman says.
“Yes.” Sherlock says.
“She’s not my real aunt. She’s been replaced – I know she has. I know human ash.” A creepy guy, holding a funeral urn, says.
Sherlock points to the door. “Leave.”
“We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files.” A businessman, who has two aids standing behind him, says.
“Boring.” Sherlock says.
“We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books, ‘cause people miss a lot of the themes.” A geeky young man, which two other geeky young men standing behind him, says. Sherlock has already walked away, disinterested. “But then all the comic books started coming true.” The geek continues. Sherlock comes back.
Later, John is sitting in his chair and updating his blog. I lay on the couch and pick up my book. Sherlock leans over John’s shoulder. “’Geek Interpreter.’ What’s that?” He asks.
“It’s the title.” John explains.
“What does it need a title for?” Sherlock asks. John smiles tightly. Sherlock straightens up and walks away.
I look over. “I like the title John.” He looks over and smiles.
Later, we are at the morgue. Sherlock is using his magnifier to look at a woman’s body on the table. John is standing at the other side of the table and Greg is nearby. I was sitting aways. I didn’t like being here on my day off.
“Do people actually read you blog?” Sherlock asks John.
“Where d’you think our clients come from?” John asks.
“I have a website.” Sherlock says.
“In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody’s reading your website.” John says. Sherlock straightens up and glares at him, then pouts momentarily as John continues to look at the body. “Right then: dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are.” He points at the tiny red marks on the woman’s body but Sherlock has already turned and flounced out of the room.
Later we are back at the flat. John is updating his blog again. Sherlock walks past, eating a piece of toast. He stops and looks at the computer. “Oh, for God’s sakes!” He says with a mouth full.
“What?” John asks.
“’The Speckled Blonde’?” Sherlock asks. John purses his lips as Sherlock walks away again. I laugh and go back to my book.
The next day, two little girls are sitting together on one of the dining chairs while Sherlock paces in front of the fireplace. “They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that ‘cause he’s gone to heaven?” one of the little girls ask.
“People don’t really go to heaven when they die. They’re taken to a special room and burned.” Sherlock informs them. I gasp at him.
The two girls look at each other in distress.
“Sherlock…” I say reprovingly.
Greg is leading us across some open ground. “There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead.” Greg explains.
“Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news.” Sherlock says.
“You said, ‘Boring’ and turned over.” I say.
Greg leads us to a car which has it boot opened. There’s a body inside. While Greg continues to speak, Sherlock looks all around the rear of the car. Greg looks at a bag of evidence. “Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he’s got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here’s his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead he’s in a car boot in Southwark.” He tells us.
“Lucky escape.” John says.
“Any ideas?” Greg asks Sherlock.
Sherlock is looking at the man’s hand with his magnifier. “Eight, so far.” He straightens up and looks at the body again, then frowns momentarily. “Okay, four ideas.” He turns to Lestrade and looks down at the passport and the ticket stub of the passenger, John Coniston, who was meant to be travelling on Flyaway Airways. Straightening up again, he gazes up into the sky. “Maybe two ideas.” The shadow of a passenger jet passes overhead.
Back at the flat, Sherlock – wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses and carrying a blowtorch in one hand and a glass container of green liquid in the other – has come to the living room table to look at John’s latest blog entry. “No, no, no, don’t mention the unsolved ones.” Sherlock says indignantly. I laugh and see him glare at me. I shrug and keep laughing.
“People want to know you’re human.” John explains.
“Why?” Sherlock and I ask at the same time.
“’Cause they’re interested.” John tells us.
“No they’re not. Why are they?” Sherlock asks.
John smiles at his laptop. “Look at that. One thousand, eight hundred and ninety- five.”
“Sorry what?” Sherlock asks.
“I re-set that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash.” John tells him.
“Two hundred and forty-three.” Sherlock says sulkily. He fires up the blowtorch and puts his safety glasses back on and heads back towards the kitchen.
We are walking across the stage of a theatre while police officers mill around nearby.
“So what’s this one? ‘Belly Button Murders’?” Sherlock asks John.
“’The Navel Treatment’?” John offers up. I laugh and John smiles at me.
“Eurgh!” Sherlock yells.
We walk backstage and meet up with Greg as we head for the exit. “There’s a lot of press outside, guys.”
“Well, they won’t be interested in us.” Sherlock lets him.
“Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three.” Greg tells us.
Sherlock glares at John. “For God’s sake!” he says exasperated. John quirks a smile as we walk on. Sherlock goes into a side room and comes out with three hats. “John.” He throws a cap at John. “Calliah.” He throws a beret at me. “Cover your face and walk fast. Keep Calliah between us.”
“Still, it’s good for the public image, a big case like this.” Greg says.
“I’m a private detective. The last thing I need is a public image.” He says and he puts on the other hat that he had picked up – a deerstalker – and heads out the exit door pulling the hat as low as possible over his eyes and tugging the collar of his coat up. Outside, photographers start taking pictures of all three of us.
The next day, I get up and go to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee. I hear Sherlock and John talking in the living room so I go in there. I frown as I see Sherlock in a sheet sitting at the table. I come in and cough. Sherlock waves a hand at me. I sigh and come over to him. I see John on the computer. “Morning John.” I smile. He smiles back.
“There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back. Show me the grass.” Sherlock tells John.
John has walked down to the stream and is Skypeing with Sherlock. He points the camera on his own laptop towards the grass at the stream’s edge and squats down. “When did we agree that?”
“We agreed it yesterday. Stop!” Sherlock explains. I laugh as he leans closer to the screen and looks at the mud on the ground. “Closer.”
Instead of following his instructions, John swings the laptop around so that he can look into the camera. “I wasn’t even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin.”
“Well, it’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.” The doorbell rings more insistently. Sherlock briefly looks round in the direction of the stairs. “SHUT UP!” Sherlock yells angrily. I jump and Sherlock looks at me apologetic.
“D’you just carry on talking when Calliah and I are away?” John asks.
Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know. How often are you two away? Now, show me the car that backfired.”
Sighing, John stands up and turns the laptop and its camera towards the road to show Phil’s car. “It’s there.”
“That’s the one that made the noise, yes?” Sherlock asks.
John swings the camera back around to look into it. “Yeah. And if you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He wasn’t shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer. That’s gotta be an eight at least.” Sherlock has leaned back in his chair and is running his finger back and forth over his top lip as he thinks. As John walks back towards the road, a man follows along behind him.
“You’ve got two more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver.” The man says.
Sherlock waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, forget him. He’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?”
The man catches up to John and leans over to look into the camera. “I think he’s a suspect!” He says.
Sherlock leans forward angrily. “Pass me over.”
“All right, but there’s a Mute button and I will use it.” John says.
He tilts the laptop at an angle that Sherlock’s not happy with. “Up a bit! I’m not talking from down ’ere!” Sherlock says irritated.
John offers the laptop to the man. “Okay, just take it, take it.”
The man takes the laptop as Sherlock starts talking at double the usual speed. “Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?”
“He’s trying to be clever. It’s over-confidence.” The man says. I roll my eyes.
“Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy – and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind?!” He turns around to John’s chair where another man is sitting. I look over and smile. He smiles back softly. “Don’t worry – this is just stupid.”
“What did you say? Heart what?” The man in the living asks, anxiously.
Sherlock ignores him and turns back to the computer. “Go to the stream.”
“What’s in the stream?” The man at the crime scene asks.
“Go and see.” Sherlock tells him.
The man hands the laptop back to John. Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs. I look over and see two men wearing suits following her. “Sherlock! Calliah! You weren’t answering your doorbell!”
One of the men, who I knew as Plummer, looked at his colleague while pointing with his finger to the kitchen. “His room’s through the back. Get him some clothes.” Plummer says.
“Who the hell are you?” Sherlock asks.
“Sorry, Mr. Holmes. Miss Mullen. You two are coming with us.” Plummer says. I nod and get up.
“I’ll change.” I say and run to my room. I knew that Mycroft need us to hurry so I grabbed one of my best dresses, a pale dress with lace on the top of it, a pair of nude pumps. I get back to the living room and smile and see that the boys were trying to convince Sherlock to get dressed. “Oh, I know exactly where we’re going.” He smiles at me. I roll my eyes and follow Plummer to the car.
We get to Buckingham Palace and we sit on a couch. Sherlock was still in his sheet and I just laugh. “What?” Sherlock asks me.
“You are in a sheet in Buckingham Palace.” I say, laughing.
He smirks. “Points for originality?” He asks and I nod. I see John come in and Sherlock looks across to John calmly. John holds out his hands in a “What the hell?!” gesture. Sherlock shrugs disinterestedly and looks away again. Nodding in a resigned way, John walks slowly into the room, then sits down on the sofa beside his friend. He gazes in front of himself for a moment, chewing back a giggle, looks around the room again and then looks at Sherlock, peering closely at his sheet and particularly the section wrapped around his backside. He turns his head away again.
“Are you wearing any pants?” John asks.
“No.” Sherlock simply says.
“Okay.” John says. He looks over at me. “You look nice. Not that you don’t usually look bad.” He says and blushes.
I laugh and smile. “Thanks John.”
He sighs quietly. A moment later Sherlock turns and looks at him just as John also turns to look. Their eyes meet and they promptly burst out laughing. I laugh and look around. I hadn’t been here yet. Maybe I could get an invite later.
“At Buckingham Palace, fine.” John says gesturing around the building. He tries to get himself under control. “Oh, I’m seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.” Sherlock chuckles again. “What are we doing here Sherlock? Seriously, what?”
“I don’t know.” Sherlock says, still smiling.
“Here to see the Queen?” John ask. At that moment, Mycroft walks in from the next room. I smile and he ignores me.
“Oh, apparently yes.” Sherlock says beside me. I lift up my hand and slap the back of his head. “Ouch!”
John cracks up again and Sherlock promptly joins in. The two of them continue to giggle as Mycroft looks at them in exasperation.
“Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups? Calliah isn’t having any trouble.” Mycroft says. I grin and sit up straighter.
“We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn’t hold out too much hope. Calliah is the only saving grace in the group.” John says.
Sherlock looks up at his brother as Mycroft walks into the room, all humour gone from his face. “I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.
“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?” Mycroft asks.
“Transparent.” Sherlock says.
John looks startled.
“Time to move on, then.” Mycroft says. He bends down and picks up the clothes and shoes from the table, turning to offer them to Sherlock. Sherlock gazes at them uninterestedly. Mycroft sighs. “We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation.” He says. “Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.” He says sternly. I giggle at that. I never thought I would hear my boyfriend say that sentence.
Sherlock shrugs. “What for?”
“Your client.” Mycroft says.
Sherlock stands up. “And my client is?”
“Illustrious…” I hear. I turn and see a man who has just walked into the room. “…in the extreme.” John and I stand up respectfully. “And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous.” He looks to Mycroft. “Mycroft.”
“Harry.” Mycroft greets the man and walks over and shakes the man’s hand, smiling. “May I just apologize for the state of my little brother?”
“Full-time occupation, I imagine.” Harry says. I giggles as Sherlock scowls. “And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”
“Hello, yes.” John says and they shake hands.
“My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog.” Harry says.
John looks startled. “Your employer?”
“Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch.” Harry says.
“Thank you!” John says.
Harry looks at me and smiles. “And this must be the Calliah Muller that I have heard so much about.”
I blush and curtsy. “Yes sir.”
He chuckles. “No need to call me sir young lady. Mycroft has told me all about you.” He says and winks. I blush and look at Mycroft who was looking away.
Harry turns to Sherlock and clears his throat smugly. He walks closer to Sherlock. “And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs.”
“I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.” Sherlock says and looks at John and abruptly passes him and approaches Mycroft. “Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work.” He looks round to Harry. “Good morning.”
He starts to walk out of the room but Mycroft steps onto the trailing edge of the sheet behind him. Sherlock’s impetus carries him forward while pulling the sheet off his body. He stops and grabs at it before he’s completely naked and tries to tug it back around himself, looking furious. I gasps and look at Mycroft. “This is a matter of national importance. Grow up.” Mycroft says.
With his back still turned to his brother, Sherlock speaks through gritted teeth. “Get off my sheet!”
“Or what?” Mycroft asks.
“Or I’ll just walk away.” Sherlock threatens.
“I’ll let you.” Mycroft says.
I sigh. “Boys, please. Not here.” I say.
“Who. Is. My. Client?” Sherlock asks, almost incandescent with rage.
“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God’s sake ...” He breaks off and glances at Harry and me briefly, trying to get his anger under control before he turns back to his brother again. “... put your clothes on!” Sherlock closes his eyes furiously, then pulls in a sharp breath.
Sherlock goes and puts on clothes. I go over to Mycroft. “So you talk about me with people?” I ask softly.
He looks down and smiles. “Of course, Ardaigh.” He says softly. “Can we go out to dinner tonight?”
“Of course.” I say and grin. I look around and see no one is looking at us and I kiss his cheek quickly. I go back and sit on the couch as Sherlock comes back. He sits by me and looks at me.
“Why are you blushing? Why is Mycroft blushing?” He asks. I shake my head and giggle.
Mycroft and Harry sit on the couch on the other side of the table. Mycroft is pouring tea for everyone, except me. He made sure I got coffee. He looks at Harry and smiles. “I’ll be mother.”
“And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.” Sherlock says pointedly. I reach up and slap the back of his head. “Ouch!” Mycroft smiles at me and puts the teapot down. Harry looks at Sherlock.
“My employer has a problem.” Harry explains.
“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.” Mycroft says.
“Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?” Sherlock asks.
“People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr Holmes?” Harry asks.
“Not, to date, anyone with a Navy.” Sherlock says.
“This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust.” Mycroft says.
“You don’t trust your own Secret Service?” John asks.
“Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.” Mycroft explains.
John bites back a smile.
“I do think we have a timetable.” Harry asks.
Mycroft looks at me and frowns. “Yes, of course. Um ...” He opens his briefcase, takes out a glossy photograph and hands it to Sherlock who looks at the picture of Irene Adler. I look over and gasps. I look up at Mycroft, who isn’t looking at me “What do you know about this woman?”
“Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock says. I look away and try to control my tears. Why my sister. Why couldn’t it be anyone else?
“Then you should be paying more attention.” Mycroft says softly. I knew he felt bad, but I couldn’t look at him now. “She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately.”
“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?” Sherlock asks.
“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.” Mycroft says. I look over and catches his eyes. He looked apologetic.
“Professionally?” John asks.
“There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix’.” Mycroft explains. I nod slightly.
“Dominatrix.” Sherlock says thoughtlfully.
“Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.” Mycroft says.
“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Sherlock says.
“How would you know?” Mycroft asks and smiles snidely at him. Sherlock raises his head and stares at his brother. I roll my eyes. Mycroft was a virgin too, so I don’t understand why he was making those remarks to Sherlock. “She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it.” He takes more photographs from his briefcase and hands them to Sherlock. “These are all from her website.” Sherlock takes the photographs and leafs through them. I look over and frown. She was still as beautiful as the day I left. They are professional-looking publicity shots for her ‘services’ and show Irene at her glamorous and sexy best. I close my eyes and sighs.
“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.” Sherlock says.
“You’re very quick, Mr. Holmes.” Harry says.
“Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?” Sherlock asks.
“A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say any more at this time.” Harry says.
Sherlock glares at him angrily and puts the photographs down on the table. I lean forward and turn them over. Sherlock looks at me confused and then looks away.
“You can’t tell us anything?” John asks.
“I can tell you it’s a young person.” Mycroft says and looks at me. John picks up his teacup and takes a drink. “A young female person.” John’s eyes widen and Sherlock and I smirk.
“How many photographs?” Sherlock asks.
“A considerable number, apparently.” Mycroft says.
“Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?” Sherlock asks.
“Yes, they do.” Mycroft says.
“And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios.” Sherlock assumes.
“An imaginative range, we are assured.” Mycroft says.
“John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.” John quickly does as advised.
“Can you help us, Mr Holmes?” Harry asks.
“How?” Sherlock asks.
“Will you take the case?” Harry asks.
“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, ‘Know when you are beaten’.” Sherlock says. I shake my head, knowing my sister didn’t want the money. He turns and reaches for his overcoat which is draped on the back of the sofa.
“She doesn’t want anything.” Mycroft says. Sherlock turns back towards him. “She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour.”
“Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?” Sherlock asks. I frown and look down.
“Sherlock ...” John says.
“Hmm.” Sherlock says and turn around and reaches for his coat again. “Where is she?”
“Uh, in London currently. She’s staying ...” Mycroft starts to say.
Sherlock picks up his coat, stands and starts to walk away. “Text me the details. I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.” I scoff. The three other men stand up.
“Do you really think you’ll have news by then?” Harry asks.
Sherlock turns to him. “No, I think I’ll have the photographs.”
“One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think.” Harry says.
Sherlock looks at him sharply. After a minute, he turns to Mycroft. “I’ll need some equipment, of course.”
“Anything you require. I’ll have it sent to…” Mycroft starts to say.
“Can I have a box of matches?” Sherlock interrupts and looks turns to Harry.
“I’m sorry?” Harry asks.
“Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do.” Sherlock says and holds out his hand.
“I don’t smoke.” Harry says.
“No, I know you don’t, but your employer does.” Sherlock explains.
Harry reaches into his pocket and takes out a lighter which he hands to Sherlock. “We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes.” Harry says.
“I’m not the Commonwealth.” Sherlock says. He pockets the lighter and turns away.
“And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.” John says to Harry and follows Sherlock. He turns back to me. “Calliah?” I jump and look at him. “Are you coming?”
“Oh, I’ll be there soon.” I say softly. John nods and leaves.
I hear Harry leaving and Mycroft comes over by me. He takes my hands in his. “Why?” I ask softly.
“I couldn’t tell them no. I’m so sorry Ardaigh.” He says. I nod and move into him. He holds me.
“I don’t want to see her.” I say softly.
“So don’t. Stay with me till this is done.” Mycroft offers.
I sigh and look up at him. “As much as I would love that, you know I can’t. I have to help Sherlock with the devil.” I sigh and look down. “God. This is harder than the pool.” I say softly. He lifts my head.
“We will get through this Ardaigh.” He says softly and kisses me. I kiss back. I pull back and rest my forehead on his.
“I have to go. I have to get ready.” I say.
“Come over. ‘Anthea’ will help you.” Mycroft offers. I nod and we go to his car.
‘Anthea’ meet us at the door of Mycroft’s house. She leads me the bedroom. She puts me into a one-shoulder black dress. The dress was covered in lace. She did my hair half-up and half-down and curled it so a couple curls framed my face. She did my make-up darker than I would do. She did purple eye liner and eye shadow. She put deep red lipstick on my lips. She put me in a pair of black heel boots, a black and white bracelet, a black necklace, and some black drop earrings. She gives me a black clutch and sends me out to Mycroft.
Mycroft looks at me and his mouth drops. I smirk. “Time for battle.”