Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.
Here is the first part of the fall.
I own nothing, except Calliah
It had been two months since Jim had gotten out. I was out with John at NatWest cashpoint machine. He messes with it as I lean on the wall beside him. He grimaces and frowns. “What?” He points to the machine and I look.
Thank you for your patience.
I look and see Mycroft’s car pull up. “Croft!” I smile and go to the car. John sighs and gets in. We are driven to The Diogenes Club. I’ve never been here. We go inside and enter a large room. A large marble fireplace surrounds an unlit fire and the walls have heavy wooden paneling and ornate white plaster coving. The room contained five small round tables, each with a single armchair beside it, and four of them were currently occupied by middle-age or elderly gentlemen. They were all reading newspapers and didn’t even notice us. John looks around and then walks over to one of the older men sitting at the far end of the room.
“Er, excuse me. Um, I’m looking for Mycroft Holmes.” John says. The old man’s face becomes appalled but he doesn’t look up. “Would you happen to know if he’s around at all?” Some of the other men in the room look round at us but don’t speak. They all glare at me. “Can you not hear me?” The old man looks up at him and huffs indignantly. He also glares at me. John holds out a placatory hand to him. “Yes, all right.” He turns around to the others in the room. “Anyone?” The others turn their faces away from us. “Anyone at all know where Mycroft Holmes is? We’ve been asked to meet him here. The old man lifts his walking stick and pushes the end of it repeatedly onto a button on the nearby wall. A distant bell rings. John looks around in confusion while the gentlemen ignore us, look at him annoyance, or glare at me. “No takers? Right.” He raises his voice. “Are we invisible? Can you actually see us?” Just then three men wearing dress coats walk into the room. John and I turn to them. “Ah, thanks, gents.” The men, wearing white gloves and soft white overshoes to muffle their footsteps, walk briskly over to us. “I’ve been asked to meet Mycroft Holmes…” He stops as two of the men walk either side of him and firmly seize his arms. The third man come over and offers me his arm. I smile and take it. “What the…? Hey!” John yells. As they almost lift him off his feet, one of them put his other hand over John’s mouth to silence him. His muffled protests continue while we rapidly leave the room.
We are lead to another small room, where Mycroft is pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter. I look at the doors and see that they are closed. “Croft.” I say and skip over to him and kiss him on the cheek. “Hello.”
He smiles at me. “Hello love. At least you got the tradition. Too bad our friend, Doctor Watson, did not.” He says and looks at John.
“So total silence is traditional, is it? You can’t even say, ‘Pass the sugar’.” John says.
“Three-quarters of the diplomatic service and half of the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley. It’s for the best, believe me.” Mycroft says and smiles round at John but then his face becomes grimmer as he walks towards a pair of armchairs in the middle of the room. “They don’t want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here.”
John walks to a small table and picks up a copy of “The Sun” which was lying on it. He brandishes it at Mycroft. “You read this stuff?”
“Caught my eye.” Mycroft said.
John sits down in one of the armchairs. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Saturday: they’re doing a big expose.” Mycroft says.
John reads some of the newspaper. “I’d love to know where she got her information.”
“Someone called Brook. Recognize the name?” Mycroft asks us. I shake my head and frown.
“What information?” I ask.
“Kitty Riley, a reporter, is saying that Sherlock Holmes is a fraud. Richard Brooks, a man that says that he has know Sherlock for decades and considered him a close friend, has said that Sherlock paid him to help.” Mycroft explains to me.
“Maybe a school friend?” John suggests.
Mycroft laughs in a snide way. I frown and slap his arm. “Shut up.” I look at John. “Sherlock didn’t have school friends.”
“That isn’t why I asked you two here.” Mycroft says and walks to a side table and picks up several folders. Returning to John he gives him on of them. John opens the file and looks at it.
“Who’s this?” John asks.
“Don’t know him?” Mycroft asks.
“No.” John says.
“Never seen his face before?” Mycroft asks.
John looks at the file again. “Umm….”
“He’s taken a flat in Baker Street, two doors down from you guys.” Mycroft explains.
“Hmm! I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbors.” John says and smiles sarcastically up at Mycroft who looks back at him straight-faced.
“Not sure you’ll want to.” Mycroft says and nods towards the folder. “Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly-trained killer living less than twenty feet from your front door.”
“It’s a great location. Jubilee line’s handy.” John jokes.
“John…” I say softly.
“What’s it got to do with me and Calliah?” John asks.
Mycroft walks over and gives him another file. “Dyachenko, Ludmila.” He sits in the other chair. I walk over and sit on his lap and he wraps an arm around my waist.
John opens the file and looks at it. “Um, actually, I think I have seen her.”
“Russian killer. She’s taken the flat opposite.” Mycroft tells us.
“Okay… I’m sensing a pattern here.” John says a little nervous.
Mycroft hands him the rest of the files. “In fact, four top international assassins relocate to within spitting distance of two hundred and twenty-one B. Anything you care to share with me?”
John looks at the other files and chuckles. He looks up at us. “I’m moving?!”
Mycroft looks back at him unamused, and then narrows his eyes. “It’s not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?”
“You think this is Moriarty?” John asks.
“He promised Sherlock he’d come back.” Mycroft says.
“If this was Moriarty, we’d be dead already.” John says.
“If not Moriarty, then who?” Mycroft asks.
“Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him?” John asks. Mycroft looks at my hand and plays with my ring. “Oh God, don’t tell me.”
“Too much history between us, John. Old scores; resentments.” Mycroft says. I could tell him he was hiding something. What was he hiding.
“Nicked all his Smurfs? Broke his Action Man?” John asks. Mycroft glowers at him. John laughs and then pulls himself together and puts the files onto the table beside him. “Finished.” He says in a whisper. He gets up and turns to leave.
“We all know what’s coming, John.” Mycroft says. John stops and turns back, clearly struggling to control his anger. “Moriarty is obsessed. He’s sworn to destroy his only rival.”
“So you want me to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help.” John says tightly.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” Mycroft says and directs a smile at John but it quickly fades and his expression becomes more threatening. John hold his gaze, then looks away, and nods in a resigned way. He looks up at me.
“Calliah, are you coming?” John asks.
I try and get up but Mycroft stops me. “No, she will be staying away for a little.”
“Oh, am I?” I ask.
“Yes.” Mycroft says and looks at me. I sigh and look at John.
“Text me for anything big.” I tell him. He nods and leaves.
I turn to Mycroft. “What are you hiding?” I ask.
He sighs and grabs his drink and shallows it in one gulp.
Late that night, I was at Mycroft and I feel my phone make the text alert. I get my phone out and see a text from John.
Scotland Yard. Now.
On my way. CM
I tell Mycroft where I was going and rush out.
I get to Scotland Yard and go by an office, where Sherlock is pacing and John is sitting near by. I sit by John. “What’s going on?”
“US ambassador’s kids went missing. We found them and Sherlock is waiting to talk to them.” John explains. I nod as Donovan and Greg come out.
“Right, then. The professionals have finished. If they amateurs wanna go in and have their turn…” Donovan says sarcastically to Sherlock. I get up and glare at her. “Oh look, the other freak is here. A set now.”
John and I walk over to them. Greg looks at Sherlock seriously. “Now, remember, she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old, so anything you can do to..” He starts to say.
“…not be myself.” Sherlock finishes.
“Yeah. Might be helpful.” Greg says.
Sherlock looks at us and does everything but rolls his eyes. He unpops his collar and leads us into the office. The little girl is sitting at a table and looking down at her lap. A female liaison officer is sitting beside her stroking her arm reassuringly.
“Claudette, I..” Sherlock starts to say, before the little girl looks up, takes one look at him and begins to scream in terror. “No-no, I know it’s been hard for you..” She continues screaming and scrambles to get away while pointing at him. “Claudette, listen to me…”
“Out. Get out!” Greg yells. He grabs his harm and bundles Sherlock out of the room as the girl’s screams continue. John and I follow behind looking worried.
Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is standing at the window of another office looking out into the night through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Donovan is watching him from the other side of the office. I glare at her, wondering what she was thinking.
“Makes no sense.” John says.
“The kid’s traumatized. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.” Greg says.
“So what’s she said?” John asks.
“Hasn’t uttered another syllable.” Greg says.
“And the boy?” John asks.
“No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care.” Greg explains. “Well, don’t let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people.” He looks round to us. I get up and slap his head. “Ouch!”
“Don’t be rude.” I say and go to Sherlock.
“Come on.” Greg says. Greg and John leave. Donovan stays behind as Sherlock turns around and offers me his arm. I take it and we start walking toward the door.
“Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.” Donovan says. I glare at her.
“Thank you.” Sherlock says.
“Unbelievable.” She says pointedly. Sherlock hesitates momentarily and then leads me out. We go outside where John was waiting. John hails a taxi and John looks at Sherlock.
“You okay?” John asks.
“Thinking.” Sherlock says. The taxi pulls at the curb. “This is Calliah’s and my taxi. You get the next one.”
“Why?” John asks.
“You might talk. Calliah knows to keep quite.” Sherlock explains and he helps me and gets in.
Sherlock sits in the back of the taxi, lost in thought. Partway into the journey, the TV screen on the back of the seats turn on and an advertisement starts to play. London Taxi Shopping is advertising jewelry. “This is a stunning evening wear set from us here at London Taxi Shopping.
“Can you turn this off, please?” Sherlock asks the driver.
The driver doesn’t respond and the advert continues. “As you can see, the set comprises of a beautiful…”
“Can you turn this off…” Sherlock says louder and angrily.
The image on the screens begin to fritz as if another channel is breaking through. There are momentary glimpses of Jim Moriarty grinning at the screen. Eventually the advert disappears and Jim is seen smiling cheerfully. Behind him is a pale blue wall with painted white fluffy clouds floating across it. Jim’s voice takes on a sing-song quality as if he is talking to children. “Hullo. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot.” I look at Sherlock and see that he was staring at the screen intensely. “Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain ...” Behind him, the pale blue sky gets darker and the white clouds become grey and threatening. “And soon they began to wonder ...” Behind him, rain begins to pour from the clouds. “... ‘Are Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories even true?’” Jim shakes his head. “Oh, no. So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said ... (in a dramatic whisper) ... ‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’ And then even the King began to wonder ...” He frowns, raising a finger to his mouth and gazing off to the side with a thoughtful look on his face. Jim frowns thoughtfully as cartoon lightning bolts shoot out of the clouds behind him. Jim shakes his head repeatedly. “But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-a-lot’s problem. No.” He looks down for a moment, and then raises his eyes to the camera again. “That wasn’t the final problem.” Sherlock bares his teeth at the screen as the camera pulls back to show Jim sitting with a storybook held in his hands. He looks up at the camera and finishes in an even more sing-song voice. “The End.” Behind him, a red velvet curtain drops down as if covering a theatre stage. The shot changes to an extreme close-up of Jim grinning hugely and showing his teeth, then the screen fritzes a few times and eventually returns to the jewelry advert. I grab Sherlock’s hand to try and comfort him.
“Stop the cab! Stop the cab!” Sherlock yells. The taxi begins to pull up near the curb. “What was that?” He jumps out of the right-hand door, pulling me along, and runs forward to the driver’s door. “What was that?”
The cabbie turns his head towards Sherlock and reveals that he is Jim Moriarty, who adopts a London accent as he speaks. “No charge.”
He immediately accelerates away as Sherlock tries to grab hold of the door and pull the cab back. I go back to the sidewalk. Forced to let go, he chases after the taxi but it soon speeds away. He stops in the middle of the road, glaring after it and unaware that another car is speeding along behind him.
“Sherlock!” I call out.
As it sounds its horn in warning, a man hurries off the pavement, grabs him and pulls him out of danger. “Look out!” Not yet fully realizing what the man is doing, Sherlock strikes out at him but then stops as the car roars past and he realizes what has happened. He stands with the man at arm’s length, breathing heavily while the man looks warily at him.
“Thank you.” Sherlock says as he catches his breathe. I run over. He holds out his hand for the man to shake. The man somewhat reluctantly takes it and the three bullets are fired into him in quick succession from somewhere behind Sherlock. The man slumps to the ground and Sherlock spins around, trying to find the source of the gunfire. Just then another black cab comes around the corner and pulls up a short distance away. John jumps out and hurries towards him.
“Sherlock!” John calls out.
Some time later Sherlock stands twitching his fingers fretfully while an ambulance crew wheels the body away. “That ... it’s him. It’s him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He’s a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us.” I frown and cross my arms.
“He died because I shook his hand.” Sherlock says.
“What d’you mean?” John asks.
“He saved my life but he couldn’t touch me. Why?” Sherlock asks. He storms off. John and I follow.
Sherlock walks rapidly into the living room, pulling his scarf and then his coat off as he goes across to the laptop on the table. “Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn’t come here to kill me; they have to keep me alive.” He sits down at the table while John goes over to the window near him and looks out. I sit on the couch. “I’ve got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me ...”
“... the others kill them before they can get it.” I say. Sherlock grunts in agreement and types rapidly on the laptop
“All of the attention is focussed on me. There’s a surveillance web closing in on us right now.” Sherlock says.
“So what have you got that’s so important?” John asks.
Sherlock gazes into the distance and thinks for a moment, then runs his finger along the table beside the computer before lifting it and looking at his fingertip. “We need to ask about the dusting.”
Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Hudson has been dragged upstairs in her nightdress and dressing gown. Sherlock is hurrying around the room checking for dust on all the furniture. “Precise details: in the last week, what’s been cleaned?”
“Well, Tuesday I did your lino ...” Mrs. Hudson starts to say.
“No, in here, this room. This is where we’ll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust.” Sherlock says. He lifts his hand from the latest piece of furniture that he has been running his finger along, and twirls his finger dramatically in the air. “Dust is eloquent.”
Mrs. Hudson looks over her shoulder at John and me. “What’s he on about?”
John shakes his head and I shrug. By now Sherlock is climbing on the furniture to look more closely at the top shelves of the bookcase to the left of the fireplace. “Cameras. We’re being watched.” Sherlock says.
“What? Cameras?” Mrs. Hudson asks. She cringes. “Here? I’m in my nightie!”
The doorbell has just rung and she hurries out of the room, John following her. Sherlock has climbed down and now checks in the eye sockets of the skull on the mantelpiece before climbing onto small tables on the other side of the fireplace to look at the bookshelves there. Checking the books on the top shelf, he seems to realize that the one on the far right has more movement around it than it ought and he pushes it deeper into the shelf, revealing a camera stuck on the side of the bookshelf. As he reaches up to remove it, Greg comes into the room followed by John. “No, Inspector.” Sherlock says without turning around, still concentrating on removing the camera
“What?” Greg asks.
Sherlock steps down with the camera in his fingers. “The answer’s no.”
“But you haven’t heard the question!” Greg says.
“You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.” Sherlock says. He walks closer. Greg pulls in a breath.
“Sherlock ...” Greg says softly.
“The scream?” Sherlock interrupts.
“Yeah.” Greg says.
“Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You’re going to have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home ...” Sherlock says and reaches forward and briefly places his index fingertip on Greg’s forehead between his eyes. “... there.”
“Will you come?” Greg asks.
Sherlock turns away, sitting down at the laptop and beginning to type. “One photograph – that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch.” Picking up the camera again, he looks at it for a moment, then raises his eyes to Greg’s. “It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play.” Sherlock looks away again. “Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan.” Sighing and exchanging a brief look with John, Greg turns and heads off down the stairs. John and I watch him go then turns back towards Sherlock who has now linked the camera into the computer so that he can pull up the footage on the computer screen. John has gone over to the right-hand window and looks out at the car parked outside as Greg and Sally go over to it and get in, Greg glancing up towards the window momentarily. As the car starts, Sherlock briefly looks at John. “They’ll be deciding.”
“Deciding?” John asks.
“Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.” Sherlock explains.
“You think?” I ask.
“Standard procedure.” Sherlock explains.
“Should have gone with him. People’ll think ...” John says.
“I don’t care what people think.” Sherlock says.
“You’d care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong.” John says.
“No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.” Sherlock says.
Angrily, John turns towards him. “Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re ...” He breaks off as Sherlock lifts his head to look at him. They lock eyes for a long moment.
“That I am what?” Sherlock asks.
“A fraud.” I say softly.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in the seat. “You two are worried they’re right.”
“What?” John asks.
“You two are worried they’re right about me.” Sherlock says.
“No.” John and I say at the same time.
“That’s why you’re so upset and Calliah is so quite. You two can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You two are afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.” Sherlock says.
John turns away and looks out of the window again. “No I’m not.”
“Never.” I say.
Sherlock leans forward. “Moriarty is playing with your mind too.” Furious, he slams his hand onto the table. “Can’t you see what’s going on?”
John looks at him for a few seconds, and then looks out of the window again. “No, I know you’re for real.”
“A hundred percent?” Sherlock asks.
“A thousand percent.” I say right away. Sherlock looks at me and I stare back.
John looks at Sherlock. “Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.” He says quietly. Sherlock locks eyes with him again, and then his mouth twitches with the trace of a smile. John looks away once more. Sherlock looks at me and I grin.