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
Shortly afterwards, John lowers his own phone from his ear and switches it off. He turns to Sherlock who is now sitting in his armchair. “So, still got some friends on the Force. It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people.” Sherlock appears to be taking no notice of him, and now Mrs. Hudson knocks on the closed living room door with her customary “Ooh-ooh!” and then comes in. She apparently feels the tension in the room.
“Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?” Mrs. Hudson asks. Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks away. She turns her attention to John. “Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked ‘Perishable’ – I had to sign for it.” John takes the Jiffy bag from her and immediately realizes that there’s a wax seal over the flap. Sherlock looks across and also sees the seal. “Funny name. German, like the fairytales.” Sherlock rises to his feet and walks forward, his gaze intense and locked on the Jiffy bag as John opens it and pulls out the contents. I get off the couch and walk over. Outside, the sirens of several different vehicles are approaching. In John’s hand is a large gingerbread man but it’s an unusual color. He tilts it so that Sherlock can see it better.
“Burnt to a crisp.” Sherlock says. The vehicles pull up outside and the sirens stop, and doors start to slam as people get out of the cars.
“What does it mean?” I ask, referring to the gingerbread man. The doorbell rings and at the same time someone pounds on the front door knocker.
“Police!” A voice calls.
“I’ll go.” Mrs. Hudson says. She turns and hurries down the stairs as someone continues to knock on the door. Voices can be heard as she opens the door.
“Sherlock ...” I hear Donovan. I groan. Why did she have to come.
“Evening, Mrs Hudson.” Greg says.
“We need to talk to you!” Donovan says.
John puts the gingerbread man back into the envelope and puts it on the table before heading out of the flat. Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson sounds angry. “Don’t barge in like that!” I smirk at that. Feet can be heard trotting up the stairs. Calmly Sherlock turns around and picks up his scarf and loops it around his neck. John goes and blocking the stairs halfway up. I look at Sherlock.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I will be.” He says and grins.
“Have you got a warrant? Have you?” John asks.
“Leave it, John.” Greg says.
“Really! Manners!” Mrs. Hudson says.
Sherlock puts his coat on. Greg gets up with two other armed officers. He stands in front of Sherlock while one of two armed officers attaches handcuffs to his left wrist. I move back by John and take his hand. “Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.” Greg tells Sherlock.
John gestures towards Sherlock while looking at Greg as the officer pulls Sherlock’s left hand behind his back in order to cuff his other wrist. “He’s not resisting.”
“It’s all right, John.” Sherlock says calmly.
“He’s not resisting. No, it’s not all right. This is ridiculous.” John says. I place a hand on John’s arm to try and calm him.
“Get him downstairs now.” Greg says to the other officers.
The officer spins Sherlock around and marches him out of the door. Mrs. Hudson stands nearby almost in tears. “You know you don’t have to do ...” John says to Greg.
Greg gets in John’s face and pointing at him sternly. “Don’t try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too.”
“Greg, back up.” I say.
“You two Calliah.” Greg says and turns and leaves the room. John turns to Sally who is standing near the door.
“You done?” John asks.
Donovan looks smug and as she walks into the room. “Oh, I said it.”
“Mmm-hmm?” John asks.
“First time we met.” Donovan says.
“Watch it Donovan.” I say, trying to control my anger.
“Don’t bother.” John says.
“’Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line.” Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?” Donovan says and I rush over and punch her in the face.
A minute or two later Donovan walks out onto the street holding a handkerchief to her bleeding nose.
Nearby, Sherlock has been leaned against the side of a police car, facing it. I get slammed up against the car next to him. Sherlock looks across to me with an amused expression on his face.
“Hello.” I say and giggle.
“Joining me?” Sherlock asks.
“Yup. I punched Donovan. She needed to be put in place.” I say and laugh. John then gets slammed up against the car. “Oh goody, our whole team is going.”
“What did you do?” Sherlock asks.
“Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant.” John says and shrugs.
Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlock the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transfer it to John’s right wrist and put a pair of cuffs back on Sherlock’s right hand and puts the other cuff on my left wrist, chaining us together. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they’re standing.
“Hmm. Bit awkward, this.” Sherlock says to us.
“Huh. No-one to bail us.” John says.
“No Mycroft will.” I say.
“I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.” He looks down at the radio lying on the dashboard of the car they’re leaning against.
The radio squeals as the dispatcher speaks. “All units to two-seven.”
John and I look round at Sherlock’s previous statement. “What?”
“All units to two ...” The radio dispatcher says.
Rapidly Sherlock reaches through the open window of the car with the hand that is cuffed to mine and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly the officer behind the boys doubles over in pain and grabs at his earpiece when a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls the officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. Because it’s in his left hand, John’s shackled right hand is yanked upwards as well and he gasps in surprise at the rapid turn of events. Sherlock calls out as he aims the pistol towards the nearest officers. “Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?” When nobody reacts very quickly, Sherlock raises the gun skywards and fires it twice. “NOW would be good!” He lowers it and points it at the police again.
“Do as he says!” Greg says. He gestures everybody downwards and all the police start to kneel. We start to back away.
“Just-just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea. I’m just a ... you know ...” John yells.
Sherlock aims it at John’s head. “... my hostage. Calliah is too!” He yells. John gasps.
“Hostage! Yes, that works – that works.” John says softly. We continue backing away from the kneeling police. We begin to back carefully around the corner. “So what now?”
“Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run.” Sherlock says. He turns and begins to race off down the road, dragging John and me with him. Around the corner as we run along side by side, Sherlock loops the loose chain between their handcuffs around his hand. He does the same with our cuffs. “Take my hand. Both of you.”
I grabbing his hand as we race onwards. “Now people will definitely talk.” John says and I laugh. Sirens are approaching at the junction ahead of them. Sherlock swerves to his left and drops the pistol in the process. It clatters to the ground. “The gun!” John yells.
“Leave it!” Sherlock yells back. He shoves John and me down a side alley as the police car races straight across the junction. We run down the alleyway and reach high railings blocking their way. Sherlock, with his customary flair, leaps up onto the top of a dustbin and vaults straight over the top of the railings. John and I, being short and also not as close to the dustbin, is left behind; his right hand and my left hand are dragged upwards and our faces almost smashes against the railings as Sherlock drops to the other side.
“Sherlock, wait!” John yells. He reaches through the railings with his free hand and grabs Sherlock’s coat, dragging him closer and glaring into his face. “We’re going to need to coordinate.”
Sherlock quickly scans all around them. “Go to your right. Both of you.”
“Huh?” John and I ask,
“Go to your right.” Sherlock tells us. He looks upwards and goes up onto his tiptoes to get the chain of both sets of cuffs over the top of one of the spikes at the top of the railings.
Not long afterwards, we’re on the same side of the railings and running down the alley again. Reaching a T-junction Sherlock turns to the right, then immediately brakes and ducks back again as a sirening police car races past the end of the alley. We lean side by side against the wall catching their breath for a moment.
“Everybody wants to believe it – that’s what makes it so clever.” He looks at John and then me. “A lie that’s preferable to the truth.” Looking away again, his voice becomes bitter. “All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man.” I move my hand in the cuffs and hold his hand.
“What about Mycroft? He could help us.” John suggests.
He grunts as Sherlock drag us across to the other side of the alley and peer down the left arm of the T-junction. ”A big family reconciliation? Now’s not really the moment.” Sherlock says. I chuckle. Mycroft was going to be so mad. He spins around, dragging John and me in a circle behind him and looking back the way they came. John spots something at the end of the right arm of the T-junction.
“Sher... Sherlock.” John says. He elbows him with his cuffed arm to turn him in that direction. A face is peering around the corner at the end of the alley.
“We’re being followed. I knew we couldn’t outrun the police.” John says.
“That’s not the police. It’s one of my new neighbors from Baker Street. Let’s see if he can give us some answers.” Sherlock says. He breaks in the opposite direction from where the man is watching them. Running to the next corner, we flatten ourselves against the wall as they reach it and Sherlock looks around the corner. Sherlock presses himself back against the wall again.
“Where are we going?” John asks.
“We’re going to jump in front of that bus.” Sherlock says.
“What?!” John and I yell. But Sherlock’s already on the move and drags John and me out into the street. The assassin races after them. Halfway across the road, Sherlock screeches to a halt directly in front of the approaching bus. John’s impetus carries him past Sherlock before he’s able to stop and turn and now we are all facing the bus and not moving. The assassin charges into the road, throws himself at them and shoves them out of the way and all four of us tumble to the ground as the bus drives past, its horn blaring. Before the assassin can recover, Sherlock sits up and drags the man’s own gun from his jeans, then cocks and points it at him and of course it is the hand that is cuffed to mine.
“Tell me what you want from me.” Sherlock says to the man. The man stares at him wide-eyed but doesn’t speak. Sherlock moves the gun’s muzzle closer to him. “Tell me.”
“He left it at your flat.” The man says.
“Who?” Sherlock asks.
“Moriarty.” The man says.
“What?” Sherlock asks.
All four of us start to get to their feet, Sherlock still holding the gun on the other man. “The computer keycode.” The man tells us.
“Of course. He’s selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around.” Sherlock says. Three gunshots ring out and the assassin reels and drops to the ground. Sherlock stares up in the direction the bullets came from, then swings around and we race off. As police sirens approach again, we duck into an open doorway and yet another police car drives past the end of the road. We take a moment to catch their breath again. “It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come. “Get Sherlock.” We need to get back into the flat and search.”
“CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you?” I say.
“It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals.” Sherlock explains.
John has spotted a pile of newspapers nearby and he picks up the top copy. “Yeah, well, have you seen this?” He asks us. It’s a copy of “The Sun” – the same edition that Mycroft had at the Diogenes Club that morning, telling of the upcoming exposé by Kitty Riley. John shows it to Sherlock. “A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook.” Sherlock slowly turns his head – clearly the name means something to him. John is still looking at the paper. “Who is he?”
We go to Kitty Riley’s house. The lights come on and we see Kitty come in. We were sitting on her couch, each of us drumming the fingers of their handcuffed hand on their respective knees. “Too late to go on the record?” Sherlock asks.
Not long afterwards, Kitty is sitting in an armchair while the boys stand in the middle of the room. Sherlock is using a hairpin to pick the lock on his handcuff. “Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock says to Kitty. He frees his hand, moves onto his other hand. He frees that one and gives the hairpin to John before starting to pace back and forth in front of Kitty. “The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo.”
“I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so ...” Kitty says.
“And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?” Sherlock asks. Kitty shakes her head, refusing to tell him any more. “Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone.” John finally frees his own hand from the cuffs and moves to mine. “There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets.” Sherlock says. “What were his credentials?” Sherlock asks sternly. Outside in the hallway there have been the sounds of someone coming in through the main front door. John gets my hand free. Now Kitty looks towards the door of the flat and rises to her feet with a concerned look on her face when someone pushes her door open. Sherlock turns to follow her gaze as Jim Moriarty, unshaven and with his hair messy and wearing casual clothes including a cardigan, walks in with a shopping bag.
“Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal ...” Jim starts to say. He raises his eyes and stares in terror at the sight of Sherlock, whose own eyes widen. Jim drops the shopping bag and backs away until he bumps into the wall behind him, holding his hands up protectively in front of him. “You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.” Jim says, his voice trembling.
“You are safe, Richard. I’m a witness. He wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.” Kitty says.
“I would.” I practly growl. Sherlock puts a hand on my arm. John, his face full of shock, points at Jim.
“So that’s your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!” John asks Kitty. His teeth are bared and he glares at Jim, breathing heavily in pure fury.
“Of course he’s Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been.” Kitty tells us.
“What are you talking about?” John asks.
“Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.” Kitty explains.
Sherlock stares at Jim, who is still holding his hands up and looking at everyone nervously. Jim’s voice is shaking as he turns to John. “Doctor Watson, Miss Adler, I know you’re a good man.” He backs into the corner of the room, appearing terrified under John’s ferocious glare. “Don’t ... don’t h... Don’t hurt me.”
John screams at him, pointing towards him furiously. “No, you are Moriarty!” He turns his head briefly and yells at Kitty. “He’s Moriarty!” He turns back to Jim. “We’ve met, remember? You were gonna blow me up! You were gonna blow up Calliah!”
Jim puts his hands briefly over his face, and then holds them up in front of himself again, sounding as if he is almost crying in fear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He gestures towards Sherlock. “He paid me. I needed the work. I’m an actor. I was out of work. I’m sorry, okay?”
Breathing heavily, John turns to Sherlock. “Sherlock, you’d better ... explain ... because I am not getting this.”
“Oh I’ll ... I’ll be doing the explaining – in print.” She hands John a folder. “It’s all here – conclusive proof.” I walk over and look at it. John looks at an early typed sheet of her upcoming article, and then turns to the proof copy showing the layout of how it will appear in the newspaper, with spaces left for photographs. The headline reads, “Sherlock’s a fake!” with the strapline, “He invented all the crimes”. “You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis.” Kitty says to Sherlock.
“Invented him?” John asks upset.
“Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain.” Kitty says.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” I say.
Kitty turns and points towards Jim. “Ask him. He’s right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard.”
“Look, for God’s sake, this man was on trial!” John says furious.
“Yes ...” Kitty says and she points at Sherlock. “... and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you’d rig the jury.” Sherlock stares at her silently. “Not exactly a West End role, but I’ll bet the money was good.” She walks over to Jim and puts her arm around his shoulders while he stands with his hands still held out in front of himself. “But not so good he didn’t want to sell his story.”
Jim looks plaintively at John and me, putting his hands together pleadingly. “I am sorry. I am. I am sorry.”
“So-so this is the story that you’re gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty’s an actor?!” John asks Kitty. He shakes his head in disbelief.
“He knows I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show them something!” Jim says.
“Yeah, show us something.” John says. Kitty walks across the room. John and I turn to watch her as she reaches into a bag for more information. Kitty takes out a folder, walks over to us and gives it to John.
“I’m on TV. I’m on kids’ TV. I’m The Storyteller.” Jim tells us. John and I look at copies of Richard Brook’s contact details apparently taken from an agency website, then a newspaper article showing a picture of Richard in glasses wearing medical scrubs and with a stethoscope around his neck. The article is headlined, “Award Winning Actor Joins The Cast of Top Medical Drama”. “I’m ... I’m The Storyteller. It’s on DVD.” He looks across to Sherlock again. John and I continue looking through the folder at other publicity stills of Rich together with his CV. Jim gestures towards us, looking at Sherlock pleadingly. “Just tell him. It’s all coming out now. It’s all over.” His voice becomes more frantic. “Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!” Baring his teeth, Sherlock starts to walk towards him. “It’s all over now ... NO!” He backs away from Sherlock and up a short flight of stairs towards the bedroom on the upper level of the flat. His eyes are wide and terrified. “Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me!”
“Stop it. Stop it NOW!” Sherlock says furiously.
Jim turns and bolts up the stairs. “Don’t hurt me!”
Sherlock, John, and I chase after him. “Don’t let him get away!” John yells.
“Leave him alone!” Kitty yells up.
Jim runs into the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. Sherlock runs to the door and struggles momentarily to open it, then shoves it. There’s a crash outside as if Jim has landed on top of a dustbin. Sherlock looks out of the window, then turns to stop John. “No, no, no. He’ll have back-up.” He heads towards the stairs. Kitty backs down to get out of his way but doesn’t move quickly, slowing him down.
“D’you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you.” Kitty says. He stops at the bottom of the stairs as she gets into his face. “And you ... repel ... me.”
Sherlock turns and heads out of the door. John, still holding the folder of the articles about Rich, shoves Kitty aside and we follows him. She closes the door behind them. We go out onto the street and John and I stop while Sherlock begins to pace rapidly back and forth in the middle of the road. “Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?”
“He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.” Sherlock says.
“Your word against his.” I say softly.
“He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to ...” Sherlock starts. He stops dead. John, who has still been rifling through the folder, looks up at his friend, who is turned away from him.
“Sherlock?” I ask.
“Something I need to do.” Sherlock says.
“What? Can we help?” John asks.
“No – on my own.” Sherlock says. He briskly walks away. John and I watch him, sighing. John looks down at the papers again. He looks up and down the road and then apparently decides where we needs to go and He takes my hand and we head off in the opposite direction.
We go to the Diogenes Club and go into the small private room. I sit on the desk as we wait for Mycroft. Mycroft comes in but stops when he realizes that John is sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him. I smiles softly at him. John had figured out what Mycroft did. John is still looking through Kitty’s file. “She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.”
Mycroft closes the door. “Ah.”
“Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Three names: yours, Calliah’s and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me or Calliah.” John says.
Mycroft walks across the room to face him. “John ...”
“So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?” John asks. Mycroft sits down in the chair opposite and opens his mouth but John interrupts again. His voice is full of controlled anger. “Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.”
“I never inten... I never dreamt ...” Mycroft starts. I get off the desk and walk over and place a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.
“So this ...th-th-this ...” John interrupts. He looks through the papers again. “... is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it: “Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.’”He slaps the papers down on the table beside his chair and sits back, clearing his throat as he tries to stay calm. “How did you meet him?”
Mycroft draws in a long breath. “People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.”
“And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?” John asks.
“Interrogated him for weeks.” Mycroft says.
“And?” John asks.
“He wouldn’t play along.” Mycroft explains. “He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that make him open up…” He ruefully gestures to himself. “ could get him to talk ... just a little, but ...” He trails off.
John grimly finishes the sentence for him. “.. in return you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true.” He leans forward in his chair. “Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.” He smiles bitterly at him. Mycroft lowers his eyes. John pulls in a sharp breath and then gets to his feet, turning towards the door.
“John ...” Mycroft says. John turns back. Mycroft looks up at him. “I’m sorry.” He says softly.
“Oh, please ...” John says. He looks at me. “Why are you not shocked?” He asks. I look down and play with my ring. “You knew!?”
I look up and bite my lip. “Mycroft told me after the Baskerville case…”
John scoffs. “And you didn’t tell us?!” John yells.
“I couldn’t!” I yell.
He shakes his head in disbelief and turns away, laughing humorlessly as he walks to the door. “Match made in heaven!”
“Tell him, would you?” Mycroft asks. John opens the door and walks away, leaving the door open behind him.