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
Mycroft takes me home and had to leave again. I felt sick. John hated me. I lay on the couch and close my eyes.
I get woken up by my phone ringing. I look and see that it’s John.
“John. What’s wrong?” I ask as soon as I answer.
“Mrs. Hudson has been shot. Can you get to the house?” John asks.
“On my way.” I hang up and get a taxi to the flat.
John’s taxi pulls up the same mine does. John and I jump out of our taxis and hurry towards the door, and John scrabbling for his keys. Hurrying inside, we sees the tattooed bald workman standing at the top of his stepladder just in front of the stairs, drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs. Hudson is standing nearby watching him. As John runs towards her, she jolts in startlement, having not heard his approach over the sound of the drill. “Oh, God, John! You made me jump!” Mrs. Hudson says. I stand at the door and frown.
John stares at her in confusion. “But ...”
“Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?” Mrs. Hudson asks.
John stares for a moment longer and then it suddenly sinks in. “Oh my God.” He says softly, his voice full of horror. He turns around and runs outside, pulling me along, looking up and down the street frantically. Luckily he immediately sees what he needs. “Taxi!” A cab begins to pull over on the other side of the road. John chases across the road towards it, still pulling me. “Taxi!” A man is standing at the side of the road having also just hailed the cab. As he leans into the front window to tell the driver his destination, John runs around the cab and pulls open the rear door, talking even as he scrambles inside and pulls me in. “No, no, no, no, police! ... Sort of.”
The man walks away angrily. “Oh, thanks, mate – thanks a lot.”
John’s phone begins to ring below him as we get out of the taxi and he raises the phone to his ear as he trots towards the hospital. “Hello?” He answers. “Hey, Sherlock, you okay?” I look over. Where was Sherlock? “No, we’re coming in.” John turns back and looking around bewildered. I stop and look at him. “Where?” John stops. “Sherlock?” John turns and looks up, his face filling with horror. I look up and see Sherlock standing at the edge. I gasp and cover my mouth. What was he doing? “Oh God.” John says softly. “What’s going on?...Wh-what?...” John stares up at Sherlock in disbelief. “Why are you saying this?...Sherlock …Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?...You could…” John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly. “No. All right, stop it now.” He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance. John stops and backs up, holding his hand up towards Sherlock in capitulation. “All right.” He passes the phone to me. “He wants to talk to you.”
I grab the phone. “Sherlock. Get down. Come down here.” I say softly.
“I can’t.” Sherlock says. I tear up and look down.
“I need you though… I need you..” I say softly.
“I know. I’m sorry my flower.” He says.
“What will I do without you?” I ask.
“Live. Care for John and Mycroft for me please. Move on.” He tells me. “Put the phone on speaker so I can talk to you both.”
I put it on speaker. “Keep your eyes fixed on me.” Sherlock tells us. His voice becomes frantic. “Please, will you do this for me?”
“Do what?” John asks.
“This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?” Sherlock says. I start sobbing.
“No. no. no.” I says softly.
John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he’s beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky. “Leave a note when?”
“Goodbye, John and Calliah.”
John shakes his head. “No. Don’t.”
I look up and see Sherlock gazes down at his friend for several seconds, then he lowers his arm and drops the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself. John lowers his own phone and screams upwards. “No. SHERLOCK!” I start sobbing harder. Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground. John and I stare in utter horror.
“Sher...” I say softly.
My hearing whites out as my entire body focuses on getting to Sherlock as soon as I can. Sherlock had disappeared from view towards the end of his fall because a building was in the way of my view of him, and John and I run to the corner of the building, then slows down and stops in the middle of the road when we get our first glimpse of the still figure lying on the wet pavement, the lower part of his body obscured by a lorry parked at the roadside. Someone runs into us and we end up crashing to the ground, my head hitting the asphalt hard. Groaning, I struggles to stay conscious while, nearby, people begin to run towards the body on the pavement. The lorry pulls away and a couple of medics from the hospital hurry out and start trying to prevent the onlookers from getting too close. Grimacing with pain, I roll onto my side and looks across to the pavement where Sherlock is lying on his side with a lot of blood under his head. I start sobbing more. Slowly John hauls himself to his feet, helps my up, and we stumble towards him as more onlookers gather, talking excitedly about what they saw. John forces me onwards. “Sherlock, Sherlock ...” John says in a whisper. We reach the crowd. “I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please.” Some of the crowd try to hold us back but we push through them. “No, he’s our friend. He’s our friend. Please.” He reaches down to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist, searching for a pulse. A woman peels his fingers off and she and another person pull him away. As he reaches towards Sherlock again, more medics arrive with a wheeled stretcher. “Please, let me just ...” He says frantically. I back up and sit down. I bring my knees to my chest and start sobbing.
As the onlookers support him, four people lift Sherlock’s body onto the stretcher and then rapidly wheel it away into the hospital. I stare after it, my face blank and uncomprehending. John finally manages to get to his feet and shakes off his helpers, staring blindly in the direction that his friend’s body was taken. John comes over and helps me up. We lean on each other as we go inside.
Mrs. Hudson, John, and I stand beside each other in front of a black marble headstone of Sherlock. The flowers are now resting at the base of the headstone.
“There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school.” Mrs. Hudson says. She looks at John and me. “Would you ...?”
“I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment.” John says. John had been living in his old flat. I moved in with Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson takes John’s arm sympathetically. “I’m angry.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down.
Mrs. Hudson gently pats his arm. “It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.” She gazes at the smooth black marble. “All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!”
“Yeah.” John says. I chuckle softly.
“Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!” Mrs. Hudson says.
“Yes.” John says. He closes his eyes as she continues, her own voice breaking.
“And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!” Mrs. Hudson says.
John turns to her. “Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?”
“Okay.” Mrs. Hudson says. She turns away, pulling her arm free of his. “I’ll leave you two alone to, erm ...” Her voice breaks again. “... you know.” Crying, she walks away, fishing out a tissue to blow her nose.
John looks down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. He takes my hand and I smile softly at him. He looks back over his shoulder to see that Mrs. Hudson is now out of earshot, then turns back to the grave again. “Um ... mmm.” He pulls himself together a little. “You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There.” He blows out a breath, whimpering slightly. Looking over his shoulder again, he walks over to the headstone and puts his fingertips onto the top of it. I stay back to give him a little room. “I was so alone, and I owe you and Calliah so much.” He looks back and smiles sadly at me. He looks at the stone and takes a tearful breath. “Okay.” He turns and starts to walk away but only reaches the foot of the grave before he turns back again. I stand there and watch him. “No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. For Calliah. Don’t ... be ...” His voice breaks and fills with tears. “... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it.” He gestures down at the grave. “Stop this.” He sighs and lowers his head and stands there, broken. He lowers his head further, covers his eyes with one hand and weeps. I walk over and hug him. He hugs me back and weeps on me. Finally he wipes his eyes, sniffs deeply and raises his head, coming to attention in front of his best friend. Nodding in salute to him and giving himself permission to dismiss, he turns smartly on one heel and then walks away. “I’ll be in the taxi waiting. Take as long as you need.” He tells me.
“I won’t be long.” I say and wait till he is far away. I sit down and look at the stone. “I have been taking care of him and Mycroft as much as I can. John and I go out to lunch every day. I live with Mycroft now so… yeah…” I sigh and close my eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” I open my eyes and stand up. “Like John said, don’t be dead.” I say and go to taxi.