Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Reichenbach Fall- Six

Chapter Six

Whilst I sign for our personal property, John stands some distance away leaning back against the desk with his arms folded. "What did I say? I said, 'Don't get clever.'" He disapproves, like a disappointing parent. "I can't just turn it on and off like a tap." Taking the bag of items from the custody officer, we turn to John, beginning to walk away. "Well?" I stated. "Well what?"

"You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Like you said it would be. He sat on his backside, never even stirred." John said, referring to Moriarty's barrister. "Moriarty's not mounting any defence."

Back at the flat, John starts to pace, trying to get his head around everything. "Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why. All we know is..."

"He ended up in custody." Sherlock finished. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" I asked. "The look. Both of you."

"Look?" I turn to Sherlock in confusion. "You're both doing the look again."

"Well, we can't see it, can we?" Pointing to the mirror above the fireplace Sherlock turns his head and looks at his reflection. "It's his face." I responded. "Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're both doing a 'we both know what's really going on here' face."

"Well, we do." I stated. "No. I don't, which is why I find 'The Face' so annoying." I huff out a breath, starting my monologue. "If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there." Sherlock begins to pace. "Somehow this is part of his scheme."

Third POV

At the Old Bailey, the Judge begins to speak: "Mr Crayhill, can we have your first witness?" The defending barrister rises to his feet. "Your Honour, we're not calling any witnesses." Cries of surprise surround the courtroom. John, who is sitting in the public gallery, frowns in confusion. "I don't follow. You've entered a plea of Not Guilty."

"Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defence rests." The barrister sits down as Moriarty purses his lips ruefully at the judge. He then turns, looking up towards the public gallery, shrugging at John.

The following day, Sherlock was lying down on the sofa with Michelle snuggled in his side. They were both banned from attending the court case. Sherlock was quietly reciting similar words that the judge would say during his conclusion...

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which, if he's found guilty, will elicit a very long custodial sentence; Yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty." The judge states towards the jury.

Sherlock closes his eyes. "Guilty." He mumbles.

The court adjourns at 10:42. At 10:50 John is sitting on a bench just outside the courtroom when the Clerk of the Court hurries out of a side room. "They're coming back."

"That's six minutes." John stated in bafflement. "Surprised it took them that long, to be honest. There's a queue for the loo." The clerk responded. Hurrying into the court; John spares a moment, taking a moment to brace himself and follows. A few moments later the clerk rises to his feet in the courtroom and turns to face the jury. "Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?" One of the jury members lowers his head and shakes it in tiny despairing motions as the foreman gets to her feet and stares unhappily at the clerk...

At 221B, Sherlock's phone begins to ring. Both of their eyes snap open. Outside the court, John is hurrying along the pavement. "Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty. No defence, and Moriarty's walked free." Sherlock lowers his phone. "Sherlock, Michelle? Are you listening? He's out. You-you know he'll be coming after you." Switching the phone off, Michelle gets up, gently patting Sherlock before waltzing to the kitchen.

"I don't want you here." Sherlock stated, ominously. In the kitchen Michelle switches on the kettle and slams down a small tray beside it, putting a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a teapot, three cups and saucers with teaspoons onto the tray. The kettle comes to the boil and switches off. "Sherlock I'm staying. Unfortunately he knows my weak spot so it makes no difference if I stay or go."

Sherlock, now wearing a jacket in place of the dressing gown, takes over from Michelle in making the tea. Placing a chaste kiss to the side of her head he takes the tray to the table beside John's chair. He walks over to his own chair and picks up his violin and bow. As he begins to play Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor, downstairs the front door is expertly lockpicked and pushed open. Jim's easily recognisable shadow precedes him as he slowly walks along the hall and up the stairs. Partway up, one of the stairs creaks noisily and Jim pauses for a moment, as does Sherlock's playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumes from a few notes before where he stopped and Jim starts to climb the stairs again. Sherlock, standing with his back to the living room door, keeps playing.

"Michelle, remember... I..." For the second time he couldn't say what was lying so heavily on his heart. "You're the only one that matters to me, more than anything." Sherlock lowly mumbles. Michelle smiles, sympathetically. "Darling, I know."

Jim pushes open the door, then he stops but doesn't yet turn around. "Most people knock." Michelle responded, coldly. "But then again you're not most people, I suppose." Sherlock finished. Gesturing with his bow towards the table he spoke: "Kettle's just boiled."