Heading for a Fall
by Jolie Black
based on the BBC "Sherlock" series
Summary: This is a missing moment from "The Empty Hearse". Sherlock Holmes and Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan come face to face again for the first time after The Fall.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to so many people (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffatt, Mark Gatiss and all the BBC) that there is nothing left of him that could possibly belong to me.
Author's note: I tried to get into Sherlock's and/or Sally's head to write this, but it wouldn't work. So this fic takes the form of a movie script. I tried to write what I would have liked to see. Dedicated to all the lovely ladies at The BBC Sherlock Fan Forum who with their wonderful in-depth character analysis caused me to write this!
Feedback is much appreciated!
A railway station in central London. Crowds of people, most of them commuters on their way home from work, converge on the ticket barriers across the entrance to the suburban railways section of the station. Bright, artificial light, noise, a general sense of rush hour, hurry and transit. One of the people walking purposefully towards the barriers is Sally Donovan, dressed for work, handbag hanging from one shoulder, a heavy, bulging grocery bag in either hand. She looks tired, preoccupied, glad to be going home for the day. Without stopping, she switches one grocery bag to her other hand and uses her free hand to rummage in her handbag for her Oyster card. She pulls out her wallet. At that moment, we hear her phone ringing. She stops dead, people behind her overtaking her left and right, some avoiding her narrowly, some jostling her slightly. She drops her wallet back into her bag, pats the pockets of her jacket, pulls out her phone and takes the call.
SALLY (in a quiet voice, warm but not cheerful): Hi dad. How was it today?
A short pause as she listens to the reply. She walks on towards the barriers. Long queues have formed in front of them. Sally joins one of the queues.
SALLY (into phone): Well, that sounds better at least than last time.
A pause again, longer this time. Sally grimaces slightly at what she hears.
SALLY (into phone): Yeah, as far as you can get used to that sort of thing. She's so brave.
The queue is shortening slowly. There are seven or eight people in front of Sally. We see only their backs, from her point of view. We don't see who stands behind her.
SALLY (into phone): Look, dad, I'm really glad you called. About Saturday, listen. I know I promised, but I don't think I can make it. I'm sorry, really - no, listen, please. (Quickly, but still in a low voice, looking left and right as if to check nobody is eavesdropping) We had a tip-off, Greg thinks this might be our chance, you know what I mean, we've been waiting and working so long for this. He really needs all hands on deck this weekend.
Short pause again.
SALLY (into phone, frowning): No, of course not. He knows about mum. Look, I'll call Lucy, I'm sure she'll understand, she'll -
Sally is now the third in line. There's only a man in a suit and an elderly lady with big shopping bags in front of her. Sally holds the phone clamped between her ear and her shoulder, head to one side, and tries to pull out her wallet again and talk at the same time.
SALLY (into phone, a little breathlessly): Just let me - hang on -
She fumbles nervously, aware that she's holding up everyone behind her. It's her turn at the barrier. In a series of remarkable acrobatics, she manages to touch her Oyster card to the pad without dropping wallet, phone or groceries and pushes her way through to the other side. With a look of relief on her face, she pockets her wallet, takes the phone back into her hand and continues to speak into it.
SALLY (into phone): Sorry about that. I'm on my way home.
We follow her as she is walking - more slowly than before - down the passage to the platform. The crowds have thinned a little, but the place is still busy, people still sweeping past her, many footsteps echoing hollowly. She smiles briefly at what she hears on her phone.
SALLY (into phone): Yeah, I know, dad. You always say that. Well, I'll get in touch with Lucy right now. You give mum a big careful hug from me, and tell her to hang in there, and then you get some rest yourself. I'll let you know what we've worked out for Saturday. (Short pause.) Yeah, you too. Bye!
She ends the call and stands still for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then she looks up ahead towards her train waiting on the platform, brightly lit inside, doors open, pockets her phone and starts walking towards it with the same purposeful stride we've seen at the beginning of the scene.
On the train, inside a carriage. Sally has chosen a seat at a window in an area with four seats facing each other, two facing forwards and two facing backwards, vis-a-vis. She's placed her handbag on the aisle seat next to her and her groceries on the floor. The two seats facing her are empty. She takes her phone out again and speed-dials a number. She looks out of the train window into the darkness as she waits for a reply. There is a blurred mirror image of the brightly lit interior of the carriage reflected in the rain-spattered window. Two or three other travellers walk past Sally, none of them stopping or looking her way. There is no reply on the phone. She sighs and ends the call, runs her hand across her brow, pushes back her hair and then starts typing a text message, holding the phone low on her lap and looking down at it We cut to the point of view of a person standing next to her in the aisle, facing in the same direction, as if someone has just walked up to her seat row. She still has her head lowered and is still typing.
MALE VOICE (off-screen): Mind if I sit down?
SALLY (not looking up, pulling her handbag towards her in a little token gesture of making room): No, 'course not.
MALE VOICE (off-screen): Thank you.
A man in a long dark coat, seen from behind, steps forward to take the aisle seat diagonally across from Sally, opposite her bag. We see him beginning to turn and sit down but cut back to Sally before we can see his front and face. There is a beeping sound as the train doors close with a thud and the train begins to move. Sally glances automatically out of the window for a second. The man opposite her, no more than a dark blur in the reflection, sits perfectly still. Sally returns to her phone, frowns a little at what she's just typed, then continues with her message. The train is gathering speed. Sally finishes her message, takes a deep breath and hits the "send" button. She then looks up at the man opposite her, an impersonal, automatic smile beginning to form on her lips - and freezes.
SHERLOCK (still completely motionless): You said you wouldn't mind.
Sally exhales audibly, tightens the grip on her phone, draws herself up in her seat and crosses her arms.
SALLY: Come back from your grave to haunt me, have you?
One corner of Sherlock's mouth smiles. The other doesn't.
SHERLOCK: If I haven't haunted you before, why would I start today?
SALLY (sarcastically): Don't know. Nothing else to do? Bored?
Sherlock doesn't reply, but continues to smile wryly.
SALLY (matter-of-factly): All right. What are you doing here?
SHERLOCK: Taking a train. You know -
He un-freezes, gesturing around the compartment with one hand.
SHERLOCK: Cheaper than a cab, quicker than the bus. Very comfortable way of getting around.
SALLY: Getting where, exactly?
SHERLOCK: Oh, not sure yet. You decide.
Sally's phone in her hand beeps a text alert. She doesn't react.
SHERLOCK (nodding towards the phone): That's probably the reply you were waiting for.
Sally gives him an annoyed look, then un-crosses her arms to look at the phone, holding it up in front of her as if to make sure nobody but her can read what's on the screen. Before she's taken the whole message in and before any reaction forms on her face -
SHERLOCK: I'm sorry your sister can't make it on Saturday.
Sally lowers the phone, eyebrows raised. Then her eyes narrow with suspicion.
SALLY (slowly, almost aggressively over-pronouncing the words): What exactly -
SHERLOCK: Oh, that wasn't so hard. (Quick-fire deduction mode) She doesn't answer your call. You send her a text. Not three minutes later she replies - also by text, not by calling you back, although even if she had it switched off the missed calls alert on her phone would tell her that you would have preferred to speak to her personally. So why does she text you? It could be because she doesn't have a quiet moment right now to make a proper call, but (glancing at his watch) her kids should be in bed by now and a text of that length (nodding towards her phone again) - something around 120 characters, going by the time it took you to read it - would take most people two full minutes to type anyway. So chances are that although she knows you'd prefer it and although she's not busy otherwise she really doesn't want to talk to you right now, which indicates embarrassment, prevarication, possibly even insincerity, and at any rate ultimately a negative answer to your request. So no, she won't go on Saturday in your stead. (Sarcastically) Poor mum.
He raises his eyebrows expectantly as if to say "How was that?", but Sally sits in silence, looking at him with a very pained expression on her face. Sherlock's eyebrows slowly sink back to their normal position, and the smugness fades. He studies her face, but without arrogance or sarcasm now, waiting patiently for her to find her voice again.
SALLY (squeezing her eyes shut, trying to fight down her rising anger): How - how do you know about -
SHERLOCK: I told you it wasn't hard.
He leans forward towards her with a confidential and slightly mischievous look on his face. She senses the movement and opens her eyes, a little startled to see his face so close to her.
SHERLOCK (quietly): I stood behind you in the queue at the ticket barrier. No-one could have helped overhearing.
He leans back in his seat again.
SALLY (still angry): You -
SHERLOCK (airily): Really, anyone could have figured it out. You could. Though maybe not. Apparently you have to start practising young. It's really just about using your senses. Ears, eyes -
SALLY (recovering her spirits, pointedly): What about a sense of tact?
SHERLOCK (didactically): All the senses that matter.
SALLY: Only those that you possess, of course.
SHERLOCK: That's what I meant.
Silence. The train rumbles on and then slows down as it approaches the next station.
SALLY: Look, if you've only come here to lecture me on the (over-pronouncing again, almost grimacing) "Science of Deduction", I think we're done now. (Nodding towards the window.) And this would be a good place for you to get off.
The train comes to a halt. The doors open. Sherlock makes no move to get up.
SHERLOCK: As a matter of fact, that isn't why I'm here.
Two or three people that have just got on the train walk down the aisle past Sally and Sherlock, looking for seats. The doors beep and close, and the train starts moving again.
SHERLOCK: I wanted to thank you.
SALLY (with a short, incredulous laugh): Thank me? What for?
SHERLOCK: For playing your part so well.
SALLY: Playing my part!
SHERLOCK: Yes. Doing exactly the right thing at the right time, saying exactly the right words in the right way. You and Anderson.
SALLY: Me and Anderson!
SHERLOCK: Yes. Without you two it would never have worked out so beautifully. You were perfect. Totally convincing. Swept everyone along, just like we hoped you would.
SALLY (leaning back and crossing her arms again): Listen to me. I don't know where you get that idea, but that was not a part I played. That was real. I wasn't playing. I was doing my job. Doing it the way we all should have done long before. Doing the thing like it's supposed to be done. (Angrily, speaking louder and louder) Not skipping and dancing all over the place pretending that it's all great fun and bad things happen to people solely for the purpose of our amusement!
SHERLOCK (in a conciliatory tone): I know.
SALLY (talking over him, very firmly): And I wasn't being convincing, I was right.
SHERLOCK (after a split second of silence, quietly but equally firmly): No you weren't.
SALLY (more quietly than before, but with a vicious undertone): Yes I was. Maybe not about the details, not about the kids. But about you. It might not have been you that time around, but it probably was in other cases and it will be again - if we let you.
Sherlock leans back and exhales audibly.
SALLY: Now go and deny it, if you can.
SHERLOCK: What good would that do?
Silence. The train rumbles on.
SALLY (quietly): You have no idea what you did to Greg, do you? What it was like for him, that last day and night, with the DSC hitting the roof and he looking like an idiot, and then the next morning, when the call came from Bart's, he was destroyed, destroyed. I'd never seen him like this. He just sat there, with that look on his face, and then when I walked over, he looked up at me, and he said, "Sally - "
She breaks off, shaking her head, close to tears. She turns her head to look out of the window, trying to regain her composure. Outside, it is fully dark, streetlights flashing past. Sherlock watches her, silent and unmoving, the expression on his face unreadable.
SALLY: I knew it would happen one day. I knew it couldn't go on, he couldn't go on allowing it. I knew he was heading for a fall. We all were. I mean -
She turns her head back towards Sherlock. A muscle twitches in his face.
SALLY: Yes, you were, but we were, too. Did you ever stop to think about that?
Silence again. Then -
SHERLOCK (quietly): You needed me.
SALLY: You needed us, too.
Silence once more. Then Sherlock leans forward, his elbows on his knees. He tilts his head to one side, his eyes fixed on Sally's.
SHERLOCK: And you still need me.
After a moment, he leans back again, waiting. Sally very pointedly looks him up and down, then shrugs.
SALLY: And you still need us.
The train passes a couple of points, the carriage swaying gently from side to side.
SALLY (reaching for her bags): And that's my station.
SHERLOCK: Yes, I know.
He politely draws in his legs and turns sideways so she can pass through into the aisle without touching him. She does and stands in the aisle, bags in hand. The train slows down. Sally takes a deep breath.
SALLY (in a mock-cheerful tone, slightly too loud): Well. See you 'round at the Met, then?
SHERLOCK (looking up at her, perfectly straight-faced): I'm afraid so.
And then he breaks into the sweetest, most warm-hearted impish smile he is capable of. The corners of Sally's mouth twitch as if to respond in kind, but she reins herself in at the last moment, closes her eyes in exasperation, then turns and walks away. The doors beep and close behind her.
The End.
August 2014