Hi there,
as the "Reichenbach Fall" is in large part told from John´s perspective I wanted to retell the whole affair from Sherlock´s pont of view. He must have known so many things in advance and in my view no move in the whole business has been incidentally.
WARNING: If you haven´t yet watched: DON´T READ! Spoils all your fun :-)
Sequel to this story is "The Plan" which tells what Sherlock was up to during his hiatus.
Oh, and of course the credit for the creation of Sherlock Holmes goes to Arthur Conan Doyle and for reanimating him to the Gattis / Moffat team!
"He sits motionless, like a spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations,
and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself. He only plans."
(A.C. Doyle, The Final Problem)
„He´s back." That´s all John says and all that I need to hear to know that the game has started.
The most dangerous, the most deadly game the consulting criminal will play with the consulting detective and probably the last one for both of us. I hesitate to take the phone from John´s hand, in a futile attempt to prolong this last moment of peace.
It has been a time of ease and considerable quiet the months before the Reichenbach case caught the attention of the media and I was consigned to several prominent cases. This peace has not only been shattered by the sudden interest the public started to express in my person and my work, but much more by Mycroft´s revelations on Moriarty and his probable connection to issues of national security. He informed me that he has held him in custody, interrogating him.
The consulting criminal would only answer my brother´s inquiries and only for the price of vital pieces of information on my life and background. My brother and I agreed which parts of my life we would reveal to him, as Mycroft had already formed a plan. And I, for once, agreed on his terms.
John does not know of our secret meetings, I have deliberately kept him in the dark on how great a danger Moriarty is. Now he is looking at me, thrusting the phone forward, concern showing in his eyes, and I as I can´t prolong the moment any longer, I take it from his outstretched hand.
"Moriarty`s s been arrested," Lestrade reports. "He´s broken into the treasury, obviously he attempted to steal the crown jewels." He sounds exasperated and I notice there´s more he wants to tell me, but I cut him short.
"I´ll be at the yard," I answer, shutting the phone down.
John and I leave the flat and for once my friend does not want to know what happened and I do not elaborate. The taxi ride is quiet and we are silent until we arrive at Lestrade´s office. He files us in on everything that happened this morning, the opening of the vaults of the Bank of England, the override of security in Pentonville Prison and Moriarty´s break-in to one of the most highly protected places in Great Britain – the treasury in the Tower of London.
I watch the videotape, taking in and analysing his display of arrogance, his pompous poising on the throne, his warped image of Her Majesty – posing as the king of criminals, the ruler of lives and fates. All his actions are a trumpet signal to enter the combat. The next turn will be mine and I am already certain he has invited me to appear at court.
We pass the reporters on our doorstep without comment and rush to climb into a taxi, and I can sense John´s tension as he regards me.
"There´s no need to play smart-arse today," he warns. "Just try to behave."
"I´ll just be my usual self," I answer, sensing his unease, and turn to look out of the window.
"Sherlock, I mean it," he prods, but I do not answer.
This is my first step on the stage of Moriarty´s play and I intent to leave a lasting impression, just as Mycroft and I have agreed. The court has called me in as its principal witness, for no one has heard of Moriarty before and it is still a puzzle whether he actually had a hand in the attack on the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison. Some newspaper reports have discussed him as a deranged mind. They have opted for the theory that he is just a big fan of the royal house with the mission of holding the crown jewels in his own hands once in his life. Most people fail to see the criminal in him and I can´t really provide proof of his sinister pastimes.
Thus, it must certainly sound unreal to the audience when I describe him as a spider sitting in a net of interwoven contact and activities. This earns me credit only from him, a slight, self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips, the slightest of nods confirming my observations. The audience´s belief in my intentions wavers even more when I start to deduce the members of the jury. I make certain that I come across as much as a smart-arse who wants to impress the public with his priceless talents as possible. They must feel by now that I even consider the rules of court as stupid and irrelevant, that I follow my own rules as I make them up. I have been regarded like this by many people but now is the time to misguide them deliberately, to plant a certain image of myself in their minds. With the wide media coverage it shouldn´t be too hard to make the public believe what I want them to believe.
To complete the picture, I also deduce the judge, who, outraged, stops the questioning immediately and orders to get me removed from the courtroom and detained on the charge of contempt of court. The reward is to this is the most disapproving glance I ever received from John and a sly grin from Moriarty whom I pass on the way out.
Twelve hours of thorough thinking later – surely a prison cell has its advantages in being a quite place with not too many distractions – John picks me up from the Old Bailey and we drive back to Baker Street. His concern is palatable, but thankfully he doesn´t voice it.
The days following, he continues to attend the hearing, to report nearly every single sentence which has been exchanged to me in the afternoon. As I am banned from the trial until further notice, I resume to watch TV at the decisive moment of the hearing, waiting for the jury´s verdict.
John is at the court again, obviously worried sick about the outcome, even though it should be clear to him would he only observe, not just see, what is happening. He calls me just as I watch the last minutes of the live report.
"Released from all charges," he gasps, already rushing to get back home, disbelief in his voice: "The jury has actually released him on lack of evidence."
