Notice: Text in parentheses that are also italicized are direct quotes from Sherlock, courtesy of Ariane DeVere. A complete transcript of the episode as written up by Ariane DeVere can be found at . . While she does not own the rights to Sherlock (as Sherlock belongs to BBC) she has done a fine job of writing up an accurate transcript.
Also realize that I am ignoring the fact that in the show Mrs. Hudson walks in directly after John's first line here and taking creative license with the idea that if it were not a show there might have been a few minutes of time before anything more pressing arose. I hope you enjoy and that I have done justice to the characters. While it turns into a bit of an emotionally driven scene I feel that it is acceptable and is in character because in the episode we see Sherlock beginning to open up.
Lost conversation between John and Sherlock, during Receinbach Fall
"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."
John slid the phone back into his pocket and gave a sigh, looking at Sherlock's unresponsive face, mentally screaming that they get out of there. He was just about to say it when Sherlock turned to look at him.
"No, John." His voice sounded cool and submissive, but John knew Sherlock.
Under that tone was an understanding of what he had chosen to do next and the submission might be acceptance, but it was also laced with defiance. He knew what Moriarty wanted him to do and he had decided that it was the best course of action, thus was not a loss. While John might not be sure entirely what Sherlock was about to do, he had a strong suspicion that it almost certainly wasn't legal. He was sure of one thing though; by hell he wasn't going to let Sherlock do it alone.
"And honestly you could do better," realizing John was perplexed by his words he clarified. "With your choice of simile that is, how I make people feel to be precise. Come up with something more original and think for yourself instead of using society as a crutch. Physically you've dealt with that psychosomatic limp but what about your mental one? You're brilliant so show it."
"The bloody police are coming to arrest you and you've decided now is a good time to criticize my use of expletives!" Anger bubbled from every word and John felt like knocking some sense into his friend.
John cared about him deeply and couldn't stand the world's attack on him, so why couldn't Sherlock for once put some value on himself. He showed off constantly but when it came to his own importance he shrugged it off pretending that he meant nothing to anyone and that he didn't care about anyone.
"Humor me, John. Please. In these few minutes nothing can help me and nothing can hinder Moriarty. Distract me and make them worth something because right now I can't." Sherlock's words were almost pleading, and all that they entailed scared John.
The invincible man who had brought meaning back to his life was helpless. The least John could do was make the time bearable.
For a moment there was a silence in the room as both minds raced. Sherlock searched his mind palace for a place Moriarty could not know and might possibly be used to outwit the madman. Meanwhile ever faithful, undeterred John was looking for the words to express what Sherlock's extraordinary brilliance made people feel like. Both kept coming back to human example.
John thought of Donavon trying so hard to excel in her line of work, and how whenever she found herself drawing a blank Sherlock would confidently stride up with all of the answers. How must it be to work so hard to build up respect and watch it fall every single time one particular person entered the room? She'd feel useless, somewhat like an idea left to rot. Bit by bit he began to come closer to something that really fit into what Sherlock gave root to.
At the same time Sherlock came across Molly in his mental morgue, his equal in that line of work, taking all she knew in and then making deductions. They were so similar, but she chose to deduce to look into people's hearts, and the difference was startling. Which was more useful? Certainly she did use her logic to help with cases but right now it was her deductions of a person that so captured him. He could solve any case; he could bring justice and outthink people. Molly was quite the opposite; it wasn't about being a step ahead, it was about seeing, and she saw him so very well. Of course no one ever turned to Molly, but with a start he realized that was about to change.
"Appendix." John managed to somehow shock Sherlock and himself out of their stupor.
"What?" Sherlock cursed himself for not being quick enough to jump back to what his blogger was saying, but couldn't spare the time.
The briefest of glances at the clock revealed it had only been two minutes since they had fallen into thought but right now that amount of time was immense in the scheme of things. Lestrade would be there in ten minutes, fifteen if he was trying to give them a chance to run. Lestrade had already proven he hadn't yet been ensnared by Moriarty's suggestions so they were lucky to have any time. If the DI had simply decided to call the office and send out people to arrest him, they would have only had seconds until they could hear the cars rolling up.
"You said to be original so I am. You make them feel like an appendix." A smile crept ever so slightly on to John's face as he said the words. They didn't completely dispel the frustration from his mind but it was a start, and the idea pleased him. That was until he looked at the expression his friend returned. He had expected to get at least a hint of a grin, even if it didn't rival the shot up one lurking on the wall behind him. Instead Sherlock frowned. "Come on! It's original, admit that at least."
"Original doesn't make something correct. So share with me your reason." Sherlock gave him an innocent look that leaned very close to cocky, leaving behind everything else.
"You already know my reasons well enough, no doubt. What's the point in giving them if it won't change anything?" Exasperated he sat in his chair and faced Sherlock. "Might as well just jump to why I'm wrong considering we don't exactly have all night."
"You don't give yourself enough credit; never give up the chance to defend your position. I do know why you choose it, but you're still limping! Think, John, don't let others think for you or control your thoughts, you are better than them!" sighing he laid out what he knew. "You believe what has been told to you; the appendix no longer holds a purpose. You think the appendix is dull, John, and that is where you are so very wrong! The reason the appendix is so interesting is because everyone else thinks it's dull, they've given up on it, they can't solve it."
"An appendix is like a case!" John whispered it with a sense of awe in his voice, beginning to have an idea of where the conversation was going.
The bloody brilliant man had taken his misstep and was weaving it into something true. Something perhaps even more true because for a moment Sherlock was letting John completely into his mind, making him see what people always looked over and left in disuse.
"Precisely! Now you're using that brain. So what's the problem with our appendix right now John?" Sherlock was practically glowing somehow passed the despair that was closing in, even if just for the moment.
"I, I don't know. It doesn't fit with the idea of the appendix…" John stumbled with the words and looked down at his feet; feeling like he had just lost hold of their train of revelations, but Sherlock lifted his chin up and stared into his eyes with delight.
"That's why I choose you John! Confidence needs some work but you're brave enough to realize this isn't an appendix. Of course everyone else thinks it is and what really convinces them is the tell-tale signs that it is about to rupture. So now it's not dull, it's a threat and they want to know why it's rupturing and all they've got is that I've spent a lot of time around appendixes,"
"Which is why most of them are so ready to accept that you're at fault!" John cut in. The idea was intoxicating, and not just because of how it grew. It was a wall of thought blocking them from reality even if it was built upon it and it did help.
"Exactly, which is why" Sherlock stopped as the door opened and Mrs. Hudson hurried in.
"Oh, sorry, am I interrupting? Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked 'Perishable' – I had to sign for it." Sherlock had gone mute and had turned away listening for a moment and realizing that the whine he heard was the police cars rounding the corner and pulling up. They had seconds. Mrs. Hudson looked to John who had gotten up and handed it to him, unsure of Sherlock's reaction.
"Funny name, German, like the fairytales." She murmured trying to keep a cheery tone, then hearing the noise outside as well she turned to go back down the stairs. Sherlock jumped up as John slipped open the package and immediately recognized the seal on the front. The harsh looking red wax seemed to lazily gaze at him with disdain, and the three feathers emblazoned on it made him think of Moriarty's voice once again saying "I. Owe. You." They tilted the envelope and a scorched gingerbread cookie slid out with a demented smile on its face and malformed purple buttons fell into their hands.
"Burnt to a crisp." Sherlock's voice was bitter and the cookie crumbled a bit in John's hands.
"What does it mean?" John didn't get any response. He could see the sickened look creeping onto Sherlock's face and he shoved the cookie back into the envelope and dropped it onto the table. If he ever got the chance he'd kill Moriarty for doing this to his, his Sherlock.
Sherlock's mind was coming back to the moment and he hated it. For a moment he was oblivious, his mind back on appendixes. He'd never say it bit John was like his appendix. Not in the same way, because Sherlock understood John was important even if he couldn't ever realize how deeply or grasp everything John did for him. He did know though that he wouldn't survive if John was turned against him or was broken, he wouldn't survive if his appendix burst.
Mrs. Hudson had gone down the steps to answer the door and John had followed. Sherlock was oblivious to what they were saying, only sure that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't understand what was going on and that John would resist them. Mournfully silent and ready for the next step he grabbed his coat and slid it on then put on his coat. In the seconds it took the officers to get upstairs he took a moment to run his fingers over the strings of his violin and to nod to his skull. If he'd had the time he would have put a few more bullets in the smiling devil behind him but he didn't and he'd rather not see that face.
He had no idea when, if ever, he'd make it back to the flat. He was glad for the few minutes he had had though, and that if John was clever that was one more goodbye he could delay. The time had shown John should be able to continue thinking for himself, and anger welled up in him as he thought of Moriarty messing with his dear friend's mind.
The police pushed their way up the stairs and past John. Sherlock didn't even look at them. He stared forward past his chair, pretending not to listen as Lestrade spoke and clicked the hand cuffs in place around his wrists. Even if he seemed sulky he was taking in the whole situation, taking note so he could take action when ready.
As they walked down the stairs Lestrade leaned forward and whispered into Sherlock's ear, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "I'll have to follow if you run, but won't act wise to what you're about to do." The words were met by the barest of nods, as close to thank you as the situation would allow.
It was only a few seconds before John was cuffed to Sherlock and the Chief Superintendent came down with a bloody nose. The pair couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight of the pompous man with his head tilted back and a stream of hot blood trickled down his face. It didn't stop Sherlock from taking advantage of the moment and reaching into the cab and causing the radio to screech. In the officers' moment of weakness he grabbed the gun from one's holster and held it up.
The scene played out perfectly and they managed to get around the corner and holding hands, Sherlock and John raced into the night, maneuvering out of range of the police and through the back alleyways that Sherlock knew better than the back of his hand.
I will be working on improving the end of this piece since it seems a bit rushed. I'd really appreciate feedback as this is my first fan fiction besides a couple hundred words of a Doctor Who thing with some friends. Thanks for reading! Oh and I apologize for my americanisms.