Note préliminaire :
Cette transcription de l’épisode 1.02 a pour base le script original écrit par Steve Thompson qui a été publié sur le site BBCWritersroom.
Le texte publié ci-dessous reprend ce document de travail original, mais les coupes effectuées sur des scènes ou des lignes de dialogues sont mentionnés entre [ ] ainsi que les modifications apportées dans l’ordre de certaines scènes au montage final.
Il y a également des différences mineures entre les dialogues de l’épisode et ceux qui figurent dans ce document qui n’ont pas été reportées dans cette transcription.
Episode 1.02: THE BLIND BANKER
MUSEUM - ANTIQUITIES ROOM
Chinese music. A woman’s hand. She pours green tea from a Chinese tea set. A party of school children watching her.
Soo Lin: The great artisans say - the more the tea pot is used, the more beautiful it becomes. The pot is seasoned by repeatedly pouring tea over the surface. The deposit left on the clay creates this beautiful patina, over time. Some pots - the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago.
After the presentation…
PA system: This museum will be closing in 10 minutes.
Andy: Four hundred years old. And they’re letting you use it to make yourself for brew.
Soo Lin: Some things aren’t supposed to sit behind glass. They’re made to be touched - to be handled. (She turns. He is looking straight at her.)(SIGHS) These pots need attention. The clay is cracking.
Andy: Well I can’t see how a tiny splash of tea is going to help.
Soo Lin: Sometimes you have to look hard at something - to see its value. (She holds up the pot) See? This one shines a little brighter.
Andy: I don’t suppose... Um, I mean, er... I don’t suppose that you want to have a drink. Not tea obviously. Um, in a pub, with me, tonight. Um?
Soo Lin (smiles softly): You wouldn’t like me all that much.
Andy: Couldn’t I, maybe, decide that for myself?
Soo Lin (Shakes her head, sadly): I can’t. I’m sorry. Please stop asking.
MUSEUM - STORE ROOM.
Blackness. A door opens. Soo Lin looks round – no one. Just row after row of faceless antiquities, all bound.
(LOCK CLICKS)
Soo Lin: Is that security? (No answer) Hello?
In the corner: a statue covered loosely with a dust cloth. The cloth billows about - someone has untied it. Soo Lin reaches out and pulls the cloth away. Soo Lin freezes in horror.
--- Opening Credits ---
LOCAL SUPERMARKET / 221B BAKER STREET
John is buying groceries. He gets to the checkout. He runs his shopping through the self-service scanner. The electronic voice takes him step-by-step through the process.
PA: Can the till supervisor please go to…?
Computer-generated message: Unexpected item pack in the area, please try again.
JUMP CUT TO: 221B BAKER STREET
(GRUNTING AND GROANING)
Sherlock is in the flat. He is locked in hand to hand combat with a six-foot Sikh Warrior in a turban and full traditional battle dress. The Sikh Warrior lunges at him with a lethal-looking blade. Sherlock jumps back to avoid the blow.
JUMP CUT TO: THE SUPERMARKET
Electronic voice: Item not scanned. Please try again.
John: Maybe you could keep your voice down?
JUMP CUT TO: 221B BAKER STREET
The Sikh Warrior kicks out and knocks Sherlock back on to the table. Sherlock rolls away just in time before the knife lands - gashing MRS. HUDSON’s finest teak.
JUMP CUT TO: THE SUPERMARKET
John plugs his card in and types the PIN number.
Electronic voice: Card not authorized. Please use alternative methods of payment.
John: Yeah. Alright! I’ve got it! [Got that. Leave it. Leave that.]
JUMP CUT TO: 221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock dodges another thrust from the Sikh Warrior. He tries a variation on the old ‘Watch Out!’ routine: he points into the corner of the room and pulls a face.
Sherlock: Hey!
The Sikh Warrior falls for it; turns round to look. Sherlock brings his fist up and lands a punch that knocks his assailant out. The man collapses in the armchair.
John enters, clearly hassled by his shopping experience. Sherlock sits in the armchair, reading. Doesn’t look up.
Sherlock : You took your time.
John: Yeah, I didn’t get the shopping.
Sherlock: What? Why not?
John: Because I had a row in the shop. With the chip and PIN machine.
Sherlock: You…You had a row with a machine?
John: Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?
Sherlock (nods at the table): Take my card.
John digs in Sherlock’s wallet and finds his debit card.
John: You could always go yourself, you know. You’ve been sitting there all morning - you haven’t moved since I went out.
Sherlock totally blanks him.
John: What happened about that case you were offered? The Jaria diamond.
Sherlock: Not interested. I sent them a message.
Sherlock kicks the blade under the sofa. John spots the scratch on the table - rubs it - tuts to himself as he goes out of the door.
Five minutes later - John enters again, laden with groceries. He dumps the bags on the counter with a bang. Sherlock is surfing the internet.
John: [Don’t worry about me, I can manage.] (Looks at Sherlock) Is that my computer?
Sherlock: Of course.
John: What?
Sherlock: Mine is in the bedroom.
John: And you couldn’t be bothered to get up. It’s password protected.
Sherlock: In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. Not exactly FortKnox.
John (takes his computer): Right. Thank you.
John collapses in the chair and examines today’s mail. Plenty of bills.
John: I need to get a job.
Sherlock: Oh. Dull!
John: [Listen.] If you’d be able to lend me some... (No response) Sherlock? Are you listening?
Sherlock: I need go to the bank.
Sherlock jumps up.
John and Sherlock on a busy London street.
THE GHERKIN AND TOWER 42.
John: Yes, when you said we were going to the bank...
They arrived at the reception.
[Sherlock: Sherlock Holmes.]
Sebastian arrives.
Sebastian: Sherlock Holmes!
Sherlock: Sebastian.
Sebastian: Hi, buddy? How long’s it been - eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?
Sherlock: This is my friend John Watson.
Sebastian: Friend?
John: Colleague.
Sebastian: Right…Grab a pew. Need something? Coffee? Water? No? (To his PA)
We’re all sorted here thanks.
They sit.
Sherlock: So, you’re doing well. [You’ve been abroad a lot.]
Sebastian: Well, so?
Sherlock: Flying all the way round the world. Twice in a month!
Sebastian: You’re doing that thing. (To John) We were at Uni together, and this guy here - he had this trick he used to do.
Sherlock: It’s not a trick.
Sebastian: He could look at you and tell your whole life story.
John: Yes, I’ve seen him do it.
Sebastian: Put the wind up everyone. We hated him. You’d come to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak would know who you’d been shagging the previous night.
Sherlock: I simply observed.
Sebastian: Go on. Enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all round the world. You’re quite right. But how could you tell?
Sherlock opens his mouth to speak, but ...
Sebastian: Are you going to tell me there’s a stain on my tie - from special ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?
Sherlock: No. I ...
Sebastian: Or maybe it’s the mud on my shoes
Sherlock: I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.
Sebastian (laughs): I’m glad you could make it over. We’ve had a break in.
Across the busy trading floor.
Sebastian: Sir William’s office - The bank’s former chairman. His room has been left here - like a sort of memorial... Someone broke in here late last night.
John: What did they steal?
Sebastian: Nothing. They just left a little message.
SIR WILLIAM’s OFFICE
A gilt-framed oil painting: a portrait of a grim-faced banker. Someone has drawn a thick line across Sir William’s eyes using bright yellow aerosol.
Sebastian, Sherlock and John watching CCTV footage. Sebastian flicks back to the previous still: ‘11.33pm’. No paint. Forward again. ‘11.34pm’. Paint.
Sebastian: Sixty seconds apart. So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around - then left within a minute.
Sherlock: How many ways into that office?
Sebastian: That’s where this gets really interesting.
RECEPTION DESK.
Sebastian: Every door that opens in this bank - it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard. Every toilet.
Sherlock: That door didn’t open last night?
Sebastian: There’s a hole in our security. Find it and we’ll pay you. Five figures. This is an advance. Tell me how he got in - there’s a bigger one on its way.
Sherlock: I don’t need an incentive, Sebastian.
Sherlock will not even look at it - breezes off to begin work. Sebastian about to put the cheque away.
John: He’s kidding you, obviously. Shall I look after that for him...?
SIR WILLIAM’s OFFICE
Click. A camera on a mobile phone. Sherlock photographs the vandalised portrait.
Click. Photographs the tag on the adjacent wall. Sherlock explores Sir William’s office. There is access out onto a tiny private balcony/terrace.
Sherlock is moving around the trading floor, dodging and weaving in and out of the pillars. People stop work and stare. He appears to be studying the graffiti from all sorts of different angles. He darts into the office next door to the Sir William’s. A sign outside it: ‘HONG KONG DESK HEAD’. The walls are glass. He turns - there is a full, plain view of the painted graffiti from in here. Sherlock and John descend in the glass lift.
John: ‘Two trips around the world this month.’ You didn’t ask his secretary. You said that just to irritate him. How did you know?
Sherlock: Did you see his watch?
John: His watch?
Sherlock: Time is right but the date was wrong. Two days ago. ‘Cause he crossed the date line twice, and didn’t alter his watch.
John: Within a month? How d’you get that part?
Sherlock: New Breitling. Only came out this February.
The lift reaches the bottom and opens. Sherlock and John exit the building.
John: Okay. So you think we should sniff around here a bit longer?
Sherlock: Got everything I need to know already, thanks. That graffiti is a message. For someone at the bank - working on the trading floor. We find the intended recipient and...
John : They’ll lead us to the person who sent it.
Sherlock: Obvious.
John: Well there’s 300 people up there, who was it meant for?
Sherlock: Pillars.
John: What?
Sherlock: The pillars. And the screens. Very few places where you could see the graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course - the message was left at 11.34 last night. That tells us a lot.
John: Does it?
Sherlock: Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight. Not many Van Coons in the phone book.
They hail a cab and climb in.
Eddie Van Coon’s apartment block.
Sherlock rings. No answer. He rings again. Still no answer.
John: So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?
Sherlock: Just moved in.
John: What?
Sherlock: Floor above. New label.
John observes the pristine label on the buzzer.
John: Could have just replaced it.
Sherlock: No one ever does that.
He rings the buzzer - seventh floor. A WOMAN’s VOICE answers.
WOMAN (V.O): Hello?
Sherlock (Speaking into the intercom): Hi, um, I live in the flat just below you. I don’t think we’ve met.
WOMAN (V.O): No. Well - I’ve just moved in.
Sherlock casts a victorious glance at John.
Sherlock: Actually I’ve just locked my keys in my flat.
WOMAN (V.O): You want me to buzz you in?
Sherlock: Yeah. And can we use your balcony?
Woman (V.O): What?
Sherlock is on the woman’s 7th floor balcony - he climbs over the edge so he can lower himself down on to Van Coon’s. Van Coon’s patio door slides open when he pushes it. Sherlock explores the empty flat. Sherlock rifles through the kitchen. Very little there. A fridge full of champagne. A knock at the door. It’s John waiting outside.
John: Sherlock? Sherlock? You OK?
Pokes his head inside a tiny, pristine bathroom - a single toothbrush and a dispenser of liquid soap.
John: Any time you feel like letting me in...
Sherlock goes to the bedroom - he has to force the door. The chair is still jammed against it. Inside...
Eddie Van Coon lies on his bed. He’s been shot through the head.
The police have arrived. John watches them search about for forensic evidence. The gun is on the bedroom floor - beside Eddie Van Coon’s outstretched hand.
John: Do you think maybe he lost a lot of money? Suicide rate is pretty common amongst City boys.
Sherlock: We don’t know that it was suicide. Come on.
John: The door was locked from the inside. You had to climb down the balcony...
Sherlock observes the dead man’s suitcase.
Sherlock: Been away three days, judging by the laundry. Look at the case there was something was packed tightly inside it.
John: Thanks - I’ll take your word for it.
Sherlock: Problem?
John: I’m not desperate to root around some bloke’s dirty underwear.
Sherlock studies the corpse.
Sherlock: Those symbols at the bank, the graffiti, why was they put there?
John: Some sort of code?
Sherlock: Obviously. Why were they painted? Want to communicate, why not use e-mail?
John: Well, maybe he wasn’t answering...
Sherlock: Good. You follow.
John: No.
Sherlock: What kind of message would everyone try to avoid? What about this morning? Those letters you were looking at.
John: Bills!?
Sherlock: Yes. He was being threatened.
John: Not by the gas board.
From the dead man’s mouth Sherlock retrieves... A small screwed up ball of black paper - moist with saliva. He stretches it open - it’s simply blank. Just that moment a police Inspector enters - DI Dimmock. A newly promoted graduate.
Dimmmock: … see if we can get prints off this glass.
Sherlock: Ah, Sergeant... We haven’t met.
Dimmock (Without joy): Yeah, I know who you are. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any of the evidence.
Sherlock puts the soggy ball of black paper into an evidence bag and hands it over.
Sherlock: I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way...?
Dimmock: He’s busy. I’m in charge. And it’s not Sergeant. It’s Detective Inspector. Dimmock.
Sweeps out again. Sherlock and John follow him. As they sweep through the door into the lounge.
Dimmock: We’re obviously looking at a suicide.
John: It does seem the only explanation of the facts.
Sherlock: Wrong. It’s one possible explanation of some of the facts. You’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re just choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.
Dimmock: Like?
Sherlock: Wound’s on the right side of his head.
Dimmock: And?
Sherlock: Van Coon was left-handed. Requires a quite bit of contortion.
Dimmock: Left-handed?
Sherlock: I’m amazed you didn’t notice. All you have to do is look around this flat. Coffee table on the left-hand side, coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets, habitually used the one the left. Pen and paper on the left side of the phone. Picked up with his right, took messages with his left. Want me to go on?
John: Er, no. I think you’ve covered it.
Sherlock: I might as well actually. I’m almost at the bottom the list. There is a knife on the great board with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of the head. Conclusion: someone broke in and murdered him. Only explanation of all of the facts.
Dimmock: But the gun...
Sherlock: He was waiting for the killer. He’d been threatened.
Dimmock: What?
John: Today at the bank. A sort of a warning.
Sherlock: He fired a shot when his attacker came in.
Dimmock: And the bullet...?
Sherlock: Went through the open window.
Dimmock: Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?
Sherlock: Wait for the ballistics’ report. The bullet in his brain wasn’t fired from his gun, I guarantee it.
Dimmock: But if his door was locked from the inside... how did the killer get in?
Sherlock: Good. You’re finally asking the right questions.
And Sherlock is off.
RESTAURANT
Sebastian is entertaining clients - the end of a long lunch. They roar heartily at his jokes.
Sebastian: He’s left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done.
Sherlock and John stride over to the table.
Sherlock: It was a threat. That’s what the graffiti meant.
The table silenced by this odd intrusion.
Sebastian: I’m kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?
Sherlock: I don’t think this can wait, sorry Sebastian. One of your traders someone who works in your office was killed.
Sebastian: What!?
John: Van Coon. The police are at his flat.
Sebastian: Killed?
Sherlock (With a mouthful): Sorry to interfere with everyone’s digestion. Still want me to make an appointment? OK. Would maybe nine o’clock at Scotland Yard suit?
RESTAURANT- TOILET
Sherlock, Sebastian and John in the restaurant toilet. Sebastian splashes water on his face - stares at the mirror.
Sebastian: Harrow, Oxford… very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while so...
John: You gave him the Hong Kong accounts.
Sebastian: Lost five million in a single morning, made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had.
John: Who’d want to kill him?
Sebastian: We all make enemies.
John: You don’t all end up with a bullet through your temple.
Sebastian: Not usually.
Sebastian’s mobile buzzes - a text message.
Sebastian: Excuse me. It’s my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently they’re telling him it was suicide.
Sherlock: They’ve got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered.
Sebastian: Well I’m afraid they don’t see it like that.
Sherlock: So?
Sebastian: And neither does my boss I hired you to do a job - don’t get side-tracked.
And he exits.
John: I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards.
STREET- NIGHT
A man in a wild panic - runs across a busy London street at night. Cars swerve to avoid him - beeping. He arrives at a front door and jams his key in the lock. Slams the door behind him. He is running up the stairs - desperate, terrified.
He opens the door to his top-floor flat and bolts the door behind him - a dead bolt top and bottom and a chain. The flat has been thrashed. And then he hears it! In the street somewhere... A drum beat.
MUSUEM- RESTAURATION ROOM
The Museum Director enters. Andy is cleaning pottery.
Director: I need you to get over to Crispians. Two Ming vases up for auction. Chenghua. Will you appraise them?
She shows him a brochure - a picture of the vases.
Andy: Soo Lin should go. She’s the expert.
Director: Soo Lin has resigned her job. I need you.
Andy shocked by this revelation. Out on Soo Lin’s empty desk.
Shaftesbury avenue – The Lucky Cat
Andy is ringing on a door bell. No response. Tries again. The name on the doorbell says ‘Soo Lin YAO’. There is a new phone book on the doorstep – recently delivered but not collected. Andy finds an old envelope in his pocket scribbles a short message and stuffs it through the letter box.
GP’s surgery - Sarah’s room
John sits across the table from Sarah, practice manager. She’s reading his CV.
Sarah: Just locum work.
John: No. That’s fine.
Sarah: You’re a bit - well, overqualified.
John: I could always do with the money.
Sarah: We’ve got two away on holiday this week and one just left to have a baby. It might be a bit... mundane for you.
John (Smiles): No mundane is good, sometimes. Mundane works.
Sarah: It says here that you were a soldier.
John: And a Doctor.
Sarah: Anything else you can do?
John: I learned the clarinet in school.
Sarah: Look forward to it.
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock has printed off his photos of the graffiti – the blindfold and the tag. He’s stuck them to the mirror above the fireplace. He sprawls in the armchair. Door slams. John back from interview.
Sherlock: I said could you pass me a pen?
John (Taken aback): What? When?
Sherlock: About an hour ago.
John: Didn’t notice I’d gone out, then?
He tosses Sherlock a pen.
John: I went to see about a job at that surgery.
Sherlock: How was it?
John: Great. She’s great.
Sherlock: Who?
John: The job.
Sherlock: ‘She’?
John: It.
Sherlock: Here. Have a look.
Sherlock points to the open laptop - the webpage is a news story – ONLINE NEWS.
John (Reads): ‘The intruder who can walk through walls’.
Sherlock: It happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Door locked. Windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon.
John: God. You think...?
Sherlock: He’s killed another one.
Police Station - New Scotland Yard
Police office - open plan. Dimmock at his desk. Sherlock uses his computer to find the TIMESONLINE headline.
Sherlock: Brian Lukis. Freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat. The door locked from the inside.
John: You’ve got admit it’s similar. Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls!
Sherlock: Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide? (No response) You have seen the ballistics reports, I suppose? (Dimmock nods) And? The shot that killed him wasn’t from his own gun.
Dimmock: No.
Sherlock: No. So. This investigation might have moved a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel. I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry. Five minutes in his flat.
Lukis’ flat
Sherlock: Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put the chain on the door, bolt it shut. They think they’re impregnable. They don’t recon for a second -there’s another way in.
Dimmock: I don’t understand
Sherlock: We’re dealing with a killer who can climb.
Sherlock sees a broom. He grabs a table, balances a chair on it and climbs up on the structure, broom in hand.
Dimmock: What are you doing?
Sherlock: He can cling to walls like an insect.
Balancing on the chair atop the table - he lifts the broom up high and nudges the skylight. It opens.
Sherlock: That’s how he got in.
[Dimmock: What?]
Sherlock: He climbed up the side of the walls, ran around the roof and dropped in through the skylight.
Dimmock: You’re not serious? Like Spiderman?
Sherlock: He scaled a sixth floor of a Dockland’s apart building to jump in and to kill Van Coon.
Dimmock (Scathing): Hold on...
Sherlock: Of course he got into the bank. He runs across the window ledge and on to the terrace. We have to find out what connects these two men.
Thumbs through the books on the desk. The top one is marked with the words ‘WEST KENSINGTON LIBRARY’, a stamped date and a little crest.
Library
John and Sherlock, zigzag through row after row of books. Sherlock has the book he took from LUKIS’s desk - South-East Asian politics.
Sherlock : The date stamped in this book is the same day he died.
John and Sherlock, zigzag through row after row of books. Sherlock has the book he took from Lukis’s desk - South-East Asian politics. The books are on sliding racks. One rack is labelled ‘POLITICAL SCIENCE - SOUTH EAST ASIA’. The serial number on the book matches the numbers on this rack. John tugs it and it slides out - examines the spines. He freezes.
John: Sherlock.
Scrawled across the book spines are two massive graffiti symbols written in bright yellow aerosol. Same as at the bank - a horizontal line and a scrawled tag.
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock has photographed the new graffiti (from the library) and stuck it to the mirror. He stares hard at four yellow symbols
Sherlock: So. The killer goes to the bank - leaves the threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment and locks himself in. Hours later... He dies.
John: The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he will see it. Lukis goes home...
Sherlock: ... and that night he dies too.
John: Why did they die, Sherlock?
Sherlock: Only the cipher can tell us.
TRAFALGAR SQUARE
Sherlock and John crossing Trafalgar Square.
Sherlock: The world runs on codes and ciphers, John... that million pound security system at the bank... The pin machine you took exception to cryptography inhabits our every waking moment...
John: Yes. OK. But...
Sherlock: But it’s all computer generated. Electronic codes – electronic ciphering methods. This is different: it’s an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods can’t unravel it.
John: Where we headed?
Sherlock: I need someone for advice.
John: What? Sorry?
Sherlock: You heard me perfectly. I’m not saying it again.
John (A broad smile): You need advice.
Sherlock: On painting. Yes. I need to talk to an expert.
They make for the National Gallery. But then Sherlock cuts down a side alley.
GRAFFITI ALLEY
The back of the National Gallery - an alleyway. Raz is a nineteen year-old skateboard punk He has a kit bag at his feet and an aerosol can in hand. He sprays a stencil on to the rear wall of the gallery – a policeman with a pig’s face.
Raz: Part of my new exhibition.
Sherlock: Interesting.
Raz: I call it ‘Urbanbloodlustfrenzy.’
John: Catchy.
Raz: I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner. Can we talk whilst I’m working?
Sherlock offers him the phone. Raz hands the spray can to John so he can look. Flicks through the photographs. The images from the bank and the library.
Sherlock: Know the author?
Raz: At last the paint. It’s like Michigan, hard-core propellant. I’d say zinc.
Sherlock: And what about the symbols? Do you recognise them?
Raz: Not sure it’s a proper language.
Sherlock: Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this - it’s the key to finding who killed them.
Raz: This is all you got to go on? It’s hardly much is it?
Sherlock: You’re going to help us or not?
Raz: I’ll ask around.
Sherlock: Somebody must know something about it.
Two COMMUNITY SUPPORT Officers appear around the corner.
Officer: Oi.
John forgets he is holding the paint can. The Officers come running. Raz surreptitiously kicks the kit bag along the floor. It is now at John’s feet.
Officer (To John): What the hell do you think you’re doing? This gallery is a listed public building.
The Officer sees the fresh art - the pig-faced policeman.
John: No no. Wait. That wasn’t me who painted it. I was just... Just holding this for...
John turns. Raz and Sherlock have both run away. The Officer opens the kit bag. Inside is a whole stash of paint.
Officer: Bit of an enthusiast, are we?
MUSEUM - RESTORATION ROOM
Staff Office. Andy remonstrating with the MUSEUM Director.
Andy: She was right in the middle of an important piece of restoration. Why would she suddenly resign?
MUSEUM Director: ‘Family problems’. She said so in her letter.
Andy: She doesn’t have a family. She came to this country on her own...
MUSEUM Director (Exasperated): Andy...
Andy: Those teapots - those ceramics - they’ve become her obsession. She’s been working on restoring them for weeks. I can’t believe she would just abandon them.
MUSEUM Director: Perhaps she was getting a bit of unwanted attention.
Andy looks up - a few of the staff glance at him and then glance away.
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock has made a collage - pages and pages printed off the internet - language systems and archaic symbols. Egyptian hieroglyphics; the Greek alphabet; Hebrew letters; Arabic letters; Chinese words... He’s stuck them all around the edge of the mirror. John opens the door, quietly furious. Sherlock has his head in a book of runes.
Sherlock (Without looking up): You’ve been a while.
John: Yeah, well you know how it is... Custody Sergeants don’t really like to be hurried, do they? Just formalities. Finger prints; a charge sheet. And I’ll have got to be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday...
Sherlock (Not interested): What?
John: Me, Sherlock. In court on Tuesday. They’re giving me an ASBO.
Sherlock (Still not listening): Good. Fine.
John: You want to tell your little pal: he’s welcome to go and own up, anytime...
Sherlock: This symbol - I still can’t place it. I need you to go to the police station. Ask about the journalist...
John is trying to take off his coat - Sherlock won’t let him.
Sherlock: All his personal effects will be impounded. Get hold of a diary - or something that will tell us his movements...
Instead he pushes him out of the door. John and Sherlock coming out the front door
Sherlock: I’ll go and see Van Coon’s PA... If we retrace their steps - somewhere they’re coinciding.
Sherlock runs off up the street. John is left alone. Sighs. Acquiesces. Hails a cab.
[John: Scotland Yard.]
The cab draws up. He climbs in then glances round... someone is on the pavement opposite, watching him. We only get the tiniest glimpse - a fleeting image as the cab races away. She holds up her phone - is she photographing John? The cab pulls away.
Shad Sanderson- EDDIE’s OFFICE
EDDIE’s PA, Amanda is with Sherlock. She leans over and punches passwords into EDDIE’s computer. His calendar pops up. A note in it says ‘DALIAN’ - a trip lasting three days.
Amanda: Flew back from Dalian, Friday. Looks like he had back to back meetings with the sales team.
[Sherlock: Can you bring me up a copy?
Amanda: Sure. ]
She presses ‘Print’ - prints out a copy of the diary.
Sherlock: What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?
Amanda: Sorry. There’s a gap - I’ve all his receipts!
POLICE STATION
Dimmock rooting through a file of evidence.
Dimmock: Your friend...
John: Listen - whatever you say - I’m behind you a one hundred per cent.
Dimmock: He’s an arrogant sod.
John (Genuinely surprised): Oh. That was mild. People say a lot worse than that.
Dimmock offers John an item - a pocket diary.
Dimmock: This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The journalist’s diary.
John takes it - a fat personal organiser - opens it. Tucked inside is an aeroplane ticket. We see the airport name printed: ‘DALIAN’.
Shad Sanderson- Amanda’s desk
EDDIE’s receipts for the week are spread across her desk. Taxis; meals; buses; trains. Posh restaurants - countless expensive bar bills - new suits.
Sherlock: What sort of boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?
Amanda (A wry smile): Er... no. That’s not the word I’d use. The only things that Eddie appreciated had a big price tag.
There is hand-cream on her desk.
Sherlock: Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn’t he?
Amanda utterly disconcerted by this. Sherlock shuffles the receipts around like a card game - trying to get them in order. Amanda brushes hair from her eyes - pins it back again.
Sherlock: Look at this one. He took a taxi from home the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty.
Amanda: That would get him into the office.
Sherlock: It wasn’t rush hour. Check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as...
Amanda (Recalls): The West End! I remember him saying.
The bank. Sherlock finds a train ticket amongst the receipts. Checks the dates.
Sherlock: Underground. (Reads the small print) Printed at one. In Piccadilly.
Amanda: So he took a tube back to the office. Why would he take a taxi into town - and then the tube back?
Sherlock: ‘Cause he was delivering something heavy. Don’t want to lug a package up the escalators.
Amanda: ‘Delivering’?
Sherlock: To somewhere near Piccadilly station. Jump the package, delivered it and then…
Sherlock spots something. He picks up a receipt from the pile- a sandwich shop.
Sherlock: … stopped on his way. He got peckish.
SHAFTESBURY AVENUE
Sherlock outside the sandwich shop. Checks VAN COON’s receipt - matches the name.
Sherlock: So. Bought your lunch here. In road to the station. Where were you headed from? Where did the taxi drop you off?
He is so busy looking at the shops on this street he collides with someone on the pavement. It’s John, coming in the opposite direction.
Sherlock (Excited): Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died. Whatever was hidden inside that suitcase? I’ve managed to piece together his movements using scraps of information...
John: Sherlock...
Sherlock: ... credit card bills and receipts. He flew back from China and came here.
John: Sherlock...
Sherlock: Somewhere in this street. Somewhere here. I don’t know where.
John (Points): That shop over there.
Sherlock: How can you tell?
John holds up the journalist’s diary
John: Lukis’ diary. He was here too. He wrote down the address.
Sherlock: Oh.
SHAFTESBURY AVENUE - LUCKY CAT.
An old Chinese Emporium - THE LUCKY CAT. The golden cat in the window waves at Sherlock and John. Inside the shop...
[John: Hello…]
A Chinese Shopkeeper (old lady in dark glasses) sits on a stool behind the counter. Incense burning. Sherlock lifts a small stone figurine - exposes a Small square in the thick layer of dust.
Chinese Shopkeeper: You want Lucky Cat...?
John: Er, no thanks. No.
Chinese Shopkeeper (lifts a lucky cat from the shelf.): Ten pound. Ten pound. I think your wife she will like.
And then something catches John’s eye. And Sherlock’s too.
John: Sherlock… the label there...
Sherlock: Yes, I see it.
John: Exactly the same as the cipher...
A handwritten price tag - the symbol on it is identical to the ‘tag’ found at the library and the bank.
SHAFTESBURY AVENUE/CHINATOWN
Outside the shop. Chinatown. John and Sherlock peruse the shop windows - the same symbols appear again and again: price tags at the deli; the blackboard outside the grocers...
Sherlock: It’s an ancient number system - Hang Zhou. These days only stress traders use it. They were numbers! Written on the wall at the bank and at the library! Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect!
John: It’s a ‘15’. What we thought was the artist’s tag - it’s a number ‘15’.
Sherlock: And the blindfold. The horizontal line. It’s a number as well. It’s the Chinese number ‘1’, John!
John: We’ve found it.
In the melee John glances up - something familiar catches his eye... A WOMAN: black sunglasses; black headscarf; black coat. Taking a photograph with her mobile a double-take. But she has gone.
SHAFTESBURY AVENUE – A COFFEE SHOP.
Across the road from THE LUCKY CAT - a dingy cafe. Sherlock scribbles ‘1’ and ‘15’ on the back of a serviette.
John: Two men travel back from China. They both come straight to the Lucky Cat Emporium. What did they see?
Sherlock: It’s not what they saw. It’s what they brought with them in those suitcases.
John: You don’t mean duty free. (To the woman who serve him) Thank you.
Sherlock: Think about what Sebastian told us. About Van Coon; about how he caps afloat in the market.
John (Remembers): Lost five million...
Sherlock: Made it back a week later. This is how he made such easy money...
John: He was a smuggler.
FLASHBACK - Van Coon wheels his suitcase into the LUCKY CAT EMPORIUM.
Sherlock: A guy like him - he would have been perfect. A businessman, taking regular trips to Asia.
FLASHBACK - LUKIS does the same - takes his suitcase inside.
Sherlock: And Lukis too - a journalist, writing about China. They smuggled something out. The Lucky Cat was the drop off.
John: Why did they die? It doesn’t make sense... If they both turned up at the shop and delivered the goods... why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event? After they’d finished the job?
Silence. Sherlock ponders.
Sherlock: What if one of them was light-fingered?
John: How d’you mean?
Sherlock: Stole something - something from the hoard.
John (Realises, gets excited): The killer doesn’t know which one of them took it! So he threatens them both.
But Sherlock is no longer listening. He is staring out of the window across the street.
Sherlock: Remind me: when was the last time it rained?
SHAFTESBURY AVENUE - THE LUCKY CAT
Sherlock and John outside THE LUCKY CAT. Sherlock examines the door to the flat above. The bell says ‘Soo Lin Yao’. A telephone directory on the doorstep, still in its little plastic bag. Sherlock rips the bag open - the pages are swollen with rain water.
Sherlock : That’s been here since Monday.
Sherlock rings. No response.
Sherlock : No one’s been in that flat for at least three days.
Sherlock darts down the side of the building - a side alley - John scuttling after.
John : They’re come on holiday.
Sherlock: Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?
Looks up. The window of the flat is gaping wide. There is scaffolding at the back of the flats. Sherlock jumps up on a dustbin, hauling himself up on the scaffolding. Reaches the windows of the first floor flat. One of them is wide open. He jumps inside.
John (Hisses): Sherlock!
Soo Lin’s FLAT / SHAFTESBURY AVENUE
Sherlock lands inside. On the window ledge is a vase. He almost knocks it over - just manages to catch it. Washing up drained dry on the draining board. One cup, one plate, one bowl, one pair of chopsticks. The washing machine light says ‘End’. Sherlock opens it. The washing is damp and it smells. He opens the fridge and sniffs the milk - gone sour. The doorbell rings. John is outside the front again. He shouts through the letterbox.
Sherlock: Someone else has been here. Someone broke into this flat. He knocked into the vase, just like I did.
John (O.S.): You think maybe you could let me in this time?
Sherlock ignores John. Goes to the mantelpiece. An old photo of a Chinese baby girl and baby boy hugging each other... There are fingerprints on the glossy surface.
John (O.S.): Can you not keep doing this, please?
Sherlock (Shouting downstairs): I’m not the first.
John: What?
He starts to hunt around eagerly on the carpet - looking for depressions in the pile. Finds the hazy impressions of shoes.
Sherlock: Somebody has been here before me.
John: What do you say?
Sherlock: [Size eight feet. Small but athletic. ]
John: I’m wasting my breath…
John rings again. Sherlock follows the footprints to the mantelpiece. Looks back at the photo - the fingerprints on it. The intruder held it.
Sherlock : Small strong hand. Our acrobat. (Looks back at the window) Why didn’t he close it when he left? (Slaps his head) Stupid. Stupid. It’s obvious! He’s still here.
Looks at the Chinese screen. Sherlock tugs it quickly to one side. Noone there. Just a pile of cuddly toys. A shadow moving out from behind the clothes horse - the mountain of laundry. Someone slips a piece of the laundry around his neck and pulls hard - drags him to the carpet, strangling him... It bites into his neck. His legs flailing all the time.
CUT TO: John on the pavement outside the front door.
John : Any time you want to include me.
CUT TO: Sherlock is still clutching at his throat... He peers through half-closed eyes but the man is just a blurred silhouette.
Sherlock (Half-strangled) : John... John...
CUT TO: Pavement.
John : ‘I’m Sherlock Holmes, and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my massive intellect!’
CUT TO: Sherlock inside, tries to reply - can’t speak. Tighter and tighter the cord is pulled. And then, just as Sherlock is about to black out the assailant mysteriously lets go... His assailant pushes something into Sherlock’s top pocket and scurries away through the open window. Reaches in his pocket, finds a tiny black flower made of folded paper. John on the pavement. The door opens suddenly. Sherlock is very hoarse.
Sherlock : The milk’s out of date. And the washing - it’s started to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry. Three days ago.
John : Somebody ?
Sherlock : Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her.
John : How exactly?
Sherlock : We can start with this.
He has picked a note up off the doormat. It is the note that Andy GALBRAITH pushed through the door: ‘Soo Lin. PLEASE RING ME, TELL ME YOU’RE OK. Andy.’ Sherlock turns the paper over - an old envelope. It says NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. Off they go - to the museum. As an aside.
John : You’ve gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?
Sherlock : [ I‘m fine. ]
MUSEUM - ANTIQUITIES ROOM
Museum. Chinese Antiquities Room. John and Sherlock with Andy GALBRAITH.
Sherlock : When was the last time you saw her?
Andy : Three days ago. Here, at the museum. This morning - they told me she’d resigned. Just like that. Left her work unfinished.
Sherlock : What was the last thing she did - on her final afternoon?
MUSEUM - STORE ROOM
Blackness. And then a crack of light. Andy opens the door. Broken antiquities. Limbs and torsos. Switches on the main light. Statues wrapped in dust sheets. Andy points to the Chinese cabinet in the corner.
Andy : She does this demonstration for the tourists - a tea ceremony. She’d have packed her things and just put them in here.
One of the statues is untied - Sherlock sees the rope coiled on the floor and the dust cover removed. He strides over to the statue. Written on the body of the statue - in yellow paint... The same Chinese death cipher.
MUSEUM. NIGHT
Coming out of the museum...
Sherlock : We have to get to Soo Lin Yao...
John : If she’s still alive!
Raz : Sherlock!
They turn. Raz is there.
John : Well, look who it is...
Raz : I’ve found something you’ll like.
HUNGERFORD BRIDGE. NIGHT
Sherlock, John and Raz on the South Bank.
John : Tuesday morning. All you’ve got to do is turn up and say the bag was
yours.
Sherlock : Can we forget about your court date?
SOUTH BANK. NIGHT
They arrive on the South Bank. Underneath the Hayward gallery. The walls are thick with graffiti. Sherlock stares at the myriad colours.
Sherlock : To hide a tree a forest is the best place to do, wouldn’t you say? People would just walk past it, not knowing - not able to decipher the message.
Raz : There. I spotted it earlier.
Raz points. Someone has painted a huge tag. Underneath... remnants of the yellow zinc paint - just a few tantalising splashes left exposed.
Sherlock : They’ve been here. The exact same paint.
Raz : Yeah.
Sherlock : John, if we’re going to decipher this code we’re going to need more evidence.
Sherlock skips away. John left alone.
Sherlock on the railway line, running south. He shines his torch about.
Lying in the gutter is an empty aerosol can, bright yellow drips around the nozzle. Picks it up. Sniffs the paint.
CUT TO: John exploring the railway tracks to the north.
CUT TO: Sherlock continues south. The moon illuminates graffiti -
grey in the light. He reaches an area that is thick with fly-posters - gigs and
club events. POV the wall. Sherlock stares hard - one of the posters has
caught his eye. He tears at the bottom. A small shred of it comes away.
CUT TO: John uses his phone to illuminate the area. And then he sees
it! A tiny drip of the yellow paint on the railway line - a thin line, like a trail of bread crumbs. John makes his way along the tracks. The line snakes away
into the dark. He turns a corner and his eyes light up. Bingo! Illuminated only by the dull bulb of a street-lamp... The wall here is thick symbols. He gets out his phone to phone Sherlock. No reception in the no man’s land of the railway tracks.
CUT TO: South. Sherlock searching. And then he hears a shout. He looks north along the tracks. John is running.
John (Shouts) : Answering your phone I’ve been calling you ! I found it.
A blank wall. Painted black.
John : It’s been painting over. I don’t understand. It was here. Ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti.
Sherlock : Somebody doesn’t want me to see it.
Grabs John by the head - planting both his hands on his friend’s skull.
John : Hey - Sherlock !
Sherlock : Shush, John. Concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes!
John : What? Why ? Why ? What you doing?
He clamps John’s arms to his sides - spins round with him, trying to induce a trance-like state.
Sherlock : I need you to maximise your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?
John : Yeah.
Sherlock : Can you remember it ?
John : Yes, definitely.
Sherlock : Can you remember the pattern ?
John : Yes.
Sherlock : How much can you remember it ?
John : Look, don’t worry...
Sherlock : Because the average human memory on visual image is only sixty-two per cent accurate.
John : Oh, well don’t worry I remember all of it.
Sherlock : Really?
John : At least I would if I can get to my pockets. I took a photograph.
Sherlock lets go. John pulls his phone out. Shows a picture to Sherlock. The new cipher.
221B BAKER STREET
Early morning. Dawn peeping through the curtains. Sherlock stares at the collage on the wall - a print out of the eighteen Chinese symbols now has pride of place. He has scribbled the number translation underneath each - ‘3’ and ‘19’, ‘12’ and ‘43’ etc...
Sherlock : Always in pairs, John. Look.
John (Barely conscious) : Mm?
Sherlock : Number comes with a partner...
John : God, I need to sleep.
Sherlock : Why paint it so next to the tracks?
John : No idea..
Sherlock : Thousands of people pass by there every day...
John : Just twenty minutes...
Sherlock : Of course… Of course ! He wants information. He’s try to communicate all his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen - he wants it back. And it’s somewhere here - in code. We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao.
John : Oh good…
MUSEUM - ANTIQUITIES ROOM
Sherlock : Two men who travel back to China have been murdered... The killer left them messages in the Hang Zhou numerals.
John : Soo Lin Yao is in danger. That cipher... it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well.
Andy : Look. I’ve tried everywhere. Her friends; her colleagues. I don’t know where she’s gone. I mean she could be a thousand miles away.
Sherlock isn’t listening. He’s staring into the distance.
John : What are you looking at?
Sherlock : Tell me more about those tea pots.
He is staring at the Zisha pots in their glass case.
Andy : Those pots were her obsession. They need urgent work. If they dry out the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to keep making tea in them.
Sherlock : Yesterday only one of those pots was shining. Now they are two.
MUSEUM. RESTORATION ROOM. NIGHT
The galleries are dark. Statues in the moonlight. Silence. And then a scratching noise - an electrical access panel pushed out of its place. Two pale hands grasp the metal grille and lower it to the floor. A woman squeezes out from the tunnel. Her feet pad on the marble floors. She enters the Chinese Antiquities Room. The woman takes out a bunch of keys and goes to the case containing the Zisha. Opens it and lifts down a third pot ready for restoration. The woman sits at her desk in the restoration room. She has a small brass kettle of hot water and some green tea leaves. Carefully she takes the Zisha pot and brews the tea - sprinkling the leaves and delicately pouring in water. She sloshes the tea around inside - coating the pot with the glaze.
Sherlock : Fancy a biscuit with it?
She turns, drops the pot in surprise - it nearly rolls off the desk. Sherlock rescues the pot.
Sherlock : Centuries old. Don’t break that.
He turns on the light.
Sherlock : Hello.
Sherlock and John with Soo Lin.
Soo Lin : You saw the cipher? And you know that he is coming for me.
Sherlock : You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.
Soo Lin : I had to finish. To finish this work. But it is only a matter of time. I know he will find me.
Sherlock : Who is he? You’ve met him before?
Soo Lin (Nods) : When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognize his... ‘signature’.
Sherlock : The cipher?
Soo Lin : Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu.
John : Zhi Zhu ?
Sherlock : ‘The spider’.
Soo Lin unlacing her shoe. She takes off her sock, lifts her foot. There, on her heel, is a small circular tattoo - a black lotus flower inscribed in a circle.
Soo Lin : You know this mark?
Sherlock : Yes. It’s the mark of a Tong.
John quizzical.
Sherlock : An ancient crime syndicate. Based in China.
Soo Lin : Every foot soldier bears the mark - everyone who hauls for them.
John : Hauls? You mean... you were a smuggler?
Soo Lin : I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood. No way of surviving day to day, except to work for the bosses.
Sherlock : Who are they?
Soo Lin : They are called the ‘Black Lotus’. By the time I was sixteen I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England. They gave me a job here. Everything was good. A new life.
Sherlock : And then he caught up for you?
Soo Lin : Yes. I hoped after five years... maybe they would have forgotten me. But they never really let you leave. A small community like ours - they are never very far away. He came to my flat. He asked me to help him - to track down something that was stolen.
John : You’ve no idea what it was?
Soo Lin (Shakes her head) : I refused to help.
John : You knew him well? When you were living back in China?
Soo Lin : Oh yes. He is my brother. Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet - in the power of the one they call Shan - Black Lotus General. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting.
Sherlock reaches into his jacket pocket and produces print outs - the ciphers from the bank, the library and the railway.
Sherlock : Can you decipher this?
Soo Lin : They’re numbers.
Sherlock : Yes, I know.
Soo Lin : Here. The line across the man’s eyes. This is a Chinese number ‘1’.
Sherlock : And this one is’15’. But what’s the code ?
Soo Lin : All the smugglers know it. It’s based upon a book...
The lights go out. Someone has thrown all the electrical switches. They look
around in horror - noone visible. Just shadows. And then the sound begins - A distant drum beat.
Soo Lin : He’s here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me.
John pulls Soo Lin down on to the floor. Sherlock jumps to his feet and sprints towards the sound.
John : No no. Sherlock… Sherlock, wait! (to Soo Lin) Come in ! Get in ! Get in !
Sherlock runs out into the main atrium. Everywhere dark. Only the sound of the drum. Moonlight pours through the glass roof throwing webbed shadows on to the floor. He stares up at the towering marble walls and the grand circular staircase. Gunshot! Someone firing from an upper balcony. He dives behind the marble railing.
CUT TO: John hears the shot, whispers to Soo Lin.
John : I’ve got to go and help him. Bolt the door after me.
And he scampers away.
CUT TO: The main atrium. The sound of the drum. Sherlock lying on his stomach in the darkness. Peers over the railing - a second shot rings out.
Looks at the wall behind him. No bullet hole. John sprints into the atrium.
A third shot sounds. Sherlock seizes his chance, jumps up and ascends the central staircase. Bang! Bang! He can hear softly running feet ahead of him. John darts up the opposite staircase.
CUT TO: Galleries go whizzing past - Egyptian, Babylonian. He arrives in the ‘ANTHROPOLOGY’ gallery. More gunshots. He ducks and dives between the artefacts. Finds a hiding place behind a display of skulls. Bang! Bang! Bang!
Sherlock : Careful ! Some of that skull is two hundred thousand years old. Have a bit of respect !
Then suddenly the bullets stop.
Sherlock : Thank you.
Silence. Cautiously Sherlock peers out. The killer has gone. He examines the display. He realises that the drum has beating.
CUT TO: John in a different gallery - searches amongst the shadows. The drum beat. He darts back the way he came. Soo Lin in the darkened office. She crawls out from Under desk. The paper on her desk is being blown about by a gentle breeze... she realises that someone has opened a window in this room. She stands abruptly and turns. Zhi Zhuis right behind her. We see him - a long thin face and a tall wiry body - gaunt and angular. Skin a ghastly grey in the moonlight. He’s dressed all in black.
Soo Lin (Breathless, terrified): Pin yin. Liang. Liang. Qing!
She stretches out a trembling hand to touch his face.
CUT TO : John is in the main atrium. A shot rings out. He running back.
John : Oh, my God.
Runs at lightning speed back to the staff office - the place is still dark.
He stops dead in his tracks. We do not see much - just a dead hand poking out from behind the desk. And a black paper lotus flower resting in her palm.
POLICE STATION
Sherlock fired up after his encounter at the museum – John angry and bewildered.
John : How many murders is it going to take before you start believing this maniac is out there? A Young girl was gunned down tonight - three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him...
Sherlock : Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers. A gang called ‘The Black Lotus’. Operating here in London. Right under your nose.
Dimmock : Can you prove that?
HOSPITAL – CANTEEN
Molly Hooper on a break - clipboard and lab coat. She queues at the self-service cafe with a plastic tray. Sherlock joins the queue behind her.
Sherlock : What are you thinking? The pork or the pasta?
Molly (Pleasant) : Oh. It’s you.
Sherlock : This place is never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it ? Ought to stick with the pasta - don’t want to do roast pork. Not if you’re slicing up cadavers.
Molly : What are you having?
Sherlock :Don’t eat when I’m working. Digest is slows me down.
Molly : So you’re working here tonight ?
Sherlock : Need to examine some bodies.
Molly : Some?
Sherlock : Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis.
She recognises the names; checks her clipboard.
Molly : Er... They’re on my list.
Sherlock (using his charms): Could you wheel them out for me ?
Molly : Well, the paperwork’s already gone through...
Sherlock : You’ve changed your hair.
Molly : What?
Sherlock : The style. You used to part it in the middle.
Molly : Oh. Yes. Well.
Sherlock : It’s good. Suits you better this way.
Sherlock stop smiles when she turns.
HOSPITAL - MORTUARY
Sherlock : We’re just interested in the feet.
Molly : The feet?
Sherlock : Yes…Do you mind if we have a look at them?
Molly unzips the body bag. Luki has the Black Lotus tattoo on his heel.
Sherlock : Now Van Coon.
Another slab, takes off the cloth. Van Coon lies underneath. Same routine - same tattoo on the heel. Sherlock turns to Dimmock - a victorious smile.
Dimmock : So?
Sherlock : So either these two men happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour. Or I’m telling the truth.
Dimmock (Sighs) : What do you want?
Sherlock : I want every book from Lukis’ apartment. And Van Coon’s.
Dimmock : Their books?
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock and John arrives home - walk through the door - collapse. John visibly shaken by the death of Soo Lin; flops down in a chair.
Sherlock : It’s not just a criminal organisation - it’s a cult. Her brother’s been corrupted by one of its leaders.
John : Soo Lin said the name...
Sherlock : Yes. ‘Shan’. ‘General Shan’.
John flops down in the chair - despondent.
John : We’re still no closer to finding them...
Sherlock : Wrong! We’ve got almost all there is to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces... Why did he go and see his sister? Why did he need her expertise?
John : She worked at the museum.
Sherlock : Exactly.
John : An expert in antiquities.... (And then it dawns) Ah. Of course. I see.
Sherlock : Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics, purchased on the black market. China’s home to a thousand treasures - hidden after Mau’s revolution.
John : The Black Lotus is selling them.
He grabs John’s laptop. CUT TO: Image on a computer screen. A logo - ‘CRISPIAN’s AUCTIONEERS. 1750-2010’. JUMP CUT through a series of pictures - valuable antiquities up for auction. Sherlock pauses on anything oriental - screens; ceramics. Settles on a picture - two Ming Vases. We have seen the picture before - the MUSEUM Director showed it to Andy.
Sherlock : Check for the dates. Here, John. Arrived from China four days ago. Anonymous. The vendor doesn’t give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East.
John : One in Lukis’ suitcase and one in Van Coon’s.
CUT TO: Sherlock continues to surf the net.
Sherlock : « Antiquities sold at auction »
He’s making a hand-written list of objects... Anything brought into the country by an anonymous vendor. Writing the date next to each one. Focus tight on the words on the screen: ‘source: Anonymous’.
Sherlock : Look. Here’s another one. Rise in China. A month ago. Chinese ceramic statue. Sold for four hundred thousand.
John (Surfs) : Look. A month before that. Chinese painting. Half a Million.
Sherlock : All of them from an anonymous source. They’re stealing them back in China and - one by one - they’re feeding them into Britain.
John is flicking through Brian Lukis’ pocket diary and the print-out of Eddie Van Coon’s computer diary. He circles some of the dates in fluorescent pen and writes them on a second list. He compares his list to Sherlock’s...
John : Every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China.
Sherlock : So, if one of those men was greedy, when they were in China - if they stole something ...
John : That’s why he’s come.
A knock. It’s Mrs Hudson.
Mrs Hudson: Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?
Sherlock : What?
Mrs Hudson: A young man’s outside with a crate of books.
The Baker Street flat filled with boxes and boxes of books. Everywhere they are piled high! A couple of CONSTABLES are bringing in more. Some boxes are labelled VAN COON, some are labelled LUKIS. Sherlock and John sit amidst a huge stack of them.
Sherlock : So. The numbers - they’re references.
John : To books?
Sherlock : To specific pages. And specific words on those pages.
John : Right. So... ‘15’ and ‘1’... That means...
Sherlock: You turn to page fifteen and it’s the first word that you read.
John : OK. So? What’s the message?
Sherlock : Depends on the book. That’s the cunning of a book code.
Stares at the burgeoning piles.
Sherlock : It’s got to be something they both own.
John (Dry) : OK, fine. Well this shouldn’t take too long, should it ?
John starts to make a painstaking list of all the books and then attempts to cross-reference them. Dimmock enters next - he’s carrying a stack of papers sealed in an evidence bag. The bag has a white label stuck over the seal - ‘POLICE EVIDENCE’.
Dimmock : We found these. At the museum. Is this your writing?
John : We hoped Soo Lin could decipher it.
Sherlock grabs the bundle of evidence and slings it on his desk - amidst the jumble. Dimmock hovers for a moment - trying to see what they are doing.
Dimmock : Anything else I can do? (Pause. No response) To assist you, I mean.
Sherlock (Without looking up) : Some silence right now would be marvellous.
Dimmock slopes out. John locating identical pairs of books and handing them to Sherlock: two copies of every best seller. Sherlock takes the first pair - two copies of a trashy thriller - something that everyone owns. He opens one and examines it. Page 15. First word ‘cigaret ’ No use. JUMP CUT through a series of attempts to match the numbers to words in different books. Always the fifteenth page and the first word written there. Nothing significant. The word is always something innocuous like ‘imagine’.
An alarm clock rings. They have worked through the night.
GP’s surgery - Reception/John’s room
Sarah has finished her morning appointments. She walks into Reception. There is a huge queue of patients. Goes over to the receptionist.
Receptionist : I’m sorry to give a waiting. But we haven’t got anything now until the next Thursday.
Sarah : What’s going on?
Receptionist : That new doctor you hired. He hasn’t buzzed the intercom for ages.
Sarah : Let me go and have a word.
Knocks on a door. No answer.
Sarah : John ? John ?
In she goes. John is asleep, leaning on his fists.
Sarah’s in Reception, filing a stack of notes. John appears from his shift, bleary-eyed. The waiting room is empty.
John : Looks like I’m done. Thought I had more to see.
Sarah : I did one or two of yours.
John : One or two?
Sarah : Well, maybe five or six.
John : I’m sorry. That’s not very professional.
Sarah : No. No. Not really.
John : I had a bit of a late one.
Sarah : Oh. Right.
John : Here we… see you.
He drifts away. She can’t hide her curiosity - calls after him.
Sarah: So um… What were you doing? Keep you up so late?
John: Er... I was attending a sort of...book event.
Sarah : She likes books, does she? Your girlfriend.
John (Reading things perfectly) : It wasn’t a date.
Sarah : Good. (Breath. Realises her admission) I mean...
John : And I don’t have one tonight.
A little smile.
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock still flicking through book after book - he can’t find the one that unlocks the code.
Sherlock : A book that everybody would own...
Goes to his own bookshelves. Takes down all the classic books and examines them one by one to see if they unlock the code. JUMP CUT through another series of attempts: The Bible; The OED; Dan Brown; Nigella Lawson; Jamie Oliver. No result. John enters
Sherlock : I need to get some air to the brain. We’re going out tonight.
John : Actually - I’ve got a date.
Sherlock : What?
John : It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun.
Sherlock : That’s what I was suggesting.
John : No it wasn’t. (Breath) At least I hope not...
Sherlock finds his wallet.
Sherlock : Where you taking her?
John : Cinema.
Sherlock : Oh dull… Predictable. What do you not try this?
He digs into his wallet - takes out a scrap of paper. It is the tiny shred of a poster that he peeled off the wall from the railway arches.
Sherlock : In London for one night only.
John : Thanks, but I don’t come to you for dating advice.
John looks at the paper - no picture. Just a scrap that says ‘CIRCUS’ and has the box office phone number.
THEATRE. NIGHT.
John and Sarah hurry along an East End Street.
Sarah : It’s years since anyone took me to the circus.
John : A friend recommended it to me. He phoned up.
Sarah : Is it a touring company or something?
John : I don’t know much about it.
They turn the corner. Sarah sees the venue.
Sarah : I think they are probably from China.
John : Yes I think. I think so, yes. (for himself) It’s a coincidence…
The front facade is decorated in a hundred Chinese lanterns. There is a poster: ‘The Yellow Dragon Circus’.
THEATRE – FOYER
John and Sarah in the box office queue.
John : Hi. I’ve got two tickets reserved for tonight.
BOX OFFICE MANAGER : What’s the name ?
John : Er... Holmes.
BOX OFFICE MANAGER : Actually, I have three in that name.
John : Oh, no. I don’t think so. He booked two.
Sherlock : And then I phoned back and got one for me as well.
John doesn’t need to turn around to know his date has been crashed. Sarah turns and sees Sherlock behind them in the queue.
Sherlock : I’m Sherlock.
[ Sarah : Ah… Hi.
Sherlock : Hello ! ]
Sherlock and John arguing outside the ladies’ loo.
John : You couldn’t let me have just one night off?
Sherlock : The Yellow Dragon Circus! In London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England...
John : Dressed up as a tight rope walker! Come on, Sherlock. Behave!
Sherlock : A killer who can climb! Who can shin up a rope! Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They’d need a pretty good reason to get out of the country. Now all we need to do it’s have a little look round the place...
John : Fine. You do that and I’ll take Sarah off for a pint.
Sherlock : I need your help.
John : Look, I do have one or two other things on my mind, this evening.
Sherlock : Like what?
John (disbelieving) : You are kidding?
Sherlock : What’s so important?
John : Sherlock - I’m right in the middle of a date. You want me to check some killer whilst I’m trying to...
Sherlock : What?
John (Can’t think of a delicate word, so...) : Whilst I’m trying to get off with Sarah!
Sarah comes out of the toilet. John forces a smile.
John : Hey ! … Ready?
Sarah : Yeah.
THEATRE – AUDITORIUM
No seats in the derelict music hall. The audience stands in the empty space. A ring of candles. In the centre is a tall tripod covered with a black cloth.
[ John : You said circus. This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is… art.
Sherlock : This is not their day job.
John : Oh sorry. I forgot this is not a circus this is a gang of international smugglers. ]
A drum roll. Sherlock looks at John. It’s the same as they heard at the museum. A female performer enters, dressed in the makeup and robes of the Chinese opera (rouged face and gold head-dress). A drummer bangs out a monotonous beat on the Dagu drum. The Opera Singer pulls off the cloth. Balanced on the tripod is an evil-looking ballista - an ancient Chinese crossbow. At one end is the long metal shaft, ready to fire. At the other end hangs a metal bowl on a chain, dangling from the trigger. A big crash from the drummer. From her robes the Opera Singer produces a lethal-looping crossbow bolt. She puts it in the ballista mechanism and cocks the spring. A wooden plank (cut into the shape of a man) is strapped to the apron of the stage. The ballista points straight at its imaginary heart. The Opera Singer raises her hands for silence. Hush. Then drum roll. She extracts a white feather from her head-dress. Gently
she drops the feather into the metal bowl. The mechanism is so sensitive that the weight of the feather pulls the trigger down and releases the spring. The deadly dart fires straight into the plank. Gasps. The Opera Singer retrieves the dart from the plank and replaces it in the ballista. A masked warrior (Warlord) enters, dressed all in black - short and muscular. He stands against the plank. The Opera Singer ties him with thick cords so he is unable to move.
Sherlock : Classic Chinese escapology act. The crossbow is on a delicate spring. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.
Crash! Sarah jumps again and clutches John for comfort. The ballista spring is pulled back. A long golden rope is lowered from the ceiling. Attached to the bottom end is a sandbag. The rope runs up and over a beam. Attached to the end in the roof is a metal weight, shaped like a teardrop.
Sherlock : She split the sandbag so the sand pours out. Gradually the weight is lowered on to the bowl.
Crash on the drums. Sarah hugs tighter to John. The masked warrior is in place, strapped to the plank. The Opera Singer takes out a knife; cuts a gash in the sandbag. The sand starts to pour out. Slowly, slowly it rises to the ceiling, spinning all the while. On the other end of the rope the metal weight is gradually lowered towards the waiting bowl. The drummer begins his crescendo. The warrior in black struggles in his bonds. The cords that bind him do not seem to budge. Sarah is terrified and John is visibly tense. The sandbag is almost bereft of sand - higher and higher it rises. The metal weight drops down, almost touching the bowl. Then, after struggling for an eternity, the warrior seems to be loosening some of his bonds. But maybe it’s too late... The sand runs out; the weight lands in the bowl; the warrior pulls away and ducks. The ballista is triggered; the dart fires into the plank; he steps aside and it misses him by a whisker. The crowd breaks into spontaneous applause.
[ Sarah : My god !
John : My god ! ]
John turns to Sherlock. But Sherlock is not there.
THEATRE – BACKSTAGE
Sherlock tiptoes around backstage. He finds a dressing room area - empty. The light is dim - just a few candles. Chinese costumes litter the tables and chairs. Sticks of greasepaint and abandoned opera masks. In the corner is a mannequin dressed in green. A head-dress rests on the top - the face of a Chinese Warlord.. Applause in the distance.
THEATRE – AUDITORIUM
A new circus act beginning.
Opera Singer: Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of the Yangtze river, we present for your pleasure... the deadly Chinese bird spider.
Recorded music plays - ambient. From the ceiling drops a large length of grey silk. Dressed from head to foot in grey - grey leotard and grey mask - a tall, angular man enters. He climbs the rope. His movements are swift and effortless. He climbs thirty feet in the air and winds himself into the silken banner. Then, using fluid and balletic movements, he gently abseils
down the silken train and hovers just above the heads of the audience.
[ John : You see that ? ]
THEATRE – BACKSTAGE
Sherlock peers through a crack in the curtain and witnesses the human spider act.
Sherlock : Well, well.
Footsteps. Someone is coming - the OPERA SINGER, leaving the stage. Sherlock darts back along the narrow wing space and into the deserted dressing room area. He bobs down low behind a hamper, waiting for the footsteps to die. And then he sees it! A small black kit bag lying on the floor. There are tiny dabs of yellow paint on the handle. He unzips it and reaches inside. And he retrieves... An aerosol can! The footsteps have gone.
Sherlock : Found you.
Sherlock jumps to his feet and sprays the can at the mirror.
It’s yellow paint. He makes for the door, glancing at the mannequin - the green robes and the Warlord head-dress. Is something different? Has the mannequin changed from when he clapped eyes on it three minutes ago? He scans the figure from head to toe. He gazes at the face, nose to nose. And then the face opens its mouth and screams. A full-throated war-cry. Someone is wearing the Warlord costume now. And he attacks Sherlock, brandishing the sword.
CUT TO: John and Sarah stare in wonder at Zhi Zhu as he effortlessly scales the huge skein of silk. The accompanying music plays at full volume, masking any sound from...
CUT TO: Sherlock and the CHINESE Warlord are locked in hand to hand combat. The man is squat and bulky but immensely strong. The Warlord lands one blow after another, Sherlock narrowly managing to dodge them and to keep his footing. The CHINESE Warlord just punches him in the gob. He grabs the paint can and uses it as a weapon - spraying it into the Warlord’s eyes. The Warlord swings his razor sword at Sherlock’s head. Sherlock ducks and the sword embeds itself in the plaster wall. Sherlock seizes the moment. He dashes at his assailant with a mighty force. Together they go crashing through the door, straight through the blacks and into the auditorium space. The crowd are momentarily stunned: a Chinese Warlord wrestling on the floor with Sherlock HOLMES. John dives on him. The audience scatter, screaming, running for the Exit signs. The Warlord lands a punch on John - sending him caressers into a curtain. He tears it down and it lands with a cloud of dust. Candles are extinguished. The Warlord advances on Sherlock and lands another punch. Sarah seizes the wooden plank. She brings it crashing down on the head of the Warlord. She runs over to rescue John from the dusty chaos. Sherlock rips a shoe from the Warlord. He gazes there at a tattoo on the man’s heel. The Black Lotus. John knows it’s time to retreat. He grabs Sarah by the wrist.
[ Sherlock : Come on ! Let’s go ! ]
POLICE STATION
Sherlock and John reporting to DI Dimmock. Sarah with them - they have come straight from the theatre.
Dimmock : I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted.
Sherlock : Look... I saw the mark at the circus. The tattoo we saw on the two bodies. The mark of the Tong.
John : Lukis and Van Coon were part of a smuggling operation. One of them stole something - when he was in China. Something valuable.
Sherlock : These circus performers - they were gang members, sent here to get it back.
Dimmock : Get what back?
John : We don’t know.
Dimmock : You don’t know?
Dimmock leans back, sighs.
Dimmock : Mr. Holmes - I’ve done everything you asked. Lestrade - he seems to think your advice is worth something... I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime.
221B BAKER STREET
John and Sherlock arrive home. Sarah still with them.
John : They’ll be back in China by tomorrow.
Sherlock : They won’t leave. Not without finding what they came for. We need to find a hideout - a rendezvous.
He stares at the eighteen symbols on the display.
Sherlock : Somewhere in this message - it must tell us.
Beat. John and Sherlock staring at the wall display – Sarah shuffles awkwardly.
Sarah : Well. I think I should leave you to it.
(The next two lines spoken simultaneously)
John : Oh, you don’t have to go yet... If you want to stay…
Sherlock : Yes. It would be easier to study if you left now.
An awkward pause.
John : He’s kidding. Stay if you like.
Sarah: Is it just me? Or is anyone else starving?
[ Sherlock : Oh god… ]
John searching through the fridge in a panic - he has no drinks to give his guest... One can or lager and some flat lemonade. Sarah and Sherlock are in the lounge whilst John rattles round in the kitchen. Sherlock - irritated by the interruption. Trying to study. Reams of paper are piled up everywhere - the scribbled cipher. The room is in chaos.
Sarah : So. This is what you do. You and John. You solve puzzles. For a living.
Sherlock (Impatient) : Consulting detective.
Sarah : Oh.
John gets a bowl out for snacks. He finds a jar of olives. They have a layer of mould. He finds a packet of Wotsits lurking in the cupboard and sticks them in the bowl instead. In the lounge Sarah looks over Sherlock’s shoulder at what he is writing.
Sarah : What are these squiggles?
Sherlock : They’re numbers. Written in an ancient Chinese dialect.
Sarah (Gently teasing) : Oh right. Yeah. Of course. Yes. Should have known
that.
Mrs Hudson breezes into the flat and straight into the kitchen - she has a tea towel covered with a tray. She finds John.
Mrs Hudson(Whispers) : I’ve done punch. And there’s a bowl of nibbles.
John : Mrs. Hudson - you’re a saint.
Mrs Hudson: If it was Monday I’d have been to the supermarket.
[ John : Thank you. Thank you ! ]
Lounge. Sarah picks up some of the pages from the heap - the ones that were sealed in an evidence bag. Pulls off the label, opens the bag and studies them.
Sarah : So - these numbers. It’s a cipher.
Sherlock : Exactly.
Sarah : And each pair of numbers is a word.
Sherlock is interested in Sarah for the very first time - turns.
Sherlock : How did you know that ?
Sarah : Well. Two words are already translated here.
She shows him the page she was looking at - the pages that Dimmock brought back from the library in the evidence bag. There is a print-out of eighteen symbols grouped in nine pairs. Sure enough - the first two number pairs have words written underneath.
Sherlock : John ! John, look at this. Soo Lin - at the museum - she started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it. (Reads the two words she has translated) ‘Nine Mill...’?
John : Maybe ‘million’.
Sherlock : ‘Nine million quid...’ For what? We need to know the end of the sentence.
Sherlock rushes to the door.
John : Where you going?
Sherlock : To the Museum. To the Restoration Room - we must have been staring right at it.
John : At what?
Sherlock : The book, John - the book. The Key to cracking the cipher! Soo Lin used it to do this. Whilst you and I were running round the galleries she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk !
And he bolts out of the door.
BAKER STREET. NIGHT
Sherlock runs out on to the street to hail a cab. No luck. He collides with two German tourists, their heads buried in an A to Z of London. The books falls to the gutter and they rail at him in German.
Sherlock : Sorry. Sorry.
He shoves the book back in their hands. Then stops on the street corner.
Beat. His mind races. He looks across the street. Two Japanese tourists are opposite - one of them has an A to Z tucked in his back pocket. Whoosh! Sherlock is staring at the books on Eddie Van Coon’s shelf.
There is a London A to Z nestling beside the phone. Whoosh! In Lukis’ flat.
A London A to Z on the shelf. Whoosh! Sitting at Van Coon’s desk on the trading floor. A London A to Z resting there on the top.
[ Sherlock : A book that everybody had own. ]
Sherlock chases down the German couple. The man has tucked the A to Z in his coat pocket. Sherlock yanks it out.
Sherlock : [ Please ! Wait ! Bite ! (he takes the book, the man protest) Minute ! ]
They rail at him a second time.
221B BAKER STREET
Sarah : No, well. Absolutely. I mean… well a quiet night in is really just what the doctor ordered. I mean - I love going out evening and wrestling with Chinese gangsters. Generally, but a girl can get too much.
John : [ Shall we take away ?
Sarah : Yeah ! ]
He takes a menu off the wall.
BAKER STREET. NIGHT
Sherlock on the street, thumbing through the A TO Z.
Sherlock (Under his breath) : Page fifteen. Entry one. Page fifteen entry one.
He reads the A to Z index. Page 15. Entry number 1. ‘Deadman’s Lane’.
Sherlock stares at it. ‘Dead man’. Whoosh! Staring at the wall in the banker’s office with the sprayed graffiti. ‘15’ and ‘1’. The tag and the blind banker. Whoosh! The library. ‘15’ and ‘1’ sprayed on the spines of
the books.
Sherlock : ‘Dead man’. You were threatening to kill them. That’s the first cipher.
He tugs the papers from his pocket - the eighteen symbols from the railway. Gets out a pen - falls to the pavement to write. He starts thumbing through the index, translating each pair of numbers - writing them down.
221B BAKER STREET
Someone knocks at the door.
John : Blimey that was quick. I’ll just pop down.
Sarah : Do you want me to lay the table?
They both look at the table, filled with Sherlock’s clutter.
John : Eat off trays?
Sarah : Yep.
BAKER STREET
Each number pair refers to a street... ‘Nine Elms Lane’ ‘Mill Hill’ ‘Fore Street’ ‘Jade close’…
221B BAKER STREET
John bundles down the stairs and opens the door to the Chinese take-away guy.
John (digs in his wallet) : Sorry to keep you. How much do you want?
Zhi Zhu: Do you have it?
John : What?
Zhi Zhu: Do you have the treasure?
John : I don’t understand...
Zhi Zhu pulls a revolver and smacks it across John’s face, sending him crashing to the floor.
BAKER STREET
….‘Pin street’ ‘Dragon Road’ ‘Den Close’ ‘Black Acre Close’ ‘Tramway Avenue’ . Focus on Sherlock, frowning.
Sherlock : ‘Nine mill for jade pin. Dragon den black tramway’.
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock arrives home. The door bangs offstage. He shouts up the stairs.
Sherlock : John ! John, I’ve got it ! The cipher. The book. It’s the London A to Z, that’s they’re using...
Bursts into the flat. The lights are on. John and Sarah are nowhere to be seen. There is instead makes Sherlock pale with shock. Sprayed on the windows are two Chinese numerals - in yellow aerosol. A death cipher.
HIDEOUT - NIGHT
John wakes up from his concussion. He’s slumped in a chair, temple bleeding. Sarah beside him. They are both tied down. She is gagged but we can hear her softly crying. It’s a dark cavernous room, illuminated only by a ring of candles. John can just make out some long metal grooves in the floor - old tram tracks. The ceiling drips water. Three other people present - three members of the Black Lotus. Two men and a woman. The woman stands in the middle. Dressed in a her long black coat and her dark glasses. The Opera Singer. She is flanked by her two thugs in black suits. There is the short, squat, muscular one - the Warlord. And on the other side - tall and wiry with jagged limbs and pointed features - the climbing killer. Zhi Zhu.
THE Opera Singer(Quiet and cool) : A book is like a magic garden, carried in your pocket.
John quizzical.
THE Opera Singer: Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes.
John (Still delirious): I’m not Sherlock Holmes.
THE Opera Singer(Smiles) : Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.
Walks over to him - softly, slowly - yanks the wallet out of his pocket. She opens it and rifles around inside. Finally produces - a bank card.
THE Opera Singer: Debit card. Name of S. Holmes.
John : Yes. That’s not actually mine. He leant that to me...
She rifles around again. Produces - a cheque.
The Opera Singer: And a cheque for five thousand pounds. Made out in the name of Mr.Sherlock Holmes.
John (Weakly) : He asked me to look after...
She produces - an envelope with the old ticket stubs from the theatre. The name ‘Sherlock Holmes’ is on the front.
The Opera Singer: Tickets. From the theatre. Collected by you. Name of Holmes.
John : Yes. OK. I realise how this looks, but I’m not him...
THE Opera Singer: We heard it from your own mouth.
John (confused - bewildered.) : What?
The Opera Singer: ‘I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone...’
FLASHBACK. John shouting through the letterbox at Soo Lin’s flat.
John : ... because noone else can compete with my massive intellect.’
Back to the hideout. John smiles weakly - he knows nothing he can say will convince her that he isn’t Sherlock.
John : Ah. Did I really say that? (Breath. She smiles) I s’pose there’s no point in persuading you I was doing an impressions...
She produces a small revolver and presses it to John’s temple. He squirms.
The Opera Singer: I am Shan.
John stares at the diminutive woman.
John (Surprised, bewildered) : You’re Shan?
The Opera Singer: Three times we’ve tried to kill you and your companion, Mr Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?
She pulls the trigger. The barrel is empty. John sighs with relief.
The Opera Singer: It tells you they’re not really trying.
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock rummaging through his bookshelves - finds a big OS map of London - spreads it on the table.
Sherlock (Urgent) : Tramway... tramway....
HIDEOUT
The Opera Singer with her gun in John’s face.
The Opera Singer: Not blank bullets now. If we wanted to kill you Mr. Holmes we’d have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive (her smile diminishing) Do you have it?
John : I... what?
The Opera Singer: The treasure.
John : I don’t know what you’re talking about.
The Opera Singer(Affable and polite) : I would prefer to make certain.
(She raises a sheet and we see the machine that what used earlier in the show)
The Opera Singer: Everything in the West has its price. And the price for her life. Information.
Zhi Zhu drags Sarah’s chair so she is directly in the path of the bolt. The legs of her chair make a shrieking noise from. the weight. Sarah screams with horror, but it is stifled by the gag.
The Opera Singer (Leans very close to John) : Where’s the hairpin?
John : What?
The Opera Singer: The Empress’ pin. Valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the west. And then one of our people was greedy. He took it. Brought it back to London. And you, Mr. Holmes, you have been searching...
John : Please, please. Listen to me. I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. And I haven’t found whatever you’re looking for.
She decides to try a new tack - turns to address an imaginary crowd.
The Opera Singer(Mock theatricality) : I need a volunteer from the audience.
John : No. Please... Please !
She points at Sarah - bound and gagged.
The Opera Singer: Ah, thank you lady. Yes, you’ll do very nicely.
The Opera Singers lashes the sandbag. Sand pours out on to the old tram tracks. Sarah struggles in her bonds as the sandbag loses its contents and rapidly ascends, spiralling to the ceiling.
THE Opera Singer: Ladies and gentleman, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1 we present, for your pleasure, Sherlock Holmes’ pretty companion - in a death-defying act.
John : Please !
The Opera Singer takes something from her pocket - a piece of origami - a small black lotus flower. She places the little paper flower on Sarah’s lap.
The Opera Singer: You’ve seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends.
John : I’m not Sherlock Holmes !
THE Opera Singer: I don’t believe you!
Sherlock : You should, you know.
They turn. Sherlock has found them.
Sherlock : Sherlock Holmes has not an equal like him. [ How would you describe me John ? Resourceful ? Dynamic ? Enigmatic ? ]
John : Late.
Sherlock swings a length of metal piping and knocks the Warlord out cold. He rushes forward to save Sarah but... The Opera Singer raises her gun and points it at him - Sherlock stops in his tracks. The sandbag is still rising to the ceiling... There is hardly any time.
Sherlock : That’s a semi-automatic. You fire it - the bullet will travel at a thousand metres per second.
The Opera Singer: Well?
Sherlock : Well, the radius curvature of nearly four metres. If you miss then the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. The bullet could bounce around the tunnel and hit you.
And he lashes out and kicks over the burning brazier. The flames are immediately extinguished. Sherlock dives into the shadows - behind the oil drum. The Opera Singer fires and misses. The bullet ricochets around the tunnel, narrowly missing John. Everywhere very is dark now - just the meagre glow from the candles. Zhi Zhu is running at Sherlock in the shadows. He reaches insu his pocket - pulls out a long skein of silk - lassoes it over Sherlock’s neck with expert precision. He drags Sherlock up towards him - spins more and more silk around him and tugs it tight - the spider spinning a web around his victim - choking him. Sarah writhing and squealing in her bonds. The weight has almost fallen; the ballista about to fire. John deliberately topples his chair over and, using scrabbling motions, drags himself towards the loaded ballista. The Opera Singer holds up the gun but she cannot squeeze the trigger for fear of hitting her henchman. Sherlock being choked to death in the folds of silk. Zhi Zhu pulling hard. They are locked together in a silk cocoon... John finally crawls to the ballista, still strapped to the chair, and lamely attempts to kick it over. The sandbag is in the roof; the weight is now inches close to the spring mechanism. With one final kick John topples the tripod. The ballista fires. It misses Sarah and whistles straight past her. The bolt fires straight into Zhi Zhu’s heart. He releases Sherlock and his body falls to the ground. They turn to look at the Opera Singer. She has gone. Sherlock runs over to Sarah. He releases her from her bonds and her gag. John smiles up at her, still prostrate on the floor.
[ Sherlock (whispers to Sarah) : It’s alright… It will be alright… It’s over now. ]
John : Don’t worry. Next date won’t be like this.
She laughs. And then cries.
KINGSWAY TUNNEL. NIGHT
Holborn. The street leading down to the old tram tunnel. Flashing blue lights.
An ambulance has come to take the corpses. Uniformed POLICE OFFICERS cordon off the area. Sarah is lead away with a blanket over her shoulders - shocked but not hurt. Sherlock and John are side by side as they emerge from the tunnel. DI Dimmock is waiting.
Sherlock : We’ll just slip off. No need to mention us in the report.
Dimmock : Mr. Holmes...
Sherlock : I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career.
Dimmock : I go where you point me.
Sherlock : Exactly.
And they go. More and more police are arriving all the while.
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock and John at the dining table, staring at the decoded message. ‘Nine Mill Fore Jade Pin. Dragon Den Black Tramway’.
John : So…‘Nine Mill...’
Sherlock : ‘Million’.
John : Yes. ‘Million’. ‘Nine million for Jade Pin. Dragon Den Black Tramway’.
Sherlock : An instruction - to all of their operatives in London. A message what they were trying to reclaim.
John : A jade pin?
Sherlock : Worth nine million pounds. Bring it to the tramway - their London hideout.
John : But... a hairpin. Worth nine million pounds!
Sherlock : Apparently.
John : Why so much?
Sherlock : Depends who owned it.
Shad Sanderson
John and Sherlock in the City - headed for Shad’s bank.
Sherlock : Two operatives - based in London. They travelled over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. And then one of them helped himself to something. A little hairpin.
John (Incredulous) : Worth nine million pounds.
Sherlock : Eddie Van Coon was the thief. He stole the treasure when he was over in China.
John : How d’you know it was Van Coon not Lukis? Even the killer didn’t know that.
Reaches the doors of the bank.
Sherlock : Because of the soap.
He spins the revolving door and leaves John on the pavement, baffled.
Shad Sanderson- Amanda's desk
Amanda at her desk on the trading floor - putting on hand lotion. Her mobile rings. She answers.
Amanda (On phone) : Amanda?
Sherlock (On phone) : He gave you a present.
Amanda : Oh, hello.
Sherlock (On phone) : A little gift when he came back from China.
Amanda : How did you know that?
This time the voice is just behind her.
Sherlock : You weren’t just his PA, were you?
She turns. Sherlock is there - speaking to her simultaneously on the phone.
Amanda : Someone’s been gossiping.
Sherlock : No.
Amanda : Then I don’t understand...
Sherlock : Hand soap. In his apartment. With moisturiser. Three hundred millilitres. The bottle almost finished .
Amanda : Sorry?
Sherlock : I don’t think Eddie Van Coon was the sort of chap who would buy himself scented hand soap. Not unless he had a lady coming over. And that‘s the same brand as that hand cream on your desk there.
Amanda : Look... it wasn’t serious between us. It was over in a flash. It couldn’t last. He was my boss...
Sherlock : What happened? Why did you end it?
Amanda shrugs.
Amanda : I thought he didn’t appreciate me. He took me for granted.
(Sighs. Finally admits...) Stood me up once too often. We’d plan to go away for a weekend and then he’d just leave. Fly off to China at a moment’s notice.
Sherlock : But he brought you a present from abroad. To say ‘sorry’. (holds out his hand) Could I just have a look at it?
Shad Sanderson - Sebastian’s office
John with Sebastian. Sebastian handing him the second cheque for their services.
Sebastian : He really climbed up on to balcony?
John : Nail a plank across the window and all your problems are over. (Sebastian gives him the cheque) Thanks.
[ Amanda’s desk
She reaches into her hair and takes out the Jade hair pin he gave her; places it in Sherlock’s open hand. It is old - intricately carved. And tiny.
Amanda : Said he bought it in a street market.
Sherlock : Ah, no. I don’t think that’s true. I think he pinched it.
Amanda (Half laugh) : That’s Eddie.
Sherlock : I don’t think he even knew its value. Just thought that it would suit you.
Amanda : Oh… What it’s worth?
Out on Sherlock smiling.
Sherlock : Nine million pounds.
Amanda (under chock) : Oh my god ! Oh my god… Nine million ! ]
221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock and John having breakfast. Reading the papers - the jade hairpin is the headline.
John : Over a thousand years old. And it’s sitting on her bedside table every night.
Sherlock : He didn’t know its value; didn’t know why they were chasing him.
John : Should have just bought her a Lucky cat.
Sherlock silent - almost sad.
John : You mind, don’t you?
Sherlock : What?
John : That she escaped. General Shan. Not enough that we got her two henchmen.
Sherlock : It must be a vast network, John. Thousands of operatives. You and I - we barely scratched the surface.
John : You cracked the code though, Sherlock. Maybe Dimmock can track them all down. Now that he knows it.
Sherlock : No… No I cracked this code. All the smugglers have to do is to pick up another book.
John glances through the window - across the street. A young oriental teenager is spraying graffiti on a wall.
A DARKENED ROOM
A table and chair. Grimy windows. The Opera Singer sits at the table. A laptop in front of her. She is talking into her computer webcam - Skype.
We see her image on the screen but her correspondent’s window simply says ‘NO IMAGE AVAILABLE’.
THE Opera Singer: Without you - without your assistance - we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks.
The man on the screen types his replies. The words appear on her computer - his username at the start of each line... His username is simply ‘M’.
‘M_ GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS.’
‘M_ IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS’.
Pause. The cursor hangs there on the screen - blinking.
THE Opera Singer: We did not anticipate... we did not know this man would come. This Sherlock Holmes. And now you’re safety is compromised.
The reply is typed on screen:
‘M_ THEY CANNOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME.’
THE Opera Singer: I will not reveal your identity...’
Typed on screen:
‘M_ I AM CERTAIN.’
A little red dot appears on the wall behind her - a laser. It travels slowly across the room towards her - lands on her forehead. Black out.
END OF EPISODE
