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#303 : Son dernier coup d'éclat

Une affaire de lettres dérobées engage Sherlock dans un long conflit avec Charles Augustus Magnussen, le Napoléon du chantage, un individu que Sherlock déteste par dessus tout.

Mais comment venir à bout d'un adversaire qui connait toutes les faiblesses des puissants de l'Occident ?

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4.44 - 9 votes

Titre VO
His Last Vow

Titre VF
Son dernier coup d'éclat

Première diffusion en France
17.04.2014

Vidéos

Sherlock Series 3: Episode 3 Trailer - BBC One

Sherlock Series 3: Episode 3 Trailer - BBC One

  

Photos promo

Photo promotionnelle du troisième épisode de la saison 3 de Sherlock (Lady Smallwood)

Photo promotionnelle du troisième épisode de la saison 3 de Sherlock (Lady Smallwood)

Photo promotionnelle du troisième épisode de la saison 3 de Sherlock (Charles Augustus Magnussen)

Photo promotionnelle du troisième épisode de la saison 3 de Sherlock (Charles Augustus Magnussen)

Photo promotionnelle du troisième épisode de la saison 3 de Sherlock (Mycroft Holmes)

Photo promotionnelle du troisième épisode de la saison 3 de Sherlock (Mycroft Holmes)

Diffusions

Logo de la chaîne France 4

France (inédit)
Jeudi 17.04.2014 à 20:50
1.03m / 4.3% (Part)

Plus de détails

Réalisateur : Nick Hurran
Scénariste : Steven Moffat

Adaptation de :  The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton  par Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

[Merci à Ariane DeVere qui a eu la gentillesse de nous laisser utiliser son travail pour notre quartier.]

 

*** script en cours de révision***

Episode 3.03 - HIS LAST VOW

 

A meeting room

 

The scene opens on a pair of thin rimmed spectacles lying on top of a table.

 Lady Smallwood : Mr Magnussen, please state your full name for the record.
Magnussen: (In heavy Danish accent): Charles Augustus Magnussen.

Lady Smallwood is sitting at another table some distance away, facing him Magnussen.

Lady Smallwood: Mr Magnussen, how would you describe your influence over the Prime Minister?
Magnussen: The British Prime Minister?
Lady Smallwood: Any of the British Prime Ministers you have known.

Magnussen sits alone at a table in a large room. He is facing three more tables.There are eleven people sitting at these tables. The session is being filmed and projected onto a screen behind Lady Smallwood. She sits at the centre of the table facing Magnussen as she is the chairperson of a parliamentary commission to which a rolling news headline referred in “The Empty Hearse” at the same time that the TV news announced that Sherlock was alive.
Magnussen answers all his questions in a flat tone, showing no emotion.

Magnussen: I never had the slightest influence over any of them. Why would I?
Lady Smallwood: I notice you’ve had ... seven meetings at Downing Street this year. Why?
Magnussen: Because I was invited.
Lady Smallwood: Can you recall the subjects under discussion?
Magnussen: Not without being more indiscreet than I believe is appropriate.

A man to the right of Lady Smallwood leans forward to his microphone.

Garvie: Do you think it right that a newspaper proprietor, a private individual and, in fact, a foreign national should have such regular access to our Prime Minister?

While he has been speaking, Magnussen has picked up his glasses and put them on. As soon as Garvie comes into focus, information appears in front of Magnussen’s eyes in a white font:

 >John GARVIE

>MP ROCKWELL SOUTH
>ADULTERER (SEE FILE)
>REFORMED ALCOHOLIC
>PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL
>FINANCES: 41% DEBT (SEE FILE)
>STATUS UNIMPORTANT

 then, in red underneath:

 >PRESSURE POINT: >

The last line flashes momentarily.

Magnussen: I don’t think it’s wrong that a private individual should accept an invitation.

The line stops flashing and adds further information:

>PRESSURE POINT: >
>DISABLED DAUGHTER
>(SEE FILE)

Magnussen: However, you have my sincere apologies for being foreign.
Garvie: That’s not what I meant. That is not in any way ...
Lady Smallwood: Mr Magnussen, can you recall an occasion when your remarks could have influenced government policy or the Prime Minister’s thinking in any way?

While she has been speaking, Magnussen has turned his gaze to her and information immediately appears in front of his eyes.

 >LADY ELIZABETH SMALLWOOD
>MARRIED
>SOLVENT
>FORMER GYMNAST
>PORN PREFERENCE: NONE
>VICES: NONE

and, in red underneath:

 >PRESSURE POINT: >SEARCHING

The line flashes for a moment.

Magnussen takes off his glasses and reaches for a small cloth on the table.

 Magnussen: No.
Lady Smallwood: Are you sure?

Magnussen pauses while he cleans the lenses on his glasses and then puts them on again. He looks at Lady Smallwood and the information about her reappears in front of his eyes. The basic details about her then disappear leaving just the red line which is no longer flashing and now reads:

>PRESSURE POINT: >
>HUSBAND

Magnussen: I have an excellent memory.

 

Main entrance of a luxurious property

 

 Electronic gates open across a wide drive, and a black limo drives through and progresses along the drive which curves across the centre of a small lake.
At the end of the drive is a large beautiful and almost futuristic-looking house with tall windows and curved walls. A man in a suit opens the door to Magnussen and he walks into an opulent-looking hall.
Magnussen walks downstairs, passing a kitchen. He progresses to a glass wall with a glass door in it which leads into a study. He goes in and walks across to a double set of wooden doors. He pauses for a moment, then opens them.
He walks down a light brown wooden spiral staircase. Further down, the spiral staircase becomes narrower and is now made of light grey metal. The stairs lead into a large library. The shelves are full of files and ledgers. He walks through the stacks, his fingers raised and flicking towards various shelves as if he is trying to remember where he has put something specific.
At the rear of the library the room becomes familiar to us and we realise that this is the place where Magnussen watched the footage of Sherlock rescuing John from the bonfire at the end of “The Empty Hearse”. It is dark and creepy in this area and the grotesque dolls, stuffed animals and sculptures are still on display. Magnussen goes to a rotating card index and flicks through it until he finds what he wants, then he moves on and soon after we see him looking at a file which has a photo of Lady Smallwood paper clipped to the inside. Next to her photo is a picture of a man of around her age, and now Magnussen slides under the paperclip a photo of a beautiful girl who looks to be in her late teens. The girl has ornately coiffed hair and is wearing a strappy white top and is looking directly into the camera, clearly posing for the photographer.
Not long afterwards, Magnussen is sitting in a chair facing a large wall. A film projector whirrs beside him and the photo of the girl is now being projected onto the wall. He is holding the original photo in one hand and looking at it. After a moment he raises the photo to his mouth and runs one corner slowly down his bottom lip.

 

A room in a club

Some time later Lady Smallwood is sitting at a table in a room. She is looking at paperwork. An attendant speaks to a man near the door.

Attendant: Your car’s waiting outside, sir. See you tomorrow.

Magnussen is sitting in an armchair some feet away from the table. Lady Smallwood puts down her papers and pen and looks across to Magnussen as he stands up and walks across the room towards her.

Magnussen: May I join you?
Lady Smallwood: I don’t think it’s appropriate.
Magnussen: It isn’t.

He goes over to a wheeled chair nearby and rolls it across to the side of her table.

Lady Smallwood: Mr Magnussen, outside the enquiry we can have no contact, no communication at all.

Magnussen sits down, then reaches out and grasps her hand.

Lady Smallwood: Please don’t do that.
Magnussen: In 1982 your husband corresponded with Helen Catherine Driscoll.
Lady Smallwood: That was before I knew him.
Magnussen: The letters were lively, loving – some would say explicit – and currently in my possession.
Lady Smallwood: Will you please move your hand?
Magnussen: (narrating part of one of the letters) “I long, my darling, to know the touch of your ... body.”
Lady Smallwood: I know what was in the letters.
Magnussen: She was fifteen.
Lady Smallwood: She looked older.
Magnussen: Oh, she looked delicious. We have photos, too – the ones she sent him. (He smacks his lips.) Yum yum.
Lady Smallwood: He was unaware of her age. He met her only once before the letters began. When he discovered the truth, he stopped immediately. Those are the facts.
Magnussen: Facts are for history books. I work in news.
Lady Smallwood: Your hand is sweating.
Magnussen: Always, I’m afraid. I have a condition.
Lady Smallwood: It’s disgusting.
Magnussen: Ah, I’m used to it. (He strokes his finger across the top of her hand.) The whole world is wet to my touch.
Lady Smallwood: I will call someone. I will have you removed.

She tries to withdraw her hand from his but he clamps his fingers around it.

Magnussen: What is that?

He gently lifts her hand, turns it over and then clamps his fingers around it again as he raises her wrist towards his face and sniffs it.

Magnussen: Claire de la Lune? A bit young for you, isn’t it?

She pulls her hand free and flails towards him but he seizes her arm and holds it still.
Magnussen: You want to hit me now? Could you, still? You’re an old lady now. Perhaps you should settle for calling someone.

She tugs her hand free and this time he releases it. She looks away.

Magnussen: Well? Go on.

She continues to look away.

Magnussen: No? Because now there are consequences. I have the letters and therefore I have you.
Lady Smallwood: This is blackmail.
Magnussen: Of course it isn’t blackmail. This is ... ownership.

She turns to glare at him.

Lady Smallwood: You do not own me.

The attendant walks across the room towards them but stops some distance away. Magnussen’s eyes turn briefly as if hearing his footsteps but otherwise he takes no notice of him. Instead, he half-rises, leans towards Lady Smallwood, sticks out his tongue and runs the tip of it up the side of her face. She cringes. He sits back down.

Magnussen: Claire de la Lune.

He picks up a paper napkin from the tray on her table, sticks his tongue out again and rubs the napkin over it.

Magnussen: It never tastes like it smells, does it?

Lady Smallwood stares ahead of herself. He puts the napkin down, gives her one last look and then stands and walks away.

Magnussen: (to the attendant): Lady Smallwood’s bill is on me. See to it.

Attendant: Yes, Mr Magnussen.

Lady Smallwood lowers her head and lets out a shuddering breath.

 

Lady Smallwood's car

Later, she is being driven home. Sitting in the back of her Rolls Royce, she is holding an open compact mirror in one hand and has a handkerchief pressed to the side of her face where Magnussen licked it. She breathes out shakily.

Lady Smallwood: Oh, God.

Her chauffeur looks in his rear view mirror at her.

Chauffeur: You all right, ma’am?
Lady Smallwood: Fine, yes.

She lowers the handkerchief and looks at herself in her compact mirror.

Lady Smallwood: Magnussen...

Furiously she snaps the compact closed.

Lady Smallwood: No-one stands up to him. No-one dares. No-one even tries.

She picks up her ornate bottle of Claire de la Lune perfume from her handbag and starts spraying herself with it.

Lady Smallwood: There isn’t a man or woman in England capable of stopping that disgusting creature...

She stops, staring out of the window for a moment.

Chauffeur: Ma’am?
Lady Smallwood: Turn the car around. We’re going back into town. Turn around.

The chauffeur does a U-turn and starts driving back the way they just came.

Chauffeur: Where are we going, ma’am?

Lady Smallwood: Baker Street.


**** OPENING CREDITS ***

 

John and Mary's home

John and Mary are asleep in bed, Mary’s hand resting on top of John’s on top of the covers. John’s hand twitches as his dream flashes back to his time in Afghanistan and he hears gunfire and explosions and sees his comrades fall and grimace in pain around him. He shakes his head in his sleep and his dream moves to a flashback of Sherlock during their first meeting at Baker Street.


Sherlock (in the dream): Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?
John (in the dream): Enough for a lifetime.

In the Watsons’ bedroom there’s a pounding sound nearby, as if someone is knocking on the front door.

Sherlock: Wanna see some more?
John: Oh, God, yes.

The banging sound comes again and John jolts and sits up in bed. Half asleep, in his mind’s eye he can see Sherlock looking intensely at him.

Sherlock: The game is on. (He smiles.)

John wakes up properly and throws back the covers. He goes to the front door where someone is still knocking. He opens the door and sees a woman standing there looking back at him. She has clearly been crying for some time.

Woman (tearfully): I know it’s early. (She starts to cry.) Really, I’m sorry.

John stares at her a little blankly. Mary comes into view at the end of the hall, putting her dressing gown on. She peers down the hall.

Mary: Is that Kate?
John: Y-yeah, it’s Kate.
Mary: Invite her in?
John: Er, sorry, yes. D-d’you wanna come in, Kate?

He steps aside and Kate walks down the hall towards Mary, still crying.

Mary: Hey ...

Later, Mary and Kate are sitting on the sofa. Mary is stroking Kate’s arm while she continues to cry.

Mary: It’s all right.

John comes over and puts two mugs onto the coffee table.

John: There you go.
Mary (to John): It’s Isaac.
John (to Kate): Ah, your husband.
Mary: Son.
John: Son, yeah.
Kate: He’s gone missing again. Didn’t come home last night.

Mary lets out a sympathetic sigh and looks at John.

Mary: The usual.
John: He’s the drugs one, yeah?

He starts to pace back and forth. Kate breaks down in tears again.

Mary: Er, yeah, nicely put, John.
John: Look, is it Sherlock Holmes you want? Because I’ve not seen him in ages.
Mary: About a month.

John continues pacing, the fingers of his left hand twitching.

Kate: Who’s Sherlock Holmes?
Mary (looking at John): See? That does happen.
Kate: There’s a – a place they all go to, him and his ... friends.

Cutaway close-up of someone cooking-up a drug in a spoon with a lighter held underneath. Nearby, someone blearily props their head on their hand.

Kate: They all ... do whatever they do...

The first person clicks the lighter closed.

Kate: ... shoot up, whatever you call it.
John: Where is he?
Kate: It’s a house. It’s a dump. I mean, it’s practically falling down.
John: No, the address.

Mary turns and looks at him.

John: Where, exactly?

Shortly afterwards John is dressed and walking down the path outside the house and heading towards their car parked at the kerb. Mary, still in her pyjamas and dressing gown, is following him.

Mary: Seriously?
John (turning back to her): Why not? She’s not going to the police. Someone’s got to get him.
Mary (stopping at the gate as John continues on): Why you?
John: I’m being neighbourly.
Mary: Since when?
John (chuckling briefly): Since now. Since this exact minute.
Mary: Why are you being so...?

She twirls her hands expressively.

John (stopping at the driver’s door and turning back to her): What?
Mary: I dunno. What’s the matter with you?
John (loudly): There is nothing the matter with me. Imagine I said that without shouting.
Mary: I’m trying

She walks briskly towards the passenger side of the car.

John: No, you can’t come. You’re pregnant.
Mary: You can’t go. I’m pregnant.

She opens the passenger door and gets in, shutting the door. John looks away for a moment, then gets into the car.
Later, they have parked on a piece of concreted waste ground outside the address Kate gave them. John opens the boot of the car and takes something out, then walks round to the passenger side. Mary laughs and points at what he’s tucking into the top of his jeans.

Mary: What is that?!
John: It’s a tyre lever.
Mary: Why?
John (nodding towards the house): ’Cause there were loads of smack heads in there, and one of them might need help with a tyre. If there’s any trouble, just go. I’ll be fine.

He turns and starts to walk towards the house but Mary gets out of the car.

Mary: Err, John, John, John, John.

He stops and turns back to her.

Mary: It is a tiny bit sexy.
John: Yeah, I know.

He walks across to the front door of the house, which has a large sign stuck to the front of it saying, “PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT,” and bangs loudly on the door.

John: Hello?

The door is opened by a young man wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up over his head. He looks scruffy and dirty.

Bill: What d’you want?
John: ’Scuse me.

He barges his way in and walks down the hall. Bill looks outside for a moment, then turns towards John.

Bill: Naah, naah, you can’t come in ’ere!
John (looking into a room as he walks past): I’m looking for a friend.

He continues on, looking into doorways as he goes.

John: A very specific friend – I’m not just browsing.

Reaching the last room, he looks in there and then starts walking back again.

Bill: You’ve gotta go. No-one’s allowed ’ere.
John (stopping several paces away from Bill and clearing his throat): Isaac Whitney. You seen him?

Bill takes a flick-knife from his pocket and snaps the blade open, holding it towards John.

John: I’m asking you if you’ve seen Isaac Whitney, and now you’re showing me a knife. Is it a clue?

Bill gestures with his knife towards the open door behind him.

John: Are you doing a mime?
Bill: Go. Or I’ll cut you.
John: Ooh, not from there. Let me help.

He walks closer, stopping close enough to Bill that he could stab him if he wanted to. Bill stares back at him wide-eyed.

John: Now, concentrate... Isaac Whitney.
Bill: Okay, you asked for it.

Before he can even think about moving, John lashes out with his left hand, seizing Bill’s right arm and slamming his right hand down onto the arm. As Bill cries out in pain John wraps his right hand round the front of Bill’s neck and slams him against the wall, then uses his right foot to sweep Bill’s feet from under him. Bill slumps to the floor and John steps back. Bill chokes and groans in pain. John bends down and picks up the flick-knife which has fallen to the floor.

John: Right.

He squats down beside Bill.

John: Are you concentrating yet?
Bill: You broke my arm!
John: No, I sprained it.

He looks all around to make sure there’s no one else nearby.

Bill: It feels squishy! Is it supposed to feel squishy?

He holds his right arm out to John.

Bill: Feel that!

John reaches out and squeezes the arm. Bill groans.

John: Yeah, it’s a sprain. I’m a doctor – I know how to sprain people.

He releases the arm. Bill groans.

John: Now where is Isaac Whitney?
Bill: I don’t know!

John gives him a look.

Bill: Maybe upstairs.
John: There you go. (He pats Bill’s leg.) Wasn’t that easy?

He stands up and walks towards the stairs.

Bill (grumpily): No. It’s really sore. You’re mental, you are.
John (pocketing the flick-knife as he goes): No. Just used to a better class of criminal.

He walks up the stairs and into a large room at the top. Several people are lying or sitting on mattresses around the edge of the room. All of them look very stoned and unaware of what’s going on in the real world. Grimacing, John walks slowly across the room.

John: Isaac? Isaac Whitney?

He walks over to two people lying side by side on mattresses.

John (quietly): Isaac?

One of them tiredly raises a hand. The young man gazes blearily up at John as he walks to his side and kneels down beside him.

John: Hello, mate.

He puts a supporting hand behind his back.

John: Sit up for me? Sit up.

He helps him to sit, then lifts one of his eyelids. The boy’s eyes roll uncontrollably and he tries to focus on John.

Isaac: Doctor Watson?
John (lifting his other eyelid): Yep.
Isaac: Where am I?
John: The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me.
Isaac (blearily): Have you come for me?
John: D’you think I know a lot of people here?!Hey, all right?

On the mattress to Isaac’s right and behind John, another person – wearing jogging bottoms and a jacket with the hood up – rolls over, props himself onto one elbow and looks round to them.

Sherlock: Ah, hello, John.

John raises his head, his eyes widening.

Sherlock: Didn’t expect to see you here.

He pushes his hood back as John turns round to look at him. Sherlock peers at him.

Sherlock: Did you come for me, too?

John looks at him for a second, then his eyes begin to narrow.
Outside shortly afterwards, Isaac stumbles over to the car where Mary is now sitting in the driver’s seat.

Mary: Hallo, Isaac.
Isaac : Mrs Watson, can I – can I get in, please?
Mary : Yes, of course, get in. Where’s John?
Isaac: They’re ’avin’ a fight.
Mary: Who is?

Back at the house, on the first floor landing of the fire escape, Sherlock angrily punches open a temporary door which had been nailed across a doorway, knocking it off all its nails and sending it crashing across the fire escape.

Sherlock: For God’s sakes, John! I’m on a case!
John (following him down the fire escape): A month – that’s all it took. One.

Halfway down, Sherlock vaults over the side of the fire escape and onto a wall beside it.

Sherlock: I’m working.

He jumps down onto a wheelie bin beside the wall and then to onto another one laying on its side before stepping to the ground. John follows.

John: Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How’s that gonna look?
Sherlock: I’m undercover.
John: No you’re not!
Sherlock (gesticulating angrily): Well, I’m not now!

Mary has driven the car quickly towards them. She pulls up alongside with a squeal of brakes.

Mary (sternly): In. Both of you, quickly.

John gets into the passenger seat while Sherlock gets into the seat behind him. Bill hurries over towards the car, cradling his hurt arm. Mary sighs in exasperation at her boys, then turns to look through the front windscreen at the new arrival standing in front of the car.

Bill: Please. Can I come? I think I’ve got a broken arm.
Mary: No. Go away.
John: No, let him.
Mary: Why?
John (to Bill, leaning out of the open side window and pointing towards the rear of the car): Yeah, just get in. It’s a sprain.

Bill runs round the side of the car.

Mary: Anyone else? I mean, we’re taking everybody home, are we?

Sighing, Sherlock shifts to the centre of the rear seat to give Bill some room. Bill gets in and looks round at him.

Bill: All right, Shezza?
John: “Shezza”?
Sherlock: I was undercover.
Mary: Seriously – “Shezza”, though?!

Sherlock sighs again.

John: We’re not going home. We’re going to Bart’s. I’m calling Molly.

In the rear seat, Sherlock is wiping some of the dirt off his face with a handkerchief.

Mary: Why?
John (holding his phone to his ear and turning to look over his shoulder): Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar.

 

A lab in Bart's Hospital


In a lab Molly is finishing her tests on Sherlock’s urine sample. He is standing nearby, leaning back against the central bench and looking sulky. On the other side of the lab Bill is sitting on a side bench while Mary is wrapping a bandage round his arm. Isaac is also sitting nearby. Molly takes off her gloves with two loud snaps.

John: Well? Is he clean?

Throwing her gloves down, Molly turns to him.

Molly: Clean?

She turns and walks over to face Sherlock, then slaps him hard around the face with her right hand. Mary, Bill and Isaac look over to them in surprise. Molly slaps him again just as hard and then, for good measure, slaps him again with her left hand. Sherlock blinks and grimaces.

Molly: How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with?

She glances briefly towards John and then looks back at Sherlock.

Molly: And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you’re sorry.
Sherlock: Sorry your engagement’s over – though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.
Molly: Stop it. Just stop it.

John storms towards him, his face stern but his voice low.

John: If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me.
Sherlock: Please do relax. This is all for a case.

Mary, still wrapping Bill’s arm, shakes her head.

John: A ca... What kind of case would need you doing this?
Sherlock: I might as well ask you why you’ve started cycling to work.
John: No. We’re not playing this game.

He turns and walks away.

Sherlock: Quite recently, I’d say. You’re very determined about it.
John: Not interested.
Bill: I am.

Sherlock turns to look at him. Bill looks down at Mary.

Bill: Ow.
Mary: Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain.
Bill: Yeah. Somebody ’it me.
Mary: Huh?

Bill turns his head to look at John.

Bill: Eh, just some guy.
John: Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix.
Sherlock: Yes. I think, in a way, it was.

John holds his eyes for a moment, then looks away.

Bill: Is it his shirt?
Sherlock : I’m sorry?
Bill: Well, it’s the creases, innit?

He looks across to John. Sherlock does likewise and zooms in on the creases in his shirt.

Bill: The two creases down the front. It’s been recently folded but it’s not new.
(Sherlock smiles slightly.)... Must have dressed in a hurry this morning ...

Flashback to John in his bedroom, folding a shirt on top of the bed.

Bill: ... so all your shirts must be kept like that.

John stares at him in confusion.

Bill: But why? Maybe ’cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an’ then dress in the clothes you brought with you.

Sherlock looks at him, clearly impressed.

Bill: You keep your shirts folded...

Flashback to John, in his bedroom, putting the folded shirt into a small backpack.

Bill: ... ready to pack.
Sherlock: Not bad.
Bill: An’ I further deduce...

Sherlock raises his eyebrows, and he and John exchange a brief glance.

Bill: ... you’ve only started recently, because you’ve got a bit of chafing.

John looks down his body.

Sherlock: No – he’s always walked like that. Remind me – what’s your name again?
Bill: They call me The Wig.
Sherlock: No they don’t.
Bill: Well, they-they call me Wiggy.
Sherlock: Nope.
Bill: Bill... Bill Wiggins.
Sherlock: Nice observational skills, Billy.

His phone sounds a text alert. He takes out the phone and looks at the message.

Sherlock: Ah! Finally.
Molly: “Finally” what?
Bill: Good news?
Sherlock: Oh, excellent news – the best.

He turns and heads for the door, working on his phone.

Sherlock: There’s every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on.

Raising his phone to his ear as he reaches the door, he turns and looks round the room briefly.

Sherlock: Excuse me for a second.

He leaves the room.

In a cab

Later, he and John are alone in the back of a taxi. Sherlock is still in his scruffy clothes, so it appears they have gone directly from Bart’s.

Sherlock: You’ve heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course.
John: Yeah. Owns some newspapers – ones I don’t read.

Sherlock frowns and looks round the cab and then out of the back window.

Sherlock: Hang on – weren’t there other people?
John: Mary’s taking the boys home; I’m taking you. We did discuss it.

Sherlock raises his eyes upwards as if trying to remember.

Sherlock: People were talking, none of them me. I must have filtered.
John: I noticed.
Sherlock: I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I’ve got Mrs Hudson on semi-permanent mute.

The journey continues and the taxi eventually pulls up outside 221B Baker Street. As soon as he sees the closed front door, Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh.

Sherlock: What is my brother doing here?

He gets out and heads for the front door. John calls after him.

John: So I’ll just pay, then, shall I?

Sherlock goes up onto the doorstep and glares at the door knocker.

Sherlock: He’s straightened the knocker.

He turns to John as he gets out of the cab.

Sherlock: He always corrects it. He’s OCD. Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

He deliberately pushes the door knocker to one side, then lets himself in.

John: Why’d you do that?
Sherlock: Do what?
John: Nothing.

They go inside, John shutting the door behind him, and Sherlock opens and goes through the inner door, then stops and rolls his eyes at the sight of Mycroft sitting on the stairs.

Mycroft: Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?
Sherlock: What are you doing here?
John: I phoned him.
Mycroft: The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy – though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you.
Sherlock: You phoned him.
John: ’Course I bloody phoned him.
Mycroft: ’Course he bloody did. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?
Sherlock: “We”?
Anderson’s voice: Mr Holmes?

In the kitchen, Anderson closes the door to one of the cupboards in the kitchen.

Sherlock: For God’s sake!

He storms up the stairs, Mycroft sliding sideways on his step to get out of his way. Mycroft and John exchange a look and John blows out a breath as Mycroft leans on his umbrella to push himself to his feet.

Sherlock goes into the kitchen and glares at Anderson who is with a female colleague called Benji.

Sherlock (angrily): Anderson.

Anderson (raising his gloved hands apologetically): I’m sorry, Sherlock. It’s for your own good.

Looking annoyed, Sherlock drops his keys onto the kitchen table. Benji stares at him.

Benji: Oh, that’s him, isn’t it?

Sherlock turns and storms towards his chair, where another member of the ‘search team’ is sitting and reading a book. The man scrambles out of the chair, putting the book onto the table beside it, and hurries away. Sherlock flips his hood up and climbs into the chair.

Benji: You said he’d be taller.
Mycroft (coming into the kitchen and looking towards Sherlock): Some members of your little fan-club. Do be polite. They’re entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat.

Sherlock has curled up sideways in his chair and now lays his head on one of the arms, closing his eyes.

Mycroft: You’re a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can’t afford a drug habit.
Sherlock (opening his eyes): I do not have a drug habit.

John’s attention is focussed on a large space between Sherlock’s chair and the kitchen. He points.

John: Hey, what happened to my chair?
Sherlock: It was blocking my view to the kitchen.
John: Well, it’s good to be missed (!)
Sherlock: Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity.
John: No, you saw the kitchen.

Mycroft turns to Anderson.

Mycroft: What have you found so far? Clearly nothing.
Sherlock: There’s nothing to find.

Mycroft (turning toward the hallway behind the kitchen): Your bedroom door is shut.
Sherlock sighs.

Mycroft : You haven’t been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?

Sherlock has raised his head and flipped his hood back while Mycroft progressed. Now Mycroft reaches the door and puts his hand on the door knob. Sherlock hurls himself up into a sitting position.

Sherlock: Okay, stop! Just stop.

Mycroft turns the knob but doesn’t open the door.

Sherlock: Point made.
John: Jesus, Sherlock.

Mycroft turns and walks slowly back along the hall.

Mycroft: Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma.

Sherlock looks down and closes his eyes.

Mycroft: Won’t be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing.

Sighing, Sherlock stands up and walks closer to his brother.

Sherlock: This is not what you think. This is for a case.
Mycroft: What case could possibly justify this?
Sherlock: Magnussen.

Mycroft’s slight smile drops.

Sherlock: Charles Augustus Magnussen.

Mycroft draws in a breath and turns to Anderson and Benji.

Mycroft: That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don’t reply – just look frightened and scuttle.

Anderson immediately ushers Benji out of the kitchen and follows her onto the landing, closing the door behind him. Mycroft turns back to where John is standing beside Sherlock.

Mycroft: I hope I won’t have to threaten you as well.
John: Well, I think we’d both find that embarrassing.

Sherlock snorts laughter, turning his head away.

Mycroft: Magnussen is not your business.
Sherlock: Oh, you mean he’s yours.
Mycroft: You may consider him under my protection.
Sherlock: I consider you under his thumb.
Mycroft: If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me.
Sherlock: Okay. I’ll let you know if I notice.

He strolls towards the kitchen door.

Sherlock: Err, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah.

He opens the door.

Sherlock: Bye-bye.

He points the way out. Mycroft walks round him, then turns to face him.

Mycroft: Unwise, brother mine.

Immediately Sherlock seizes Mycroft’s left arm just below the elbow. Twisting his arm up behind his back, he slams his brother face-first against the wall beside the kitchen door. Mycroft cries out in pain. Sherlock breathes rapidly, his voice venomous.

Sherlock: Brother mine, don’t appal me when I’m high.

John hurries over to Mycroft’s side.

John (softly but very firmly, watching Sherlock’s face all the time): Mycroft, don’t say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might.

Mycroft pushes himself free of his brother’s grip and holds his left arm in pain. Sherlock turns and walks away. Mycroft turns towards him.

John (to Mycroft): Don’t speak. Just leave.

Mycroft lowers his right arm. John looks down towards the floor.

John: Oh.

He bends down and picks up Mycroft’s umbrella which he had dropped. Straightening up again, he offers it to him, clearing his throat. Mycroft snatches it from his hand and leaves. In the living room, Sherlock is stretching and rubbing the back of his neck. John turns and walks towards him.

John: Err, Magnussen?
Sherlock: What time is it?
John: About eight.

Sherlock sniffs deeply and sighs out a disgusted breath.

Sherlock: I’m meeting him in three hours. I need a bath.

He walks through the kitchen towards the hallway.

John: It’s for a case, you said?
Sherlock: Yep.
John: What sort of case?
Sherlock: Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in.
John: You trying to put me off?
Sherlock: God, no.

With his hand on the knob of the bathroom door, he looks back at John.

Sherlock: Trying to recruit you.

He gives him a small smile and goes into the bathroom.

Sherlock (off-screen): And stay out of my bedroom.

The bathroom door closes. John immediately starts to walk across the kitchen towards the bedroom. He has just reached the hallway when the bedroom door opens and a familiar face peers out.

Janine: Oh, John, hi.

Opening the door wider, she laughs in an embarrassed way, pulling down the bottom of the shirt she’s wearing. She’s not wearing anything on her legs.

Janine: How are you?
John (staring at her in disbelief): Janine?
Janine: Sorry. Not dressed.

She heads towards the kitchen, John standing aside to let her pass.

Janine: Has everybody gone? I heard shouting.
John: Yes, they’re gone.
Janine: God, look at the time. I’ll be late.

She goes over to the worktop and picks up a coffee percolator.

Janine: Sounded like an argument. (She turns to John.) Was it Mike?
John: Mike?
Janine: Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They’re always fighting.
John: Mycroft.
Janine: Do people actually call him that?!
John: Yeah.
Janine: Huh! Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?
John: ... Sure, right, yeah.
Janine (heading back towards the hallway): Thanks.

She stops and put a hand briefly on John’s shoulder.

Janine: Ooh, how’s Mary? How’s married life?
John: She’s fine. We’re both fine, yeah.

He turns and walks towards a cupboard. Janine points in another direction.

Janine: Oh, it’s over there now.

She looks around.

Janine: Where’s Sherl?
John
(breathing out the name with a bemused look on his face): Sherl!

Grinning and clearing his throat, he turns back to her.

John: He’s just having a bath. I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.
Janine: Oh, like he ever is!
John: Yeah (!)

He frowns as if still unable to believe what’s happening, then wanders vaguely towards the cupboard that Janine had indicated. She goes along the hallway and knocks on the bathroom door, immediately opening it and going inside.

Janine: Morning! Room for a little one?!

Off-screen, Sherlock laughs and she giggles while there is much sound of splashing water. John turns and looks along the hallway.

Sherlock (off-screen, as the bathroom door closes): Morning.

He can be heard chuckling and Janine lets out a high-pitched “Ooh!” John turns away.

Later, John is sitting on the edge of the coffee table while Sherlock – wearing black trousers and a white shirt and putting his jacket on – walks across the living room. John has a bemused smile on his face.

Sherlock: So – it’s just a guess but you’ve probably got some questions.
John: Yyyyeah, one or two, pretty much.
Sherlock: Naturally.

He turns and looks towards the kitchen. John follows his gaze as Janine – also fully dressed – walks into the bedroom. Smiling, Sherlock sits down.

John: You have a girlfriend?
Sherlock: Yes, I have.

John grins. Sherlock looks towards Janine again, then turns to John, looking more serious.

Sherlock: Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark – it’s the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John – stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes ... That’s what he is. I’ve dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen.
John: Yes, you have.
Sherlock: Sorry, what?
John: You have a girlfriend.
Sherlock: What? Yes! Yes, I’m going out with Janine. I thought that was fairly obvious.
John: Yes. Well ... yes. (He clears his throat loudly.) But I mean you, you, you ... are in a relationship?

Sherlock blinks at him.

Sherlock: Yes, I am.
John: You and Janine?
Sherlock: Mmm, yes. Me and Janine.
John: Care to elaborate?

Sherlock draws in a long breath and looks up thoughtfully, then puffs out his cheeks as he breathes out again.

Sherlock: Well, we’re in a good place. It’s, um ... (he looks down thoughtfully, then turns to John) ... very affirming.

He smiles at him. John points back at him.

John: You got that from a book.
Sherlock: Everyone got that from a book.

John looks round and smiles as Janine comes into the room.

Janine: Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves.

Sherlock smiles happily at her as she sits down on the arm of his chair. He puts his arm round her as she turns and leans close to his face.

Janine: And you, Sherl, you’re gonna have to tell me where you were last night.
Sherlock: Working.

John stares at them.

Janine: “Working”. Of course. I’m the only one who really knows what you’re like, remember?
Sherlock: Don’t you go letting on.

He gently runs his finger down the tip of her nose, then lays his hand on her arm. They stare deeply into each other’s eyes. John grins, apparently still unable to believe what he’s seeing.

Janine: I might just, actually.

She tears her eyes away from Sherlock and looks across to John, as does Sherlock.

Janine: I haven’t told Mary about this. I kind of wanted to surprise her.
John: Yeah, you probably will.
Janine: But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!
Sherlock: Yeah!
Janine: My place, though – not the scuzz-dump!

She punches Sherlock affectionately on the shoulder and they both laugh.

John: Great, yeah! Dinner! Yeah.
Janine : Oh, I’d better dash. It was brilliant to see you!
John: You too.

He turns and watches as Sherlock escorts Janine to the living room door and opens it for her.

Sherlock: Have a lovely day. Call me later.

She turns back to him and fiddles with the edge of his jacket.

Janine: I might do. I might call you – unless I meet someone prettier (!)

They kiss, while John quickly turns away with his mouth in a startled ‘Ohhh!’ shape. As the other two continue to kiss noisily, he stares pointedly towards the window. Janine pulls back a little and whispers softly to Sherlock, their noses still touching.

Janine: Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes.

Grinning, she turns and leaves the room. Sherlock smiles as he watches her go ... and then his smile abruptly drops and he closes the door. He walks back across the room.

Sherlock: You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he’s so much more than that.

John frowns at him.

Sherlock: He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power.

He sits down at the dining table and opens his laptop.

Sherlock: I’m not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail...

He pulls up a photo of Magnussen’s home, together with a blueprint of the building.

Sherlock: ... and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name...

He turns the laptop to show the screen to John.

Sherlock: ... is Appledore.
John: Dinner.
Sherlock: Sorry, what, dinner?
John: Me and Mary, coming for dinner ... with ... wine and ... sitting.

Sherlock turns and stares at him for a moment.

Sherlock: Seriously? I’ve just told you that the Western world is run from this house ... (he points at the screen) ... and you want to talk about dinner?
John: Fine, talk about the house.
Sherlock: It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world ... (he looks over his shoulder at John) ... the Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals – and none of it is on a computer. He’s smart – computers can be hacked. It’s all on hard copy in vaults ... (he points at the rotating blueprint on the screen) ... underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you’ve ever met is a fantasy.

There’s a knock on the living room door, followed by Mrs Hudson’s familiar, “Ooh-ooh!” The door opens and she comes in.

Mrs Hudson (pointing back down the stairs): Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn’t you hear it?

Sherlock: It’s in the fridge. It kept ringing.

Mrs Hudson: Oh, that’s not a fault, Sherlock!

John: Who is it?

Mrs Hudson draws in an anxious breath. Shortly afterwards she goes down the stairs to the bottom.

Mrs Hudson: Mr Holmes said you can go right up.

She looks nervously at whoever is waiting in the hall, she flattens herself against the wall and almost cringes as three men in dark suits walk up the stairs. A fourth person walks towards the stairs. He can see not only Mrs H but information about her, which reads:

MARTHA LOUISE HUDSON
(née SISSONS)

LANDLADY
WIDOW (SEE FILE)
SEMI-REFORMED ALCOHOLIC
FORMER “EXOTIC DANCER”
(SEE FILE)
FINANCES: 21% DEBT
(SEE FILE)
STATUS: UNIMPORTANT

and underneath, flashing in red:

PRESSURE POINT: >
MARIJUANA

Upstairs, the three men – clearly security men, as they are all wearing earpieces – walk into the living room. Sherlock, now standing by the fireside with John, sighs and unfolds his arms.

Sherlock : Oh, go ahead.

He spread his arms and allows one of the goons to frisk him. Another one walks over to John while the third generally looks round the room.

Security Man: Sir?

John glances over to Sherlock, then looks back to the man.

John: Can I have a moment?

Sherlock lowers his arms from his frisking and looks across to the man.

Sherlock: Oh, he’s fine.

The man glances at Sherlock, then kneels down in front of John and starts frisking him.

John: Err, I ... right. I should probably tell you...

The man reaches into John’s jacket pocket and takes out Bill’s flick-knife.

John: Okay, I ... (he points to the knife) ... That.

The man pulls John’s jacket open.

John: And...

The man stands up, holding the tyre lever he has just taken from John’s jeans and looking at him sternly. Sherlock looks startled. John steps closer to the man and speaks confidentially.

John: Doesn’t mean I’m not pleased to see you.

Sherlock: I can vouch for this man. He’s a doctor. If you know who I am, then you know who he is...

He turns his head towards the door as Magnussen walks in and stops just inside the doorway.

Sherlock: ... don’t you, Mr Magnussen?

John’s security man steps to John’s side and faces his boss while the other one stands at Sherlock’s side and the third waits in the kitchen.

Sherlock : I understood we were meeting at your office.

Magnussen looks round the room for a moment.

Magnussen: This is my office.

He walks slowly towards the sofa, then stops and turns to look at John. Information appears in front of his eyes:

John HAMISH WATSON
AFGHANISTAN VETERAN (SEE FILE)
G.P. (SEE FILE)
PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL
FINANCES: 10% DEBT (SEE FILE)
STATUS UNIMPORTANT

then, in flashing red underneath:

PRESSURE POINT: > HARRY WATSON (SISTER) ALCOHOLIC
Mary MORSTAN (WIFE)

 Magnussen: Well, it is now.

He continues on to the dining table, picks up a newspaper from it and then goes back and sits down on the sofa.

Sherlock: Mr Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband’s letters.

Magnussen appears to have been ignoring him, paying more attention to what seems to be the uncomfortableness of the sofa. Now he looks at the newspaper in his hand.

Sherlock: Some time ago you ... put pressure on her concerning those letters.

Magnussen looks up at him, leaning back on the sofa.

Sherlock: She would like those letters back.

Magnussen looks at him silently as he continues speaking, and information appears in front of his eyes:

>Sherlock HOLMES
>CONSULTING DETECTIVE
>PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL
>FINANCES: UNKNOWN
>BROTHER: Mycroft HOLMES
>M.I.6 (SEE FILE)
>OFFICIALLY DECEASED 2011-2013

and underneath in red:

> PRESSURE POINT:
>IRENE ADLER (SEE FILE)
>JIM MORIARTY (SEE FILE)
>REDBEARD (SEE FILE)
>HOUNDS OF THE BASKERVILLE
>OPIUM
>John WATSON

The list of pressure points cycles round several times.

Sherlock: Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind...  Something I said?
Magnussen: No, no. I-I was reading.

He adjusts his glasses, the red list of pressure points cycling more quickly.

Magnussen: There’s rather a lot.

Sherlock frowns. In front of Magnussen’s eyes, the white list of information vanishes and the red list cycles rapidly.

Magnussen: “Redbeard.”

Sherlock blinks and his mouth opens slightly.

Magnussen: Sorry...S-sorry. You were probably talking?
Sherlock: I...

He pauses for a long moment, then clears his throat.

Sherlock: I was trying to explain that I’ve been asked to act on behalf of...

Magnussen turns his head to the security man beside John.

Magnussen: Bathroom?
Security Man: Along from the kitchen, sir.
Magnussen: Okay.
Sherlock: I’ve been asked to negotiate the return of those letters.

Magnussen takes off his glasses and looks towards the window.

Sherlock: I’m aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents ...
Magnussen: Is it like the rest of the flat?

He looks at the security man.

Security Man: Sir?
Magnussen: The bathroom?
Security Man: Err, yes, sir.
Magnussen: Maybe not, then.
Sherlock: Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?

Magnussen meets his eyes for a moment, then looks towards the window again.

Magnussen: Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her.

He turns his eyes towards Sherlock and pops his lips a couple of times.

Sherlock: Mr Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?
Magnussen: She’s English, with a spine.

He lifts his right foot and puts it against the side of the coffee table, then pushes the table away from him. Sherlock frowns slightly. Magnussen stands up and, besides Sherlock, the second security man turns and steps forward to the fireplace, taking the fire guard away from the front of the unlit fire.

Sherlock glances over his shoulder.

Magnussen: Best thing about the English...

He walks over to Sherlock and John and looks at them one after the other.

Magnussen: ... you’re so domesticated. All standing around, apologising...

He nods to Sherlock and then walks in between him and John towards the fire.

Magnussen: ... keeping your little heads down.

He stands in front of the fire, facing it. The sound of him unzipping his trousers can be heard.

Magnussen: You can do what you like here. No one’s ever going to stop you.

He looks down and the sound of him urinating into the fire can be heard. John blinks as if appalled and half-turns his head towards him. Sherlock keeps his head facing forward, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

 Magnussen: (continuing to urinate): A nation of herbivores.

He half-glances over his shoulder.

Magnussen: I’ve interests all over the world but, err, everything starts in England.

He looks down again as the last of his urine splashes on the grate in front of the fire.

Magnussen: If it works here...

He zips up his trousers.

Magnussen: ... I’ll try it in a real country.

Looking at himself in the mirror for a moment, he turns and strolls back in between the boys. The security guard beside John holds out a packet of wet wipes and Magnussen takes one and turns to face the others.

Magnussen: The United Kingdom, huh? (He starts to wipe his fingers.) Petri dish to the Western world.

He looks at Sherlock briefly.

Magnussen: Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I’m keeping them.

Finishing wiping his fingers, he drops the wet wipe to the floor.

Magnussen: Goodbye.

He turns as if to leave, then turns back and put his hand into his jacket’s inside breast pocket.

Magnussen: Anyway ...

He chuckles and pulls out the edge of a packet of documents to show Sherlock.

Magnussen: ... they’re funny.

Smirking, he tucks the packet back into his jacket and leaves the room. The security men follow him. As the sound of their feet can be heard clattering down the stairs, John takes a step forward.

John: Jesus!
Sherlock: Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?
John: Wh... There was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah.

He gestures towards the fireplace but Sherlock is smiling, having not noticed him.

Sherlock: Exactly – when he showed us the letters.

He walks across the room, still smiling, while John closes his eyes in disbelief.

John: ... Okay.
Sherlock: So he’s brought the letters to London – so no matter what he says, he’s ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he’s established a person’s weaknesses – the ‘pressure point’, he calls it.

He picks up his coat from a dining chair and puts it on.

Sherlock: So, clearly he believes I’m a drug addict and no serious threat.

He looks out of the window where one of the security guards is closing the rear door of a car parked outside.

Sherlock: And, of course, because he’s in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he’s out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven ’til ten.John: How-how do you know his schedule?
Sherlock: Because I do. Right – I’ll see you tonight. I’ve got some shopping to do.

He heads out the door and down the stairs.

John: What’s tonight?
Sherlock: I’ll text instructions.
John : Yeah, I’ll text you if I’m available.
Sherlock: You are! I checked!

Looking exasperated, John heads for the door.

 ***fin de la partie 1/3***




Downstairs, Sherlock goes out of the front door followed by John.
SHERLOCK: Don’t bring a gun.
JOHN: Why would I bring a gun?
SHERLOCK: Or a knife, or a tyre lever. Probably best not to do any arm-spraining, but we’ll see how the night goes.
(He raises his arm to an approaching taxi.)
JOHN: You’re just assuming I’m coming along?
SHERLOCK: Time you got out of the house, John. (He runs his eyes over him as the taxi pulls up.) You’ve put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn’t doing it.
(He opens the cab door and gets it.)
JOHN: It’s actually four pounds.
SHERLOCK (shutting the door and looking at him through the half-open window): Mary and I think seven. See you later.
(He sits down on the seat and gives his destination to the driver.)
SHERLOCK: Hatton Garden.
(The cab drives away. John looks at his watch, then walks off.)

EVENING/NIGHT TIME. John walks towards the entrance of a skyscraper building which houses CAM Global News. In the foyer, a TV screen is broadcasting the company’s news channel, which is currently showing a Breaking News item reading,
“MP JOHN GARVIE ARRESTED ON CHARGES OF CORRUPTION.” A photograph shows the man who spoke at the parliamentary hearing at the beginning of the episode. A newsreader’s voice can be heard.
NEWSREADER (on the TV): And breaking news now. John Garvie MP has been arrested today on charges of corruption. This follows an investigation ...
(John walks through the revolving doors and approaches the security barriers which look like they need a security card to open them. He looks around and then looks at his watch, and Sherlock walks over from behind him.)
SHERLOCK: Magnussen’s office is on the top floor, just below his private flat ... (he looks towards lift doors on the next level up) ... but there are fourteen levels of security between us and him ...
(His mind’s eye floats quickly along the next level towards the lift and homes in on the security card reader beside the lift doors.)
SHERLOCK: ... two of which aren’t even legal in this country. Want to know how we’re going to break in?
JOHN: Is that what we’re doing?
SHERLOCK: Of course it’s what we’re doing.
(He turns and walks away.
Later, the boys are each carrying a takeaway cup of coffee and are walking towards an escalator in the building.)

SHERLOCK: Magnussen’s private lift. It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it ... (they get onto the escalator) ... and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed.
(They get to the top and walk towards the lift. Sherlock holds up a key card.)
SHERLOCK (stopping): Standard key card for the building. Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen.
(He walks to the lift, stops and looks at it.)
SHERLOCK: Here we go, then.
(The camera shifts back along the corridor and Sherlock and John are still standing where they just were, several yards away from the lift.)
SHERLOCK: If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?
(He gestures towards the lift where an imaginary version of himself is touching his card to the security reader. Alarms immediately begin to sound – at least in Sherlock’s head – and two imaginary security men run towards imaginary-Sherlock standing at the lift.)
JOHN (obviously not seeing or hearing anything): Er, the alarms would go off and you’d be dragged away by security.
(Over at the lift, imaginary-Sherlock is indeed being seized by the arms by the two men.)
REAL-SHERLOCK: Exactly.
(He looks towards the lift and watches as imaginary-Sherlock is marched away.)
JOHN: Get taken to a small room somewhere and your head kicked in.
(Imaginary-Sherlock looks over his shoulder and throws an indignant look towards his real self and his friend. Real-Sherlock looks round at John.)
SHERLOCK: Do we really need so much colour?
JOHN: It passes the time.
(Sherlock gives him a look and passes him his coffee cup. John takes it and returns the look. Ignoring it, Sherlock takes his phone from his coat.)
SHERLOCK: But if I do this ...
(He presses the security card against his phone.)
SHERLOCK: If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It’s a common problem – never put your key card with your phone.
(He looks along the corridor to where imaginary-Sherlock is back at the lift and swiping his card across the reader. The two imaginary security men start to run towards him again ... but then they go into slow motion and then stop in mid-run.)
SHERLOCK: What happens if I use the card now?
JOHN: It still doesn’t work.
SHERLOCK: But it doesn’t read as the wrong card now.
(More imaginary security men run towards imaginary-Sherlock, then they too slow down and freeze in mid-run.)
SHERLOCK: It registers as corrupted. But if it’s corrupted, how do they know it’s not Magnussen?
JOHN (looking round, possibly to check if real security are anywhere around): Huh.
SHERLOCK: Would they risk dragging him off?
JOHN: Probably not.
SHERLOCK: So what do they do? What do they have to do?
JOHN: Check if it’s him or not.
(Near the lift, the imaginary security men shrink down and each one disappears into a different imaginary waste paper bin, all of which have suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The bins then disappear again.)
SHERLOCK: There’s a camera at eye height to the right of the door.
(Imaginary-Sherlock walks up to the lift doors again, where the security card reader has a flashing red light above it. He swipes the card past the reader and on a laptop elsewhere in the building there’s a repeated beeping sound and a message comes up on the screen reading:

ALERT LOCKED
CORRUPTED CARD
CONNECT CAMERA

SHERLOCK: A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen’s personal staff in his office – the only people trusted to make a positive ID.
(A cutaway shot shows the laptop on a table in an office. A woman – unseen to us except for her hand – walks over to press a key on the keyboard.)
SHERLOCK: ... at this hour, almost certainly his PA.
(In the imaginary office, the security camera activates and transmits live footage of imaginary-Sherlock smiling into the camera.)
JOHN: S-so how’s that help us?
(Sherlock smiles along the corridor, then looks round to John.)
SHERLOCK: Human error. (He raises his hand to the breast pocket of his coat and pats it.) I’ve been shopping.
(He walks along the corridor to the lift, John again looking all around before following him. Sherlock reaches the lift doors and raises his card towards the reader.)
SHERLOCK: Here we go, then.
(He presses the card against the reader. A circle on the reader screen, and the words CAM GLOBAL NEWS at the bottom of the screen, both turn from blue to red and there’s a beep.)
JOHN (quietly, standing to the side out of view of the camera): You realise you don’t exactly look like Magnussen.
SHERLOCK (looking confidently into the security camera while speaking quietly and barely moving his lips): Which, in this case, is a considerable advantage.
(Up in the office at the top of the building, the laptop beeps its alert and shows its message on the screen. The woman walks across the room to press a key on the keyboard and Sherlock’s live image smiles into the camera at her. She walks around the desk to get a better look and now we see that it’s Janine. She stares at the image in amazement.)
JANINE (quietly, over the intercom to the security reader beside the lift): Sherlock, you complete loon! What are you doing?!
(Sherlock smiles more widely into the camera. John looks round in surprise.)
JOHN: Hang on – was that ...? That ...!
(He instinctively starts to step closer but Sherlock holds up the flat of his hand to him to stop him and talks into the camera.)
SHERLOCK: Hi, Janine. (Secretively, glancing around) Go on, let me in.
JANINE: I can’t! You know I can’t. Don’t be silly.
SHERLOCK (softly): Don’t make me do it out here. Not ... (he pauses and turns his head to glance at a woman walking past, then once she’s gone he turns back to the camera) ... in front of everyone.
JANINE: Do what in front of everyone?
(Beside him, John smiles and nods politely at another woman as she walks past. Sherlock lowers his eyes and blows out a big breath, then takes out a small dark red box and clicks it open before holding it up to the camera to show the large diamond engagement ring inside it. Janine gasps and straightens up, clapping her hand to her mouth. Downstairs, John stares at the ring. Janine does likewise upstairs while Sherlock holds the box in front of his face and turns on his biggest puppy dog eyes over the top of it as he looks into the camera and then smiles. Lowering her hand, Janine lets out a silent delighted laugh – and downstairs the card reader screen turns from red to blue and the lift doors open. Sherlock grins into the camera, then clicks the box closed and turns to John, whose mouth is open as he stares at his friend.)
SHERLOCK: You see? As long as there’s people, there’s always a weak spot.
(He starts to walk into the lift but John stops him.)
JOHN: That was Janine.
SHERLOCK: Yes, of course it was Janine. She’s Magnussen’s PA. That’s the whole point.
JOHN: Did you just get engaged to break into an office?
SHERLOCK: Yeah. (He steps into the lift.) Stroke of luck, meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit.
JOHN: Je-Jesus!
(He looks down at the coffee cups he’s still holding, then drops them onto the floor just outside the lift before getting in.)
JOHN (leaning close to Sherlock and speaking quietly): Sherlock, she loves you.
SHERLOCK (flatly, staring ahead of himself): Yes. Like I said – human error.
(The doors close and the lift begins its ascent. John turns to look at him.)
JOHN: What are you gonna do?
SHERLOCK: Well, not actually marry her, obviously. (He looks round to him.) There’s only so far you can go.
JOHN: So what will you tell her?
(Sherlock briefly looks at him again before facing the front.)
SHERLOCK: Well, I’ll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss’ office. I imagine she’ll want to stop seeing me at that point ...
(The lift passes the 27th floor and continues upwards. Sherlock looks at John again.)
SHERLOCK: ... but you’re the expert on women.
(The lift stops at floor 32 and the doors open. Sherlock turns on his human smile and walks out, bobbing up and down in an ‘I’ve just come to get engaged to you’ way as he looks around for his new fiancée. After a moment he stops, looking around more carefully and frowning when there’s no sign of her. The boys walk into her office but she still can’t be seen.)
JOHN: So where did she go?
SHERLOCK: It’s a bit rude. I just proposed to her.
(John walks across the room towards the window and sees Janine lying on the floor.)
JOHN: Sherlock ...
(Sherlock walks over as John bends down to her.)
SHERLOCK: Did she faint? Do they really do that?
(John takes his hand from her head and finds blood on his fingers.)
JOHN: It’s a blow to the head. (He bends lower to her.) She’s breathing. Janine?
(She moans quietly. Sherlock looks round the rest of the office and sees something in an adjoining room.)
SHERLOCK (walking across the office): Another in here.
(John looks over to him but doesn’t leave his patient. In the next room Sherlock looks at the suited man lying face down on the floor, then does a full-circle turn to look around the rest of the room.)
SHERLOCK: Security.
JOHN: Does he need help?
(Sherlock walks to the man’s side and looks down at him. Behind his left ear, which has an earpiece in it, is a small tattoo of the number “14”.)
SHERLOCK: Ex-con.
(He zooms in on another tattoo on the man’s right hand between his thumb and index finger. The tattoo is five small dots, four of them in a square shape and the fifth in the middle of the square.)
SHERLOCK: White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares? (He points back towards John.) Stick with Janine.
(John hesitates, apparently unhappy about leaving any unconscious person unchecked, but then turns back to Janine.)
JOHN: Janine, focus on my voice now. Can you hear me?
(Sherlock looks around the room again and then goes to the nearby glass desk. He bends down, holding his hand over the top of it while looking at it closely, then works his way round to the other side, looking carefully at everything. He squats down to the leather chair behind the desk and puts his hand on the seat, immediately working out the temperature of the leather:

TEMPERATURE: 35°C

In the other room, John looks up as if he has just had a thought and then gets up and walks to where he can see Sherlock next door.)
JOHN (in a stage whisper, while pointing back to Janine): Hey. They must still be here.
SHERLOCK (straightening up and also speaking in a loud whisper): So’s Magnussen. His seat’s still warm. He should be at dinner but he’s still in the building.
(He looks around and then raises his eyes upwards.)
SHERLOCK (in a loud whisper): Upstairs!
JOHN (taking his phone from his pocket): We should call the police.
SHERLOCK (loud whisper): During our own burglary?! You’re really not a natural at this, are you?
(John sighs and switches his phone off again.)
SHERLOCK (loud whisper): No, wait, shh!
(Standing at the side of the chair, he closes his eyes, sniffs deeply and holds his hands out to the sides. As John goes back to Janine, Sherlock sniffs twice more, the final one a deep long sniff, and a couple of words appear around him:

VERSACE
No 5

SHERLOCK: Perfume – not Janine’s.
(The words disappear. Keeping his eyes closed, Sherlock waves his hand around beside his head as if to force other suggestions from his mind. Two more brand names appear.)

PRADA
Dior

(He waves those away, then opens his eyes and points upwards triumphantly at the correct name as it appears.)

Claire-de-la-lune

(Sherlock quietly says the name out loud, then turns around, grimacing.)
SHERLOCK: Why do I know it?
(John looks up from where he is still checking Janine.)
JOHN: Mary wears it.
SHERLOCK (turning back and still speaking in a loud whisper): No, not Mary. Somebody else.
(He lifts his head as he hears a noise from upstairs and his gaze becomes intense. John seems to recognise that look and whispers loudly.)
JOHN: Sherlock!
(But Sherlock’s already off, running across the room to the stairs and hurrying up them, pausing partway up to look up the stairs before quickly continuing on.
Up in what must be Magnussen’s private penthouse flat, Sherlock walks softly along the carpeted hall towards where he can hear Magnussen talking quietly and sounding very anxious and almost tearful.)

MAGNUSSEN (offscreen): What-what-what would your husband think, eh?
(Sherlock walks carefully towards a partially open door at the end of the hall.)
MAGNUSSEN (offscreen): He ... your lovely husband, upright, honourable ...
(Sherlock looks through the gap in the door and sees Magnussen on his knees with his hands behind his head and cowering.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... so English. What-what would he say to you now?
(Standing in front of him, someone dressed all in black and wearing black gloves pulls back the pistol they are pointing at Magnussen and cocks it before pointing the business end at him again. He cowers, whimpering and momentarily lapsing into Danish.)
MAGNUSSEN: Nej, nej! [No, no!]
(Sherlock slowly pushes the door open.)
MAGNUSSEN (tearfully, tremulously): You’re-you’re doing this to protect him from the truth ... but is this protection he would want?
SHERLOCK (slowly walking to stand a few feet behind the person holding the gun, who we now see is also wearing a black knitted cap on their head, covering their hair): Additionally, if you’re going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume ...
(The potential killer raises the gun a little, turning it slightly to the left.)
SHERLOCK: ... Lady Smallwood.
(Magnussen straightens a little, breathing out a long shaky breath.)
MAGNUSSEN (in a slightly stronger voice): Sorry. Who?
(Sherlock focuses on the back of the assassin. Magnussen’s gaze goes from him to the face of his potential killer as the person adjusts their grip on the pistol.)
MAGNUSSEN: That’s ... not ... Lady Smallwood, Mr Holmes.
(Sherlock frowns. The person in black turns to face him, aiming the pistol at him, and Sherlock looks into the face of Mary Elizabeth Watson.
He draws in a breath and rapidly flashes back to several different times when they have been together [and oddly one moment when he wasn’t in the room] and in each of those moments his many deductions about her – many of which were seen during
“The Empty Hearse” – swarm around her. Then he’s back in Magnussen’s flat and the deductions fade, leaving many instances of only one word repeatedly drifting around her as she aims her gun towards him:

Liar

They too fade and he focuses on her face as she stares back at him. A single large word appears beside her face:

Liar

MARY (as the word rotates and then fades): Is John with you?
SHERLOCK (shakily): He’s, um ...
MARY (firmly): Is John here?
SHERLOCK: He-he’s downstairs.
(She nods.)
MAGNUSSEN (softly): So, what do you do now? Kill us both?
(Keeping her pistol aimed in front of her, Mary smiles humourlessly over her shoulder towards him before turning her gaze back to Sherlock. As Sherlock speaks, Magnussen slowly lowers his hands and begins to reach down towards the floor on his left.)
SHERLOCK: Mary, whatever he’s got on you, let me help.
(He shifts his weight onto one foot, preparing to step towards her.)
MARY (in a somewhat exasperated voice): Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you.
SHERLOCK (shaking his head with a small smile on his face): No, Mrs Watson.
(She stares at him, her mouth opening a little.)
SHERLOCK (gently): You won’t.
(He starts to lifts his foot off the floor. Immediately she pulls the trigger. The bullet impacts his lower chest, just above the V of his buttoned jacket and slightly to the right of his shirt buttons. Magnussen straightens up again. Sherlock’s eyes unfocus and a slight look of shock appears on his face as Mary sighs regretfully. He looks down at the bullet hole and after a moment blood begins to pour from the hole.)
MARY (her voice a little tearful): I’m sorry, Sherlock. Truly am.
(Sherlock raises his head and looks at her.)
SHERLOCK: Mary?
(She turns and points her pistol down at Magnussen. His eyes widen ...
... and the scene freeze frames as a loud alarm siren begins to blare repeatedly. The room darkens around Sherlock and a spotlight shines onto his face as he stares ahead of himself in shock.
As the alarm continues, he is suddenly running quickly down the flights of a staircase in a white-walled building. Everything about the view suggests that this place is decaying and unlived in – the paint is peeling from the walls, the concrete of the uncarpeted stairs is crumbling and the red paint on the bannisters is cracking off. The camera is above the stairs and there are several storeys below where he currently is. He clings to the bannisters and braces his other hand on the wall as he continues rapidly downwards.
Back in Magnussen’s room, Molly – wearing her white lab coat – walks around behind Sherlock.)

MOLLY (smiling): It’s not like it is in the movies. There’s not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards.
(She walks around in front of him and the scenery around her turns bright white.)
MOLLY (continuing walking, her face more serious now): The impact isn’t spread over a wide area.
(She’s now in a white-walled mortuary room and she walks over to a body lying on a table in the middle of the room. The body is covered with a white sheet and has an identity tag tied to one bare toe.)
MOLLY: It’s tightly focussed, so there’s little or no energy transfer.
(She reaches down and starts to pull back the sheet covering the body. Sherlock is lying under the sheet, naked and with his eyes closed.)
MOLLY: You stay still ...
(She pulls the sheet back to his waist, revealing the bullet hole in his lower chest.)
MOLLY: ... and the bullet pushes through.
(There’s a brief close-up of the bullet hole. She looks down at Sherlock’s face and he can see her fuzzily even though his eyes are closed.)
MOLLY: You’re almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus.
(She slaps him hard across the face. He hauls in a huge breath, his eyes snapping open as his head jerks to the side under her blow.
In Magnussen’s room, both Magnussen and Mary are still frozen. Sherlock’s eyelids lift a little.)

MOLLY (offscreen): I said ...
(She is standing in front of him.)
MOLLY: ... focus.
(She slaps him hard. His head snaps round under her blow and before he can turn back he’s standing in a bright white room, still reeling from Molly’s slap. He straightens up and looks around, bewildered, then looks at Molly as she speaks again. They are in the mortuary room and in front of him is the table with his own dead body lying on it, covered by a sheet as far as the waist. Rows of mortuary cabinets line one wall. She walks towards the table, leans her hands onto the edge of it and looks across it to the living version of Sherlock standing on the other side.)
MOLLY: It’s all well and clever having a Mind Palace, but you’ve only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So, come on – what’s going to kill you?
(Sherlock looks down at his dead body for a moment and then raises his head again.)
SHERLOCK: Blood loss.
MOLLY (quietly, intensely): Exactly.
(Sherlock looks at her, frowning a little.)
MOLLY: So, it’s all about one thing now.
(Sherlock, with his hands braced on the table in front of him, starts to sway. The loud alarm finally fades out and goes silent.)
MOLLY: Forwards, or backwards?
(He lowers his head and his eyes close ...
... and he’s back in Magnussen’s room staring ahead of himself.)

MOLLY (offscreen): We need to decide which way you’re going to fall.
(Behind him, as Mary and Magnussen remain frozen in place, Anderson walks over and stops behind his back. He is wearing white medical gloves. Molly walks towards Sherlock from halfway across the room.)
ANDERSON: One hole, or two?
SHERLOCK (frowning and turning to look over his shoulder at him): Sorry?
(Anderson raises his eyebrows in a questioning way.)
MOLLY: Is the bullet still inside you ...
(He turns to face her as she stands in front of him.)
MOLLY: ... or is there an exit wound?
(The perspective changes and she is no longer in front of him, though Anderson is still behind him.)
MOLLY (voiceover): It’ll depend on the gun.
(Sherlock turns his head to the left and now he can see diagrams of many different pistols in front of his eyes. He zooms in on one – which changes from a blue outline to a yellow one – and a tag appears above it reading, “Cat-0208”.)
SHERLOCK: That one, I think.
(He looks across the diagrams and another pistol identified as “Cat-077839” turns yellow. He moves on to another gun which changes to yellow. We can’t see the first part of the identification tag but its number ends “173634”.)
SHERLOCK: Or that one.
(He frowns as if uncertain and continues through the display, another gun flashing yellow and showing its identification and then rapidly disappearing off screen before he moves on.)
MYCROFT (offscreen): Oh, for God’s sake, Sherlock.
(Sherlock turns his head to the right and sees his brother sitting at his desk in his office at The Diogenes Club.)
MYCROFT: It doesn’t matter about the gun. Don’t be stupid.
(Sherlock turns and walks towards him. Mycroft leans forward and folds his hands on the table in front of him.)
MYCROFT: You always were so stupid.
(Sherlock continues towards him, but now he’s a young boy – about eleven years old – and wearing dark trousers and a shirt with a buttoned dark green cardigan over it. He walks slowly towards his big brother.)
MYCROFT: Such a disappointment.
YOUNG SHERLOCK (angrily): I’m not stupid.
MYCROFT (sternly): You’re a very stupid little boy.
(He stands up and walks around the table.)
MYCROFT: Mummy and Daddy are very cross ...
(He reaches the other side of the table and leans against it.)
MYCROFT: ... because it doesn’t matter about the gun.
YOUNG SHERLOCK (frowning up at him): Why not?
MYCROFT: You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?
YOUNG SHERLOCK (sounding petulant): I’ve not been murdered yet.
MYCROFT (leaning down to him): Balance of probability, little brother.
(Young Sherlock looks down, and the loud alarm begins to blare again as he turns his head to look behind him.
In Magnussen’s room, adult Sherlock also turns around to where a row of panelled mirrors is behind him on the wall. Mycroft can be seen fuzzily reflected in the mirrors as if he is standing some distance away. Sherlock walks closer to the mirrors and looks in them.)

MYCROFT (walking closer): If the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?
SHERLOCK: The mirror shattering.
MYCROFT: You didn’t. Therefore ...?
(Sherlock turns and slowly walks past him.)
SHERLOCK: The bullet’s still inside me.
(He walks back to his original position.)
ANDERSON (offscreen): So, we need to take him down backwards.
MOLLY (standing in front of Sherlock again): I agree. Sherlock ...
(He turns his attention to her.)
MOLLY: ... you need to fall on your back.
ANDERSON (still behind him but now starting to walk around him to his right): Right now, the bullet is the cork in the bottle.
MOLLY (walking around Sherlock to his left as the alarm fades away again): The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow.
ANDERSON (coming to a halt in front of him and looking at him): But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it.
MOLLY (now standing behind Sherlock): Plus, on your back, gravity’s working for us.
(The room takes on a blue hue.)
MOLLY (firmly): Fall now.
(Sherlock’s eyes half-close and his body begins to slump. In very slow-motion he starts to topple backwards. The room takes on its normal colour as he slowly falls back. He is falling towards the right-hand side of the room, and the entire room seems to tilt down towards the left as he goes. Mary and the kneeling Magnussen, still frozen in place with her pointing her pistol at him while she looks towards Sherlock, do not move as the room continues to tilt further to the left, but a plant in a plant pot on the windowsill begins to slide slowly across the sill towards the left of the room.
Before he hits the floor Sherlock is suddenly back in the bright white mortuary room, standing upright, and the alarm is blaring again. He stumbles back against the cabinets in the wall, claps his hands to his ears and cries out in alarm.)

SHERLOCK: What the hell is that? What’s happening?
(He lowers his hands and looks around in confusion. Beside him, one of the cabinet doors opens and the tray slides out. His own dead body is lying on the tray with his eyes closed. The ‘real’ Sherlock stares down at it in horror.)
MOLLY (now standing on the other side of the tray): You’re going into shock.
(Sherlock straightens up and stares at her wide-eyed.)
MOLLY: It’s the next thing that’s going to kill you.
SHERLOCK: What do I do?
(Mycroft is now standing where Molly was. Sherlock, still wide-eyed, lifts his head to meet his gaze.)
MYCROFT: Don’t go into shock, obviously.
(He looks around the room as the alarm blares on.)
MYCROFT: Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down.
(He turns his head back to his brother and his last words echo.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (as an echo): ... calm you down.
(Sherlock stares at him.)
MYCROFT: Find it.
(Sherlock screws his eyes closed, and now he’s running in slow motion down the long staircase again.)
MYCROFT (in the morgue): The East Wind is coming, Sherlock. (He raises his eyebrows at him as the alarm stops blaring.) It’s coming to get you.
(Elsewhere in his Mind Palace, Sherlock continues to stumble down the stairs and his own voice sounds in his head.)
SHERLOCK’s VOICE (quiet but echoing): It’s coming to get you.
(Without transition a door opens in front of him and Mary – wearing her wedding dress and with a white veil over her face – stands facing him aiming a pistol at him. She fires and Sherlock screams and falls backwards in slow-motion.
Before he hits the floor he’s suddenly in a long corridor lined with wooden doors. Mycroft’s voice sounds in his head as he races along the corridor.)

MYCROFT’s VOICE: Find it.
(Sherlock runs to a nearby door and pulls it open. White light floods out and then he’s in another similar corridor. Lying on the floor a short distance away is a dog – an Irish setter – panting and looking towards him.)
SHERLOCK: Hello, Redbeard. Here, boy. Come on!
(He leans down and pats the top of his legs repeatedly, smiling at his dog. The dog sits up.)
SHERLOCK: Come to me. It’s okay. It’s all right.
(The dog starts to trot along the corridor towards him; and now Sherlock is his younger self again, patting his legs and calling to his dog.)
YOUNG SHERLOCK: Come on! It’s me! It’s me, come on!
(The dog breaks into a run, barking as he continues onwards.
Adult Sherlock is now squatting in the middle of the corridor, smiling with delight and still patting his legs encouragingly as the dog runs towards him.)

SHERLOCK: Come on!
YOUNG SHERLOCK: Good boy! Clever boy!
(The barking dog reaches the boy, who kneels down smiling happily and starts stroking his head and ears.
The dog has also reached the adult Sherlock and is licking his face as Sherlock strokes his head and ears.)

SHERLOCK: Hello, Redbeard. They’re putting me down too, now. It’s no fun, is it?
(He slumps down onto his backside, looking weak and disorientated.)
SHERLOCK (weakly): Redbeard.
(The dog barks, and Sherlock falls backwards to the floor.
In Magnussen’s flat, Sherlock continues his slow-motion fall backwards, and finally lands on the carpet staring upwards blankly.)

MOLLY (offscreen): Without the shock, you’re going to feel the pain.
(In Redbeard’s corridor, she is standing some distance away from Sherlock as he convulses on the floor, his eyes wide and his teeth clenched. Molly looks towards him, her face serious.)
MOLLY: There’s a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding.
(Sherlock continues to convulse, his face contorted in agony and his mouth open. He screams, although the scream is muted to our ears.)
MOLLY: You have to control the pain.
(And now Sherlock is running down the stairs again. He reaches the bottom and, screaming in pain, runs through a door into a padded cell. The room is circular and about twenty feet in diameter. The floor is plain concrete and the walls are heavily padded with a dirty greyish-brown material. On the opposite side of the cell to the door, a man crouches on the floor, leaning against the wall with his head lowered. The door closes behind Sherlock and he flattens himself against the wall beside it, convulsing and crying out in pain. He stares upwards, his eyes red-rimmed.)
SHERLOCK: Control! Control! Control.
(His voice quietens a little with each repeat. On the other side of the room the man – who we now see is wearing a filthy white straitjacket and has a large metal collar around his neck with a heavy chain fastened to it – slowly turns his head a little towards Sherlock. His face still cannot be seen but his breathing is very loud. Sherlock stares at him, his eyes wide and his teeth bared.)
SHERLOCK (straightening up and leaning up from the wall): You.
(Breathing heavily, he takes a couple of steps forward.)
SHERLOCK: You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain?
JIM MORIARTY (slowly turning his head more): You always feel it, Sherlock.
(He turns his head some more and looks across at Sherlock, his face murderous. His face is dirty and it is flushed dark red with rage. Sherlock stares back at him.
The lights around the walls flicker briefly and Jim surges up and charges towards him, his mouth wide and roaring with fury. Sherlock recoils but just before Jim can crash into him the chain on his collar, fastened to the wall behind him, reaches its full length and prevents him from going further. He shouts manically into Sherlock’s face.)

JIM: But you don’t have to fear it!
(Sherlock doubles over, crying out in agony. Jim stares at him, wide-eyed and insane, as Sherlock crumples slowly to his knees and then slumps over onto his back. Jim continues to stare down at him as Sherlock writhes.)
JIM: Pain. Heartbreak. Loss.
(Sherlock rolls onto his side, his face screwed tight and tears streaming from his eyes as he tries to fight the agony in his chest.)
JIM (in an intense whisper): Death. It’s all good.
(Sherlock convulses on the floor, moaning.)
JIM (now on his knees beside him): It’s all good.
(Sherlock lies on his back staring upwards and still convulsing.)
JOHN’s VOICE: Sherlock?
(In Magnussen’s room, John is on his knees beside Sherlock, gently patting his face.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
(He bends down to put his ear against Sherlock’s mouth.)
JOHN: Can you hear me?
(He lifts his head and looks across to Magnussen, who is lying on the floor on his side but now raises his head. There is no sign of Mary in the room.)
JOHN: What happened?
MAGNUSSEN (weakly): He got shot.
JOHN (softly): Jesus.
(He flips open Sherlock’s coat and sees lots of blood on his shirt around the bullet wound.)
JOHN: Sherlock! Oh, my ...
(Magnussen picks up his glasses which had fallen to the floor. John straightens up on his knees and reaches into his jeans pocket. He looks sternly across to Magnussen.)
JOHN: Who shot him?
(Magnussen sits up and puts his glasses on, then looks across at John but doesn’t reply. John has his phone to his ear and an operator speaks.)
OPERATOR (over phone): Emergency. Which service do you require?
(Back in the padded cell, the lighting has turned a blue colour as Sherlock continues to convulse on the floor, his eyes wide. Beside him, Jim is back on his feet and he begins to sing slowly and softly.)
JIM: ♪ It’s raining, it’s pouring. Sherlock is boring ... ♪
(Sherlock sinks down on the floor, his convulsions beginning to slow. Jim crouches down near Sherlock’s head.
In the real world and outside the offices, an emergency siren sounds as paramedics wheel Sherlock on a stretcher towards a nearby ambulance. John is at his side.)

JIM (in the cell, slowly, softly): ♪ I’m laughing, I’m crying ... ♪
(He kneels down beside Sherlock, whose convulsions stop apart from an occasional twitch. His eyes gaze blankly upwards, then begin to close.)
JIM (slowly, softly): ♪ ... Sherlock is dying. ♪
(The ambulance is now racing through the streets. In the back of it a paramedic tears Sherlock’s shirt open. An oxygen mask has been strapped to his face. His eyes are closed.)
JOHN: Sherlock.
(He is sitting or kneeling behind the paramedic, looking at his friend with concern.)
JOHN: We’re losing you. Sherlock?
(Sherlock’s eyes crack open a little.
On his knees in the padded cell, Jim leans forward as far as his chain will let him and breathes out heavily into Sherlock’s face.)

JIM (softly): Come on, Sherlock.
(He lifts his head a little, spittle dribbling from his mouth.)
JIM (softly): Just die, why can’t you?
(He lies down on his side on the floor and puts his face close to Sherlock’s head.)
JIM: One little push, and off you pop.
(He turns onto his back and looks up.
In an operating theatre in a hospital, a heart monitor is letting out a single continuous tone and a flat line rolls across the screen. One of several doctors surrounding the operating table does a few more heart compressions on Sherlock’s chest and then withdraws his hands. As the doctors turn away from the table, having clearly been trying to restart his heart for some time but now having decided that there is no point continuing, an overhead view of the operating table shows Sherlock, bare to the waist and with a breathing tube down his throat, lying with his eyes closed as the monitor’s single tone continues. The lights in the room seem to go out, leaving a single light shining down on his body.
In the padded cell, Jim is kneeling up and he talks conversationally as the monitor’s flatline tone can still be heard.)

JIM: You’re gonna love being dead, Sherlock.
(He looks down at Sherlock’s still form.)
JIM: No-one ever bothers you.
(In the operating room the overhead camera moves downwards towards Sherlock’s still body.)
JIM (a little wide-eyed and manic): Mrs Hudson will cry; and Mummy and Daddy will cry ...
(He is suddenly on his feet again and turns round and round on the spot until his chain stops him, then he rotates in the opposite direction.)
JIM: ... and The Woman will cry; and John will cry buckets and buckets. It’s him that I worry about the most. That wife!
(He grimaces and blows out a noisy breath.)
JIM: You’re letting him down, Sherlock. John Watson is definitely in danger.
(On the floor of the cell, Sherlock’s eyes abruptly open. Jim slowly turns his head towards him as Sherlock stares upwards. Jim’s eyes widen as the lights around the room flash repeatedly. Sherlock convulses once and blinks, then sighs out a painful breath. Grimacing with the effort he starts to try and get up.
In the operating room, the single tone continues and the monitor still shows a flat line.
Groaning, Sherlock slams his hand onto the floor of the cell and then forces himself onto one elbow. He raises his other arm and savagely punches the concrete floor with all his strength. Kneeling nearby, Jim looks down at him with an irritated look on his face.)

JIM (tetchily): Oh, you’re not getting better, are you?
(Sherlock hauls himself to his feet, then staggers and slumps back against the wall.)
JIM: Was it something I said, huh?
(He grins at him for a moment, then his smile fades as Sherlock glares back at him, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. Grunting with the effort, Sherlock pushes himself off the wall, turns to the door beside him and pushes it open.)
SHERLOCK (frantically): John!
(Wide-eyed and looking panic-stricken, Jim screams out behind him.)
JIM: SHERLOCK!
(He is alone in the room and the door is closed. He slumps down onto his knees against the wall, taking up the same position he was in when Sherlock first entered the room.
In the operating room, the camera continues to move downwards towards Sherlock’s still form.
In his Mind Palace, Sherlock takes hold of the bannister at the bottom of the stairs.
The camera moves downward in the operating room and the flatline continues on the monitor.
Grimacing in agony, Sherlock begins to haul himself up the stairs.
In the operating room the monitor gives a single blip and the index finger of Sherlock’s left hand twitches very slightly.
Sherlock continues his painful ascent up the stairs, leaning heavily on the bannisters or bracing himself against the wall. He cries out with the effort.
The line on the heart monitor blips and shows its first spike. Simultaneously but offscreen, from the stairs Sherlock lets out an anguished groan of “John!” One of the doctors slowly turns his head to look towards the monitor, and the lights in the operating theatre seem to come on again.
His face contorted in agony, Sherlock slumps against the bannisters as he continues upwards and he seems to hear John’s voice calling his name.
On the operating table, Sherlock’s left index finger lifts off the cover on which his hand is lying. The doctor’s eyes widen, and all the staff in the room hurry back to the table.
Sherlock continues his climb, his right hand braced on the bannisters and the left dragging across the wall. The fingers of his left hand momentarily slide across the wallpaper of his living room in Baker Street. Now almost crawling, he reaches up and grabs the railings of the bannister as he drags himself upwards.
One of the doctors looks across to another as if he can’t believe what he is seeing.
His face contorted in concentration and agony, Sherlock grabs at the bannister with a loud cry as he continues to climb.
The heart monitor shows another spike and another blip can be heard.
The doctor looks down to Sherlock again.
His determined gaze almost manic, Sherlock forces his hand upwards to clutch at the bannister and pull himself higher.
The heart monitor spikes and blips.
In his mind’s eye, Sherlock sees a rapid montage of images: several moments from when Magnussen showed him the edge of the papers in his jacket pocket in 221B’s living room; then Mary aiming her gun down at Magnussen in his flat before Sherlock knew who the potential killer was; then the front door to 221B. His inner vision closes in on the door and settles on it.
In the operating room, his eyelids begin to lift as the heart monitor’s blips become more regular. The doctor looks down at him ...
... and Sherlock Holmes opens his eyes. His gaze becomes more focussed, and his mouth begins to close around the tube in his mouth in an attempt to form a word. As the scene switches to the next one, a soft whisper can be heard.

SHERLOCK’s VOICE (offscreen, in a whisper): Mary.

[Your transcriber slumps sideways and falls off her chair, exhausted at having just typed the most intense and complicated seven minutes of footage that she has ever attempted. She lies on the floor giggling contentedly to herself for a few minutes, then wearily hauls herself back onto her chair and continues.]

HOSPITAL. DAYTIME. Mary – now dressed more normally – hurries through the entrance and across the foyer. She runs up a flight of stairs to where John is waiting for her on the landing.

JOHN: Mary.
(He walks to meet her at the top of the stairs.)
MARY: Hey.
JOHN (his voice full of relief): He’s only bloody woken up! He’s pulled through.
MARY (smiling): Really?! Seriously?
JOHN: Oh, you, Mrs Watson ... (he points at her, trying to look stern) ... you’re in big trouble.
(Mary frowns at him, looking confused.)
MARY: Really? Why?
JOHN: His first word when he woke up?
(She shakes her head.)
JOHN: “Mary”!
(She giggles and he joins in with her laughter. They hug each other tightly.)
MARY: Ahh!
(Over John’s shoulder, her face becomes serious.)

APPLEDORE. Magnussen walks downstairs from the entrance hall, goes past the kitchen, into the glass-walled study and heads towards the wooden doors. He goes down the spiral staircase and through the library, his fingers raised and flickering towards the shelves.

HOSPITAL ROOM. A drip hangs on a stand beside Sherlock’s bed where he lies with a nasal cannula on his face. A rotary fan is on the cabinet beside his bed and the shadow of its rotating blades flickers across his face.

MARY (softly, offscreen): You don’t tell him.
(Sherlock opens his eyes with difficulty.)
MARY (gently, sing-song): Sherlock?
(He looks up to where he can see Mary standing beside his bed. His vision of her is blurry.)
MARY: You don’t tell John.

At the rear of the Appledore archive, Magnussen is looking at a folder which has one or two photographs of Mary paperclipped to the inside.
MAGNUSSEN (softly): Bad girl.
(He smiles down at the file.)
MAGNUSSEN (in an admiring tone): Bad, bad girl.
(His smile widens.)

In Sherlock’s hospital room Mary leans down to him, her image still fuzzy.

MARY (in an intense whisper): Look at me – and tell me you’re not gonna tell him.
(Sherlock’s vision becomes even more blurry and his eyes close.)

DAYS LATER (presumably). DAYTIME. The top of Sherlock’s bed has been raised a little, and now he opens his eyes and lifts his head from the pillow with a tired sigh at the sound of rustling newspapers. He no longer has the nasal cannula. In front of him someone is holding up the front page of a newspaper to show him. The headline of the Daily Express reads,
“SHAG-A-LOT HOLMES” and the strapline says, “Sherlock is as red blooded as they come, claims fiancé” [with only one ‘e’]. Whoever is holding the paper puts it down to reveal the front page of another newspaper – the Daily Mirror – which has a red strapline at the top reading, “EXCLUSIVE – SHERLOCK HOLMES KISS AND TELL” and a main headline saying, “7 TIMES A NIGHT IN BAKER STREET”. The person holding the paper – who we now see is wearing red nail varnish – lowers that paper and shows an inside page of one of the broadsheets. A large photograph of Janine smiling into the camera while wearing a deerstalker hat has an inset photo of Sherlock, and the headline reads, “He made me wear the hat.”
JANINE: I’m buying a cottage.
(Sitting on one side of the bed near Sherlock’s feet, she slaps the last newspaper down and smiles at him.)
JANINE: I made a lot of money out of you, mister.
(Sherlock lifts up one of the papers and looks at it.)
JANINE: Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profits.
SHERLOCK (tiredly): You didn’t give these stories to Magnussen, did you?
JANINE: God, no – one of his rivals. He was spittin’!
(Sherlock grunts and smiles a little.)
JANINE (looking angrily at him): Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard.
(Sherlock presses the button on a remote on the bed and the top of his bed rises, pushing him into more of a sitting position.)
SHERLOCK: And you – as it turns out – are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore.
JANINE (cheerfully): So we’re good, then!
SHERLOCK: Yeah, of course. (He smiles.) Where’s the cottage?
JANINE: Sussex Downs.
SHERLOCK: Hmm, nice.
JANINE: It’s gorgeous. There’s beehives, but I’m getting rid of those.
(Sherlock tries to push himself higher on the bed but then gasps with pain.)
JANINE: Aw, hurts, does it? Probably wanna restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps.
SHERLOCK: How much more revenge are you gonna need?
(Grimacing, he reaches across to a machine beside his bed and pushes a button to release a dose of morphine into the drip in his arm. The read-out shows the machine giving him almost the maximum dosage.)
JANINE: Just the occasional top-up.
(She looks round the room.)
JANINE: Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs to you!
SHERLOCK: Not good for working.
JANINE: You won’t be working for a while, Sherl.
(Sherlock sighs softly and his eyes close a little.)
JANINE (softly): You lied to me. You lied and lied.
SHERLOCK: I exploited the fact of our connection.
JANINE: When?!
SHERLOCK: Hmm?
JANINE: Just once would have been nice.
SHERLOCK: Oh. (He looks a little shifty-eyed.) I was waiting until we got married.
JANINE: That was never gonna happen!
(He looks away. She sighs and stands up.)
JANINE: Got to go.
(She walks over and kisses him on the forehead, then gently wipes her lipstick from his skin with her thumb.)
JANINE: I’m not supposed to keep you talking.
(She reaches down to pick up her handbag.)
JANINE (straightening up): And also I have an interview with The One Show and I haven’t made it up yet.
(Sherlock looks up to the ceiling with a soft sigh. She walks to the door and then turns back.)
JANINE: Just one thing.
(He looks across to her.)
JANINE: You shouldn’t have lied to me. I know what kind of man you are ... but we could have been friends.
(Smiling at him, she turns and takes hold of the door handle, then looks back at him.)
JANINE: I’ll give your love to John and Mary.
(She goes out, closing the door behind her. Sherlock looks towards the door thoughtfully, then looks upwards for a moment. He turns towards the morphine dispenser and, grunting in pain, pushes the button to lower the dosage. The read-out shows the level dropping back to a lower level. He releases the button with a tired sigh. He closes his eyes ...
... and opens them in the wooden door-lined corridor of his Mind Palace. Standing up and fully dressed, including his coat, he stares intensely ahead of himself.)

MARY (offscreen): You don’t tell him.
(He looks along the corridor and Mary is standing a few yards away, facing him. She is wearing the clothes she had on when he first met her in the restaurant and her hair is styled the same way as it was then.)
MARY: You don’t tell John.
(Sherlock starts to walk towards her and the word “Liar” appears above her right shoulder.)
SHERLOCK (slowly): So ...
(He continues towards her, and many words, all saying “Liar” swirl around her. She looks at him, apparently unperturbed, as he circles around her.)
SHERLOCK: ... Mary Watson. Who are you?
(He completes his circle around her and turns to face her again, the words still swirling around. He looks at her for a moment, then turns and walks away, the words following him down the corridor.)
SHERLOCK (whispering): Mary Watson.
(He stops, and the words fade out and vanish. He turns to face her ...
... and in Magnussen’s flat Mary’s black-gloved hand pulls the trigger on the pistol and the shell flies out of the top in slow motion.
In his hospital bed, his fingers steepled together on his chest and his eyes closed, Sherlock lowers his hands as the sound of the gunshot echoes in his ears. He sighs, raises his head and tiredly opens his eyes.)

EVENING, possibly the same day. John is leading Greg Lestrade up the stairs of the hospital.

JOHN: Dunno how much sense you’ll get out of him. He’s drugged up, so he’s pretty much babbling.
(As they reach the top of the stairs and walk along the landing, he looks down at the sound of a beep and realises that Greg is doing something on his phone.)
JOHN: Oh, they won’t let you use that in here, you know.
LESTRADE: No, I’m not gonna use the phone. I just wanna take a video.
(He and John grin at each other and Greg chuckles.
Shortly afterwards John opens the door to Sherlock’s room and they go inside. The bed is empty. John looks round the room, and his face fills with shock when he realises that the window blind has been pulled up and the window is open.)

JOHN: Oh, Jesus.
(He and Greg stare at the window, then John sighs and the two men exchange a look.)

Mary, perhaps at home, is on the phone.

MARY (into phone): So where would he go?
JOHN (on the phone to her from the hospital): Oh, Christ knows. Try finding Sherlock in London.
(Mary lowers her phone and hangs up.)

John and Greg are on their way out of the hospital.

LESTRADE: He’s got three known bolt holes ...
(They walk away from the hospital, Greg holding his phone to his ear.)
LESTRADE: Parliament Hill, Camden Lock and Dagmar Court.

MYCROFT: Five known bolt holes.
(He is sitting at his desk in his office at The Diogenes Club, looking down at a satellite map on his computer. The page is headed “UGLY DUCKLING”. A note in the top right corner of the map reads, “TARGET LOCATED. TRACKING ...” and a point on the map is highlighted. As the tracker appears to be somewhere around Warsaw in Poland, Mycroft is apparently multi-tasking. Greg is standing at the other side of the table.)
MYCROFT: There’s the blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens and the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery.
(He looks up at Greg and dismissively waves him away. [Mystrade fans pout with annoyance.])

Molly is sitting in a canteen wearing her lab coat and holding a cardboard coffee cup. Some sandwiches part-wrapped in tin foil, together with a tangerine, are on the table beside her. She looks up at whoever she’s speaking to. We can’t see this person because we are looking through their eyes.

MOLLY: Just the spare bedroom. ... (Awkwardly) Well ... my bedroom. We agreed he needs the space.
(She nods, looking embarrassed, and takes a drink from her cup.)

There’s a brief shot of Big Ben chiming two minutes past nine [don’t ask ...].

MRS HUDSON: Behind the clock face of Big Ben.
(We’re now in 221. John is sitting on the stairs with a notebook and pen in his hand and Mrs H stands in the hall nearby.)
JOHN: I think he was probably joking.
MRS HUDSON: No! I don’t think so!

ANDERSON: Leinster Gardens. That’s his number one bolt hole. It’s top-top secret.
(He is standing with Benji in what looks like a car park or garage area, and he is addressing his comments to Mary who stands in front of them.)
BENJI (tilting her head towards Anderson but looking at Mary): He only knows about it ’cause he stalked him one night.
ANDERSON: Followed!
BENJI: Followed, yeah.

221B. John is in the living room, pacing, and Greg and Mrs Hudson are in the kitchen.
JOHN: He knew who shot him.
(The other two turn to face him as he stops walking and looks at them. He points to his lower chest.)
JOHN: The bullet wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was.
LESTRADE (walking closer): So why not tell us?
(John turns around towards the window, blowing out a thoughtful breath.)
LESTRADE: Because he’s tracking them down himself.
JOHN (turning back to him): Or protecting them.
LESTRADE: Protecting the shooter? Why?
JOHN: Well, protecting someone, then. But why would he care? He’s Sherlock. Who would he bother protecting?
(He sits down in his armchair, then looks down at it and frowns. Looking thoughtful, he pats the arms.)
LESTRADE: Call me if you hear anything. Don’t hold out on me, John.
(John is still looking puzzled over the reappearance of his chair.)
LESTRADE: Call me, okay?
JOHN (distractedly, glancing round at him): Yeah. Yeah, right.
(Greg looks round to Mrs Hudson.)
LESTRADE: Good night, then.
MRS HUDSON: Oh ...
(She walks over towards the living room door as Greg leaves. John strokes the arms of his chair with his thumbs, frowning down.)
MRS HUDSON (to Greg): ’Bye, then.
(She turns back to John and looks at him worriedly.)
MRS HUDSON: John? Need a cuppa.
(She walks into the kitchen and John shifts in his chair so that he can half-turn towards her.)
JOHN: Mrs Hudson ... (he clears his throat) ... wh-why does Sherlock think that I’ll be moving back in here?
MRS HUDSON: Oh, yes, he’s put your chair back again, hasn’t he?
JOHN: Huh. (He sits back in the chair again, still looking at it thoughtfully.)
MRS HUDSON: That’s nice!
(She has picked up the kettle and now walks closer to him.)
MRS HUDSON: Looks much better.
(John’s gaze falls on the small table to the right of his chair. There are two books on it and in front of them is an ornate glass bottle, shaped like a crescent moon. He frowns at it.)
MRS HUDSON: John, what’s wrong? Tell me.
(John’s gaze is now fixed on the bottle.)
MRS HUDSON: John?
(John looks away from the bottle, turning his head towards the window. A phone starts to buzz repeatedly.)
MRS HUDSON: That’s your phone, isn’t it?
(She walks across the room to pick up the phone from the dining table. She looks at the screen and turns back.)
MRS HUDSON: It’s Sherlock, John. It’s Sherlock.
(She holds out the phone to him but John is still gazing towards the window. He turns his head to look at the bottle again.)
MRS HUDSON: John! You have to answer it!
(But John can’t tear his eyes away from the bottle, and we now see that it is a bottle of perfume. The name of the perfume is Claire de la Lune.)
The distinctive crescent moon shape of the perfume bottle dissolves into a view of the real Moon, half full in the night sky. Mary is walking along a road towards Leinster Gardens. It is an expensive-looking area, with a long terrace of four-storey white-plastered Edwardian buildings lining the road. A homeless person is squatting with his back to the wall at the corner of the road. He has the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, a blanket wrapped around him, and a white plastic tub is on the ground in front of him.
HOMELESS MAN (hoarsely, as Mary walks past): Spare any change, love?
MARY (not stopping): No.
HOMELESS MAN (hoarsely): Oh, come on, love. Don’t be like all the rest.
(She stops, turning back to him, then takes a handful of loose change from her coat pocket, bends down and drops the coins into the tub. Before she can fully straighten up or withdraw her hand, he takes hold of her wrist and looks up at her. It’s Bill Wiggins.)
BILL (in his normal voice): Rule One of looking for Sherlock ’olmes ...
(He puts a phone and a headset into her hand.)
BILL: ... ’e finds you.
(He stands, picking up his tub.)
MARY: You’re working for Sherlock now.
BILL: Keeps me off the streets, dunnit?
MARY: Well ... no.
(She shrugs at him. The phone in her hand starts to ring. As she puts the headset into her ear, Bill turns and walks away. She answers the phone.)
MARY (walking along the road): Where are you?
SHERLOCK (over phone): Can’t you see me?
MARY: Well, what am I looking for?
SHERLOCK (over phone): The lie – the lie of Leinster Gardens – hidden in plain sight.
(Stepping a few feet into the road so that she can get a better view of the tall houses, she continues along the road while looking at the house fronts. There is nobody else in the street and no cars are driving along it.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I think you are, it’ll take you less than a minute.
(She continues to walk slowly along the road.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): The houses, Mary. Look at the houses.
MARY: How did you know I’d come here?
SHERLOCK (over phone): I knew you’d talk to the people no one else would bother with.
MARY (laughing briefly): I thought I was being clever.
SHERLOCK (over phone): You’re always clever, Mary. I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find.
(She slows down, looking at a couple of adjoining houses in the middle of the terrace.)
MARY (her voice sounding impressed): Ohh.
(She stops and turns to face the two houses which have caught her attention. Although there is no light shining from any of the windows, unlike the others on either side, the houses otherwise look similar to the rest of the terrace.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Thirty seconds.
MARY: What am I looking at?
SHERLOCK (over phone): No door knobs, no letter box ...
(She looks towards the two front doors to confirm this, then raises her eyes to the windows in which the glass is opaque.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): ... painted windows. Twenty-three and twenty-four Leinster Gardens ...
(He pauses and sighs gently.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): ... the empty houses.
(The camera rises up towards the rooftops of the buildings.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains.
(The camera lifts over the top of the houses and reveals that behind their front walls there is nothing else of the buildings. The houses on either side are complete but these two have only the front wall remaining, and underneath the houses runs a train line along which a Tube train now passes by.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Only the very front section of the house remains. It’s just a façade. (He draws in a breath.) Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade.
(At that moment a picture is projected onto the front of the two houses. Three storeys high, stretching from the first floor to the third, it is a photograph of Mary. The picture, obviously taken on her wedding day, is a head shot only and shows her wearing her headdress with the white veil surrounding her head as she smiles happily at the camera. Mary turns and looks behind her, trying to see where the picture is being projected from.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Sorry. I never could resist a touch of drama.
(She turns back and looks at her image on the houses.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Do come in. It’s a little cramped.
MARY (starting to walk towards the houses): Do you own this place?
SHERLOCK (over phone): Mmm. I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal.
(One of the two adjacent front doors is slightly ajar and there is light behind it. She walks towards that door.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Nearly cost me my kidneys, but fortunately I had a ... (he draws in a breath) ... straight flush.
(Mary pushes the door open and looks inside. On the wall inside the door is an empty socket for a large electric plug and beside it is a fuse box.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Quite a gambler, that woman.
(Mary walks inside. All that remains of the house is a long narrow corridor running along the front of the house. She looks back behind her for a moment and then focuses on the corridor. It is lit at her end, and at the other end a bright light shines towards her, obscuring her view of the far end, but she can just about see a shape sitting on a chair in the shadows under the light. She stares at the shape and draws in a breath.)
MARY: What do you want, Sherlock?
(We switch to the other end of the corridor, looking towards Mary over the shoulder of the figure sitting there and facing her. Water trickles from the ceiling beside it. We can also see the thin clear tube of a medical drip hanging beside the figure.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where – five years ago – you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity.
(She starts walking slowly along the corridor.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): That’s why you don’t have ‘friends’ from before that date.

FLASHBACK to Sherlock standing in the living room of 221B looking at his wedding plans on the wall behind the sofa.
SHERLOCK (turning to where Mary is sitting at the dining table): Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin.
MARY (smiling): Ah, orphan’s lot. Friends – that’s all I have.

In the present, Mary continues to walk slowly along the corridor.
SHERLOCK (over phone): It’s an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognise a skip-code on sight ...

FLASHBACK to Mary on the first floor landing at 221, showing Sherlock the text message she has received.
MARY: At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it’s not. It’s a skip-code.
(Sherlock looks closely at her.)

In the present, Mary is still walking towards the seated figure she can now see a little better as it sits on the chair at the end of the corridor, although the face is still obscured in shadow. The medical drip is on a stand behind the chair and the recognisable shape of the morphine dispenser can be seen attached to the stand.

SHERLOCK (over phone): ... have extraordinarily retentive memories ...

FLASHBACK to the wedding venue as Sherlock stands partway up the staircase with the tips of his fingers against his temples and his eyes screwed closed.
JOHN: How can you not remember which room? You remember everything.
SHERLOCK (irritably): I have to delete something!
(Mary runs around the corner and pelts up the stairs in between them, holding her skirt up with one hand to stop herself tripping over it.)
MARY: Two oh seven.

In the present, Mary has stopped about halfway along the corridor.
MARY: You were very slow.
SHERLOCK (over phone): How good a shot are you?
(She reaches inside her coat, pulls out her pistol and cocks it, holding it down by her side.)
MARY: How badly do you want to find out?
SHERLOCK (over phone): If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that.
(She nods her agreement, still looking towards the shadowed figure at the end of the corridor. She can see one side of the popped coat collar protruding out of the shadows.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): I want to know how good you are. (Softly, encouragingly) Go on. Show me. The doctor’s wife must be a little bit bored by now.
(Shifting her pistol in her grip, Mary looks down and reaches into her shoulder bag and takes out a fifty pence coin. Balancing it on her thumb and forefinger, she looks up to gauge the height of the ceiling, then flicks the coin high into the air, raises the gun and fires at it. The ejected shell pings off the wall in front of her and she turns and lowers her head to avoid the coin as it falls down to the floor. She turns to look at the shadowed figure.
Behind her a shadow appears on the wall as someone walks through the open front door. The shadow is instantly recognisable as Sherlock’s with its curly hair and popped collar, and now he lowers his phone from his ear and switches it off as he walks towards her.)

SHERLOCK: May I see?
(Mary peers towards the shadowy figure sitting at the end of the corridor, then lowers her head and turns to Sherlock, laughing quietly.)
MARY: It’s a dummy.
(She takes the headset from her ear.)
MARY: I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick.
(She walks a few paces forward, puts her foot against the coin and sends it sliding across the floor towards him. Sherlock puts his foot onto it to stop it. He looks at her as she continues her slow walk towards him, then bends down and picks up the coin. When he straightens up and speaks, his voice is tight with pain.)
SHERLOCK: And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot.
(He looks like hell as he holds the coin up to show the hole shot in it. He is shaky on his feet and he is sweating. He breathes heavily as he continues talking.)
SHERLOCK: Enough to hospitalise me; not enough to kill me. That wasn’t a miss.
(He smiles slightly.)
SHERLOCK: That was surgery.
(Mary meets his gaze for a moment, then lowers her eyes.)
SHERLOCK: I’ll take the case.
MARY (looking at him again): What case?
SHERLOCK: Yours. (A little angrily) Why didn’t you come to me in the first place?
MARY: Because John can’t ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever – and, Sherlock, I will never let that happen.
(He turns as if to walk away. She takes a step towards him.)
MARY: Please ...
(He turns back to her.)
MARY: ... understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening.
SHERLOCK (turning away): Sorry.
(He walks to the fuse box and puts his hand onto one of the switches before looking back towards her.)
SHERLOCK: Not that obvious a trick.
(He flicks the switch and all the lights come on along the corridor. Mary’s face fills with dread as if she has realised the truth. Lowering her eyes and letting out a breath, she turns to look along the corridor to where the figure at the end can now be seen clearly. She gasps. Her husband is sitting on the chair, looking back at her with no expression in his eyes. His hair is ruffled to make it look bigger and he is wearing a black jacket with the collar popped. Slowly he stands up and begins to stroke his hair back down.)
SHERLOCK (softly): Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly.
(John takes hold of his coat and pulls it wide, shaking the collar down before settling it back onto his shoulders. Mary lets out an anguished sigh as he slowly starts to walk towards her and then stops several feet away. The scene slowly fades to black.)

A church choir can be heard singing the Christmas carol,
“Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”. From the quality of the sound, it appears that the music is coming from a radio. Outside a red-walled cottage, Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s father comes out of the door wearing grey trousers, a white checked shirt, a bright red bowtie, and a grey cardigan. He goes over to a nearby pile of small wooden logs and picks up two of them before going back inside. Mycroft’s voice can be heard. It has a rather despairing tone to it.
MYCROFT (offscreen): Oh, dear God, it’s only two o’clock. It’s been Christmas Day for at least a week now.
(We switch to a view through a window of the cottage and can see the kitchen. Mycroft – wearing a shirt and tie and a sleeveless waistcoat – is sitting at the side of a large table in the middle of the kitchen rubbing one hand wearily over his brow. Christmas lights – wrapped around green foliage – are strung along the bottom of the window we are looking through and another set of lights is wrapped over the curtain rail above a window on the opposite side of the kitchen. The latter lights then progress to where they drape over the top of a picture on the wall beside the window and then dangle down haphazardly towards the floor. On the kitchen table is some crockery, including a large plate with red paper serviettes and some cutlery on it, another plate with mince pies on it, and various other items. From just offscreen, someone drops some more Christmas crackers onto a pile of them in a wooden basket on the table. Sherlock, wearing his usual dark suit and a very dark grey shirt, is sitting in an armchair near the table.)
MYCROFT (in the same despairing tone): How can it only be two o’clock? I’m in agony.
(Sherlock is looking at the front page of The Guardian which bears the headline “Lord Smallwood suicide” and the straplines “Shamed peer takes own life” and “63-year-old dies following letters scandal”. Mrs Holmes’ voice speaks offscreen.)
MRS HOLMES: Mikey, is this your laptop?
(Standing at the end of the table, she points down to a silver-grey laptop on the table, half-obscured by a chopping board on top of it which has several whole peeled potatoes and the peelings on it.)
MYCROFT: On which depends the security of the free world, yes ... (he smiles rather sarcastically up at her) ... and you’ve got potatoes on it.
(Sherlock glances over towards them.)
MRS HOLMES (to Mycroft): Well, you shouldn’t leave it lying around if it’s so important.
(She reaches to pick up the basket of crackers but puts it down again as Mycroft speaks while gesturing around the kitchen.)
MYCROFT: Why are we doing this? We never do this.
(Looking a little exasperated, his mother leans on the table.)
MRS HOLMES: We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy.
(Mycroft looks up at her with an extremely insincere smile.)
MYCROFT: Am I happy too? I haven’t checked.
MRS HOLMES (picking up the basket): Behave, Mike.
MYCROFT: ‘Mycroft’ is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end.
(Bill Wiggins walks over and holds out a glass of punch with pieces of fruit floating in it.)
BILL: Mrs Holmes?
(She looks round and takes the glass from him.)
MRS HOLMES: Oh! Thank you, dear.
(She looks up at him.)
MRS HOLMES: Not absolutely sure why you’re here.
(She drinks from the glass.)
SHERLOCK: I invited him.
BILL: I’m his protégé, Mrs ’olmes. When ’e dies, I get all his stuff, an’ ’is job.
(She looks at him, a little startled.)
SHERLOCK (precisely, still reading the paper): No.
BILL: Oh. Well, I help out a bit.
SHERLOCK: Closer.
(Mycroft and Mrs Holmes look up at Bill.)
BILL: If ’e does get murdered or something ...
(Mycroft and his mother look appalled.)
SHERLOCK (still looking at his newspaper): Probably stop talking now.
BILL: Okay.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): Lovely when you bring your friends round(!)
MRS HOLMES (putting her glass down): Stop it, you. Somebody’s put a bullet in my boy ... (she walks towards Sherlock with the basket of crackers but then turns back to look at Mycroft) ... and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous.
(She apparently sees something on a nearby work surface.)
MRS HOLMES: Ah. This was for Mary. (She walks away with whatever it is.) I’ll be back in a minute.
(Sherlock, who had folded his hands in front of his mouth, now lowers his left hand and looks at his watch. A mental image of a stopwatch appears above his hand, starting a countdown from 7 minutes and 37 seconds. He refolds his hands.)

In the sitting room of the cottage, which also has random Christmas decorations around it, Mr Holmes goes across to the open door of the wood-burning fireplace and puts the two pieces of wood into the lit fire. Mrs Holmes comes in.

MRS HOLMES: Ah, Mary.
(Carrying a mug, she takes it across to where Mary is sitting in an armchair facing the fire. She has a blanket over her stomach and legs and is flicking through the pages of a book.)
MRS HOLMES: There you are.
(She hands the mug to Mary, who smiles as she takes it and drinks from it.)
MRS HOLMES: Cup of tea. Now, if Father starts making little humming noises, just give him a little poke. That usually does it.
(Mary giggles and Mrs Holmes chuckles. Mr Holmes has straightened up from the fire, dusting off his hands, and has turned to face them while putting his hands in his pockets. He has a pair of glasses on a chain around his neck. It seems that he has taken up his wife’s suggestion of wearing them on a chain – “like Larry Grayson.” He smiles at Mary as Mrs Holmes turns to look at him. Mary holds up the book to show the front cover. The book is called “The Dynamics of Combustion” and its author is M. L. Holmes.)
MARY (to Mrs Holmes): Did you write this?
MRS HOLMES: Oh, that silly old thing. You mustn’t read that. Mathematics must seem terribly fatuous now!
(She turns to her husband, who is now gazing into space and humming quietly to himself.)
MRS HOLMES (walking towards him): Now, no humming, you!
(She pats his backside affectionately. Mary, taking another drink of her tea, smiles fondly at her as she leaves the room and closes the door. Mr Holmes smiles at Mary.)
MR HOLMES: Complete flake, my wife, but happens to be a genius.
MARY: She was a mathematician?
MR HOLMES: Gave it all up for children.
(Mary smiles and sips from her mug again.)
MR HOLMES: I could never bear to argue with her. I’m something of a moron myself. But she’s ... (he glances away briefly, then looks back to Mary and leans closer to her, smiling) ... unbelievably hot!
MARY (giggling): Oh my God. You’re the sane one, aren’t you?!
MR HOLMES (raising his eyebrows at her): Aren’t you?!
(Smiling, she lowers her eyes and then drinks again. The door to the sitting room opens and John comes in, glancing briefly at Mary and then looking across to Mr Holmes, who turns to look back at him.)
JOHN: Oh.
(Looking nervous, Mary looks down at her book and flips it open to a random page.)
JOHN: Sorry. I-I just, er ...
(Mary keeps her head down, flicking through the book’s pages. John glances towards her again.)
MR HOLMES: Oh. Er-er, do you two need a moment?
(He starts to walk towards the door, looking at John.)
JOHN: If you don’t mind.
(Mr Holmes stops and looks towards Mary, who briefly raises her head and gives it a tiny shake before looking down again.)
MR HOLMES (continuing towards the door): No, of course not. I’ll-I’ll go and see if I can help with ... something or another.
(He goes out, closing the door behind him. John watches him go, then runs his hand under his nose and turns towards Mary. She looks down at her book for a few more moments, then raises her head and briefly watches as he slowly walks across the room to stand in front of the fire, facing her. Again she glances briefly towards him before turning her attention back to the book on her lap.
Outside the closed door, Sherlock has walked over and has taken his coat from the pegs on the wall nearby. Standing at the door, his father looks at him and points back towards the sitting room.)

MR HOLMES: Those two. They all right?
SHERLOCK (putting his coat on): Well, you know – they’ve had their ups and downs.
(He glances towards the door, then goes through another nearby door.)

After a moment of dark screen, we are back in the narrow corridor in the house in Leinster Gardens. No time seems to have passed since we were last there, and Mary and John are still standing facing each other several feet apart. Now Sherlock turns away behind Mary.

SHERLOCK (quietly): Baker Street. Now.
(He walks away but Mary continues to stare at her husband, her face anguished. After a moment John walks forward, his eyes fixed on her and his teeth slightly bared. He keeps going and walks past her. She draws in a sharp breath, apparently fighting off tears.)

Later, John opens the door of the living room at 221B and walks in, sighing quietly. Mary follows him more slowly up the stairs, with Sherlock behind her. John takes off his jacket and drops it onto the dining table. Mrs Hudson is in the kitchen but now hurries towards him worriedly.

MRS HUDSON: John.
(Mary walks through the door, Sherlock following slowly with his head lowered and bracing himself on the bannister.)
MRS HUDSON: Mary!
(Mary gives her a small smile and walks towards the fireplace while John stands by the dining table with his hands on his hips. Sherlock hobbles to the doorway and stops there, bracing himself with one hand on the edge of the open door.)
MRS HUDSON (looking shocked): Oh, Sherlock! Oh, good gracious, you look terrible.
SHERLOCK: Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I’ve run out.
MRS HUDSON: I don’t have any morphine!
SHERLOCK (angrily): Then what exactly is the point of you?
(She presses her lips together for a moment, then looks round at everyone.)
MRS HUDSON: What is going on?
JOHN: Bloody good question.
SHERLOCK (looking at John): The Watsons are about to have a domestic, and fairly quickly, I hope, because we’ve got work to do.
JOHN: Oh, I have a better question.
(He paces towards Mary, looking angrily into her face.)
JOHN: Is everyone I’ve ever met a psychopath?
(At the door, Sherlock’s eyes lift upwards as if he’s thinking.)
SHERLOCK (after a moment): Yes.
(Mary gives a tiny nod of agreement, pursing her lips.)
SHERLOCK: Good that we’ve settled that. Anyway, we ...
JOHN (turning towards him furiously): SHUT UP!
(Mrs Hudson jumps at the loudness of his cry and puts one hand to her mouth.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh!
JOHN (to Sherlock at a more normal volume): And stay shut up, because this is not funny. (He gives him an angry humourless smile.) Not this time.
SHERLOCK: I didn’t say it was funny.
(John turns his head to look at Mary.)
JOHN: You.
(He turns to face her. When he speaks, his voice and his face are full of barely-controlled anger and he frequently breathes heavily throughout his next words.)
JOHN: What have I ever done ... hmm? ... my whole life ... to deserve you?
SHERLOCK (now leaning against the right-hand door post): Everything.
JOHN (in the same tone as he turns to face him): Sherlock, I’ve told you ... (he walks towards him) ... shut up.
SHERLOCK (quietly): Oh, I mean it, seriously. Everything – everything you’ve ever done is what you did.
JOHN (very softly and dangerously): Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine.
SHERLOCK (still softly): You were a doctor who went to war.
(John’s eyes are fixed on him and he is breathing rapidly and deeply.)
SHERLOCK (a little louder but still quieter than we’re used to hearing his voice): You’re a man who couldn’t stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high.
(He pauses for a moment.)
SHERLOCK: That’s me, by the way. (He raises his left hand and waves at him.) Hello.
(He points towards Mrs Hudson.)
SHERLOCK: Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel.
MRS HUDSON: It was my husband’s cartel. I was just typing.
SHERLOCK (looking at her): And exotic dancing.
MRS HUDSON: Sherlock Holmes, if you’ve been Youtube-ing ...
SHERLOCK (louder, talking over her): John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You’re abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people ... (his voice becomes quieter again) ... so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you’ve fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?
(John grimaces briefly and then, with his eyes still fixed on Sherlock, he points towards his wife at the other side of the room.)
JOHN (his voice full of suppressed tears): But she wasn’t supposed to be like that.
(Mrs Hudson looks across to Mary in shock. Mary lowers her head.)
JOHN (to Sherlock, pointing again across the room, his voice a little stronger): Why is she like that?
(Sherlock looks away towards the sofa wall for several seconds and then turns to look directly into John’s eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Because you chose her.
(John stares back at him, his face unreadable. Sherlock holds his gaze. Finally John turns away, speaking conversationally.)
JOHN: Why is everything ... (he walks towards the dining table, holding up a questioning hand and shrugging) ... always ... (his voice raises to a loud shout) ... MY FAULT?!
(He furiously kicks one of the dining chairs across the floor. Mrs Hudson jumps and flails. Even Sherlock jumps a little, but Mary remains still.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, the neighbours!
(She hurries away. John turns to face Mary again, breathing heavily.)
SHERLOCK (still in a quiet voice): John, listen. Be calm and answer me. (Slowly, precisely) What is she?
JOHN (his gaze fixed on Mary, though he blinks repeatedly): My lying wife?
SHERLOCK: No. What is she?
JOHN (still looking at Mary): And the woman who’s carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?
(She gazes back at him.)
SHERLOCK: No. Not in this flat; not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?
(John has a small fixed humourless smile on his face as his eyes remain locked on his wife. His head is low on his neck and he looks murderous. After a long moment he sniffs deeply and harshly.)
JOHN: Okay.
(He turns briefly towards Sherlock and then back to Mary.)
JOHN (over his shoulder towards Sherlock): Your way.
(He looks at Mary for another second, then half-turns to Sherlock.)
JOHN: Always your way.
(Sherlock lowers his head and looks away. John turns, clearing his throat, then picks up one of the dining chairs and puts it down facing the two armchairs and the fireplace. He looks at Mary.)
JOHN: Sit.
MARY: Why?
JOHN (in a tight, angry whisper, leaning towards her while pointing down to the dining chair): Because that’s where they sit.
(He straightens up, still speaking in the same tight voice but a little louder.)
JOHN: ... the people who come in here with their stories. Th-the clients – that’s all you are now, Mary. You’re a client. This is where you sit and talk ... (he gestures towards the armchairs) ... and this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not.
(Sniffing, he walks over to his chair and sits down, clearing his throat and adjusting the cushion behind his back. After a moment, Sherlock walks forward and crosses the room. Pausing briefly in front of Mary to meet her eyes and give her a tiny nod, he turns and sits down in his own chair. Mary watches him as he sits, then looks across to John, who has slumped back into his chair and is not meeting her eyes, then she slowly walks in between them and turns round to sit down on the dining chair, putting her shoulder bag onto the floor beside her. She adjusts her coat around her, dusts off the tops of her legs, tugs the lower part of her trousers down a little on both legs, then turns her head to John as he looks back at her.)

THE PRESENT. In the sitting room of the Holmes’ cottage, Mary looks up from her book as John speaks.

JOHN: So, are you okay?
MARY (rather sarcastically): Oh! Are we doing conversation today? It really is Christmas(!)
(John reaches into the pocket of his trousers and takes something out. He shows her what he’s holding. It is a large silver-coloured pen drive with a circular link at one end for attaching it to a key ring. Written in black felt-tip pen on one side are the initials “A.G.R.A”. [It’s actually not clear whether there’s a dot after the ‘R’, because the bottom right hand part of the letter runs into it.] The writing is somewhat faded. Mary closes the book and lets out a brief exasperated sound.)
MARY: Now?
(John nods and tilts the drive round to look at the letters on it.)
MARY: Seriously? Months of silence and we’re gonna do this ... (she nods towards the drive) ... now?
(John lowers the drive to his side, slowly rolling it round in his fingers.)

221B IN THE PAST. Sitting on the dining chair in front of Sherlock and John, Mary puts what looks like the same pen drive onto the table at the side of John’s chair, then withdraws her hand. Sherlock, his face in a grimace as if he is in pain, zooms in on the drive and the letters written on the side of it, although they appear much darker than they will be in the future.

SHERLOCK: ‘A.G.R.A.’ What’s that?
(Mary looks from him to John and clears her throat.)
MARY: Er ... my initials.
(John grimaces and looks away. Sherlock looks down, then glances towards him.)
MARY: Everything about who I was is on there. (Directly to John) If you love me, don’t read it in front of me.
JOHN (lifting the hand nearest to the table in a shrug): Why?
MARY (apparently trying to hold back tears): Because you won’t love me when you’ve finished ...
(John holds her gaze.)
MARY: ... and I don’t want to see that happen.
(She looks down. With a loud sigh John snatches the drive from the table, looks briefly across to Sherlock and then shoves the drive into his left trouser pocket. Sniffing, he pulls himself into a higher sitting position on his chair. Mary looks across to Sherlock.)
MARY: How much d’you know already?
SHERLOCK (still speaking more quietly than we’re used to): By your skill set, you are – or were – an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You’re on the run from something; you’ve used your skills to disappear; ...
(John shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.)
SHERLOCK: ... Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him; and I assume you befriended Janine ... (he grimaces, shifting uncomfortably on his chair) ... in order to get close to him.
MARY: Oh – you can talk!
(He smiles at her.)
JOHN: Ohhh. Look at you two.
(Not raising his hands from the arms of his chair, he points his index fingers at each of them.)
JOHN: You should have got married.
(Mary turns to look at him, and Sherlock blinks a couple of times.)
MARY: The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life.
JOHN: So you were just gonna kill him.
MARY: People like Magnussen should be killed. That’s why there are people like me.
JOHN (lifting his left hand and gently punching the arm of the chair): Perfect(!) So that’s what you were? An assassin?
(He looks towards Sherlock.)
JOHN: How could I not see that?
(He turns back towards Mary.)
MARY: You did see that.
(John’s humourless and slightly murderous smile is back on his face.)
MARY (pausing for a moment): ... and you married me.
(She pauses again, then tilts her head towards Sherlock.)
MARY: Because he’s right.
(Sherlock looks down a little, unusually not looking pleased about being correct.)
MARY (softly, to John): It’s what you like.
(John looks back at her stony-faced. She holds his gaze for a moment, then lowers her eyes.)
SHERLOCK: So ... Mary ...
(He grimaces again.)
SHERLOCK: ... any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want ... (he grimaces yet again, his voice tight as if with physical pain) ... extracted and returned.
MARY: Why would you help me?
SHERLOCK: Because ... you saved my life.
JOHN: Sor-sorry, what?
SHERLOCK (looking at Mary): When I happened on you and Magnussen ...
(He takes a couple of noisy, strained breaths, bracing his hands on the arms of his chair.)
SHERLOCK: ... you had a problem.
(The camera pulls back across the floor of the living room towards the door.)
SHERLOCK (offscreen): More specifically, you had a witness.
(Near the door, Sherlock’s familiar shadow drifts across the floor ...

... but it’s not actually in 221B. In the past, Sherlock looks carefully through the gap in the door to Magnusson’s penthouse living room and sees Magnussen kneeling on the floor with his head lowered and his hands raised while the black-clad assassin points a pistol at him.)

MAGNUSSEN (voiceover): What do you do now?
(The scene fast-forwards to Mary standing facing Sherlock, pointing her pistol at him while, behind her, Magnussen is reaching to his left where his phone is lying on the floor.)
MAGNUSSEN (voiceover): Kill both of us?
(Mary pulls the trigger and in slow-motion the bullet flies out of the end of the gun.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave.
(In this version of events, Mary wasn’t aiming at Sherlock’s chest and the bullet goes straight into the centre of his forehead. His eyes close and his mouth flies open and he starts to fall backwards. Before he even reaches the floor, Mary rapidly turns towards Magnussen, who is still straightening up at the sound of the shot. She shoots him in the head. In slow-motion, both he and Sherlock fall to the floor.)
SHERLOCK (in 221B in the present): However, sentiment got the better of you.
(In the past, in Magnusson’s flat, the preceding scene goes into reverse and Magnussen lifts off the floor and back onto his knees, the bullet goes back into the gun and Mary reverse-turns towards Sherlock, who is still on his feet.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me ...
(Mary fires at him and Sherlock – this time shot in the chest – starts to fall backwards.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): ... in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my silence.
[Transcriber’s note: Sherlock does say ‘bide’, though I suspect that Benedict ought to have said ‘buy’.]
(Before Sherlock hits the floor, Mary is already turning towards Magnussen.)
SHERLOCK (in 221B in the present): Of course, you couldn’t shoot Magnussen. (He looks towards John.) On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect, so ...
(In the past, Mary viciously lashes the end of her pistol across Magnusson’s face. His glasses fly off his face and in ultra-slow motion he starts to fall.)
SHERLOCK (offscreen for the first part of the sentence, now taking a painful breath every few words): ... you calculated ... that Magnussen ... would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police ... as is his M.O.
(In the past, Mary walks in slow motion towards the open door of Magnusson’s flat.)
SHERLOCK (in 221B): ... and then you left the way you came.
(Mary’s gaze is lowered but now she raises it to him. John is looking towards him with a grim expression on his face, then turns his eyes towards his wife.)
SHERLOCK (to Mary): Have I missed anything?
JOHN: How did she save your life?
SHERLOCK: She phoned the ambulance.
JOHN: I phoned the ambulance.
SHERLOCK: She phoned first.
(In the past, Mary viciously lashes the end of her pistol across Magnusson’s face and then immediately bends to pick up his phone from the floor. Even as she straightens up we hear three beeps as she types on it, not even looking at it. The number comes up on our screen in red:

999 EMERGENCY

OPERATOR (over phone): Emergency. Which service do you require?

Approaching sirens can be heard.

SHERLOCK (in 221B in the present, looking at John): You didn’t find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is ...
(He lifts his left hand and looks at his watch as the clatter of feet can be heard on the stairs. Two paramedics run into the room.)
PARAMEDIC: Did somebody call an ambulance?
(John stands up, looking at them in confusion.)
SHERLOCK: ... eight minutes.
(Breathing heavily and with his left hand still raised, he looks towards the paramedics.)
SHERLOCK: Did you bring any morphine? I asked on the phone.
PARAMEDIC (looking puzzled): We were told there was a shooting.
SHERLOCK: There was, last week ...
(He is holding his left wrist with his right hand, his fingers on his pulse point. He takes a sharp breath.)
SHERLOCK: ... but I believe I’m bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic.
(He puts his hands on the arms of the chair and starts to push himself upwards.)
SHERLOCK: You may need to re-start my heart on the way.
(His voice jolts on the word ‘heart’ and his knees buckle. John and Mary hurry forward and each of them takes hold of an upper arm to support him. The paramedics run towards them.)
JOHN: Come on, Sherlock. Come on, Sherlock.
(Sherlock groans and grabs at him, clinging to his shoulder. Mary steps back out of the way of the paramedics.)
SHERLOCK: John?
(The paramedics put their bags down on the floor near him and take hold of him, supporting his weight, but he ignores them and stares intensely at his friend.)
SHERLOCK: John – Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life.
JOHN (quietly): She shot you.
(Sherlock pulls a face, half-nodding his agreement.)
SHERLOCK: Er, mixed messages, I grant you.
(He grimaces, crying out in pain, and starts to fall. John and the paramedics start to lower him to the floor.)
JOHN: Sherlock? Sherlock. (To the paramedics) All right, take him.
(Sherlock cries out again. John releases him, watching the paramedics.)
JOHN: Got him?
(They lay Sherlock down as he groans and whimpers. John straightens and looks down in concern as one of the paramedics gets out an oxygen mask. As they continue working, John looks across to Mary, breathing heavily and with his teeth slightly bared.)

THE PRESENT in the Holmes’ sitting room.

MARY: So, have you read it?
(John looks down at the pen drive, repeatedly turning it around in his fingers, the key ring attachment rattling noisily, then he clasps his fist around it and looks at her while gesturing to the floor in front of him.)
JOHN: W-would you come here a moment?
MARY (shaking her head): No. Tell me. Have you?
JOHN (in an exasperated voice): Just ...
(He pauses and seems to rein in his temper.)
JOHN (more calmly): ... come here.
(She grimaces unhappily, then unwraps the blanket from around her stomach and legs and starts to stand up, holding one hand to her abdomen. She is now very visibly pregnant. John steps towards her to help her up.)
MARY: No, I’m fine.
(Wincing, she gets to her feet as John steps back again. She walks across the room and John turns to one side so that he is side-on to the fireplace. Mary stops in front of him and lowers her eyes. When John speaks, his voice is little more than a whisper and his throat is tight.)
JOHN: I’ve thought long and hard about what I want to say to you.
(He draws in a long breath through his nose as she raises her eyes to him.)
JOHN: These are prepared words, Mary.
(He lowers his head for a moment, grimacing slightly and pulling in another slightly shaky breath before glancing up at her.)
JOHN: I’ve chosen these words with care.
MARY: Okay.
(John clears his throat, and he can be heard rolling the pen drive round in his fingers again. Finally he looks up to meet her eyes.)
JOHN (still speaking quietly): The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future ... are my privilege.
(Mary’s face starts to crumple a little and tears begin to form in her eyes.)
JOHN: It’s all I have to say. It’s all I need to know.
(He looks down at the pen drive while Mary gazes at him tearfully. After a few moments he glances up at her again, then turns to the fireplace and drops the pen drive onto the burning logs. Mary quietly starts to cry as she looks at the drive on top of the fire. John clears his throat again as he turns back to her.)
JOHN (quietly): No, I didn’t read it.
(She looks at him, the first tears starting to roll down her face.)
MARY (tearfully): You don’t even know my name.
JOHN: Is ‘Mary Watson’ good enough for you?
MARY (sobbing out the word): Yes! (She wipes her fingers under her nose.) Oh my God, yes.
JOHN: Then it’s good enough for me, too.
(He gives her a small smile.)
MARY: Oh!
(They step together and hug each other tightly. She cries. He speaks softly in her ear, his throat still tight.)
JOHN: All this does not mean that I’m not still basically pissed off with you.
MARY (tearfully): I know, I know.
JOHN: I am very pissed off, and it will come out now and then.
MARY: I know, I know, I know. (She sniffs.)
(They pull back far enough to be able to look into each other’s eyes.)
JOHN (softly): You can mow the sodding lawn from now on.
MARY: I do mow the lawn.
JOHN: No, I do it loads.
MARY: You really don’t.
JOHN: I choose the baby’s name.
MARY: Not a chance.
JOHN: Okay.
(They tightly hug again.)

Outside the cottage, Mycroft and Sherlock are idly wandering along the path in the front garden towards the gate. Each of them is holding a lit cigarette.

MYCROFT: I’m glad you’ve given up on the Magnussen business.
SHERLOCK: Are you?
MYCROFT (stopping): I’m still curious, though. He’s hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you ... hate him?
SHERLOCK (turning back to face him): Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don’t you?
MYCROFT: He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He’s far too intelligent for that. He’s a business-man, that’s all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil – not a dragon for you to slay.
(He takes a drag on his cigarette while Sherlock smiles and walks back to his side.)
SHERLOCK: A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?
(He turns as he pulls on his own cigarette. They stand side by side with their backs to the cottage.)
MYCROFT (smiling): No. (He looks at his brother.) It’s what you think of yourself.
(The cottage door opens behind them and Mrs Holmes comes out onto the step.)
MRS HOLMES (crossly): Are you two smoking?
(The boys rapidly spin round to face her, frantically holding their cigarettes behind their backs as they look guiltily at her.)
MYCROFT: No!
SHERLOCK (almost simultaneously): It was Mycroft.
(She gives them a suspicious look, then goes back inside and shuts the door. Sherlock – looking every inch the naughty schoolboy who thinks he has got away with being bad and is feeling very smug about it – blows out a long plume of smoke in the direction of the door. Mycroft wanders a few paces towards the door, then slowly turns back again as he speaks.)
MYCROFT: I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline.
SHERLOCK: I decline your kind offer.
MYCROFT: I shall pass on your regrets.
SHERLOCK: What was it?
MYCROFT: MI6 – they want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months.
(Sherlock, who had started to raise his cigarette to his lips, lowers it again and looks a little surprised.)
SHERLOCK: Then why don’t you want me to take it?
MYCROFT (turning to look at him): It’s tempting ... but on balance you have more utility closer to home.
SHERLOCK: Utility(!) How do I have utility?
(He takes a drag on his cigarette. Mycroft shrugs slightly.)
MYCROFT: “Here be dragons.”
(He takes a pull on his own cigarette, then holds it up to look at, frowning. He coughs.)
MYCROFT: This isn’t agreeing with me. I’m going in.
(He drops the cigarette on the path and treads it out, then turns and walks up the path.)
SHERLOCK: You need low tar. You still smoke like a beginner.
(Mycroft slows down and stops before he reaches the door. He pauses for a moment before speaking.)
MYCROFT (without turning round): Also, your loss would break my heart.
(Sherlock had just started to take a drag on his cigarette and now he chokes and coughs before turning to look at his brother, who still hasn’t turned around.)
SHERLOCK: What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!
MYCROFT (turning round and holding out his arms a little): “Merry Christmas”?
SHERLOCK: You hate Christmas.
MYCROFT (pretending to look puzzled): Yes. (He smiles a little.) Perhaps there was something in the punch.
SHERLOCK: Clearly. Go and have some more.
(Mycroft turns and goes up the steps, opening the door. Sherlock turns away.)

In the sitting room, John and Mary are still locked in a tight hug, swaying a little from side to side.

MARY: So you realise that, er, Sherlock got us out here to see his mum and dad for a reason?
JOHN (smiling): His lovely mum and dad. A fine example of married life. I get that.
(Over his shoulder, Mary holds the fingers of one hand to her forehead, frowning and looking a little unwell.)
JOHN (unaware of this): That is the thing with Sherlock – it’s always the unexpected.
(Mary starts to slump in his grasp.)
JOHN: Oi. (He frowns round to the side of her head.) Oi.
(She slumps more, moaning softly as her arms drop from around him. He takes her weight and moves her back so he can see her face. Her eyes are closed.)
JOHN: Mary? Jesus Christ. Mary?
(He hauls her back towards a nearby armchair.)
JOHN: Sit down.
(He lowers her into the armchair. She is now unconscious. He takes hold of her face.)
JOHN: Mary, can you hear me?
(The door opens and Sherlock briskly walks in a couple of paces.)
SHERLOCK: Don’t drink Mary’s tea.
(He turns and leaves again, grabbing his scarf from the peg as he goes. John stares towards the door, then looks towards his wife again.)
SHERLOCK (loudly): Oh, or the punch.
(In another sitting room next door, a glass is lying overturned on a table and Mr Holmes is lying on his back on the sofa with his eyes closed. Sherlock holds his hand over his father’s nose to check that he’s breathing normally, then continues onwards. John follows him into the room as Sherlock heads into the kitchen, where Mrs Holmes is asleep in the armchair where Sherlock had previously sat, and Mycroft is slumped on a dining chair with his head on the kitchen table and his eyes closed. The kitchen clock above the door shows that about seven minutes have passed since the earlier scene in the kitchen, so clearly Sherlock’s countdown was absolutely accurate.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
(Sherlock holds the back of his hand to his mother’s nose to check her breathing, then walks past Bill, who is standing nearby, and goes over to the kitchen table.)
JOHN (coming in): Did you just drug my pregnant wife?
SHERLOCK (checking Mycroft’s breathing): Don’t worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist.
BILL: I calculated your wife’s dose meself. Won’t affect the little one. I’ll keep an eye on ’er.
SHERLOCK (putting his scarf on): He’ll monitor their recovery. It’s more or less his day job.
JOHN (staring at him): What the hell have you done?
(Sherlock looks down reflectively and takes a moment to reply.)
SHERLOCK: ... A deal with the devil.

FLASHBACK. A blurry figure walks in through a door, closes it and then walks forward. At the far end of the room Sherlock is sitting at a small table which has a red tablecloth. He is wearing a hospital gown and has his morphine drip on a stand beside him. On the table in front of him is a plate with a part-finished meal on it. Some penne pasta and what looks like a cherry tomato remain. There is also a glass of water on the table. Sherlock chews and swallows his latest mouthful of food, not looking up as the other person walks closer. We now see that it is Magnussen.
MAGNUSSEN: Shouldn’t you be in hospital?
SHERLOCK (still not looking up): I am in hospital. This is the canteen.
(We get a better view of where they are, and it’s definitely not the hospital canteen. Sherlock has apparently busted out of hospital again, not bothering or unable to get his clothes for the escape, and the two men are in a small restaurant or taverna. There are no other customers and the only member of staff is at the far end by the door. Magnussen looks round the not-canteen.)
MAGNUSSEN: Is it?
SHERLOCK: In my opinion, yes.
(He gestures with his fork to the chair on the other side of the table.)
SHERLOCK: Have a seat.
MAGNUSSEN: Thank you.
(Sherlock lays his fork down on the plate and watches as he sits down opposite him.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve been thinking about you.
MAGNUSSEN: I’ve been thinking about you.
SHERLOCK: Really?
(Looking a little weak, he reaches across to the morphine control and pushes the button three times.)
SHERLOCK (turning back to face Magnussen): I want to see Appledore, where you keep all the secrets, all the files, everything you’ve got on everyone. I want you to invite me.
(They lock eyes.)
MAGNUSSEN: What makes you think I’d be so careless?
SHERLOCK (softly, intensely): Oh, I think you’re a lot more ‘careless’ than you let on.
MAGNUSSEN (softly, leaning forward): Am I?
(Sherlock has his elbows on the table with his hands clasped in front of him. He too leans forward, and smiles as he looks into Magnusson’s eyes.)
SHERLOCK: It’s the dead-eye stare that gives it away.
(Magnussen looks back at him unblinking.)
SHERLOCK (unclasping his hands and slowly lifting them towards the other man): Except it’s not dead-eyed, is it?
(He continues to reach towards Magnusson’s face, moving slowly so that the man knows what he’s doing. Sherlock winces and sucks in a sharp breath as he extends his arms and slowly takes hold of Magnusson’s glasses and takes them off. Magnusson’s eyes flicker towards the glasses as they leave his face but then he returns his gaze to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: You’re reading.
(Smiling slightly, he draws the glasses towards himself and looks down at them.)
SHERLOCK: Portable Appledore. (He snorts slightly, then looks across to Magnussen.) How does it work?
(Magnussen looks down at the glasses.)
SHERLOCK: Built-in flash drive? (He lifts the glasses towards his own face.) 4G wireless?
(He puts them on and raises his head as he looks through the lenses. After a moment he frowns, turning his head a little and then lowering it before he slowly takes the glasses off again, blinking as if confused. He looks down at them, turning them in his hands.)
SHERLOCK: They’re just ordinary spectacles.
MAGNUSSEN: Yes – they are.
(Sherlock grimaces slightly, still looking down at the glasses. Magnussen looks at him. His vision is slightly blurred without his glasses on, but text appears in front of his eyes in red:

PRESSURE POINT: > MORPHINE (ADD TO FILE)

He lowers his head and smiles, then reaches across with one hand and flicks through the pasta on the plate with his fingers, unearthing a black olive. Sherlock continues to stare down at the glasses.)
MAGNUSSEN: You underestimate me, Mr Holmes.
(Sherlock sinks back in his seat, still looking at the glasses as if in disbelief. Magnussen picks up the olive and puts it in his mouth, then licks his thumb and forefinger before reaching across to the glass of water and dabbling the licked digits in it. With his other hand he reaches across the table and takes his glasses from Sherlock, then shakes the water off his wet fingers over the table and puts his glasses back on. Sherlock slowly lowers his own hands to the table, looking down as if still in shock.)
SHERLOCK (quietly): Impress me, then. Show me Appledore.
MAGNUSSEN (chewing on the olive): Everything’s available for a price.
(Sherlock lifts his eyes to his.)
MAGNUSSEN: Are you making me an offer?
SHERLOCK: A Christmas present.
MAGNUSSEN: And what are you giving me for Christmas, Mr Holmes?
SHERLOCK: My brother.
(He smiles, and the scene fades to black.)
[Your transcriber pouts, annoyed that we didn’t see Sherlock get up and leave the restaurant, because we all know how those hospital gowns gape at the back.]

THE PRESENT. In the Holmes’ kitchen, Sherlock is still looking down reflectively. John turns away from him.

JOHN (softly): Oh, Jesus.
(He walks away, while Sherlock looks down at his unconscious brother. John goes into the next door sitting room and looks down at Sherlock’s father on the sofa, then stops and grimaces with his fists clenched.)
JOHN: Sherlock ...
(In the kitchen, Sherlock is putting his gloves on.)
JOHN (from the sitting room): ... please tell me you haven’t just gone out of your mind.
(Sherlock bends down and takes the silver-grey laptop from the table, pulling it from under where Mycroft has one hand resting on it.)
SHERLOCK: I’d rather keep you guessing.
(John turns towards the second sitting room where Mary is, but just then the sound of an approaching helicopter can be heard. In the kitchen, Sherlock looks upwards.)
SHERLOCK: Ah. (He smiles.) There’s our lift.
(John walks across the room and looks through a window.)

Very shortly afterwards, as the helicopter flies low past the front of the cottage, John walks down the path with Sherlock behind him holding the laptop under his left arm and a coat in his right hand. John goes through the gate as the helicopter lands in a field in front of the cottage.

SHERLOCK (walking to his side): Coming?
JOHN: Where?
SHERLOCK: D’you want your wife to be safe?
JOHN: Yeah, of course I do.
(They both turn and look at the helicopter.)
SHERLOCK: Good, because this is going to be incredibly dangerous. (Quick-fire, speaking on one single breath for the next two sentences) One false move and we’ll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we’ve ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us.
JOHN (indignantly): But it’s Christmas.
(Sherlock smiles.)
SHERLOCK: I feel the same.
(He turns and sees John’s expression. His smile fades.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, you mean it’s actually Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?
JOHN: Why would I bring my gun to your parents’ house for Christmas dinner?!
SHERLOCK (holding out the coat in his right hand): Is it in your coat?
JOHN (tetchily, taking it from him): Yes.
SHERLOCK: Off we go, then.
(They start to walk towards the helicopter.)
JOHN: Where are we going?
SHERLOCK: Appledore.

APPLEDORE. In a large sitting room where one entire long wall is made of glass and looks out to the grounds, Magnussen lowers his whiskey glass at the sound of an approaching helicopter. The helicopter – which has the “CAM” logo on its side – flies down towards the house while Sherlock and John look down at it. They land on the grass not far from the house while Magnussen continues to sit on a long curved white leather sofa, not looking round to watch their arrival. A security man walks towards the helicopter while another one stands on the patio outside the house. The boys get out and walk towards the house and the helicopter takes off again and flies away. Shortly afterwards a security man leads the boys through an inside area which is lined with large green exotic plants, while another man follows behind. Magnussen is sitting on the sofa one level above them. He takes a drink from his glass as his men escort Sherlock and John into the room. Sherlock stops a couple of paces in front of the sofa while John stands a little way behind and to one side of him. Magnussen nods to his men and they turn and leave.
MAGNUSSEN (lifting his glass): I would offer you a drink but it’s very rare and expensive.
(He drinks. Sherlock turns and sits down on the sofa a couple of feet to Magnussen’s right. He sighs with a contented sound and slaps his hands down on the white leather either side of him, putting the laptop down between himself and the other man, then crosses his legs and clasps his hands in his lap. He looks across to the other side of the room.)
SHERLOCK (calmly): Oh. It was you.
(Projected onto a glass wall opposite them, footage is playing of Sherlock’s rescue of John from the bonfire. The footage repeats on a continuous loop.)
MAGNUSSEN: Yes, of course.
(John glances over his shoulder and turns back, then does a double-take.)
MAGNUSSEN: Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes.
SHERLOCK: Mm.
(John turns and walks towards the wall.)
MAGNUSSEN: The drugs thing I never believed for a moment.
(John continues walking closer to the wall, staring at the footage with his mouth open.)
MAGNUSSEN: Anyway, you wouldn’t care if it was exposed, would you?
(Sherlock tilts his head, quirks his mouth and shrugs.)
MAGNUSSEN (looking at the screen): But look how you care about John Watson.
(In slow motion on the footage, Sherlock drags John out from under the bonfire again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Your damsel in distress.
(John turns around.)
JOHN: You ... (he walks closer to Magnussen, his voice tight and furious) ... put me in a fire ... for leverage?
MAGNUSSEN: Oh, I’d never let you burn, Doctor Watson. (He sits up and puts his glass onto the clear glass table in front of him, then looks up at John again.) I had people standing by.
(Sherlock looks up thoughtfully at Magnussen as he stands.)
MAGNUSSEN: I’m not a murderer ... unlike your wife.
(John stares up at him grimly. He holds his gaze for a while, then glances across to Sherlock. Magnussen walks over towards the wall.)
MAGNUSSEN: Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson.
(Reaching the wall, he puts one finger on it at the side of the projected footage. There’s a beep and as Magnussen slides his finger across the glass, the footage slides with it and disappears off to the side.)
MAGNUSSEN (turning back to the others): For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well ... apart from me.
(John tilts his head at him questioningly. The side of Sherlock’s mouth lifts in a small smile.)
MAGNUSSEN: Mycroft’s pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock.
(He walks back across the room to the sofa.)
MAGNUSSEN: And Sherlock’s pressure point is his best friend, John Watson. John Watson’s pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson’s wife ... (he looks round to Sherlock) ... I own Mycroft. (He sits down.) He’s what I’m getting for Christmas.
(Even though the laptop is almost within his reach, he holds out his hand towards Sherlock. Without looking round, Sherlock shoves it across the sofa towards him.)
SHERLOCK: It’s an exchange, not a gift.
(He stands up, while Magnussen raises his eyebrows at him. Sherlock walks a few paces forward, then turns round again. Magnussen picks up the laptop.)
MAGNUSSEN: Forgive me, but ... (he holds the laptop to his chest and runs his fingers over the back) ... I already seem to have it.
SHERLOCK: It’s password protected.
(Magnussen continues to run his fingers over the machine.)
SHERLOCK: In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson.
MAGNUSSEN: Oh, she’s bad, that one. So many dead people. You should see what I’ve seen.
JOHN: I don’t need to see it.
MAGNUSSEN: You might enjoy it, though.
(John swallows but holds his gaze.)
MAGNUSSEN: I enjoy it.
(John nods as if not surprised.)
SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Then why don’t you show us?
MAGNUSSEN: Show you Appledore?
(He puts the laptop onto the sofa beside him, then looks back at Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN: The secret vaults? Is that what you want?
SHERLOCK (intensely): I want everything you’ve got on Mary.
(Magnussen lets out a short breathy laugh, shaking his head a little, then he lowers his eyes, scratches the back of his head and chuckles for a few seconds. John’s mouth twists and he shoots a brief glance towards Sherlock. Eventually Magnussen stops sniggering and looks down to the laptop, patting it and grimacing a little.)
MAGNUSSEN: You know, I honestly expected something good.
SHERLOCK: Oh, I think you’ll find the contents of that laptop ...
MAGNUSSEN: ... include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived ... (he looks down at the laptop) ... they’ll find top secret information in my hands ... (he reaches forward and picks up his glass from the table) ... and have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I’ll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr and Mrs Psychopath.
(He looks at John, who holds his gaze, though his cheeks move as if he is gritting his teeth a little. Only once Magnussen starts talking again does he cast a quick glance at Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN (lifting his glass closer to his mouth): Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. (He looks into the glass and moves it even closer.) He’ll be a very, very proud big brother.
(He drinks, emptying the glass.)
SHERLOCK: The fact that you know it’s going to happen isn’t going to stop it.
(Offscreen, Magnussen puts his glass down on the table.)
MAGNUSSEN: Then why am I smiling?
(He looks up at Sherlock and smiles a little. Sherlock looks at him thoughtfully.)
MAGNUSSEN: Ask me.
JOHN (taking one step towards him): Why are you smiling?
MAGNUSSEN (looking down a little): Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves ...
(His eyes are back on Sherlock again.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... and everything he holds dear.
(He stands up slowly.)
MAGNUSSEN: Let me show you the Appledore vaults.
(He leads the others across the room and through the open glass doors of the study we have seen before. He walks across to the wooden doors at the side of the room and then turns back to the others, putting a hand on the doors.)
MAGNUSSEN: The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all.
(He turns and takes hold of the door handles, then pulls the doors open. We are looking from inside the doors towards Magnussen and the other two as they look inside. Magnussen steps slowly through the doors, looking all around at what we can’t yet see, while Sherlock and John look uncertainly at what they can see. After a moment Magnussen slowly begins to turn around and the perspective shifts to a view from behind the boys. Inside the doors is nothing more than a small room, painted white and brightly lit. It is no more than few feet deep and the ceiling is about eight feet high. There are no shelves, no library stacks, no filing cabinets, no grotesque dolls, stuffed animals or sculptures. The only thing in the room is a metal and leather low-backed executive chair. As Magnussen slowly continues to turns around, Sherlock’s eyes quickly skim around the whiteness, then his eyes go back to Magnussen.)
JOHN: Okay – so where are the vaults, then?
MAGNUSSEN (looking at him): Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building.
(He sits down on the chair, then gestures around the room.)
MAGNUSSEN: They’re all in here.
(John frowns and blinks. Sherlock’s eyes are wide as if he is beginning to realise the truth. Magnussen leans forward and slowly raises the fingers of his right hand to touch his temple.)
MAGNUSSEN: The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don’t you, Sherlock?
(Sherlock swallows and then opens his mouth slightly.)
MAGNUSSEN: How to store information so you never forget it – by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes ... (he does so, slowly lowering his head) ... and down I go to my vaults.
(Inside his head, he opens his eyes and then walks down the wooden spiral staircase.)
MAGNUSSEN (sitting with his eyes closed in the white room): I can go anywhere inside my vaults ...
(In his head, he walks through the library stacks, his fingers flickering towards the shelves.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... my memories.
(In his head, he reaches the dark, creepy end of the Mind Palace. In the white room, he turns his head from side to side a little with his eyes still closed. In his Mind Palace he walks past the creepy displayed objects. In the white room he lifts his right hand and reaches forward.)
MAGNUSSEN: I’ll look at the files on Mrs Watson.
(In his Mind Palace, he reaches towards a filing cabinet with his right hand. He can hear himself pull one of the drawers open. Outside the white room, Sherlock closes his eyes and shakes his head a little, his lips pulled back from his teeth. John stares at Magnussen as he raises both hands and flickers his fingers in front of him as if he is working his way through the files inside the imaginary drawer. Magnussen can hear the files moving under his fingers. John clears his throat and looks down with a humourless smile as he seems to start to understand how Magnussen’s mind works. Still flicking through the files in the drawer, Magnussen hums idly to himself while, in his Mind Palace, he works his way along the files.)
MAGNUSSEN: Mmm, ah. (In the white room he lifts his right hand as if lifting a folder out of the drawer.) This is one of my favourites. (He sits back in the chair while, in his head, he looks at the file with a picture of Mary paper-clipped to the inside.) Oh, it’s so exciting.
(Lowering his head in the white room with his eyes still closed, he moves his hands as if he is turning the pages inside the file. Sherlock lowers his head with a shocked look on his face as Magnussen chuckles quietly. In his Mind Palace Magnussen is looking at a sheet of paper to which is stuck a photograph of Mary looking grimly into the camera, and another photograph which is too blurry to see clearly.)
MAGNUSSEN: All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh!
(In the white room, he points to an imaginary page in the file.)
MAGNUSSEN: She’s gone a bit ... freelance now. Bad girl.
(He turns the imaginary page and sniggers. Inside his Mind Palace he sniggers again, letting out an amused, “Ohh!” In the white room he holds up a finger, then chuckles even more, then turns another imaginary page, still smiling.)
MAGNUSSEN: Ah, she is so wicked.
(In his Mind Palace he turns back to the front page of the file. In the white room he lifts his right hand as if putting the closed file back into the cabinet.)
MAGNUSSEN: I can really see why you like her.
(With both hands, he pushes the imaginary drawer closed again. In his Mind Palace he does likewise with the ‘real’ drawer. In the white room he lifts both hands and turns them over, then opens his eyes and looks at Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN: You see?
(John clears his throat.)
JOHN: So there are no documents. You don’t actually have anything here.
MAGNUSSEN: Oh, sometimes I send out for something ... (he lifts his left hand and looks down at his watch) ... if I really need it ...
(Sherlock looks away a little, closing his eyes briefly.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... but mostly I just remember it all.
JOHN (shaking his head): I don’t understand.
MAGNUSSEN: You should have that on a T-shirt.
JOHN: You just remember it all?
MAGNUSSEN (looking at Sherlock): It’s all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning.
JOHN: But if you just know it, then you don’t have proof.
MAGNUSSEN: Proof? What would I need proof for? I’m in news, you moron. I don’t have to prove it – I just have to print it.
(Sherlock’s gaze is lowered and his expression suggests that he is fully aware of how badly he has miscalculated.)
MAGNUSSEN (standing up and buttoning his jacket): Speaking of news, you’ll both be heavily featured tomorrow – trying to sell state secrets to me.
(He tuts disapprovingly, then looks at his watch again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Let’s go outside. They’ll be here shortly.
(He walks out of the room and heads towards the glass doors.)
MAGNUSSEN: Can’t wait to see you arrested.
(John watches him go, then steps closer to his friend.)
JOHN (quietly): Sherlock, do we have a plan?
(Sherlock is fixed in place, still looking down towards the floor of the white room, his gaze unfocused.)
JOHN (sternly): Sherlock.
(When Sherlock still doesn’t move, John turns and walks away. Sherlock shuts his eyes, screwing them closed with a look of despair.
Magnussen walks across the sitting room to a glass door which leads out onto a patio. He goes outside and looks around. The sky is darkening, so apparently it is early evening. John follows him out onto the patio.)

MAGNUSSEN: They’re taking their time, aren’t they?
(John stops beside him, not looking at him.)
JOHN: I still don’t understand.
MAGNUSSEN (looking up into the sky): And there’s the back of the T-shirt.
(Sherlock has finally left the study and is walking slowly towards the patio door.)
JOHN (turning his head to look at Magnussen): You just know things. How does that work?
(Magnussen turns to face him as Sherlock walks out onto the patio and stops just outside the door.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): I just love your little soldier face. I’d like to punch it.
(John stares back at him, his eyes wide.)
MAGNUSSEN: Bring it over here a minute.
(John glances over to Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN: Come on.
(Very reluctantly and not meeting his eyes, Sherlock gives John a short nod, his face full of pain at having to do this.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): For Mary. Bring me your face.
(John looks back to Magnussen, who nods slightly. Clearing his throat, John slowly takes two steps closer to him. Magnussen turns a little to face him, then leans down to him.)
MAGNUSSEN: Lean forward a bit and stick your face out.
(John clears his throat again, adjusting his footing.)
MAGNUSSEN (smirking at him): Please?
(He leans closer, chuckling. John locks his gaze on him while he does as instructed.)
MAGNUSSEN: Now, can I flick it?
(John snorts in disbelief, lowering his head and shaking it before raising it again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Can I flick your face?
(Pursing his lips and looking at him again, John leans forward. Magnussen lifts his right hand with the back towards John, bends his middle finger under his thumb, holds his hand close to John’s left cheek and then releases the middle finger to flick sharply against his cheek. John blinks instinctively and tilts his head at the man, still holding his gaze. Magnussen flicks his cheek again, then chuckles.)
MAGNUSSEN: I just love doing this.
(He looks across to Sherlock, whose eyes are lowered, the pain still in his face.)
MAGNUSSEN: I could do it all day.
(He chuckles again, then turns back to John.)
MAGNUSSEN: It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed.
(He flicks his cheek again. Sherlock has now lifted his gaze and is looking at him, his expression grim.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): I know where to find people who hate her.
(He flicks him again, then again. The soldier stares back at him, tolerating it only because he has no choice.)
MAGNUSSEN: I know where they live; I know their phone numbers.
(He flicks him twice more.)
MAGNUSSEN: All in my Mind Palace – all of it.
(Sherlock’s gaze towards him becomes more intense.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down – and I will ...
(Sherlock’s lips are slightly lifted from his teeth.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): ... unless you let me flick your face.
(He flicks him three times. Sherlock continues to glare at him with his teeth bared.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries ...
(He flicks him again, then straightens up.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... just because I know.
(He bends back down to John.)
MAGNUSSEN: Can I do your eye now?
(John turns his head a little, looking away.)
MAGNUSSEN: See if you can keep it open, hmm?
(Almost before John turns back to him, he flicks John’s left eyebrow. John’s eyes instinctively flinch closed. Magnussen sniggers and flicks his eyebrow again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Come on. For Mary. Keep it open.
(He bends his finger under his thumb again.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
SHERLOCK (quietly, his voice apologetic): Let him. I’m sorry.
(Magnussen looks round to him for a moment.)
SHERLOCK: Just ... let him.
(John grimaces slightly.)
MAGNUSSEN (turning back to him): Come on. Eye open.
(With a bemused look on his face, he flicks John’s eyebrow again, and again John’s eyes flinch closed for a moment before he glares back at the man as he sniggers and flicks him again. He laughs as John breathes harshly.)
MAGNUSSEN (cheerfully): It’s difficult, isn’t it? (He straightens up.) Janine managed it once. (He looks towards Sherlock.) She makes the funniest noises.
(The sound of an approaching helicopter can be heard. It soars over the roof and at the same time, armed police marksmen run towards the patio. The helicopter drops down to hover some yards away, its spotlight aimed towards the men on the patio. As they are buffeted by the wind from the rotors, Mycroft’s voice blares out over a speaker on the helicopter.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
(He is sitting in the helicopter wearing a headset and microphone.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Stand away from that man.
(Sherlock looks away. Magnussen looks over towards him.)
MAGNUSSEN: Here we go, Mr Holmes!
SHERLOCK (loudly, over the noise of the hovering helicopter, as he steps forward and walks to John’s side): To clarify: Appledore’s vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there.
MAGNUSSEN (looking towards the helicopter): They’re not real. They never have been.
(Sherlock nods, looking down.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step away.
(Magnussen walks forward a couple of steps, waving his hands calmly at the helicopter.)
MAGNUSSEN (loudly): It’s fine! They’re harmless!
(The armed police continue moving into position, aiming their rifles towards the patio.)
POLICE OFFICER (over radio): Target is not armed. I repeat, target is not armed.
JOHN (looking round to his friend): Sherlock, what do we do?
(He turns to look at the helicopter again.)
MAGNUSSEN (over his shoulder): Nothing! (He looks round at them.) There’s nothing to be done! Oh, I’m not a villain. I have no evil plan. I’m a business-man, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!
(As John continues to stare towards the helicopter, Sherlock turns his head and looks at his friend, and his gaze is penetrating and intense.)
MAGNUSSEN: Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes.
(Sherlock looks away from John, lowering his gaze but still with a determined look on it. Magnussen turns away from him.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, stand away from that man. Do it now.
SHERLOCK (loudly, looking up): Oh, do your research.
(He steps closer to John, reaches round behind him and into John’s coat pocket, then steps away again and walks forward towards Magnussen.)
SHERLOCK: I’m not a hero ...
(Magnussen turns to look at him.)
SHERLOCK: ... I’m a high-functioning sociopath.
(He widens his eyes and glares at the man.)
SHERLOCK: Merry Christmas!
(He raises John’s pistol, aims it at Magnussen’s head and fires. As John recoils and even before Magnussen hits the ground, Sherlock drops the gun to the patio and turns towards the helicopter, raising his hands.)
POLICE OFFICER (over radio): Man down, man down.
SHERLOCK (loudly): Get away from me, John! (He turns to look at him.) Stay well back!
JOHN (desperately): Christ, Sherlock!
(He raises his own hands.)
MYCROFT (frantically, into his microphone): Stand fire!
(The police marksmen run towards the patio, aiming their rifles at Sherlock as he faces them.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!
(The marksmen take up positions, aiming their laser sights towards Sherlock.)
JOHN (his voice full of despair): Oh, Christ, Sherlock.
(Keeping his hands raised, Sherlock looks round to him again.)
SHERLOCK: Give my love to Mary.
(John stares at him, his face full of anguish.)
SHERLOCK: Tell her she’s safe now.
(He takes one final look at his best friend and then slowly turns towards the marksmen and the helicopter and begins to sink slowly to his knees. John holds his own hands high, his eyes full of despair. Sherlock kneels on the patio, his hands raised and his face anguished. The beams from the laser sights travel over his face as he stares ahead of himself, knowing that he has done something that no one can save him from.
In the helicopter, Mycroft takes off his headset and stares in equal despair towards his brother.)

MYCROFT (softly, anguished): Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?
(He can’t see the adult Sherlock on the patio. Instead, it’s as if his little eleven year old brother is standing there, his face full of terror as he stares upwards, his hands raised, his curly hair buffeted by the wind from the helicopter’s rotor blades, and tears pouring down his face. The young boy lowers his head, weeping.)

[Your transcriber breaks off for a bloody good cry, having torn her heart to pieces typing that last section.]

DAY TIME. Mycroft stands at the glass wall of a large meeting room. It may be the same room in which the parliamentary commission was held at the beginning of the episode. He has his back to the room and is looking outside. A suited man stands nearby to his right.

MYCROFT: As my colleague is fond of remarking, this country sometimes needs a blunt instrument. Equally, it sometimes needs a dagger – a scalpel wielded with precision and without remorse.
(He looks to his left.)
MYCROFT: There will always come a time when we need Sherlock Holmes.
(Several men sitting at tables in the room look back at him silently but the man standing near him speaks.)
SIR EDWIN: If this is some expression of familial sentiment ...
(Mycroft rolls his eyes, sighs and turns to him.)
MYCROFT: Don’t be absurd. I am not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion.
(He looks down for a moment, then turns to Sir Edwin again.)
MYCROFT: You know what happened to the other one.
(Sir Edwin looks away, grimacing slightly. Mycroft turns to look out the window again.)
MYCROFT: In any event, there is no prison in which we could incarcerate Sherlock without causing a riot on a daily basis. The alternative, however ...
(He looks left towards where Lady Smallwood is sitting at a table.)
MYCROFT: ... would require your approval.
LADY SMALLWOOD: Hardly merciful, Mr Holmes.
MYCROFT: Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my brother is a murderer.
(He turns away and looks out of the window again.)

AIRFIELD. DAY TIME. A black car drives along the runway towards where an executive jet is stationary on the tarmac. Standing near the nose of the plane, Sherlock, Mycroft and a security man watch the car pull up. Mary gets out of the rear door nearest the plane and John from the other. Smiling, Mary walks towards Sherlock, John following behind.

SHERLOCK (to Mary): You will look after him for me, won’t you?
MARY: Oh ... (she puts her hands on his shoulders and they kiss each other’s cheeks, then hug) ... don’t worry. I’ll keep him in trouble.
(He smiles as she releases him and pulls back.)
SHERLOCK: That’s my girl.
(She turns and walks back to where John has stopped a few paces away, and takes his hand. John nods to Sherlock in greeting, and Sherlock turns to his brother.)
SHERLOCK: Since this is likely to be the last conversation I’ll have with John Watson ...
(John sighs painfully.)
SHERLOCK: ... would you mind if we took a moment?
(Mycroft looks a little startled, but then glances over to the security man and jerks his head towards the side of the plane. The security man, Mycroft and Mary walk along the side of the jet towards the wing and Sherlock turns to John, who smiles at him and nods.)
JOHN: So, here we are.
(Looking vaguely around the airfield and clearing his throat, he steps closer.)
SHERLOCK: William Sherlock Scott Holmes.
JOHN: Sorry?
SHERLOCK: That’s the whole of it – if you’re looking for baby names.
(John chuckles.)
JOHN: No, we’ve had a scan. We’re pretty sure it’s a girl.
SHERLOCK (softly): Oh. (He smiles.) Okay.
(They both look awkwardly anywhere except at each other for several seconds.)
JOHN (vaguely, turning and looking across the airfield): Yeah. (He finally turns towards Sherlock again.) Actually, I can’t think of a single thing to say.
SHERLOCK (looking down): No, neither can I.
(He lifts his head as John steps closer and speaks quietly.)
JOHN: The game is over.
SHERLOCK (firmly, meeting his eyes): The game is never over, John ... (his tone becomes quieter) ... but there may be some new players now. It’s okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end.
JOHN: What’s that?
SHERLOCK: It’s a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind – this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path.
(He sniffs, looking into the distance.)
SHERLOCK: It seeks out the unworthy ... (he meets John’s eyes) ... and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me.
JOHN: Nice(!)
SHERLOCK: He was a rubbish big brother.
(They both smile, then John looks down, clearing his throat.)
JOHN: So what about you, then? (He lifts his head.) Where are you actually going now?
SHERLOCK (sounding bored): Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe.
JOHN: For how long?
SHERLOCK (looking slightly above John’s head so as not to meet his eyes): Six months, my brother estimates. He’s never wrong.
JOHN: And then what?
(Sherlock meets his gaze for a moment, then looks down thoughtfully before raising his head and gazing off into the distance. He shrugs.)
SHERLOCK: Who knows?
(John nods and then turns away to look across the airfield again, breathing in deeply. Sherlock looks directly at him until he turns back, then looks down again.)
SHERLOCK: John, there’s something ... I should say; I-I’ve meant to say always and then never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.
(He hesitates for a long time, then draws in a deep breath and raises his eyes to John’s.)
SHERLOCK: Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.
(John turns away, giggling almost silently. Sherlock smiles at him. John turns back, still smiling.)
JOHN: It’s not.
SHERLOCK (shrugging): It was worth a try.
JOHN: We’re not naming our daughter after you.
SHERLOCK: I think it could work.
(John chuckles, then meets his eyes. Sherlock holds his gaze for a second, then lowers his eyes. After a moment he takes off his right glove and holds out his hand.)
SHERLOCK: To the very best of times, John.
(For a long moment John hesitates, then he takes his hand and shakes it. They stand there for a couple of seconds, then Sherlock gives John’s hand one more small pump before releasing it and turning away, putting his glove back on as he walks away. John watches him walk along the side of the plane to the steps and get on board.)

Shortly afterward the plane taxies along the runway. Sherlock sits inside looking out of one of the right-hand windows. Mary and John stand by the car, holding hands and watching from the left-hand side of the plane as it lifts into the sky. Sherlock continues to gaze out of the window, and the plane flies off into the distance.

The scene fades to black and the familiar drum beat of the beginning of the show’s theme tune begins ...

... but before the actual music can start, the screen goes to static. After a moment it resolves into a football match on the
SPORTS 1 channel. The score shows SFC 0 – 0 INTER. [Click here for further information about this match.] Men’s voices can be heard shouting encouragingly as the commentary plays over the footage.
COMMENTATOR: Smith brings it inside. This looks good.
(The screen fritzes briefly, then the perspective pulls back a little and we see that this is a television on the wall inside a pub.)
COMMENTATOR (on the TV): Cassandra comes in for a shot ...
(On the TV, a player volleys the ball towards the goal but it flies over the top. In the pub, the customers groan.)
COMMENTATOR (on the TV): Oh, he missed it!
(One of the customers is Greg Lestrade, who is standing at the bar. He grimaces. The TV can be heard fritzing again and one of the male customers calls out, presumably to the landlord.)
CUSTOMER: Oi! What’s up with the telly? There’s something wrong with the telly, mate!
(The TV can be heard fritzing even more.)
ANOTHER CUSTOMER: Give it a whack, then!
(Greg looks up at the screen, which has gone to static, but it slowly begins to clear and a shape can just about be seen through all the distortion. It seems to be a head and shoulders shot of someone facing to the right with their head turned away from the camera. Greg stares up at the TV and, although we can no longer see the screen, presumably the picture is becoming clearer. Greg’s face fills with shock.)
CUSTOMER: Who’s that?
(Over the TV a voice begins to speak. It is speaking through a device which distorts the voice.)
VOICE (pitched high): Did you miss me?
(It shifts to a very deep tone.)
VOICE: Did you miss me?

In 221B, Mrs Hudson is vacuuming the living room. She has the TV switched on and the voice comes over the speaker.
VOICE (pitched high): Did you miss me? Did you miss me?
(She looks at the screen – which we can’t see – and jumps in shock, then starts to scream.)

At Bart’s, Molly stares in horror from the lab into a room next door which has a TV playing on a table.

VOICE (pitched deep): Did you miss me?

In the conference room we saw earlier, Lady Smallwood stares up from her seat, apparently looking at a TV screen.
LADY SMALLWOOD: How is this possible?
SIR EDWIN (standing beside her, also looking at the screen): We don’t know, but it’s on every screen in the country – every screen simultaneously.
LADY SMALLWOOD: Has the Prime Minister been told? (She looks round and up to Sir Edwin.) And Mycroft?

MYCROFT (sitting in the back seat of a stationary car and talking into a phone): But that’s not possible.
(He opens the door and gets out.)
MYCROFT: That is simply not possible.
(He looks across to where John and Mary, holding hands and clearly still at the airfield, look towards him. He frowns at them.)
JOHN (releasing Mary’s hand and walking towards him): What’s happened?

In the executive jet, Sherlock is still looking out of the window.
MAN’s VOICE (offscreen): Sir?
(Sherlock looks round. The man holds out a phone towards him.)
MAN: It’s your brother.
(Sherlock takes the phone and holds it to his ear.)
SHERLOCK: Mycroft?
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over phone): Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?
SHERLOCK: I’ve only been gone four minutes.
MYCROFT (now sitting in the back of his car again, and smiling pleasantly): Well, I certainly hope you’ve learned your lesson. As it turns out, you’re needed.
SHERLOCK: Oh, for God’s sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?
(In Mycroft’s car, the distorted voice can be heard.)
VOICE (pitched high): Did you miss me? Did you miss me?
(Mycroft looks to the front of the car where a small TV screen is set into the dashboard. On the screen is a still photograph of Jim Moriarty facing the camera and smiling. To the left of his mouth is the message:

MISS ME?

The jaw of Jim’s photograph has been animated so that it moves up and down a little as the voice repeats over and over.)
VOICE (pitched high): Did you miss me? Did you miss me?

In Piccadilly Circus in London, the huge screens above the street are each filled with the same part-animated image of Jim’s smiling face with the message beside it, and the voice plays over speakers.
VOICE (pitched high): Did you miss me? Did you miss me?
(And a view from a high vantage point shows the city of London as the voice plays on.)
VOICE (pitched high): Did you miss me? Did you miss me?

In the back of the car, as the voice plays on, Mycroft speaks a single word into his phone in response to Sherlock’s question.
MYCROFT (with a somewhat exasperated sigh in his voice): England.
(Outside the car, Mary looks at John.)
MARY: But he’s dead. I mean, you told me he was dead, Moriarty.
JOHN: Absolutely. He blew his own brains out.
MARY: So how can he be back?
JOHN (turning and looking to his right): Well, if he is ... he’d better wrap up warm.
(Mary turns to follow his gaze.)
JOHN: There’s an East Wind coming.
(He and Mary watch as Sherlock’s plane comes in to land.)

The familiar drum beat starts up again and this time the theme tune follows and the closing credits roll to the end.

And then ...

As the Hartswood, BBC and Masterpiece logos fade, Jim Moriarty, now no longer animated but live and standing facing the right, looks towards the camera straight-faced and speaks in his normal voice.

JIM: Miss me?

*** END OF THE EPISODE ***

 

 

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Au total, 92 membres ont visionné cet épisode ! Ci-dessous les derniers à l'avoir vu...

AliM88 
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mnoandco, Avant-hier à 07:59

vous avez jusqu'au 31 juillet pour les envoyer. Merci

chrismaz66, Avant-hier à 11:42

Nouvelle PDM chez Torchwood, inutile de connaître la série, votez pour la photo d'équipe la plus yeah ^^

elyxir, Hier à 11:17

Viens vite participer à l'animation "A ton clavier" sur Sherlock ! Pas besoin de connaître la série, des Cards à gagner

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Nouveau sondage spécial nouvelle saison de La Casa de Papel ! Bonne découverte de ces épisodes inédits et bonne journée !

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