John Watson sits in a chair as the rain pours down outside the window and thunder rumbles. He looks tired and his face is full of pain. 

ELLA (offscreen): Why today?

(John frowns enquiringly. His therapist is sitting opposite him.)

JOHN: D’you want to hear me say it?

ELLA: Eighteen months since our last appointment.

JOHN (his voice becoming quietly angry): D’you read the papers?

ELLA: Sometimes.

JOHN: Mmm, and you watch telly? You know why I’m here.

(There’s a pained groan in his voice as he ends the sentence.)

JOHN: I’m here because ...

(His voice breaks and he can’t continue. He looks down, swallowing hard as he fights not to weep. Ella leans forward sympathetically.)

ELLA: What happened, John?

(John closes his eyes, trying to get control of himself, then looks up at her again, his eyes full of loss. He clears his throat and breathes heavily.)

JOHN (his voice breaking): Sher...

(He can’t continue and he clears his throat again, swallowing hard.)

ELLA (gently): You need to get it out.

JOHN (softly, his voice full of pain and tears): My best friend ... Sherlock Holmes ...

(He sniffs, forcing his voice through the anguish.)

JOHN: ... is d*ad.

(He breaks and begins to cry.)

Opening Credits.

THREE MONTHS EARLIER. In an art gallery, the Director of the gallery is finishing his speech as he stands near a painting. 

GALLERY DIRECTOR: Falls of the Reichenbach, Turner’s masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

(The patrons applaud. Sherlock and John are standing nearby. The Director gives a small gift-wrapped box to Sherlock.)

DIRECTOR: A small token of our gratitude.

(Sherlock takes the box and looks at it.)

SHERLOCK: Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons.

JOHN (to the Director): He means thank you.

SHERLOCK: Do I?

JOHN: Just say it.

SHERLOCK (insincerely to the Director): Thank you.

(He starts to walk away but John holds him back.)

JOHN: Hey.

(Sherlock stops unwillingly as the press start taking photographs. Later, one of the photographs appears in a newspaper article headed “Hero of the Reichenbach”. The straplines read “Turner masterpiece recovered by ‘amateur’ ; “Scotland Yard embarrased [sic] by overlooked clues”. The text of the article reads: “A Turner masterpiece worth £1.7million that was stolen from an auction house ten days ago has been recovered by an amateur detective from North London. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street has been investigating the art crime simply as a hobby, and yet he was able to follow the trail that lead [sic] him to the famous work – a trail that Scotland Yard missed completely. Sherlock Holmes has gained cult following following the publication of his website – The Sci- ...” at which point the text disappears offscreen. [And, really, “Sherlock” production team, could you not take just a couple more minutes to make your newspaper articles more professional-looking, write sensible English and check the bleedin’ spelling?!])

(A new newspaper article reads ”Top Banker Kidnapped” and the text reads: ”Sherlock Holmes was last night being hailed a hero yet again for masterminding the daring escape of the kidnapped man. // Scotland Yard had to secretly bring in their special w*apon (in the form of Mr Holmes) yet again. The case has drawn a huge amount of attention as the nation became divided about the outcome of the kidnapping. Bankers are certainly not the nations [sic] sweethearts any more, but Mr. Holmes certainly seems to be. As huge crowds gathered for the press conference, Mr Holmes was presented with a gift from...” and then the text disappears offscreen. Outside the banker’s house, the rescued man is standing with his arms around his wife and young son as the press film and photograph them while Sherlock and John stand uncomfortably nearby.)

FATHER: Back together with my family after my terrifying ordeal; and we have one person to thank for my deliverance – Sherlock Holmes.

(As the public applaud, the boy smiles and offers a small gift-wrapped box to Sherlock. He takes it and rattles it briefly.)

SHERLOCK (to John): Tie pin. I don’t wear ties.

JOHN: Shh.

(A photograph of the scene appears in the next edition of the newspaper, headed “Reichenbach hero finds kidnap victim”.)

(New article: ”Ricoletti evades capture”. Your transcriber is already nearing page three of this transcript and is only two and a half minutes into the episode so let’s leave out the text of the article, but it suggests that the man named in the headline was responsible for the banker’s kidnap. We cut to Scotland Yard where D.I. Greg Lestrade is addressing a press conference. Sherlock and John stand nearby, and D.S. Sally Donovan and Doctor WhoCaresWhatHisFirstNameIs Anderson are at the back of the room.)

LESTRADE: Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol’s Most Wanted list since nineteen eighty-two. But we got him; and there’s one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads ... with all his customary diplomacy and tact(!)

(Sherlock smiles insincerely towards Greg while John leans closer to Sherlock and speaks quietly.)

JOHN: Sarcasm.

SHERLOCK: Yes.

(As the press applaud, Greg walks over to Sherlock and gives him a gift-wrapped package, smiling cheerfully.)

LESTRADE: We all chipped in.

(As Sherlock tears open the wrapping paper, Sally and Anderson grin expectantly. He pulls out a deerstalker hat.)

SHERLOCK (trying to smile): Oh!

FIRST REPORTER: Put the hat on!

SECOND REPORTER: Put the hat on!

LESTRADE: Yeah, Sherlock, put it on!

(Sherlock looks at the reporters as if he’d like to k*ll them. John clears his throat uncomfortably.)

JOHN (quietly): Just get it over with.

(Glowering at him, Sherlock shoves the wrapping paper into his hands, then unhappily puts the hat on his head. Flashbulbs go mad and everyone applauds. At the back of the room, Sally claps with sarcastic delight as Anderson, the douche, grins smugly. Sherlock smiles at the press through gritted teeth and glances at Greg as if promising him a world of pain later.)

(Some time later, the “Daily Star” prints a World Exclusive on its front page: ”Boffin Sherlock solves another” with the strapline: ”Hero ’Tec cracks ‘unsolvable’ case”.)

221B BAKER STREET. John is sitting on the sofa reading the papers while Sherlock, wearing his blue dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, stomps across the room and throws the Daily Star onto the pile of newspapers on the coffee table. 

SHERLOCK (indignantly): “Boffin”. “Boffin Sherlock Holmes”.

JOHN: Everybody gets one.

SHERLOCK: One what?

JOHN: Tabloid nickname: ‘SuBo’; ‘Nasty Nick’. Shouldn’t worry – I’ll probably get one soon.

SHERLOCK: Page five, column six, first sentence.

(John turns to the relevant page. Sherlock goes over to the fireplace, picks up the deerstalker, holds it up and punches it angrily.)

SHERLOCK: Why is it always the hat photograph?

JOHN (looking at the newspaper article): “Bachelor John Watson”?

SHERLOCK: What sort of hat is it anyway?

JOHN: “Bachelor”? What the hell are they implying?

SHERLOCK (holding up the hat and twisting it back and forth rapidly): Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?

JOHN (glancing up briefly): It’s a deerstalker. (He reads more of the article.) “Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson ...”

SHERLOCK: You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do – throw it?

JOHN (looking at another part of the article): “... confirmed bachelor John Watson”!

SHERLOCK: Some sort of death frisbee?

JOHN: Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful.

SHERLOCK: It’s got flaps ... ear flaps. It’s an ear hat, John.

(He accurately skims the hat across the room to John, who doesn’t even have to lift his hand to catch it.)

SHERLOCK: What do you mean, “more careful”?

JOHN: I mean this isn’t a deerstalker now; it’s a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you’re not exactly a private detective any more. (He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.) You’re this far from famous.

SHERLOCK: Oh, it’ll pass.

(He slumps down into his armchair and folds his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth.)

JOHN: It’d better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they’ll turn on you.

(Sherlock lowers his hands and looks more closely at John.)

SHERLOCK: It really bothers you.

JOHN: What?

SHERLOCK: What people say.

JOHN: Yes.

SHERLOCK: About me? I don’t understand – why would it upset you?

(John holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away.)

JOHN: Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news.

TOWER OF LONDON 11:00

Tourists are walking about in the grounds, looking around, talking to the Beefeaters, taking photographs. One tourist wearing jeans, trainers, a light grey jacket and a cap with “London” printed on it and with a union flag on the peak is aiming his camera phone around and taking pictures like all the others, but this one appears to be more interested in the security staff than anything else. The other thing that piques his interest is the sign pointing the way to the Crown Jewels. He lowers his camera, chewing nonchalantly on a piece of gum, and we see that this is none other than Jim Moriarty.

At 221B, a phone in the living room trills a text alert. Sherlock is sitting at the table in the kitchen, looking into his microscope. John comes along the corridor leading from Sherlock’s bedroom [your transcriber is saying nothing, but just look at the height of her raised eyebrows ...] with wet hair, wearing a bathrobe and towelling the back of his neck dry. 

JOHN: It’s your phone.

SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): Mm. Keeps doing that.

(John walks into the living room past the body in a suit which is hanging by its neck from the ceiling and sits down in his chair, picking up a newspaper. The body sways gently in the breeze.)

JOHN: So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?

(Sherlock looks up and glances across to the body. We realise that it’s not a real person but a mannequin.)

SHERLOCK: Oh. Henry Fishgard never committed su1c1de.

(He picks up an old hardback book from the table and slams it shut in a flurry of dust before going back to his microscope.)

SHERLOCK: Bow Street Runners: missed everything.

JOHN: Pressing case, is it?(!)

SHERLOCK: They’re all pressing ’til they’re solved.

At the White Tower in the Tower of London, tourists are passing through a metal detector on their way to see the Crown Jewels. A security man gives some items back to a tourist. 

SECURITY MAN: Put this in your bag, please.

(Jim walks through the detector which beeps an alarm.)

SECURITY MAN: Excuse me, sir.

(Still chewing on his gum, Jim stops and steps back again.)

SECURITY MAN: Any metal objects – keys, mobile phones?

(Smiling apologetically, Jim takes his phone out of his pocket and puts it into the tray.)

SECURITY MAN: You can go through.

(Jim steps through the detector again, which stays silent this time. The security man slides the tray across and Jim takes the phone again.)

SECURITY MAN: Thank you.

(Jim walks on and enters the room. He stops at the large display case in the middle of the room and looks at the throne inside the case. On the throne is a red velvet cushion with an ornate crown resting on it. An equally ornate orb is balanced on one arm of the throne and a sceptre rests across the other arm. As other tourists walk around the case, Jim takes a pair of earphones from his pocket and pokes them into his ears. Bending his head from side to side to crack his neck, he lifts his phone and switches it on, then closes his eyes in bliss, still rolling his head on his neck and spreading his arms either side of him and then slowly beginning to lower them as the Overture to Rossini’s “The Thieving Magpie” begins to play.)

(In the nearby surveillance room, one of the two men watching the security footage from all around the Tower turns to his colleague.)

SURVEILLANCE MAN 1: Fancy a cuppa, then, mate?

SURVEILLANCE MAN 2: Yeah, why not?

(The first man gets up and walks away.)

BANK OF ENGLAND 11:00

A man brings a tray containing a cup and saucer and a milk jug into the office of the bank’s Director. 

BANK DIRECTOR (looking at his computer screen): Gilts at seven; Dutch telecoms in freefall. Thank you, Harvey.

(Harvey puts the tray down onto the table and leaves the room again.)

PENTONVILLE PRISON 11:00

The prison’s governor, with an enormous “Keep calm and carry on” mug full of tea on his desk, slams a file down onto his desk as several warders sit or stand nearby. 

PRISON GOVERNOR: What do you say: refuse them all parole and bring back the rope(!) Let’s begin.

At the Tower, Jim finishes lowering his arms and then lifts up the phone and scrolls through the app icons on it. He pushes aside the one that has a cartoon of a prisoner with striped prison clothes and standing behind bars, scrolls past the one of a piggy bank with the English flag on it, and selects the one with a crown on it. The icon of the crown unfolds like a padlock being unlocked and digital code begins to stream out into the air, and in the surveillance room alarms begin to beep in warning as some of the TV screens go blank. An automated voice plays into the White Tower. 

VOICE (repeatedly): This is an emergency. Please leave the building.

(The tourists start to hurry out of the room. A security guard walks over to Jim, assuming that he can’t hear the alarm through his earphones, and puts a hand on his shoulder to attract his attention.)

SECURITY GUARD: Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.

(Jim turns and sprays something into his face and he immediately collapses unconscious. The security door closes and locks, and Jim takes his cap off and smoothes his hair out. In the surveillance room, the man slams down the cups of tea he was bringing back and grabs a phone as he starts to dial.)

At Scotland Yard, Sally Donovan hurries across the office and opens the door to Greg’s office. 

DONOVAN: Sir, there’s been a break-in.

(Greg has his feet up on the desk and is drinking coffee and eating a pastry.)

LESTRADE (with his mouth full): Not our division.

DONOVAN: You’ll want it.

At the White Tower, Jim scrolls through the apps on his phone and selects the English piggy bank. The piggy bank breaks open to reveal many gold coins, and digital code streams out into the air. At the Bank of England, the Director looks down at the cup of tea he is holding as the liquid inside begins to shimmer and the building vibrates gently. 

BANK DIRECTOR: The vault!

(Alarms blare and his screen flashes the alarm “VAULT OPENING” as a graphic shows the door to the vault swinging slowly open. The Director’s jaw drops and he stares in disbelief, his tea cup slowly tilting in his hand until the tea pours out into his lap.)

Greg is driving Sally across the river with sirens blaring. Sally has just got an update on her phone. 

LESTRADE: Hacked into the Tower of bloody London security?! How?!

(Sally’s phone rings and she answers it.)

LESTRADE: Tell them we’re already on our way.

DONOVAN: There’s been another one; another break-in.

(Greg stares across at her as she listens.)

DONOVAN: Bank of England!

At the White Tower, Jim is chomping on his gum as he flamboyantly scrawls a message onto the glass of the display case. Finishing the message – which we can’t yet clearly see – he draws a smiley face inside the letter “O”. Lifting his phone once more, he selects the app with the prisoner on it. The bars over the prisoner lift away and the striped jacket which the icon is wearing turns into a plain black one, then the image changes to a keyhole. Digital code streams out into the air. In Pentonville Prison, the governor is just lifting his mug to his mouth as alarms begin to sound. A prison warder bursts into the room. 

PRISON WARDER: Sir, security’s down, sir. It’s failing!

(The governor surges to his feet, accidentally sweeping his mug off the table and onto the floor.)

On the road, Sally gets another phonecall. Greg looks across to her. 

LESTRADE: What is it now?

DONOVAN: Pentonville Prison!

(Greg stares at her in disbelief.)

LESTRADE: Oh no!

At the White Tower, Jim holds his piece of chewing gum between his teeth and pulls the end of it out towards the case and sticks it onto the glass. Leaving the whole piece of gum stuck there, he takes a tiny diamond from a box and, grinning manically, carefully presses the jewel into the gum. Turning away from the case, he slips his jacket off and drops it to the floor, revealing a plain white V-necked T-shirt underneath, then raises his arms upwards either side above his head in an almost balletic flourish. Outside, police cars and vans begin to pour into the Tower grounds. Jim continues to dance around the White Tower while outside, the last of the tourists are hustled out of the building. Pulling black leather mitts onto his hands, Jim goes to the wall and picks up a f*re extinguisher. Outside, armed police leap out of a van and run into the Tower. Inside, Jim dances dramatically towards the case, raises the f*re extinguisher with the bottom end pointed towards the glass and, grinning happily, rams it towards the chewing gum and diamond. The glass shatters around the impact point. The armed police charge through the metal detector, repeatedly setting the alarm off. Jim smashes the extinguisher into the glass a couple more times and eventually the entire pane disintegrates and falls to the floor.

Greg’s car screams into the grounds and he and Sally jump out and race into the White Tower. Inside, the armed police disable the lock to the door and it swings open. They charge inside and are greeted by the sight of Jim Moriarty sitting on the throne inside the case, wearing an ermine trimmed robe, the crown on his head, the orb between his knees and holding the sceptre across his lap, with his earphones still in. He has his eyes closed in bliss as the music comes to an end. He opens his eyes and smiles at the new arrivals. 

JIM (calmly): No rush.

221B. Sherlock’s phone trills another text alert. John lowers his newspaper. 

JOHN (tetchily): I’ll get it, shall I?

(He gets up and walks over to the phone, picking it up and checking the message as Sherlock continues to look into his microscope. John’s face slowly fills with shock. He turns and takes the phone to the kitchen, holding it out to Sherlock.)

JOHN: Here.

SHERLOCK (not looking up): Not now, I’m busy.

JOHN: Sherlock ...

SHERLOCK: Not now.

JOHN (breathing heavily): He’s back.

(Sherlock lifts his head and takes the phone. The message reads: 

Come and play.

Tower Hill.

Jim Moriarty x.

Sherlock’s eyes widen and he sinks back on his chair and gazes into space.)

Back at the Tower, Jim is smiling calmly as he is being put into the back of a police car. Behind him, Greg and Sally come out of the building and watch, then Greg looks down at Jim’s phone which he is holding.

Later, Sherlock and John have arrived at the Tower and they are watching the recorded security footage taken from behind Jim as he sticks the gum onto the glass. From a distance it’s not clear what he then pushes into the gum.

LESTRADE: That glass is tougher than anything.

SHERLOCK: Not tougher than crystallised carbon. He used a diamond.

(Greg adjusts the footage, which shifts to a recording taken from the other side of the glass. The footage also goes into reverse, showing the glass rising back up into place before it shattered. As Jim pulls the f*re extinguisher back again and the glass becomes whole, the message which he scrawled onto it becomes clear. He deliberately wrote the words backwards on the glass so that they would be seen from the camera on the other side of the case. With the smiley face inside the “O”, the message reads:

GET

SHERLOCK

John turns and stares at Sherlock but his eyes are fixed on the screen.)

Nina Simone’s song “Sinnerman” plays over the next few scenes.

The “Daily Express” has somehow obtained the security image with the message clear on the glass, and has run it on its front page with the headline: “Crime of the Century?” The rest of the text reads: “Questions are being asked in parliament as to how the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison and the Bank of England were all broken into at the same time by the same man – James Moriarty. // There are unconfirmed reports that Scotland Yard’s favourite sleuth Mr Sherlock Holmes has been called in to help the team piece together the most audacious crime ... Turn to page 5”.

Some indeterminate time later a new front page headline [from the “Daily Mail”, I think] reads: ”Jewel Thief on trial at Bailey” and the first few paragraphs read: ”Crown Jewel thief is to be tried at the Old Bailey and Sherlock Holmes is named as a witness for the prosecution. // Master criminal Moriarty taunted Holmes with his graffitied GET SHERLOCK at the scene of the crime. The crime is attracting huge attention internationally too. // Irish born Moriarty – of no fixed abode, seems to be taunting the master detective. // Boffin Holmes, accompanied by confirmed bachelor John Watson – refused to comment. // Crowds gathered yesterday for what is being described as the trial of the century.” [After that the text keeps repeating. Do the production team not know that we have the ability to freeze frame and read these articles because we are ludicrously obsessive and will not only notice the repetition but the annoying mixed up use of dashes and commas?!]

“The Guardian” leads with the headline ”Amateur detective to be called as expert witness” and the strapline ”Scotland Yard calls upon ‘nation’s favourite detective’ in Moriarty trail” [which your transcriber assumes should read ‘trial’ ...]. The picture is of Sherlock putting on the deerstalker hat at the Scotland Yard press conference and the text reads: ”In a twist worthy of a Conan Doyle novella, Mr Sherlock Holmes was yesterday revealed to be an expert witness at the trial of ‘Jim’ Moriarty. Described by many commentators as the trial of the century, the case has all the ingredients of a block buster film. The royal family, Scotland yard [sic], the world of finance and greed, the ‘underclass’ of prisoners out to reek [sic] revenge as they enjoy their own fifteen minutes of freedom. The case is riddled with irony and intrigue but perhaps reflects a deeper malaise that seems to be at the heart of a society. // Mr Holmes, a man of few words, declined to comment when asked his involvement in the case. It is understood that a woefully depleted Scotland ...” [and then the text goes off the screen].

221B. John is standing in front of the mirror in the living room. He is wearing a suit and finishes tying his tie before putting his jacket on. Near the sofa, Sherlock is buttoning up his own jacket. Your transcriber bites her lip. Sherlock leads the way downstairs and goes to the front door, then stops and turns to the side to allow John to pass him and reach out towards the door. 

JOHN: Ready?

SHERLOCK: Yes.

(Bracing himself, John opens the door. Police officers are trying to hold back the large crowd of journalists who immediately start photographing the pair and calling out questions as the police clear the way and allow the boys through to the waiting police car. They get into the back and the car pulls away and races off with its sirens wailing.)

(At the Old Bailey, Jim is in a cell wearing a smart light grey suit, white shirt and pale grey tie and silver tie pin with matching grey handkerchief in the breast pocket. A prison guard is checking the handcuffs which shackle him to two nearby officers. Not long afterwards and surrounded by prison officers, he is being escorted along the corridors towards the court. As he walks along, a small smile begins to creep onto his face.)

(The police car is just going around Trafalgar Square.)

JOHN: Remember ...

SHERLOCK (instantly): Yes.

JOHN (insistently): Remember ...

SHERLOCK (even more quickly): Yes.

(John looks away in frustration, then goes for broke and speaks quickly.)

JOHN: Remember what they told you: don’t try to be clever ...

SHERLOCK (talking over him): No.

JOHN: ... and please, just keep it simple and brief.

SHERLOCK: God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent.

JOHN: ‘Intelligent’, fine; let’s give ‘smart-arse’ a wide berth.

(There’s a slight pause.)

SHERLOCK: I’ll just be myself.

JOHN (irritated): Are you listening to me?!

(At the Old Bailey Jim is marched up the stairs into the courtroom, two prison officers holding him by the shoulders. Outside, TV reporters are talking into various cameras as they record pieces for the news programmes.)

ITN REPORTER: ... here today standing outside ...

SKY NEWS REPORTER: ... This is the trial of the century ...

BBC NEWS REPORTER: ... the trial of James Moriarty ...

(We see brief clips of their broadcasts as seen on television.)

SKY NEWS REPORTER: ... James Moriarty, earlier today accused of attempt...

ITN REPORTER: ... of attempting to steal the Crown Jewels ...

BBC NEWS REPORTER: ... at the Old Bailey we have Reichenbach Hero Sherlock Holmes ...

(Jim and his prison escort reach the top of the stairs and he is turned sideways and walked into the dock. As a female prison officer comes across to check his restraints, he turns his head and murmurs into her ear.)

JIM: Would you mind slipping your hand into my pocket?

(The officer looks at one of her male colleagues, who nods in agreement. Looking rather uncomfortable, she slides her fingers into Jim’s trouser pocket and pulls out the contents as Jim breathes very close to her face and gazes into her eyes before poking his tongue out. She puts what she has found in his pocket – a piece of chewing gum – onto his tongue and he draws his tongue back in and begins to chew, smiling at her creepily.)

JIM: Thanks.

Sherlock is in the toilets at the Old Bailey washing his hands. 

TANNOY ANNOUNCEMENT: Crown versus Moriarty – please proceed to Court Ten.

(As he turns off the taps, a woman standing behind him and wearing a deerstalker hat stares at him in awestruck amazement as her bag slips out of her fingers and drops to the floor.)

KITTY: You’re him.

(Sherlock realises that as well as the hat she’s also wearing an “I (heart) Sherlock” badge.)

SHERLOCK: Wrong toilet.

KITTY: I’m a big fan.

SHERLOCK (turning towards her): Evidently.

KITTY: I read your cases; follow them all. (She steps closer, gazing at him adoringly.) Sign my shirt, would you?

(She peels back her coat to reveal that her blouse is opened quite low and she is showing a lot of cleavage. She offers him a pen which she already has in her hand.)

SHERLOCK: There are two types of fans.

KITTY: Oh?

SHERLOCK: “Catch me before I k*ll again” – Type A ...

KITTY: Uh-huh. What’s Type B?

SHERLOCK: “Your bedroom’s just a taxi ride away.”

(Kitty grins, her eyes still locked on his.)

KITTY: Guess which one I am.

(Sherlock runs his eyes down her body [and other fans vow to k*ll her at the first possible chance] and does a speed deduction:

pressure marks

pocket

ink

He has the answer instantly.)

SHERLOCK: Neither.

KITTY (blinking a little nervously): Really?

SHERLOCK: No. You’re not a fan at all.

(He looks at the indentations just below her right wrist.)

SHERLOCK: Those marks on your forearm: edge of a desk. You’ve been typing in a hurry, probably. Pressure on; facing a deadline.

KITTY (looking away): That all?

SHERLOCK: And there’s a smudge of ink on your wrist; and a bulge in your left jacket pocket.

(He and Kitty look down to her pocket from which is protruding the edge of a dictaphone, which has a red light shining on it showing that it’s recording.)

KITTY: Bit of a giveaway.

SHERLOCK: The smudge is deliberate, to see if I’m as good as they say I am.

(He lifts her hand and sniffs the ink on her wrist.)

SHERLOCK: Hmm. Oil-based; used in newspaper print, but drawn on with an index finger; your finger.

KITTY: Hmm!

SHERLOCK: Journalist. Unlikely you’d get your hands dirty at the press. You put that there to test me.

KITTY: Wow, I’m liking you!

SHERLOCK: You mean I’d make a great feature: “Sherlock Holmes – the man beneath the hat”.

KITTY: Kitty ... (she takes the hat off) ... Riley. Pleased to meet you.

(She offers her hand for him to shake.)

SHERLOCK: No. I’m just saving you the trouble of asking. No, I won’t give you an interview; no, I don’t want the money.

(Pushing past her, he heads for the door. She chases after him.)

KITTY: You and John Watson – just platonic? Can I put you down for a “no” there, as well?

(She stops him from opening the door and gets in his way, stepping well into his personal space. He breathes loudly and angrily.)

KITTY: There’s all sorts of gossip in the press about you. Sooner or later you’re gonna need someone on your side ...

(Reaching into her pocket, she holds up her business card and then tucks it into his breast pocket.)

KITTY: ... someone to set the record straight.

SHERLOCK (smiling sarcastically): And you think you’re the girl for that job, do you?

KITTY: I’m smart, and you can trust me, totally.

SHERLOCK: Smart, okay: investigative journalist. Good. Well, look at me and tell me what you see.

(She stares at him blankly, perhaps a little overwhelmed by the way he is swaying gently in front of her.)

SHERLOCK: If you’re that skilful, you don’t need an interview. You can just read what you need.

(She looks awkward and can’t continue to meet his eyes.)

SHERLOCK: No? Okay, my turn.

(He paces around her as he looks her over.)

SHERLOCK (quickfire): I look at you and I see someone who’s still waiting for their first big scoop so that their editor will notice them. You’re wearing an expensive skirt but it’s been re-hemmed twice; only posh skirt you’ve got. And your nails: you can’t afford to do them that often. I see someone who’s hungry. I don’t see smart, and I definitely don’t see trustworthy, but I’ll give you a quote if you like – three little words.

(He reaches down and takes the dictaphone from her pocket, holding it up to his mouth as she steps closer hopefully.)

SHERLOCK (slowly, deliberately): You ... repel ... me.

(He turns and leaves the room.)

OLD BAILEY, COURT TEN. Sherlock has been called to give his evidence and is standing in the witness box. Jim is in the dock opposite him, still nonchalantly chewing on his gum. John is sitting in the public gallery upstairs. 

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: A “consulting criminal”.

SHERLOCK: Yes.

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: Your words. Can you expand on that answer?

SHERLOCK: James Moriarty is for hire.

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: A tradesman?

SHERLOCK: Yes.

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: But not the sort who’d fix your heating.

SHERLOCK: No, the sort who’d plant a b*mb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.

(There’s muffled laughter from some people in the court, and the prosecuting barrister tries to hide her smile.)

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: Would you describe him as ...

SHERLOCK (interrupting): Leading.

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: What?

SHERLOCK: Can’t do that. You’re leading the witness. (He looks towards the defending barrister.) He’ll object and the judge will uphold.

(The judge looks exasperated – clearly this isn’t the first time Sherlock has done this during his evidence.)

JUDGE: Mr. Holmes.

SHERLOCK (to the prosecuting barrister): Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?

JUDGE: Mr. Holmes, we’re fine without your help.

(Kitty comes into the public gallery. John looks round at her as she finds a seat.)

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: How would you describe this man – his character?

SHERLOCK: First mistake. (He raises his eyes and locks his gaze onto Jim.) James Moriarty isn’t a man at all – he’s a spider; a spider at the centre of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.

(Jim almost imperceptibly nods his head in approval of the description. The prosecuting barrister clears her throat awkwardly.)

PROSECUTING BARRISTER: And how long ...

SHERLOCK (closing his eyes in exasperation): No, no, don’t-don’t do that. That’s really not a good question.

JUDGE (angrily): Mr. Holmes.

SHERLOCK: How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a g*n; he tried to blow me up. (Sarcastically) I felt we had a special something.

(Jim raises his eyebrows in an “ooh!” expression.)

JUDGE: Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?

SHERLOCK: Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample.

JUDGE: Mr. Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury.

SHERLOCK: Oh, really?

(His eyes turn towards the jury box. John raises his hand to his head in an all-too-recognisable “oh, shit, NO!” gesture. Sherlock turns the full force of his gaze onto the twelve people sitting in the jury box and has deduced all of them within a couple of seconds.)

SHERLOCK: One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City.

(He focuses on the woman at the far left of the front row. She has a notebook resting on the ledge in front of her and is writing in shorthand.)

SHERLOCK: The foreman’s a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand.

JUDGE: Mr. Holmes!

SHERLOCK (scanning rings on the jury members’ fingers): Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they’ve just had tea and biscuits.

(He turns to the judge.)

SHERLOCK: Would you like to know who ate the wafer?

JUDGE (angrily): Mr. Holmes. You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess.

(Sherlock takes a breath but can’t help smiling a little at the acknowledgement of his ‘intellectual prowess’. John stares at him sternly.)

JUDGE: Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?

(Sherlock pauses as he gives the question some thought, then opens his mouth.)

Shortly afterwards, a prison officer marches Sherlock into one of the cells under the courts and shoves him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. A recess has apparently been called in the trial and so a little later two more officers walk Jim to the adjoining cell and lock him inside. As if sensing each other, the two men turn and look at the wall separating them. Jim’s expression slowly becomes m*rder.

Some time later Sherlock is being released. As he signs for his personal property, John is standing beside him leaning back on the desk with his arms folded. 

JOHN: What did I say? I said, “Don’t get clever.”

SHERLOCK: I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap.

(Taking the bag of items from the custody officer, he turns to John.)

SHERLOCK: Well?

JOHN: Well what?

SHERLOCK: You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish.

JOHN: Like you said it would be ... (referring to Jim’s defending barrister) ... he sat on his backside, never even stirred.

SHERLOCK: Moriarty’s not mounting any defence.

221B. The boys walk into the living room. 

JOHN: Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why.

(He sits down in his armchair as Sherlock begins to pace.)

JOHN: All we know is ...

SHERLOCK: ... he ended up in custody.

(He stops and turns to John. John takes a breath.)

JOHN: Don’t do that.

SHERLOCK: Do what?

JOHN: The look.

SHERLOCK: Look?

JOHN: You’re doing the look again.

SHERLOCK: Well, I can’t see it, can I?

(John points to the mirror on the wall as if Sherlock’s an idiot for not realising it’s there. Sherlock turns his head and looks at his reflection.)

SHERLOCK: It’s my face.

JOHN: Yes, and it’s doing a thing. You’re doing a “we both know what’s really going on here” face.

SHERLOCK: Well, we do.

JOHN: No. I don’t, which is why I find The Face so annoying.

SHERLOCK: If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he’d have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they’d be out on the streets. The only reason he’s still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there.

(He starts to pace again.)

SHERLOCK: Somehow this is part of his scheme.

NEXT DAY (presumably, as there can’t be that many more witnesses for the prosecution). OLD BAILEY. 

JUDGE: Mr. Crayhill, can we have your first witness?

(The defending barrister rises to his feet.)

DEFENDING BARRISTER: Your Honour, we’re not calling any witnesses.

(There are cries of surprise around the court, and John – sitting in the public gallery – frowns in confusion.)

JUDGE: I don’t follow. You’ve entered a plea of Not Guilty.

DEFENDING BARRISTER: Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defence rests.

(He sits down. Jim purses his lips ruefully at the judge, then turns and looks up to John, shrugging at him.)

Not long afterwards, Sherlock – who chose to stay back at home – sits up sideways on the sofa with his back against the arm nearest the window. Wearing his blue dressing gown over his clothes, he softly recites the only words that the judge can possibly say in his summing-up speech. His recitation is interspersed with the actual words from the judge, and frequently their lines overlap. 

SHERLOCK/JUDGE: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which – if he’s found guilty – will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty.

(Sherlock closes his eyes.)

SHERLOCK (in a whisper): Guilty.

JUDGE: You must find him guilty.

(The court adjourns at 10:42. At 10:50 John is sitting on a bench just outside the courtroom when the Clerk of the Court hurries out of a side room.)

CLERK: They’re coming back.

(John looks at his watch.)

JOHN: That’s six minutes.

([Yes, he does say six minutes and the two times above are correct. Either John took into account how long it took the jury to leave the court and go to their allocated room, or the production team needs another slap.])

CLERK: Surprised it took them that long, to be honest. There’s a queue for the loo.

(He hurries into the court. John stands up, takes a moment to brace himself and then follows. A few minutes later the Clerk rises to his feet in the courtroom and turns to face the jury.)

CLERK: Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?

(One of the jury members lowers his head and shakes it in tiny despairing motions as the foreman gets to her feet and stares at the Clerk unhappily.)

At 221B, Sherlock’s phone begins to ring. His eyes snap open. Outside the court, John is hurrying along the pavement. 

JOHN (into phone): Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty. No defence, and Moriarty’s walked free.

(Sherlock lowers his phone.)

JOHN (into phone): Sherlock. Are you listening? He’s out. You-you know he’ll be coming after you. Sher...

(Sherlock switches the phone off and gets up off the sofa. In the kitchen he switches on the kettle and slams down a small tray beside it, putting a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a teapot and two cups and saucers with teaspoons onto the tray. The kettle comes to the boil and switches off and Sherlock, now wearing a jacket in place of the dressing gown, makes the tea and takes the tray to the table beside John’s chair, then walks over to his own chair and picks up his violin and bow. As he begins to play Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor, downstairs the front door is expertly lockpicked and pushed open. Jim’s easily-recognisable shadow precedes him as he slowly walks along the hall and up the stairs. Partway up, one of the stairs creaks noisily and Jim pauses for a moment, as does Sherlock’s playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumes from a few notes before where he stopped and Jim starts to climb the stairs again. Sherlock, standing with his back to the living room door, keeps playing until Jim pushes open the door, then he stops but doesn’t yet turn around.)

SHERLOCK: Most people knock. (He shrugs.) But then you’re not most people, I suppose.

(He gestures over his shoulder with his bow towards the table.)

SHERLOCK: Kettle’s just boiled.

(Jim walks further into the room and bends to pick up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table.)

JIM: Johann Sebastian would be appalled.

(Tossing the apple and catching it [in an Arthur Shappey-like attempt to be really happy for a brief moment], he looks around the living room as if searching for a seat.)

JIM: May I?

SHERLOCK (turning to face him): Please.

(He gestures with the end of his bow towards John’s chair. Jim immediately walks over to Sherlock’s chair and sits in that one instead. Sherlock looks slightly unnerved. Jim takes out a small penknife and starts to cut into the apple as Sherlock puts down the violin and begins to pour tea into the cups.)

JIM: You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ...

SHERLOCK: ... and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.

JIM: Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.

SHERLOCK: Neither can you. That’s why you’ve come.

JIM: But be honest: you’re just a tiny bit pleased.

SHERLOCK: What, with the verdict?

(He picks up one of the teacups, adds a splash of milk and turns and offers the cup to Jim, who sits up straighter and takes it.)

JIM: With me ... (softly) ... back on the streets. (He gazes up into Sherlock’s eyes, smiling.) Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.

(He grins. Sherlock turns away and adds milk to his own cup.)

JIM: You need me, or you’re nothing. Because we’re just alike, you and I – except you’re boring.

(He shakes his head in disappointment.)

JIM: You’re on the side of the angels.

(He sips his tea as Sherlock picks up his own cup and stirs his drink.)

SHERLOCK: Got to the jury, of course.

JIM: I got into the Tower of London; you think I can’t worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?

SHERLOCK: Cable network.

(Flashback to the foreman of the jury in her hotel room sitting on the side of the bed and looking at her TV screen.)

JIM (voiceover): Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen ...

(Close-up of the TV screen showing the Westhampton Hotel’s Information Service. At the top of the page the message reads “Hello Ms Williams”. The information underneath instantly changes to a photograph of two young children and a baby. A message in red above the photograph reads, “IF YOU WANT YOUR BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN TO STAY BEAUTIFUL THEN FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS”)

JIM (voiceover): ... and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm.

(The foreman stares at the TV screen in horror. At 221B, Jim lifts his teacup to his mouth again.)

JIM (softly): Easy-peasy.

(By now Sherlock has unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in John’s chair. In a perhaps unconscious mimicking of the man seated opposite him, he too has his cup lifted close to his mouth.)

SHERLOCK: So how’re you going to do it ...

(He pointedly blows gently on his tea.)

SHERLOCK: ... burn me?

JIM (softly): Oh, that’s the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?

(Sherlock has taken a sip of his tea and looks across his cup to the other man.)

JIM: What’s the final problem?

(He smiles across his own cup.)

JIM: I did tell you ... (sing-song but still softly) ... but did you listen?

(He takes another sip of tea and then puts the cup down into the saucer. Putting his hand onto his knee, he starts idly drumming his fingers. Sherlock’s eyes lower to watch the movement.)

JIM (still drumming his fingers): How hard do you find it, having to say “I don’t know”?

(Sherlock puts his cup into its saucer and shrugs.)

SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): I dunno.

JIM: Oh, that’s clever; that’s very clever; awfully clever.

(He chuckles in an upper class tone as Sherlock smiles humourlessly while putting his cup back onto the tray.)

JIM: Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?

SHERLOCK: Told them what?

JIM: Why I broke into all those places and never took anything.

SHERLOCK: No.

JIM: But you understand.

SHERLOCK: Obviously.

JIM: Off you go, then.

(He has carved a piece off his apple and puts it into his mouth with the flat of his penknife.)

SHERLOCK: You want me to tell you what you already know?

JIM: No; I want you to prove that you know it.

SHERLOCK: You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to.

JIM (softly): Good.

SHERLOCK: You’ll never need to take anything ever again.

JIM: Very good. Because ...?

SHERLOCK: Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.

JIM: I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown.

(He smiles in delight at Sherlock.)

SHERLOCK: You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do.

JIM: And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... t*rror1st cells. They all want me.

(He lifts another piece of apple to his mouth with the penknife.)

JIM: Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex.

SHERLOCK: If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?

JIM: I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. “Daddy loves me the best!” Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you’ve got John. I should get myself a live-in one.

SHERLOCK: Why are you doing all of this?

JIM (still thinking about having a live-in ordinary person): It’d be so funny.

SHERLOCK: You don’t want money or power – not really.

(Jim digs the point of his penknife into the apple.)

SHERLOCK: What is it all for?

JIM (sitting forward and speaking softly): I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem.

(He lowers his head.)

JIM: It’s gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall.

(In a cut-away moment, he raises his head and whistles a slowly descending note as he gradually looks down towards the floor.)

JIM: But don’t be scared. Falling’s just like flying except there’s a more permanent destination.

(In the cut-away, his gaze reaches the floor and he makes the sound of something thudding to the ground. Raising his head slowly, he glowers across at Sherlock, who bares his teeth slightly and then stands and buttons his jacket.)

SHERLOCK: Never liked riddles.

(Jim stands as well and straightens his jacket, locking his gaze onto Sherlock’s eyes.)

JIM: Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... owe ... you.

(He continues to gaze at Sherlock for about six seconds, sealing his promise, then slowly turns and walks away. Sherlock doesn’t move as Jim leaves the room, but after a while he moves towards the apple which Jim left on the arm of his chair with the penknife still stuck in it. He picks it up by the Kn*fe handle and looks at it. Jim has dug a large circular piece out of the apple, and on the left of the circle he has carved an “I” shape while on the right of the circle is a “U” shape, forming the letters “I O U”. Sherlock’s mouth twitches into the beginning of a smile.)

The next morning the “Daily Express” front page headline screams “MORIARTY WALKS FREE” with the strapline “Shock verdict at Old Bailey trial”. The opening paragraph reads: “The Judge could only look on dumbfounded as the Jury found ‘Jimbo’ Moriarty ‘Not Guilty’. Gasps were heard around the courtroom as the Jury declared their verdict”. “The Guardian” declares “Shock verdict at trial” and the article begins, “In an unbelievable turn of events Moriarty walked free today after putting up no defence at all for what has been described as the Trial of the Century. Star witness Sherlock Holmes was not present for the verdict as in another twist to the case was thrown out of court by the Judge. Questions have been asked in Parliament and the Prime Minister was quoted as saying ‘This is a disgrace, a sign if ever we needed one that broken Britain is still broken...” [and yes, they do open the quote with single speech marks, then close it with double speech marks]. The “Daily Star” goes with “How was he ever acquitted” [but apparently can’t be bothered to put a question mark after it].

Some time later “The Guardian” declares “Moriarty vanishes” while on one of its inside pages is a cartoon caricature of Sherlock holding a crystal ball with the caption underneath reading, “What Next for the Reichenbach Hero?”

TWO MONTHS LATER.

John goes to a NatWest cashpoint machine and inserts his card. Typing in his PIN, he then selects a transaction. After a few seconds he is greeted with the onscreen message:

There is a problem with

your card

Please wait

(John grimaces and a second later a new message appears: 

Thank you for

your patience.

A moment later the message adds: 

John

John frowns and behind him a black car pulls up to the kerb and stops. John turns and looks at it, then turns back to the ATM, sighing in exasperation. However, he still hasn’t learned his lesson about getting into strange cars and apparently meekly gets in and allows himself to be driven to an elegant white painted building which has a brass plaque outside declaring the venue to be THE DIOGENES CLUB. He goes inside and enters a large room which – back when the building used to be a house – was probably a drawing room. A large marble fireplace surrounds an unlit f*re and the walls have heavy wooden panelling and ornate white plaster coving. The room contains five small round tables, each with a single armchair beside it, and four of them are currently occupied by smartly dressed middle aged or elderly gentlemen reading newspapers and taking no notice of each other or of the new arrival. John looks around and then walks over to one of the older men sitting at the far end of the room.)

JOHN: Er, excuse me. Um, I’m looking for Mycroft Holmes.

(The old man’s face becomes appalled but he doesn’t look up.)

JOHN: Would you happen to know if he’s around at all?

(Some of the other inhabitants of the room behind John look round at him but don’t speak.)

JOHN: Can you not hear me?

(The old man looks up at him, huffing indignantly. John holds out a placatory hand to him.)

JOHN: Yes, all right.

(He turns around to the others in the room.)

JOHN: Anyone?

(The others turn their faces away from him.)

JOHN: Anyone at all know where Mycroft Holmes is? I’ve been asked to meet him here.

(The old man lifts his walking stick and pushes the end of it repeatedly onto a button on the nearby wall. A distant bell rings. John looks around in confusion as the gentlemen either ignore him or look at him in annoyance.)

JOHN: No takers? Right. (He raises his voice.) Am I invisible? Can you actually see me?

(Just then two men wearing dress coats walk into the room. John turns to them.)

JOHN: Ah, thanks, gents.

(Behind him, the elderly gentleman flaps his hand frantically at the new arrivals as if to say, ‘Get him out of here!’ The dress coated men, wearing white gloves and soft white overshoes to muffle their footsteps, walk briskly over to John.)

JOHN: I’ve been asked to meet Mycroft Holm...

(He breaks off as the men walk either side of him and seize his arms firmly.)

JOHN: What the ...? Hey!

(As they almost lift him off his feet, one of them puts his other hand over John’s mouth to silence him. His muffled protests continue as they rapidly bundle him out of the room.)

[As a footnote of potential interest, VerityBurns alerted me to the fact that the old gentleman is played by Douglas Wilmer who played the role of Sherlock Holmes in a BBC series in the 1960s. Callie-Ariane transcripts: not only hopefully entertaining and useful but educational as well!]

Shortly afterwards John has been taken to a smaller room and the door has been closed firmly behind him. Mycroft is in the room with him and pours himself a drink from a crystal decanter.

MYCROFT: Tradition, John. Our traditions define us.

JOHN: So total silence is traditional, is it? You can’t even say, “Pass the sugar.”

MYCROFT: Three-quarters of the diplomatic service and half the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley. It’s for the best, believe me.

(He smiles round at John but then his face becomes more grim as he walks towards a pair of armchairs in the middle of the room.)

MYCROFT: They don’t want a repeat of nineteen seventy-two. But we can talk in here.

(John walks to a small table and picks up a copy of “The Sun” which is lying on it. He brandishes it at Mycroft.)

JOHN: You read this stuff?

MYCROFT: Caught my eye.

JOHN (sitting down in one of the armchairs): Mmm-hmm.

MYCROFT: Saturday: they’re doing a big exposé.

(John reads the announcement at the top of the front page. The headline reads: “SHERLOCK: THE SHOCKING TRUTH” with the strapline “Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All”. The article reveals that it is an Exclusive from Kitty Riley and the text reads: “Super-sleuth Sherlock Holmes has today been exposed as a fraud in a revelation that will shock his new found base of adoring fans. // Out-of-work actor Richard Brook revealed exclusively to THE SUN that he was hired by Holmes in an elaborate deception to fool the British public into believing Holmes had above-average ‘detective skills’. // Brook, who has known Holmes for decades and until recently considered him to be a close friend, said he was at first desperate for the money, but later found he had no” [at which point the text just stops].)

JOHN: I’d love to know where she got her information.

MYCROFT: Someone called Brook. Recognise the name?

(John lowers the paper and shakes his head.)

JOHN: School friend, maybe?

(Mycroft laughs in a snide way. Your transcriber wants to slap him really quite hard.)

MYCROFT: Of Sherlock’s? (He chuckles again.) But that’s not why I asked you here.

(He walks to a side table and picks up several folders. Returning to John he gives him one of them. John opens the file and looks at the photograph on the top page.)

JOHN: Who’s that?

MYCROFT: Don’t know him?

JOHN: No.

MYCROFT: Never seen his face before?

JOHN (looking at the photo again): Umm ...

MYCROFT: He’s taken a flat in Baker Street, two doors down from you.

JOHN: Hmm! I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbours.

(He smiles sarcastically up at Mycroft who looks back at him straight-faced.)

MYCROFT: Not sure you’ll want to. (He nods towards the folder.) Sulejmani. Albanian h*t squad. Expertly-trained k*ller living less than twenty feet from your front door.

JOHN: It’s a great location. Jubilee line’s handy.

MYCROFT: John ...

JOHN: What’s it got to do with me?

MYCROFT (walking over and giving him another of the files): Dyachenko, Ludmila.

(He sits down opposite John, who lets out a long tired groan as he opens the file and looks at the photograph inside before frowning a little.)

JOHN: Um, actually, I think I have seen her.

[Of course you have, John you dog ...]

MYCROFT: Russian k*ller. She’s taken the flat opposite.

JOHN (now sounding a little nervous): Okay ... I’m sensing a pattern here.

MYCROFT (handing him the rest of the files): In fact, four top international assassins relocate to within spitting distance of two hundred and twenty-one B. Anything you care to share with me?

(Looking at the photographs of the other assassins, John chuckles, then looks up at Mycroft.)

JOHN: I’m moving?!

(Mycroft looks back at him unamused, then narrows his eyes.)

MYCROFT: It’s not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?

JOHN: You think this is Moriarty?

MYCROFT: He promised Sherlock he’d come back.

JOHN: If this was Moriarty, we’d be d*ad already.

MYCROFT: If not Moriarty, then who?

JOHN: Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him?

(Mycroft looks away and toys with the glass on the table beside him. John rolls his eyes.)

JOHN: Oh God, don’t tell me.

MYCROFT: Too much history between us, John. Old scores; resentments.

JOHN: Nicked all his Smurfs? Broke his Action Man?

(Mycroft glowers at him. John can’t help but laugh, then pulls himself together and puts the files onto the table beside him.)

JOHN (in a whisper): Finished.

(He stands up and turns to leave the room.)

MYCROFT: We both know what’s coming, John.

(John stops and turns back, clearly now struggling to control his anger.)

MYCROFT: Moriarty is obsessed. He’s sworn to destroy his only rival.

JOHN (tightly): So you want me to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help.

MYCROFT: If it’s not too much trouble.

(He directs a smile at John but it quickly fades and his expression becomes more thr*at. John holds his gaze, then looks away, nods in a resigned way and turns to go to the door again. Opening it, he looks back at Mycroft once more, who still has the same look on his face, then leaves the room.)

221B. A taxi drops John off opposite the flat. As he crosses the road, he can’t help but be aware of people passing by in the street, wondering if any of them are the assassins keeping an eye on the flat. As John reaches the front door – which is standing wide open – he sees that a brown envelope has been left on the doorstep. There is nothing written on the front but the back has a large old fashioned wax seal on it. He peels open one corner of the envelope and puts his finger in to slide it along the edge and slice the rest of the envelope open. Immediately a lot of brown dust, with some larger chunks of brown something, fall out. As he catches some of the debris and looks at it, a man’s Cockney voice speaks behind him. 

MAN: ’Scuse, mate.

JOHN: Oh.

(He steps aside as a heavily tattooed bald-headed man wearing jeans and a black vest carries a stepladder [a yellow one – can we start a new game?] into the hallway. John follows him in, putting the envelope into his pocket as he goes. He trots upstairs and goes into the living room.)

JOHN: Sherlock, something weird ...

(He stops as he sees that Greg and Sally are in the room with Sherlock.)

JOHN: What’s going on?

SHERLOCK: Kidnapping.

(He goes over to the table and sits down and starts to type on the laptop.)

LESTRADE: Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S.

JOHN: He’s in Washington, isn’t he?

LESTRADE: Not him – his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine.

(Sally shows John photographs of the two children.)

LESTRADE: They’re at St Aldate’s.

DONOVAN: Posh boarding place down in Surrey.

LESTRADE (to Sherlock, who is still typing): The school broke up; all the other boarders went home – just a few kids remained, including those two.

DONOVAN: The kids have vanished.

LESTRADE: The ambassador’s asked for you personally.

(Sherlock is already on his feet and heading out of the door with his coat over his arm.)

DONOVAN (sarcastically): The Reichenbach Hero.

(Sherlock keeps going. After a moment Greg follows him out.)

LESTRADE: Isn’t it great to be working with a celebrity(!)

(As John gestures for Sally to precede him out of the room, their actions are being watched by a camera high up on the living room wall near the left-hand front window.)

ST ALDATE’S SCHOOL. Greg’s car drives into the grounds of the boarding school and pulls up outside the front entrance. Two police cars are already there and a woman is standing in front of one of them, leaning against the bonnet wearing a shock blanket around her shoulders and crying while a uniformed female police officer talks reassuringly to her. A man, probably a plain clothed police officer, is talking to her but walks away as Greg, Sally and the boys get out of the car and approach. The woman blows her nose on her handkerchief. 

FEMALE POLICE OFFICER (comfortingly): It’s all right.

LESTRADE (quietly to Sherlock): Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress. Go easy.

(He stays back and lets Sherlock walk over to the woman on his own.)

SHERLOCK: Miss Mackenzie, you’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night. (His voice rises angrily.) What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?

(He grabs the blanket and abruptly pulls it from around her shoulders. She gasps in fear as he glares furiously at her.)

SHERLOCK (loudly): Now quickly, tell me!

MISS MACKENZIE (tearfully and cringing in terror): All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!

(Sherlock’s demeanour instantly changes and he smiles reassuringly and gently takes hold of her shoulders.)

SHERLOCK: I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly.

(He looks at the nearby police officers as he turns and walks away.)

SHERLOCK: Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now.

(She sobs in distress and the female police officer hurries over to comfort her. Inside the school, Sherlock leads the others into one of the dormitories.)

JOHN: Six grand a term, you’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?

(Sherlock has already looked in a cupboard beside one of the beds and now drops to his knees and peers under the bed.)

LESTRADE: They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in.

(Sherlock picks up a lacrosse stick lying on the floor and gets to his feet while looking at the stick closely. He briefly wields it as if using it as a w*apon but then apparently decides it wasn’t used in that way and drops it to the floor again.)

LESTRADE: The intruder must have been hidden inside some place.

(Sherlock goes over to a wooden trunk and opens the lid. Amongst the other items inside the trunk he finds a large brown envelope with a wax seal on the back which has already been broken as if someone has opened the envelope. Inside is a large hardback book. Checking the envelope carefully first, he then takes the book out and looks at the cover. The book is “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” He looks along the edges of the book and then riffles the pages quickly. Finding nothing of interest, he looks up.)

SHERLOCK: Show me where the brother slept.

(He is taken to another smaller dormitory and looks around, going to stand beside a bed which is facing the door. The door has a frosted glass pane in it. He looks towards the door while gesturing down to the bed.)

SHERLOCK: The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He’d recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door.

LESTRADE: Okay, so ...

SHERLOCK: So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a w*apon.

(Leaving the other three inside the room, he goes outside the door and pulls it almost closed, then raises his hand and points his fingers as if they’re a g*n, showing the others how it would be seen through the frosted glass. He pushes the door open and comes back into the room.)

SHERLOCK: What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?

(He walks around the bed, looking at the boy’s possessions.)

SHERLOCK: This little boy; this particular little boy ... (he looks at the bedside table) ... who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?

JOHN: He’d leave a sign?

(Sherlock starts sniffing noisily. He picks up a cricket bat leaning against the nearby cupboard and sniffs along both sides of it. Putting the bat down again he squats and sniffs around the bedside table, then reaches under the bed and finds an almost empty glass bottle of linseed oil. He looks up.)

SHERLOCK (sternly): Get Anderson.

Not long afterwards the room has been darkened as much as possible by closing the wooden shutters over the windows. Sherlock shines an ultraviolet light on the wall beside the boy’s bed where the words “HELP US” have been written on the wall, only now visible in the light. 

SHERLOCK: Linseed oil.

ANDERSON: Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.

SHERLOCK: Brilliant, Anderson.

ANDERSON: Really?

SHERLOCK: Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot.

(He points downwards, shining the light close to the wooden floorboards.)

SHERLOCK: The floor.

(There are several sets of illuminated footprints of varying sizes leading towards the door. Sherlock follows them slowly.)

JOHN: He made a trail for us!

SHERLOCK: The boy was made to walk ahead of them.

JOHN (looking at the shape of some of the smaller footprints): On, what, tiptoe?

SHERLOCK: Indicates anxiety; a g*n held to his head.

(He walks slowly out into the corridor, which has also been blacked out, and follows the footsteps. Anderson walks beside him with another ultraviolet light.)

SHERLOCK: The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck.

(A few yards along the corridor the glowing footsteps stop.)

ANDERSON: That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here.

(Sherlock stops. Anderson turns back to him.)

ANDERSON: Tells us nothing after all.

SHERLOCK: You’re right, Anderson – nothing.

(He pauses for a moment, then takes a breath.)

SHERLOCK (quickfire): Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace.

(He reaches to the closest window and tears down the blackout material that had been stuck across it. Daylight floods back into the corridor. Putting the light onto the window sill, he kneels down and takes his wallet of tools and a small lidded plastic Petri dish from his inside pocket. As the police go back towards the bedroom, he puts the dish on the floor, opens the wallet and chuckles contentedly. John squats down beside him.)

JOHN: Having fun?

SHERLOCK: Starting to.

JOHN: Maybe don’t do the smiling.

(Sherlock lifts his head.)

JOHN: Kidnapped children?

(Sherlock lowers his head again and concentrates on scraping some of the dried linseed oil and floor wax loose with a small scalpel and then using tweezers to pick up the loosened pieces and put them into the container.)

LONDON. Sherlock and John are in a taxi.

JOHN: But how did he get past the CCTV? If all the doors were locked ...

SHERLOCK: He walked in when they weren’t locked.

JOHN: But a stranger can’t just walk into a school like that.

SHERLOCK: Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday – end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What’s one more stranger among that lot?

(A flashback shows one of the school children outside the entrance being embraced by her mother. Other adults and children are all around, and one man walks alone up the steps towards the door.)

SHERLOCK: He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide.

ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Molly Hooper walks along a corridor, pulling her coat on. Just as she reaches the f*re doors at the end of the corridor, Sherlock and John walk through them.

SHERLOCK: Molly!

MOLLY: Oh, hello. I’m just going out.

SHERLOCK (putting his hands onto her shoulders and turning her back the way she just came): No you’re not.

MOLLY: I’ve got a lunch date.

SHERLOCK (putting a hand on her back to start her walking again): Cancel it. You’re having lunch with me.

(Reaching into his coat pockets, he dramatically produces a bag of Quavers crisps from each pocket.)

MOLLY: What?

SHERLOCK (putting the crisps back into his pockets): Need your help. It’s one of your old boyfriends – we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty!

(Reaching the f*re doors at the other end of the corridor, he turns and smiles back at Molly, who has stopped d*ad a few paces back. John also stops and stares at him.)

JOHN: It’s Moriarty?

SHERLOCK: Course it’s Moriarty.

MOLLY: Er, Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it.

SHERLOCK: Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.

(Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out and brandishes the Quavers at her again, then continues on through the f*re door. She stares after him in utter bewilderment.)

Shortly afterwards, wearing her lab coat, she pushes her way through the door into Sherlock’s favourite lab weighed down by the huge pile of books and files she is carrying. As she staggers into the room, Sherlock is sitting at the bench in front of a microscope. John is standing at the other side of the bench.

SHERLOCK: Oil, John.

(He opens the plastic Petri dish and takes out one of the samples with tweezers.)

SHERLOCK: The oil in the kidnapper’s footprint – it’ll lead us to Moriarty.

(He drops the sample into a test tube which has some liquid in the bottom. The fluid begins to fizz. He suctions up some of the liquid and drops it onto a slide.)

SHERLOCK: All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we’re lucky we can see everything that he’s been up to.

(He looks at the slide under the microscope. Time passes and we see brief extracts of the work that he and Molly are doing. She puts on latex gloves.)

SHERLOCK: I need that analysis.

(Molly squeezes some liquid into a glass dish and applies some Litmus paper to it. The paper turns blue.)

MOLLY: Alkaline.

SHERLOCK: Thank you, John.

MOLLY: Molly.

SHERLOCK: Yes.

(She turns away unhappily. Sherlock has found the first component in the mixture of items and makes a note of it: 

1. Chalk

He takes another sample and dissolves it. The results reveal another item: 

2. Asphalt

Dissolving another sample into a dish: 

3. Brick Dust

And another sample dissolved and heated over a Bunsen burner: 

4. Vegetation

Later, he has another sample on a slide and is looking at it in the microscope. He quietly murmurs to himself.)

SHERLOCK (softly): I ... owe ... you.

(He turns his head and looks at a computer screen nearby.)

SHERLOCK: Glycerol molecule.

(He sighs heavily as he struggles to identify the item, seeing it in his head as: 

5. ?

SHERLOCK: What are you?

(He looks into the microscope again as Molly stands beside him typing onto a laptop.)

MOLLY: What did you mean, “I owe you”?

(John walks across the lab on the other side of the bench. Sherlock raises his eyes from the microscope and watches him as he crosses the room.)

MOLLY: You said, “I owe you”. You were muttering it while you were working.

SHERLOCK (looking into the ’scope again): Nothing. Mental note.

(Molly looks at him.)

MOLLY: You’re a bit like my dad. He’s d*ad.

(She closes her eyes, embarrassed.)

MOLLY: No, sorry.

SHERLOCK: Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation. It’s really not your area.

(Molly cringes but continues.)

MOLLY: When he was ... dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely – except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.

SHERLOCK (sternly): Molly ...

MOLLY: You look sad ... (she glances towards John) ... when you think he can’t see you.

(Sherlock’s eyes lift from the microscope and drift towards John who is looking through papers on the other side of the lab some distance away, unaware of the conversation. Sherlock turns his head and looks at Molly.)

MOLLY: Are you okay?

(He opens his mouth but she interrupts before he can speak.)

MOLLY: And don’t just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you.

SHERLOCK: You can see me.

MOLLY: I don’t count.

(Sherlock blinks and really looks at her, possibly for the first time since he has known her.)

MOLLY: What I’m trying to say is that, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me.

(She flinches and looks away briefly.)

MOLLY: No, I just mean ... I mean if there’s anything you need ...

(She shakes her head.)

MOLLY: It’s fine.

(She turns away. Sherlock looks shaken.)

SHERLOCK: What-what-what could I need from you?

MOLLY (turning back to him): Nothing. (She shrugs.) I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually.

(She nods nervously but firmly. The side of Sherlock’s mouth twitches as if it doesn’t know how to say the words.)

SHERLOCK (hesitantly): ... Thank you.

(He frowns and turns his head away as if surprised that he has said it. Molly starts to walk towards the door.)

MOLLY: I’m just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?

(He starts to open his mouth but she turns back and beats him to it.)

MOLLY: It’s okay, I know you don’t.

SHERLOCK: Well, actually, maybe I’ll ...

MOLLY: I know you don’t.

(She turns and walks away, leaving the room. He watches her go, then gazes into the distance thoughtfully for a moment before looking back to his microscope.)

(On the other side of the lab, ignorant of the conversation that has just taken place, John is looking through police photographs taken at the school. He finds one of the inside of the wooden trunk which shows the envelope with the wax seal, and another with a close-up of the seal.)

JOHN: Sherlock.

SHERLOCK: Hmm?

JOHN: This envelope that was in her trunk. There’s another one.

(He walks over to where he has put his jacket.)

SHERLOCK: What?

JOHN: On our doorstep. Found it today.

(He gets the envelope out of his pocket and looks at it.)

JOHN: Yes, and look at that.

(He brings the envelope round the bench and gives it to Sherlock.)

JOHN: Look at that. Exactly the same seal.

(Sherlock reaches into the envelope and takes out some of the brown dust which we now see more clearly.)

SHERLOCK: Breadcrumbs.

JOHN: Uh-huh. It was there when I got back.

SHERLOCK: A little trace of breadcrumbs; hardback copy of fairy tales.

(His eyes widen.)

SHERLOCK: Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs.

JOHN: That’s “Hansel and Gretel.” What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?

SHERLOCK: The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it’s all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me ...

(Jim’s voice overlays Sherlock’s as he relates the words.)

SHERLOCK/JIM: All fairytales need a good old-fashioned villain.

[Don’t go back and check – that’s not exactly what Jim said. He said “Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.” Please excuse your transcriber for a moment while she goes and slaps the scriptwriter ...]

(Sherlock puts the envelope down and adjusts his microscope before starting to look into it again.)

SHERLOCK: The fifth substance: it’s part of the tale.

(He looks up again.)

SHERLOCK: The witch’s house.

JOHN: What?

(In repeated cut-aways during the next few lines, the two kidnapped children are kneeling on the floor somewhere, rapidly peeling the wrappers from sweets and eating them.)

SHERLOCK: The glycerol molecule.

(The final element in the sample becomes clear to him: 

5. PGPR

SHERLOCK: PGPR!

JOHN: What’s that?

SHERLOCK (leaping to his feet): It’s used in making chocolate.

(He hurries out of the lab as, in the cut-away, the children continue to scoff the sweets on the floor. The camera pulls back to show that they are in what looks like an abandoned factory or warehouse.)

SCOTLAND YARD. Greg hands a sheet of paper to Sherlock as he leads him and John into the department’s main office.

LESTRADE: This fax arrived an hour ago.

(There is a large handwritten note on the paper saying:

HURRY UP

THEY’RE

DYING!

Sherlock hands the note to John.)

LESTRADE: What have you got for us?

SHERLOCK: Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect.

(He hands a piece of paper to Greg, who reads it aloud.)

LESTRADE: Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation ... What the hell is this? Chocolate?

SHERLOCK: I think we’re looking for a disused sweet factory.

LESTRADE: We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?

SHERLOCK: No. No-no-no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk; chalky clay – that’s a far thinner band of geology.

(He calls up a map of London in his head, overlaying it with the names of the towns, then begins zooming in and out of various areas.)

LESTRADE: Brick dust?

SHERLOCK: Building site. Bricks from the nineteen fifties.

LESTRADE (rubbing his face in despair): There’s thousands of building sites in London.

(Sherlock looks exasperated at the distraction.)

SHERLOCK: I’ve got people out looking.

LESTRADE: So have I.

SHERLOCK: Homeless network – faster than the police. (He smiles snidely.) Far more relaxed about taking bribes.

(Sitting at a desk nearby, Anderson looks up and rolls his eyes. Sherlock’s phone trills a text alert, followed by several more alerts. He brandishes his phone triumphantly at Greg as the messages continue to pour in. Smiling smugly, he lifts the phone up high and calls up his mental London map in front of him, flicking his eyes across to the phone to look at each photograph and then transfer it to the map. One of the photos attracts his particular attention, being a close-up sh*t of some purple flowers.)

SHERLOCK: John.

(He holds the phone out to show him the picture.)

SHERLOCK: Rhododendron ponticum. It matches.

(He goes back to the mental map and scans around it to the only places in London where such a plant grows, then finds the one place that contains the other elements as well.)

SHERLOCK: Addlestone.

LESTRADE: What?

SHERLOCK: There’s a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything.

(He turns and hurries out of the office with John in hot pursuit. Greg turns to his team.)

LESTRADE: Right, come on.

(Sally hesitates.)

LESTRADE: Come on!

(She jumps up and hurries after him.)

ADDLESTONE. Several police cars race to a disused factory and the police officers, together with Sherlock and John, run inside the dark building. Everyone switches on flashlights and Sally coordinates the police as they start to search in all directions.

DONOVAN: You, look over there. Look everywhere. Okay, spread out, please. Spread out.

(Greg leads another team, including Sherlock and John, into another part of the factory. Greg directs his officers.) 

LESTRADE (softly): Look in there. Quietly. Quietly.

(As they make their way deeper into the factory, Sherlock finds a large number of empty sweet wrappers scattered on the floor around a candle on a plate. Sherlock touches the wick of the candle.)

SHERLOCK: This was alight moments ago.

(He calls out loudly.)

SHERLOCK: They’re still here.

(The search continues all around.)

SHERLOCK: Sweet wrappers. What’s he been feeding you?

(He picks up one of the wrappers and looks at it more closely.)

SHERLOCK: Hansel and Gretel.

(He holds the wrapper closer to the beam of his flashlight and sniffs the paper before touching the tip of his tongue to it and grimacing at the taste. He looks at the wrapper in startled realisation of what he has just tasted.)

SHERLOCK: Mercury.

LESTRADE: What?

SHERLOCK: The papers: they’re painted with mercury.

(John groans.)

SHERLOCK: Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate ...

JOHN: It was k*lling them.

SHERLOCK: But it’s not enough to k*ll them on its own. Taken in large enough quantities, eventually it would k*ll them.

(The police continue searching the building but Sherlock is now locked onto his thoughts about Moriarty.)

SHERLOCK: He didn’t need to be there for the execution. m*rder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away.

(Nearby, Sally sees something in the light of her torch. She moves closer and sees a little girl sitting on the ground with her brother’s head in her lap. His eyes are closed. The girl looks around at Sally.)

SHERLOCK (softly, to himself): The hungrier they got, the more they ate ... the faster they died.

(He grins.)

SHERLOCK: Neat.

JOHN: Sherlock.

DONOVAN (calling out): Over here!

(Everyone runs in the direction of her voice. Sally and other officers reach down to the children.)

DONOVAN: I’ve got you. Don’t worry.

SCOTLAND YARD. Sherlock is pacing outside an office while John sits nearby. The door to the office opens and Sally and Greg come out. 

DONOVAN (sarcastically to Sherlock): Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn ...

(John stands up and walks over to the others. Greg looks seriously at Sherlock.)

LESTRADE: Now, remember, she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old, so anything you can do to ...

SHERLOCK: ... not be myself.

LESTRADE: Yeah. Might be helpful.

(Sherlock looks round to John and, doing everything but roll his eyes, reaches up and unpops the collar of his coat, folding it down flat before leading John and the others into the office. The little girl is sitting at a table looking down into her lap. A female liaison officer is sitting beside her stroking her arm reassuringly.)

SHERLOCK: Claudette, I ...

(He gets no further as the girl lifts her head, takes one look at him and begins to scream in terror.)

SHERLOCK: No-no, I know it’s been hard for you.

(She continues screaming and scrambles to get away while pointing at him.)

SHERLOCK: Claudette, listen to me ...

LESTRADE: Out. Get out!

(Grabbing his arm, he bundles Sherlock out of the room as the girl’s screams continue.)

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is standing at the window of another office looking out into the night through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Sally stands at the other side of the office watching him thoughtfully. 

JOHN: Makes no sense.

LESTRADE: The kid’s traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.

JOHN: So what’s she said?

DONOVAN: Hasn’t uttered another syllable.

JOHN: And the boy?

LESTRADE: No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care.

(In the building opposite Scotland Yard, all the lights in the offices come on. On the second floor, spray paint has been applied to three of the office windows. Sherlock stares at the enormous letters that have been painted: 

I O U

Seconds later, the lights on that floor go out again. Behind Sherlock, the others are unaware of what he has just seen because the view was blocked by the blinds.)

LESTRADE: Well, don’t let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people.

(He looks round to Sally and John.)

LESTRADE: Come on.

(He and John leave the room. Sally stays behind as Sherlock turns away from the window and walks towards the door.)

DONOVAN: Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.

SHERLOCK: Thank you.

DONOVAN (pointedly): Unbelievable.

(Sherlock hesitates momentarily, then continues on. She watches him go with a thoughtful expression.)

(Outside shortly afterwards, John waits for Sherlock to join him and then looks down the street.)

JOHN: Ah.

(He raises his hand to hail the approaching taxi. As the boys walk to the edge of the kerb, John looks round to Sherlock.)

JOHN: You okay?

SHERLOCK: Thinking.

(The taxi pulls up at the kerb.)

SHERLOCK: This is my cab. You get the next one.

JOHN: Why?

SHERLOCK: You might talk.

(He gets in and closes the door and the taxi pulls away. John stares after him in disbelief, then sighs.)

Back inside Scotland Yard, Sally is in a large office and has scattered all the police photographs and other evidence over a long table. She stands looking down at everything thoughtfully. Greg walks along the corridor outside and notices her. He stops and looks into the room as Sally ment*lly plays back earlier moments.

LESTRADE: What the hell is this? Chocolate?

SHERLOCK: I think we’re looking for a disused sweet factory.

(Claudette screams in terror.)

LESTRADE: Get out!

(Now Greg comes into the room and walks over to Sally as Claudette’s screams fade from her mind.)

LESTRADE: Problem?

(She looks around at him, then down at the evidence again.)

TAXI. Sherlock sits in the back lost in thought. Partway into the journey, the TV screen on the back of the driver’s seat switches on and an advertisement starts to play. London Taxi Shopping is advertising jewellery.

VOICEOVER: This is a stunning evening wear set from us here at London Taxi Shopping.

SHERLOCK (to the driver): Can you turn this off, please?

(The driver doesn’t respond and the advert continues.)

VOICEOVER: As you can see, the set comprises of a beautiful ...

SHERLOCK (louder, angrily): Can you turn this off ...

(The image on the screen begins to fritz as if another channel is breaking through. There are momentary glimpses of someone who can only be Jim Moriarty grinning at the screen. Eventually the advert disappears and Jim is seen smiling cheerfully. Behind him is a pale blue wall with painted white fluffy clouds floating across it. Jim’s voice takes on a sing-song quality as if he is talking to children.)

JIM: Hullo. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot.

(Sherlock stares at the screen, his face intense.)

SCOTLAND YARD. Sally is showing Greg one of the photographs.

DONOVAN: The footprint. It’s all he has. A footprint.

LESTRADE: Yeah, well, you know what he’s like – CSI Baker Street.

DONOVAN: Well, our boys couldn’t have done it.

LESTRADE: Well, that’s why we need him. He’s better.

DONOVAN: That’s one explanation.

LESTRADE: And what’s the other?

TAXI. Jim’s image continues to smile from the TV screen.

JIM: Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain ...

(Behind him, the pale blue sky gets darker and the white clouds become grey and thr*at.)

JIM: And soon they began to wonder ...

(Behind him, rain begins to pour from the clouds.)

JIM: ... ‘Are Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories even true?’

SCOTLAND YARD (offscreen)

DONOVAN (voiceover): Only he could have found that evidence.

TAXI. Jim shakes his head.

JIM: Oh, no.

SCOTLAND YARD.

DONOVAN: And then the girl screams her head off when she sees him – a man she has never seen before ... unless she had seen him before.

LESTRADE: Wh-what’s your point?

DONOVAN: You know what my point is. You just don’t wanna think about it.

JIM (on the taxi TV screen): So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said ... (in a dramatic whisper) ... ‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’

(At Scotland Yard, Anderson has now come in and he and Sally stand opposite Greg’s desk as he sits talking with them.)

LESTRADE: You’re not seriously suggesting he’s involved, are you?

ANDERSON: I think we have to entertain the possibility.

(Greg stares at him, bewildered.)

JIM (on the TV screen): And then even the King began to wonder ...

(He frowns, raising a finger to his mouth and gazing off to the side with a wondering look on his face. At Scotland Yard, Greg sinks his face into his hand as he is forced to consider what his officers are telling him. On the taxi TV screen, Jim frowns thoughtfully as cartoon lightning bolts sh**t out of the clouds behind him.)

JIM (shaking his head repeatedly): But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-a-lot’s problem. No.

(He looks down for a moment, then raises his eyes to the camera again.)

JIM: That wasn’t the final problem.

(Sherlock bares his teeth at the screen as the camera pulls back to show Jim sitting with a storybook held in his hands. He looks up at the camera and finishes in an even more sing-song voice.)

JIM: The End.

(Behind him, a red velvet curtain drops down as if covering a theatre stage. The sh*t changes to an extreme close-up of Jim grinning hugely and showing his teeth, then the screen fritzes a few times and eventually returns to the jewellery advert.)

SHERLOCK: Stop the cab! Stop the cab!

(The taxi begins to pull up near the kerb.)

SHERLOCK: What was that?

(He jumps out of the right-hand door and runs forward to the driver’s door.)

SHERLOCK: What was that?

(The cabbie, wearing a cloth cap very reminiscent of the one worn by the cabbie in “A Study in Pink”, turns his head towards Sherlock and reveals that he is Jim Moriarty, who adopts a London accent as he speaks.)

JIM: No charge.

(He immediately accelerates away as Sherlock tries to grab hold of the door and pull the cab back. Forced to let go, he chases after the taxi but it soon speeds away. He stops in the middle of the road, glaring after it and unaware that another car is speeding along behind him. As it sounds its horn in warning, a man hurries off the pavement, grabs him and pulls him out of danger.)

MAN: Look out!

(Not yet fully realising what the man is doing, Sherlock strikes out at him but then stops as the car roars past and he realises what has happened. He stands with the man at arm’s length, breathing heavily as the man looks warily at him. Those of us who have been paying attention – or who just rewound the recording to check – realise that this is Sulejmani, the Albanian assassin who lives on Baker Street.)

SHERLOCK (catching his breath): Thank you.

(He holds out his hand for the man to shake. Sulejmani somewhat reluctantly takes it and we soon realise why he wasn’t keen as three b*ll*ts are fired into him in quick succession from somewhere behind Sherlock. Sulejmani slumps to the ground and Sherlock spins around, trying to find the source of the g*n. Just then another black cab comes around the corner and pulls up a short distance away. John jumps out and hurries towards him.)

JOHN: Sherlock!

Some time later Sherlock stands twitching his fingers fretfully as an ambulance crew wheels Sulejmani’s body away.

JOHN: That ... it’s him. It’s him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He’s a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us.

SHERLOCK: He died because I shook his hand.

JOHN: What d’you mean?

SHERLOCK: He saved my life but he couldn’t touch me. Why?

(He storms off. John follows.)

221B. Sherlock walks rapidly into the living room, pulling his scarf and then his coat off as he goes across to the laptop on the table. Sadly, at this point he stops removing clothing.

SHERLOCK: Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn’t come here to k*ll me; they have to keep me alive.

(He sits down at the table while John goes over to the window near him and looks out.)

SHERLOCK: I’ve got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me ...

JOHN: ... the others k*ll them before they can get it.

(Sherlock grunts in agreement and types rapidly on the laptop, navigating away from the website for St Aldate’s School and calling up a list of local Wi-Fi networks. There are five of them and he checks their signal strength and the names of the networks.)

SHERLOCK: All of the attention is focussed on me. There’s a surveillance web closing in on us right now.

JOHN: So what have you got that’s so important?

(Sherlock gazes into the distance and thinks for a moment, then runs his finger along the table beside the computer before lifting it and looking at his fingertip.)

SHERLOCK: We need to ask about the dusting.

Shortly afterwards, Mrs Hudson has been dragged upstairs in her nightdress and dressing gown. Sherlock is hurrying around the room checking for dust on all the furniture.

SHERLOCK: Precise details: in the last week, what’s been cleaned?

MRS HUDSON: Well, Tuesday I did your lino ...

SHERLOCK: No, in here, this room. This is where we’ll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust.

(He lifts his hand from the latest piece of furniture that he has been running his finger along, and twirls his finger dramatically in the air.)

SHERLOCK: Dust is eloquent.

(Mrs Hudson looks over her shoulder at John.)

MRS HUDSON (quietly): What’s he on about?

(John shakes his head and mumbles. By now Sherlock is climbing on the furniture to look more closely at the top shelves of the bookcase to the left of the fireplace.)

SHERLOCK: Cameras. We’re being watched.

MRS HUDSON: What? Cameras? (She cringes.) Here? I’m in my nightie!

(The doorbell has just rung and she hurries out of the room, John following her. Sherlock has climbed down and now checks in the eye sockets of the skull on the mantelpiece before climbing onto small tables on the other side of the fireplace to look at the bookshelves there. Checking the books on the top shelf, he seems to realise that the one on the far right has more movement around it than it ought and he pushes it deeper into the shelf, revealing a camera stuck on the side of the bookshelf. As he reaches up to remove it, Greg comes into the room followed by John.)

SHERLOCK (without turning around, still concentrating on removing the camera): No, Inspector.

LESTRADE: What?

SHERLOCK (stepping down with the camera in his fingers): The answer’s no.

LESTRADE: But you haven’t heard the question!

SHERLOCK: You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.

(He walks closer. Greg pulls in a breath.)

LESTRADE: Sherlock ...

SHERLOCK (interrupting): The scream?

LESTRADE: Yeah.

SHERLOCK: Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You’re gonna have to be strong to resist. You can’t k*ll an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home ... (he reaches forward and briefly places his index fingertip on Greg’s forehead between his eyes) ... there.

LESTRADE: Will you come?

SHERLOCK (turning away, sitting down at the laptop and beginning to type): One photograph – that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch.

(Picking up the camera again, he looks at it for a moment, then raises his eyes to Greg’s.)

SHERLOCK: It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play.

[Memo to Benedict Cumberbatch: could you please not go into full cello-jaguar voice when I’m typing this late at night and wearing headphones cranked up loud? It’s not good for my underwear. Kthxbai.]

SHERLOCK (looking away again): Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan.

(Sighing and exchanging a brief look with John, Greg turns and heads off down the stairs. John watches him go [with a ‘Yeah, definitely would’ look on his face, if you ask me ...], then turns back towards Sherlock [possibly with the same expression ... Behave, Ari] who has now linked the camera into the computer so that he can pull up the footage on the computer screen. Downstairs, Greg walks along the hallway and glowers at Sally who is waiting at the front door. He walks past her and out into the street. She turns and watches him unhappily, then follows. Upstairs, John has gone over to the right-hand window and looks out at the car parked outside as Greg and Sally go over to it and get in, Greg glancing up towards the window momentarily. As the car starts, Sherlock briefly looks at John.)

SHERLOCK: They’ll be deciding.

JOHN: Deciding?

SHERLOCK: Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.

JOHN: You think?

SHERLOCK: Standard procedure.

JOHN: Should have gone with him. People’ll think ...

SHERLOCK: I don’t care what people think.

JOHN: You’d care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong.

SHERLOCK: No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.

(Angrily, John turns towards him.)

JOHN: Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re ...

(He breaks off as Sherlock lifts his head to look at him. They lock eyes for a long moment.)

SHERLOCK: That I am what?

JOHN: A fraud.

(Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in the seat.)

SHERLOCK: You’re worried they’re right.

JOHN: What?

SHERLOCK: You’re worried they’re right about me.

JOHN: No.

SHERLOCK: That’s why you’re so upset. You can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.

JOHN (turning away and look out of the window again): No I’m not.

(Sherlock leans forward.)

SHERLOCK: Moriarty is playing with your mind too. (Furious, he slams his hand onto the table.) Can’t you see what’s going on?

(John looks at him for a few seconds, then looks out of the window again.)

JOHN: No, I know you’re for real.

SHERLOCK: A hundred percent?

JOHN (quietly, turning back towards him): Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.

(Sherlock locks eyes with him again, then his mouth twitches with the trace of a smile. John looks away once more.)

SCOTLAND YARD. Greg is sitting in front of the desk of the Chief Superintendant while Sally and Anderson stand nearby. The Chief walks around his desk to sit down behind it.

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Sherlock Holmes?

LESTRADE: Yes, sir.

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: That bloke that’s been in the press.

LESTRADE: Mmm-hmm.

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: I thought he was some sort of private eye.

LESTRADE: He is.

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: We’ve been consulting with him – that’s what you’re ... you’re telling me?

(Greg nods.)

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Not used him on any proper cases, though, have we?

LESTRADE: Well, one or two.

(Anderson, his arms folded and looking down at his feet, snorts quietly.)

ANDERSON (softly): Or twenty or thirty.

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: What?

LESTRADE: Look, I’m not the only senior officer who did this. Gregson ...

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT (interrupting): Shut up! An amateur detective given access to all sorts of classified information, and now he’s a suspect in a case!

LESTRADE: With all due respect, sir ...

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT (interrupting): You’re a bloody idiot, Lestrade! Now go and fetch him in right now!

(Greg hesitates.)

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT (sternly): Do it.

(Greg stands up and the three of them leave the room. The Chief Superintendant takes his glasses off and buries his head in his hand. Outside the others are on their way across the main office.)

LESTRADE: Are you proud of yourselves?

ANDERSON: Well, what if it’s not just this case? What if he’s done this to us every single time?

(Sally grabs her coat from the coat stand as she goes past. Anderson apparently doesn’t need one, being a cold-blooded reptile who won’t feel the temperature drop outside. Greg stops for his own coat, then takes his phone out and starts dialling. Hanging back from the other two, he raises the phone to his ear.)

Shortly afterwards, John – standing in the centre of the living room at 221B – lowers his own phone from his ear and switches it off. He turns to Sherlock who is now sitting in his armchair.

JOHN: So, still got some friends on the Force. It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people.

(Sherlock appears to be taking no notice of him, and now Mrs Hudson knocks on the closed living room door with her customary “Ooh-ooh!” and then comes in. She apparently feels the tension in the room.)

MRS HUDSON: Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?

(Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks away. She turns her attention to John.)

MRS HUDSON: Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked ‘Perishable’ – I had to sign for it.

(John takes the Jiffy bag from her and immediately realises that there’s a wax seal over the flap. Sherlock looks across and also sees the seal.)

MRS HUDSON: Funny name. German, like the fairytales.

(Sherlock rises to his feet and walks forward, his gaze intense and locked on the Jiffy bag as John opens it and pulls out the contents. Outside, the sirens of several different vehicles are approaching. In John’s hand is a large gingerbread man but it’s an unusual colour. He tilts it so that Sherlock can see it better.)

SHERLOCK: Burnt to a crisp.

(The sirens stop as the vehicles pull up outside, and doors start to slam as people get out of the cars.)

JOHN (referring to the burnt gingerbread man): What does it mean?

(The doorbell rings and at the same time someone pounds on the front door knocker.)

VOICE: Police!

MRS HUDSON: I’ll go.

(She turns and hurries down the stairs as someone continues to knock on the door. Voices can be heard as she opens the door.)

DONOVAN (offscreen): Sherlock ...

LESTRADE (offscreen): Evening, Mrs Hudson.

DONOVAN (calling up the stairs): We need to talk to you!

(John puts the gingerbread man back into the envelope and puts it on the table before heading out of the flat. Downstairs, Mrs Hudson sounds angry.)

MRS HUDSON (offscreen): Don’t barge in like that!

(Feet can be heard trotting up the stairs. Calmly Sherlock turns around and picks up his scarf and loops it around his neck. John is apparently blocking the stairs halfway up.)

JOHN (offscreen): Have you got a warrant? Have you?

LESTRADE (offscreen): Leave it, John.

MRS HUDSON (offscreen): Really! Manners!

(Sherlock puts his coat on. Shortly afterwards Greg stands in front of him and reads him his rights while one of two armed officers attaches handcuffs to his left wrist.)

LESTRADE: Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.

(John gestures towards Sherlock while looking at Greg as the officer pulls Sherlock’s left hand behind his back in order to cuff his other wrist.)

JOHN: He’s not resisting.

SHERLOCK: It’s all right, John.

JOHN: He’s not resisting. No, it’s not all right. This is ridiculous.

LESTRADE (to the officer who just handcuffed Sherlock): Get him downstairs now.

(The officer spins Sherlock around and marches him out of the door. Mrs Hudson stands nearby almost in tears.)

JOHN (to Greg): You know you don’t have to do ...

LESTRADE (getting into his face and pointing at him sternly): Don’t try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too.

(He turns and leaves the room. John turns to Sally who is standing near the door.)

JOHN: You done?

DONOVAN (looking smug and oh-so-very punchable as she walks into the room): Oh, I said it.

JOHN: Mmm-hmm?

DONOVAN: First time we met.

JOHN: Don’t bother.

DONOVAN: “Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line.” Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?

(Mrs Hudson gasps. Just then the Chief Superintendant walks in.)

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Donovan.

DONOVAN: Sir.

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Got our man?

DONOVAN: Er, yes, sir.

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.

(John turns towards him.)

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Often are, these vigilante types.

(He has been looking around the living room as he spoke but now he turns and sees John staring at him.)

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: What are you looking at?

(Sally’s eyes widen and she instantly lowers her head as if she knows what’s coming and can’t bear to look. John starts to move.)

A minute or two later, the Chief Superintendant walks out onto the street holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.

POLICE OFFICER: Are you all right, sir?

(Nearby, Sherlock has been leaned against the side of a police car, facing it. Now John is slammed up against the car next to him and to his left. Sherlock looks across to him with an amused expression on his face.)

SHERLOCK: Joining me?

JOHN: Yeah. Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant.

(Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlock the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transfer it to John’s right wrist, chaining the boys together. Fandom collectively faints. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they’re standing.)

SHERLOCK (to John): Hmm. Bit awkward, this.

JOHN: Huh. No-one to bail us.

SHERLOCK: I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.

(He looks down at the radio lying on the dashboard of the car they’re leaning against. The radio squeals as the dispatcher speaks.)

RADIO DISPATCHER: All units to two-seven.

(John looks round at Sherlock’s previous statement.)

JOHN: What?

RADIO DISPATCHER: All units to two ...

(Rapidly Sherlock reaches through the open window of the car with his free hand and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly the officer behind the boys doubles over in pain and grabs at his earpiece as a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls the officer’s p*stol free, instantly raising it. As it’s in his left hand, John’s shackled right hand is yanked upwards as well and he gasps in surprise at the rapid turn of events. Sherlock calls out as he aims the p*stol towards the nearest officers.)

SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?

(Nearby, Greg’s whole body language says, ‘Oh, FFS ...’ When nobody reacts very quickly, Sherlock raises the g*n skywards and fires it twice.)

SHERLOCK: NOW would be good!

(He lowers it and points it at the police again.)

LESTRADE: Do as he says!

(He gestures everybody downwards and all the police start to kneel. The boys start to back away.)

JOHN (loudly): Just-just so you’re aware, the g*n is his idea. I’m just a ... you know ...

(Sherlock transfers the p*stol to his right hand and promptly aims it at John’s head.)

SHERLOCK (loudly): ... my hostage.

(John gasps.)

JOHN (quietly, to Sherlock): Hostage! Yes, that works – that works(!)

(They continue backing away from the kneeling police. Behind them and probably unnoticed in all the excitement, a new piece of artistic graffiti has been sprayed on the wall of the house on the street corner. In red paint, huge letters spelling out “iou” are at least three feet high and are surrounded by an elaborate dark set of angel’s wings. The boys begin to back carefully around the corner.)

JOHN: So what now?

SHERLOCK: Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run.

(He turns and begins to race off down the road, dragging John with him. Back at the police cars, Greg buries his head in his hands. The Chief Superintendant gets to his feet and turns to him.)

CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Get after him, Lestrade!

(Greg glares furiously at Sally as she begins to head in the direction the boys have gone. Greg is a lot slower in getting moving. Around the corner as the boys run along side by side, Sherlock loops the loose chain between their handcuffs around his wrist.)

SHERLOCK: Take my hand.

JOHN (grabbing his hand as they race onwards): Now people will definitely talk.

(Sirens are approaching at the junction ahead of them. Sherlock swerves to his left and drops the p*stol in the process. It clatters to the ground.)

JOHN: The g*n!

SHERLOCK: Leave it!

(He shoves John down a side alley as the police car races straight across the junction. They run down the alleyway and reach high railings blocking their way. Sherlock, with his customary flair, leaps up onto the top of a dustbin and vaults straight over the top of the railings. John, being an adorable short-arse and also not as close to the dustbin, is left behind; his right hand is dragged upwards and his face almost smashes against the railings as Sherlock drops to the other side.)

JOHN: Sherlock, wait!

(He reaches through the railings with his free hand and grabs Sherlock’s coat, dragging him closer and glaring into his face. The fandom screams with one voice, “KISS HIM!”)

JOHN (speaking clearly and sternly): We’re going to need to coordinate.

(Sherlock quickly scans all around them.)

SHERLOCK: Go to your right.

JOHN: Huh?

SHERLOCK: Go to your right.

(He looks upwards and goes up onto his tiptoes to get the chain of the cuffs over the top of one of the spikes at the top of the railings.)

(Not long afterwards, they’re on the same side of the railings and running down the alley again. Reaching a T-junction Sherlock turns to the right, then immediately brakes and ducks back again as a sirening police car races past the end of the alley. The two of them lean side by side against the wall catching their breath for a moment.)

SHERLOCK: Everybody wants to believe it – that’s what makes it so clever. (He looks at John.) A lie that’s preferable to the truth. (Looking away again, his voice becomes bitter.) All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man.

JOHN: What about Mycroft? He could help us.

(He grunts as Sherlock drags him across to the other side of the alley and peers down the left arm of the T-junction.)

SHERLOCK: A big family reconciliation? Now’s not really the moment.

(He spins around, dragging John in a circle behind him as he looks back the way they came. John spots something at the end of the right arm of the T-junction.)

JOHN: Sher... Sherlock.

(He elbows him with his cuffed arm to turn him in that direction. A face is peering around the corner at the end of the alley.)

JOHN: We’re being followed. I knew we couldn’t outrun the police.

SHERLOCK: That’s not the police. It’s one of my new neighbours from Baker Street. Let’s see if he can give us some answers.

(He breaks in the opposite direction from where the man is watching them. Running to the next corner, they flatten themselves against the wall as they reach it and Sherlock looks around the corner. There’s no sign of any police in the street but a double decker bus – the number 74 to Baker Street Station – is approaching. Sherlock presses himself back against the wall again.)

JOHN: Where are we going?

SHERLOCK: We’re going to jump in front of that bus.

JOHN: What?!

(But Sherlock’s already on the move and drags John out into the street. The assassin races after them. Halfway across the road, Sherlock screeches to a halt directly in front of the approaching bus. John’s impetus carries him past Sherlock before he’s able to turn and now they’re both facing the bus and not moving. The assassin charges into the road, throws himself at them and shoves them out of the way and all three of them tumble to the ground as the bus drives past, its horn blaring. Before the assassin can recover, Sherlock sits up and drags the man’s own g*n from his jeans, then cocks and points it at him.)

SHERLOCK: Tell me what you want from me.

(The man stares at him wide-eyed but doesn’t speak. Sherlock moves the g*n’s muzzle closer to him.)

SHERLOCK: Tell me.

ASSASSIN: He left it at your flat.

SHERLOCK: Who?

ASSASSIN: Moriarty.

SHERLOCK: What?

(All three of them start to get to their feet, Sherlock still holding the g*n on the other man.)

ASSASSIN: The computer keycode.

SHERLOCK: Of course. He’s selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around.

(Three g*n ring out and the assassin reels and drops to the ground. Sherlock stares up in the direction the b*ll*ts came from, then swings around and he and John race off. As police sirens approach again, they duck into an open doorway as yet another police car drives past the end of the road. They take a moment to catch their breath again.)

SHERLOCK: It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come. “Get Sherlock.” We need to get back into the flat and search.

JOHN: CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you?

SHERLOCK: It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals.

(John has spotted a pile of newspapers nearby and he picks up the top copy.)

JOHN: Yeah, well, have you seen this?

(It’s a copy of “The Sun” – the same edition that Mycroft had at the Diogenes Club that morning, telling of the upcoming exposé by Kitty Riley. John shows it to Sherlock.)

JOHN: A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook.

(Sherlock slowly turns his head – clearly the name means something to him. John is still looking at the paper and doesn’t see his expression.)

JOHN: Who is he?

Kitty Riley parks her car outside her home, gets out and locks the car before walking to the front door. Opening it, she walks along the hall to the door of her flat, then pauses and looks at the door nervously as she realises that it is slightly ajar. Hesitantly she pushes the door open and reaches for the light switch on the wall. The lights come on and she is greeted with the sight of Sherlock and John sitting side by side on her sofa, each of them drumming the fingers of their handcuffed hand on their respective knees.

SHERLOCK: Too late to go on the record?

Not long afterwards, Kitty is sitting in an armchair while the boys stand in the middle of the room. Sherlock is using a hairpin to pick the lock on his handcuff.

SHERLOCK (to Kitty): Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes.

(He frees his hand and gives the hairpin to John before starting to pace back and forth in front of Kitty.)

SHERLOCK: The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo(!)

KITTY: I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so ...

SHERLOCK: And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?

(Kitty shakes her head, refusing to tell him any more.)

SHERLOCK: Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone.

(John finally frees his own hand from the cuffs.)

SHERLOCK: There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. (Sternly) What were his credentials?

(Outside in the hallway there have been the sounds of someone coming in through the main front door. Now Kitty looks towards the door of the flat and rises to her feet with a concerned look on her face as someone pushes her door open. Sherlock turns to follow her gaze as Jim Moriarty, unshaven and with his hair messy and wearing casual clothes including a cardigan, walks in with a shopping bag.)

JIM: Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal ...

(He raises his eyes and stares in terror at the sight of Sherlock, whose own eyes widen. Jim drops the shopping bag and backs away until he bumps into the wall behind him, holding his hands up protectively in front of him.)

JIM (his voice trembling): You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.

KITTY: You are safe, Richard. I’m a witness. He wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.

(John, his face full of shock, points at Jim.)

JOHN (to Kitty): So that’s your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!

(His teeth are bared and he glares at Jim, breathing heavily in pure fury.)

KITTY: Of course he’s Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been.

JOHN: What are you talking about?

KITTY: Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.

(Sherlock stares at Jim, who is still holding his hands up and looking at everyone nervously. Jim’s voice is shaking as he turns to John.)

JIM: Doctor Watson, I know you’re a good man.

(He backs into the corner of the room, appearing terrified under John’s ferocious glare.)

JIM: Don’t ... don’t h... Don’t hurt me.

(John screams at him, pointing towards him furiously.)

JOHN: No, you are Moriarty! (He turns his head briefly and yells at Kitty.) He’s Moriarty! (He turns back to Jim.) We’ve met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!

(Jim puts his hands briefly over his face, then holds them up in front of himself again, sounding as if he is almost crying in fear.)

JIM: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. (He gestures towards Sherlock.) He paid me. I needed the work. I’m an actor. I was out of work. I’m sorry, okay?

(Breathing heavily, John turns to Sherlock.)

JOHN: Sherlock, you’d better ... explain ... because I am not getting this.

KITTY: Oh I’ll ... I’ll be doing the explaining – in print. (She hands John a folder.) It’s all here – conclusive proof.

(John looks at an early typed sheet of her upcoming article, then turns to the proof copy showing the layout of how it will appear in the newspaper, with spaces left for photographs. The headline reads, ”Sherlock’s a fake!” with the strapline, “He invented all the crimes”.)

KITTY (looking at Sherlock): You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis.

JOHN (upset): Invented him?

KITTY: Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain.

JOHN: Oh, don’t be ridiculous!

(Kitty turns and points towards Jim.)

KITTY: Ask him. He’s right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard.

JOHN (furiously): Look, for God’s sake, this man was on trial!

KITTY: Yes ... (she points at Sherlock) ... and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you’d rig the jury.

(Sherlock stares at her silently.)

KITTY: Not exactly a West End role, but I’ll bet the money was good.

(She walks over to Jim and puts her arm around his shoulders as he stands with his hands still held out in front of himself.)

KITTY: But not so good he didn’t want to sell his story.

(Jim looks plaintively at John, putting his hands together pleadingly.)

JIM: I am sorry. I am. I am sorry.

JOHN (to Kitty): So-so this is the story that you’re gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty’s an actor?!

(He shakes his head in disbelief.)

JIM: He knows I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!

JOHN: Yeah, show me something.

(Kitty walks across the room. John turns to watch her as she reaches into a bag for more information. Behind them, Jim has put his hands over his face but now he pulls his hands away from his eyes a little and looks towards Sherlock, whose own gaze has barely left him since he arrived. For a brief moment, he reveals his true self and he smiles triumphantly at his enemy. Sherlock half-smiles back at him but there’s no humour in his eyes. Kitty takes out a folder, walks over to John and gives it to him.)

JIM (slipping back into his Richard persona and sounding plaintive and panicked): I’m on TV. I’m on kids’ TV. I’m The Storyteller.

(John looks at copies of Richard Brook’s contact details apparently taken from an agency website, then a newspaper article showing a picture of Richard in glasses wearing medical scrubs and with a stethoscope around his neck. The article is headlined, “Award Winning Actor Joins The Cast of Top Medical Drama”.)

JIM: I’m ... I’m The Storyteller. It’s on DVD.

(He looks across to Sherlock again, this time keeping his Richard face on. John continues looking through the folder at other publicity stills of Rich together with his CV. Jim gestures towards John, looking at Sherlock pleadingly.)

JIM: Just tell him. It’s all coming out now. It’s all over. (His voice becomes more frantic.) Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!

(Baring his teeth, Sherlock starts to walk towards him.)

JIM: It’s all over now ... NO!

(He backs away from Sherlock and up a short flight of stairs towards the bedroom on the upper level of the flat. His eyes are wide and terrified.)

JIM: Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me!

SHERLOCK (furiously): Stop it. Stop it NOW!

(Jim turns and bolts up the stairs.)

JIM: Don’t hurt me!

(Sherlock and John chase after him.)

JOHN: Don’t let him get away!

KITTY: Leave him alone!

(Jim runs into the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. With Kitty still at the bottom of the stairs and therefore unsighted, and John halfway up the stairs with his vision blocked by Sherlock ahead of him, Jim turns and grins manically at Sherlock for a brief second before slamming the door shut. Sherlock runs to the door and struggles momentarily to open it, then shoves it open but Jim has already disappeared through the open window opposite. There’s a crash outside as if Jim has landed on top of a dustbin. Sherlock looks out of the window, then turns to stop John.)

SHERLOCK: No, no, no. He’ll have back-up.

(He heads towards the stairs. Kitty backs down to get out of his way but doesn’t move quickly, slowing him down.)

KITTY: D’you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you.

(He stops at the bottom of the stairs as she gets into his face.)

KITTY: And you ... repel ... me.

(Sherlock turns and heads out of the door. John, still holding the folder of the articles about Rich, shoves Kitty aside and follows him. She closes the door behind them. The boys go out onto the street and John stops as Sherlock begins to pace rapidly back and forth in the middle of the road.)

JOHN: Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?

SHERLOCK: He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.

JOHN: Your word against his.

SHERLOCK: He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to ...

(He stops d*ad as he makes a realisation. John, who has still been rifling through the folder, looks up at his friend, who is turned away from him.)

JOHN: Sherlock?

SHERLOCK: Something I need to do.

JOHN: What? Can I help?

SHERLOCK: No – on my own.

(He briskly walks away. John watches him, sighing, then looks down at the papers again. He looks up and down the road and then apparently decides where he needs to go and heads off in the opposite direction.)

BART’S. Molly comes out of a small side room in a lab, switches off the lights and walks across the darkened lab, sighing tiredly. As she reaches the door to the corridor, Sherlock is standing in the darkness behind her with his face turned away from her. She doesn’t see him and reaches for the door handle.

SHERLOCK: You’re wrong, you know.

(She gasps and jumps, spinning around towards him.)

SHERLOCK: You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.

(He turns his head towards her.)

SHERLOCK: But you were right. I’m not okay.

MOLLY: Tell me what’s wrong.

SHERLOCK (slowly walking towards her): Molly, I think I’m going to die.

MOLLY: What do you need?

SHERLOCK (still slowly approaching her): If I wasn’t everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?

(Molly gazes up at him as he stops close to her.)

MOLLY: What do you need?

(Sherlock steps even closer, his expression intense.)

SHERLOCK: You.

THE DIOGENES CLUB. Mycroft walks across one of the common rooms, where an old man is fast asleep in an armchair, and goes into the smaller private room, reaching for the door handle to close it, but he stops as he realises that John is sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him. John is still looking through Kitty’s file.

JOHN: She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.

MYCROFT (closing the door): Ah.

JOHN: Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Two names: yours and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me.

(Mycroft walks across the room to face him.)

MYCROFT: John ...

JOHN: So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?

(Mycroft sits down in the chair opposite and opens his mouth but John interrupts again. His voice is full of controlled anger.)

JOHN: Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.

MYCROFT: I never inten... I never dreamt ...

JOHN (interrupting): So this ...th-th-this ... (he looks through the papers again) ... is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it: “Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.”

(He slaps the papers down on the table beside his chair and sits back, clearing his throat as he tries to stay calm.)

JOHN: How did you meet him?

(Mycroft draws in a long breath.)

MYCROFT: People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate w*apon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.

JOHN: And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?

MYCROFT: Interrogated him for weeks.

(Flashback to Mycroft watching through a one-way mirror as, in the cell on the other side of the mirror – the cell we saw at the end of “The Hounds of Baskerville” – a man viciously beats a seated Jim across the face.)

JOHN: And?

MYCROFT: He wouldn’t play along.

(In the flashback, Jim slowly turns his head towards the front after the blow and stares up at his interrogator, who strikes him again.)

MYCROFT: He just sat there, staring into the darkness.

(Again Jim turns his head to the front, appearing unphased by the as*ault. The interrogator strikes him again.)

MYCROFT: The only thing that made him open up ...

(Ruefully he gestures to himself. In the flashback, Mycroft opens the door to the cell and stops in the doorway. Jim lifts his head and looks at Mycroft’s reflection in the mirror in front of him.)

MYCROFT: I could get him to talk ...

(Mycroft comes into the room and turns to shut the door behind him. Jim closes his eyes and smiles blissfully as Mycroft walks closer.)

MYCROFT: ... just a little, but ...

(He trails off. John grimly finishes the sentence for him.)

JOHN: ... in return you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true.

(He leans forward in his chair.)

JOHN: Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect amm*nit*on.

(He smiles bitterly at him. Mycroft lowers his eyes. John pulls in a sharp breath and then gets to his feet, turning towards the door.)

MYCROFT: John ...

(John turns back. Mycroft looks up at him.)

MYCROFT (softly): I’m sorry.

JOHN (tightly): Oh, please ...

(He shakes his head in disbelief and turns away, laughing humourlessly as he walks to the door.)

MYCROFT: Tell him, would you?

(John opens the door and walks away, leaving the door open behind him.)

BART’S LAB. The lights are now on. Sherlock sits alone on the floor with his back against the bench. He is bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard in front of him and catching it before repeating the movement constantly. John comes in.

JOHN: Got your message.

(Sherlock catches the ball and holds on to it.)

SHERLOCK: The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it – b*at Moriarty at his own game.

JOHN: What d’you mean, “use it”?

SHERLOCK: He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook.

JOHN: And bring back Jim Moriarty again.

SHERLOCK (standing up): Somewhere in 221B, somewhere – on the day of the verdict – he left it hidden.

(He turns and faces the bench, putting both hands on the work surface. John walks to stand beside him, unconsciously mimicking his stance.)

JOHN: Uh-huh.

(Both of them stare ahead of them, thinking. John purses his lips, then looks at Sherlock.)

JOHN: What did he touch?

SHERLOCK: An apple. Nothing else.

(He briefly drums his fingers on the bench.)

JOHN: Did he write anything down?

SHERLOCK: No.

(John hisses in a breath and looks away, racking his brains and again unconsciously mimicking his friend by drumming his own fingers on the bench. After a moment, he turns and walks across the lab, bl*wing the breath out again. Sherlock lifts the fingers of his right hand, hesitates for a moment, then begins to drum them again but now he’s beating out a specific rhythm as, in his mind, binary code begins to stream out from his fingers. He lifts his head as John sighs heavily, unaware of Sherlock’s sharpened expression. Straightening up, Sherlock turns his back to John, takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to type a text message:

Come and play.

Bart’s Hospital rooftop.

SH

He pauses for a moment, then adds:

PS. Got something

of yours you might

want back.

Sending the message, he tucks his phone away into his jacket and then turns back towards the bench, his eyes full of thought.)

Some hours later, dawn is breaking. Sherlock is still in the same place, although he’s now sitting down with his feet up on the bench. He is rapidly rolling the rubber ball from side to side across the bench, his fingers flickering rapidly over the top of the ball. John has sat on a stool at a nearby bench and has his head down on his folded arms, asleep. His phone rings. Lifting his head tiredly, he groans and answers the phone.

JOHN: Yeah, speaking.

(He listens for a moment.)

JOHN (shocked): Er, what?

(He gets to his feet.)

JOHN: What happened? Is she okay? (He listens.) Oh my God. Right, yes, I’m coming.

(He switches the phone off.)

SHERLOCK: What is it?

JOHN: Paramedics. Mrs Hudson – she’s been sh*t.

SHERLOCK: What? How?

JOHN (frantically): Well, probably one of the K*llers you managed to attract ... Jesus. Jesus. She’s dying, Sherlock. Let’s go.

(He turns towards the door.)

SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): You go. I’m busy.

(John turns back towards him, his face appalled.)

JOHN: Busy?

SHERLOCK: Thinking. I need to think.

JOHN: You need to ...? Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half k*lled a man because he laid a finger on her.

SHERLOCK (shrugging): She’s my landlady.

JOHN (furiously): She’s dying ...

(He flails a hand in front of himself in utter disbelief at Sherlock’s attitude.)

JOHN: You machine.

(He looks down, shaking his head.)

JOHN: Sod this. Sod this. (He heads towards the door.) You stay here if you want, on your own.

SHERLOCK: Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.

JOHN (opening the door and looking back at him angrily): No. Friends protect people.

(He storms out of the room. Sherlock lifts his gaze towards the door. A moment later his phone trills a text alert. He reaches into his pocket and looks at the message:

I’m waiting...

JM

Taking his feet off the bench and standing up, he walks across the lab buttoning his jacket. He picks up his coat, opens the door and leaves the room.)

On the roof of the hospital, daylight has come. Jim Moriarty – now back in a typical smart suit and overcoat and with his hair slicked back – calmly sits on the raised ledge at the edge of the building with his phone in his hand as The Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” plays from it. He doesn’t look at Sherlock as he comes onto the roof and walks towards him.

JIM: Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem.

(He holds the phone up higher.)

JIM: Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it?

(Angrily he switches the phone off.)

JIM: It’s just ... (he holds his hand out flat with the palm down and skims it slowly through the air level to the roof) ... staying.

(He pulls his hand back and briefly sinks his head into it as Sherlock paces around the roof.)

JIM: All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have you. Because I’ve beaten you.

(Sherlock’s head turns sharply towards him as he continues to pace.)

JIM: And you know what? In the end it was easy.

(Sherlock stops and folds his hands behind his back.)

JIM (quietly, disappointed): It was easy. Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them.

(He lowers his head again and rubs his face before looking up at Sherlock.)

JIM: Ah well.

(He stands up and walks closer, then starts to pace slowly around the detective.)

JIM: Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?

SHERLOCK: Richard Brook.

JIM: Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do.

SHERLOCK: Of course.

JIM: Attaboy.

SHERLOCK: Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name.

JIM (in a fake American accent): Just tryin’ to have some fun.

(As he continues to pace around him, he looks down to Sherlock’s hands and sees that he is beating out a rhythm with his fingers.)

JIM: Good. You got that too.

SHERLOCK: Beats like digits.

(Flashback to Jim sitting at 221B drumming his fingers on his knee.)

SHERLOCK: Every b*at is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system.

JIM: I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy.

SHERLOCK (gesturing to his own head): Yes, but now that it’s up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can k*ll Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty.

(Jim gazes at him for a moment, then turns away with a disappointed look on his face.)

JIM: No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy.

(He buries his head in his hands.)

JIM: This is too easy.

(Lowering his hands, he turns back to Sherlock.)

JIM: There is no key, DOOFUS!

(He screams the last word into Sherlock’s face.)

JIM: Those digits are meaningless. They’re utterly meaningless.

(Sherlock can’t hide the confusion on his face.)

JIM: You don’t really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I’m disappointed.

(He turns away and lumbers across the roof, making his voice sound moronic as he continues speaking.)

JIM: I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock.

SHERLOCK: But the rhythm ...

JIM: “Partita number one.” Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach.

SHERLOCK: But then how did ...

JIM (speaking over him): Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?

(He turns and spreads his arms wide.)

JIM: Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants.

(In flashback at the White Tower, Jim selects the Crown icon on his phone. A message is automatically sent to the man in the surveillance room who hasn’t gone to make tea. He lifts his own phone to see the message: “it’s showtime !” then types on his keyboard and the alarms begin to sound as the security screens go blank. He gets up from the desk and hurries off, presumably to close the security door that will shut Jim into the Crown Jewels display room.)

JIM: I knew you’d fall for it. That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it.

(Sherlock has been staring blankly into the distance. Now he sounds bewildered as he speaks.)

SHERLOCK: Do it? Do – do what?

(He blinks as it becomes clearer to him and he turns towards Jim.)

SHERLOCK: Yes, of course. My su1c1de.

JIM: “Genius detective proved to be a fraud.” I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales.

(Sherlock walks to the edge of the roof and leans forward, looking over the side to the ground below. Jim walks to stand beside him and looks over the side as well.)

JIM: And pretty Grimm ones too.

(He turns his head and looks ominously at Sherlock.)

221B. A taxi pulls up outside and John jumps out and hurries towards the door, scrabbling for his keys. As he hurries inside, the man with the stepladder is standing at the top of it just in front of the stairs and is drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs Hudson is standing nearby watching him. As John runs towards her, she jolts in startlement, having not heard his approach over the sound of the drill.

MRS HUDSON: Oh, God, John! You made me jump!

JOHN (staring at her in confusion): But ...

MRS HUDSON: Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?

(John stares for a moment longer and then it suddenly sinks in.)

JOHN (softly, his voice full of horror): Oh my God.

(He turns around and runs out again, looking up and down the street frantically. Luckily he immediately sees what he needs.)

JOHN: Taxi!

(A cab begins to pull over on the other side of the road. John chases across the road towards it.)

JOHN: Taxi!

(A man is standing at the side of the road having also just hailed the cab. As he leans into the front window to tell the driver his destination, John runs around the cab and pulls open the rear door, talking even as he scrambles inside.)

JOHN: No, no, no, no, police! ... Sort of.

MAN (walking away angrily): Oh, thanks, mate – thanks a lot(!)

BART’S ROOFTOP. The two men have turned towards each other at the edge of the roof.

SHERLOCK: I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.

JIM (wearily exasperated): Oh, just k*ll yourself. It’s a lot less effort.

(Sherlock turns away, pacing distractedly.)

JIM: Go on. For me.

(He makes his voice into a high-pitched squeal for the next word.)

JIM: Pleeeeeease?

(In a sudden movement, Sherlock grabs him by the collar of his coat with both hands and spins him around so that Jim’s back is to the drop. He stares into his face and then shoves him back one step nearer the edge. Jim looks at him with interest as Sherlock’s breathing becomes shorter.)

SHERLOCK: You’re insane.

(Jim blinks.)

JIM: You’re just getting that now?

(Sherlock shoves him further back, now holding him over the edge. Jim whoops almost triumphantly and gazes back at Sherlock with no fear in his eyes, holding his hands out wide and committing himself to Sherlock’s grasp.)

JIM: Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive.

(Sherlock frowns. Jim’s voice becomes more savage.)

JIM: Your friends will die if you don’t.

(Fear begins to creep into Sherlock’s eyes.)

SHERLOCK: John.

JIM: Not just John. (In a whisper) Everyone.

SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson.

JIM (in a whisper, with a delighted smile): Everyone.

SHERLOCK: Lestrade.

JIM: Three b*ll*ts; three g*n; three victims. There’s no stopping them now.

(Furiously, Sherlock pulls Jim back upwards to safety. Jim stares into his face.)

JIM: Unless my people see you jump.

(Sherlock gazes past him, breathing heavily and appearing lost in horror. Jim shakes himself free of his grasp and smiles triumphantly.)

JIM: You can have me arrested; you can t*rture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ...

SHERLOCK: ... unless I k*ll myself – complete your story.

(Jim nods and smiles ecstatically.)

JIM: You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier.

SHERLOCK (his gaze distant and lost): And I die in disgrace.

JIM: Of course. That’s the point of this.

(He looks over the side and sees that someone has stopped at the benches near the bus stop below them.)

JIM: Oh, you’ve got an audience now. Off you pop.

(He rolls his head from side to side on his neck.)

JIM: Go on.

(Sherlock slowly steps past him and up onto the ledge.)

JIM: I told you how this ends.

(Sherlock’s breathing becomes more shaky as he looks down.)

JIM (not even looking at him): Your death is the only thing that’s gonna call off the K*llers. I’m certainly not gonna do it.

(Now he turns his head and looks up at his enemy expectantly. Sherlock blinks anxiously.)

SHERLOCK: Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy?

(He glances down at Jim.)

SHERLOCK: Please?

(Jim looks disappointed that Sherlock should be so ‘ordinary’.)

JIM: Of course.

(He moves away across the roof. Sherlock takes several shallow anxious breaths, then he stops breathing for a moment as his brain kicks into gear again. He lifts his gaze as his expression becomes more like the Sherlock we know and his eyes become thoughtful. Slowly a smile spreads across his face and he starts to chuckle. Behind him, Jim is slowly walking across the roof but he stops, his expression livid, as Sherlock laughs with delight. Jim spins around furiously.)

JIM: What?

(Sherlock continues to laugh.)

JIM (angrily): What is it?

(Sherlock half turns on the ledge, smiling towards him as he glares back.)

JIM (angrily): What did I miss?

(Sherlock hops down off the ledge and walks closer to him.)

SHERLOCK: “You’re not going to do it.” So the K*llers can be called off, then – there’s a recall code or a word or a number.

(Now he’s the one circling his prey.)

SHERLOCK: I don’t have to die ... (his voice becomes sing-song) ... if I’ve got you.

JIM: Oh! (He laughs in relieved delight.) You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?

SHERLOCK (still circling him): Yes. So do you.

JIM: Sherlock, your big brother and all the King’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to.

SHERLOCK (stopping and getting into Jim’s face): Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you.

(Jim shakes his head slowly.)

JIM: Naah. You talk big. Naah. You’re ordinary. You’re ordinary – you’re on the side of the angels.

SHERLOCK (his voice becoming more ominous): Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.

(The enemies lock eyes for a long moment as Jim tries to deduce how far Sherlock will go.)

JIM: No, you’re not.

(He blinks, then closes his eyes briefly. Sherlock does likewise in an unintentional mirror movement. Jim smiles and opens his eyes again.)

JIM (softly, insanely): I see. You’re not ordinary. No. You’re me.

(He hisses out a delighted laugh and his voice becomes more high-pitched.)

JIM: You’re me! Thank you!

(He lifts his hand as if to embrace Sherlock, but then lowers it and offers it to him to shake instead.)

JIM: Sherlock Holmes.

(They both look down at the offered hand, then Sherlock slowly raises his own and takes it.)

JIM (nodding almost frenetically, though his voice stays soft): Thank you. Bless you.

(He blinks and lowers his gaze as if blinking back tears.)

JIM: As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends; you’ve got a way out.

(He continues to blink with his gaze lowered.)

JIM: Well, good luck with that.

(In rapid succession he raises his eyes to Sherlock’s, grins manically, opens his mouth wide and pulls Sherlock closer as he reaches into his waistband with his other hand and pulls a p*stol out and raises it towards his own mouth. As Sherlock instinctively pulls back, crying out in alarm, Jim sticks the muzzle into his own mouth and pulls the trigger, dropping to the roof instantly. Sherlock stares in horror as blood begins to trickle across the roof underneath Jim’s head. Jim’s eyes are fixed and open and there is a smile of victory on his face. Sherlock spins away from him, his breathing noisy and frantic as he raises his hands to his head in horror.)

(Not far away and obviously unseen by Sherlock, one of the assassins trots up a staircase and then sits down on the stairs and begins to assemble a high-powered r*fle. Meanwhile John sits anxiously in the taxi on his way back to Bart’s.)

(At 221, Mrs Hudson gives a mug of tea to the workman as he squats in the hallway. He takes it and smiles gratefully, then picks up one of his tools and puts it back into his toolbox. Lying on top of all the other tools is a p*stol with a small sil*ncer attached to it. He raises his eyes ominously in the direction of Mrs H as she goes back into 221A.)

(As the assassin on the staircase continues to assemble his r*fle, at Scotland Yard a plain clothed police officer in the general office looks round to Greg’s office with his eyes narrowed as the D.I. speaks on the phone.)

LESTRADE (into phone): Yes, sir, thank you. Bye.

(On the stairwell, the assassin finishes his assembly, opens the nearby window and aims his g*n out of it as John’s taxi gets closer to Bart’s.)

(On the rooftop, Sherlock breathes shallowly and rapidly, holding his sleeve up over his mouth in horror as he turns to look again at Jim’s fixed grin. He thinks frantically for a while, then slowly turns towards the edge of the building. His breathing begins to slow as he steps up onto the ledge, blows out another breath and looks down towards the ground. In the street below, John’s taxi pulls up. Sherlock takes out his phone and selects a speed dial. The answering phone begins to ring below him as John gets out of the taxi and raises his phone to his ear as he trots towards the hospital.)

JOHN: Hello?

SHERLOCK: John.

JOHN: Hey, Sherlock, you okay?

SHERLOCK: Turn around and walk back the way you came now.

JOHN: No, I’m coming in.

SHERLOCK (frantically): Just do as I ask. Please.

JOHN (turning back and looking around bewildered): Where?

(Sherlock pauses for a moment as John walks along the road, then speaks urgently.)

SHERLOCK: Stop there.

JOHN (stopping): Sherlock?

SHERLOCK: Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.

(John turns and looks up, his face filling with horror.)

JOHN: Oh God.

SHERLOCK: I ... I ... I can’t come down, so we’ll ... we’ll just have to do it like this.

JOHN (anxiously): What’s going on?

SHERLOCK: An apology. It’s all true.

JOHN: Wh-what?

SHERLOCK: Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.

(He looks around briefly at his enemy’s grinning body lying behind him. On the ground, John stares up at his friend in disbelief.)

JOHN: Why are you saying this?

(Sherlock turns back to look down at him. His voice breaks.)

SHERLOCK: I’m a fake.

JOHN: Sherlock ...

SHERLOCK (his voice becoming tearful): The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.

JOHN: Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?

SHERLOCK: Nobody could be that clever.

JOHN: You could.

(Sherlock laughs and gazes down at his friend, a tear dripping from his chin.)

SHERLOCK: I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. (He sniffs quietly.) It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.

(John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly.)

JOHN: No. All right, stop it now.

(He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance.)

SHERLOCK (urgently): No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.

(John stops and backs up, holding his hand up towards Sherlock in capitulation.)

JOHN: All right.

(Breathing rapidly, Sherlock unconsciously reaches out his own hand towards his friend.)

SHERLOCK: Keep your eyes fixed on me. (His voice becomes frantic.) Please, will you do this for me?

JOHN: Do what?

SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?

(John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he’s beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky.)

JOHN: Leave a note when?

SHERLOCK: Goodbye, John.

JOHN (shaking his head): No. Don’t.

(Sherlock gazes down at his friend for several seconds, then he lowers his arm and drops the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself. John lowers his own phone and screams upwards.)

JOHN: No. SHERLOCK!

(Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground. John stares in utter horror.)

JOHN: Sher...

(A couple of seconds later the body impacts the ground. John’s hearing whites out as his entire body focuses on getting to Sherlock as soon as he can. Sherlock had disappeared from view towards the end of his fall because a building obstructed John’s view of him, and John now runs to the corner of the building, then slows down and stops in the middle of the road as he gets his first glimpse of the still figure lying on the wet pavement, the lower part of his body obscured by a parked lorry. Behind John, a young man on a fast pedal cycle slams into him and sends him crashing to the ground, his head hitting the asphalt hard. Groaning, he struggles to stay conscious as, nearby, people begin to run towards the body on the pavement. The lorry pulls away and a couple of medics from the hospital hurry out and start trying to prevent the onlookers from getting too close. Grimacing with pain, John rolls onto his side and looks across to the pavement where Sherlock is lying on his side with a lot of blood under his head. Slowly John hauls himself to his feet and stumbles towards him as more onlookers gather, talking excitedly about what they saw. John forces himself onwards.)

JOHN (in a whisper): Sherlock, Sherlock ...

(He reaches the crowd.)

JOHN: I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please.

(Some of the crowd try to hold him back but he pushes through them.)

JOHN: No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please.

(He reaches down to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist, searching for a pulse. A woman peels his fingers off as she and another person pull him away. As he reaches towards his friend again, more medics arrive with a wheeled stretcher.)

JOHN (frantically): Please, let me just ...

(The impact of the shock and the bang on his head begin to take effect and his knees give out. As he slumps to the floor supported by a couple of onlookers, two people gently roll Sherlock onto his back revealing his blood stained face and wide staring eyes. John groans in utter despair.)

JOHN: Nggh, Jesus, no.

(He tries to stand but sinks back again.)

JOHN: God, no.

(As the onlookers support him, four people lift Sherlock’s body onto the stretcher and then rapidly wheel it away into the hospital. John stares after it, his face blank and uncomprehending. He finally manages to get to his feet and shakes off his helpers, staring blindly in the direction that his friend’s body was taken.)

(In a nearby building, a r*fle sight is aimed directly at John’s head. As John continues to stand in profile to the sn*per, a perfect target, the assassin lifts his g*n back inside the window and begins to disassemble the w*apon. Packing it into his bag, he stands up and walks away.)

DIOGENES CLUB. Mycroft is holding a copy of “The Sun”. Its headline screams “su1c1de OF FAKE GENIUS” and the straplines state ”SUPER-SLEUTH IS d*ad” and ”Fraudulent detective takes his own life”. Folding the paper and putting it down on the table beside him, he stares blankly into the distance and then folds his hands in front of his face in the prayer position.

221B. John sits in his armchair, dressed but with his feet bare and tucked together in front of him. One hand is propping up his head and he gazes into the distance, lost and alone.

ELLA’S OFFICE. As the rain continues to pour down, John gazes blankly at his therapist.

ELLA: There’s stuff that you wanted to say ...

(John opens his mouth briefly and then closes it.)

ELLA: ... but didn’t say it.

JOHN (his voice breaking): Yeah.

ELLA: Say it now.

JOHN (tearfully): No. (He shakes his head.) Sorry. I can’t.

TAXI. John and Mrs Hudson are sitting in the back of a cab as it drives into a graveyard. Mrs H is holding a bunch of flowers. Not long afterwards, they stand beside each other in front of a black marble headstone. The flowers are now resting at the base of the headstone.

MRS HUDSON: There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school.

(She looks at John.)

MRS HUDSON: Would you ...?

JOHN: I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment.

(She takes his arm sympathetically.)

JOHN: I’m angry.

(He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down. She pats his arm gently.)

MRS HUDSON: It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.

(She gazes at the smooth black marble which simply bears the words SHERLOCK HOLMES.)

MRS HUDSON: All the marks on my table; and the noise – f*ring g*n at half past one in the morning!

JOHN: Yeah.

MRS HUDSON: Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!

JOHN: Yes.

(He closes his eyes as she continues, her own voice breaking.)

MRS HUDSON: And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!

(John turns to her.)

JOHN: Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?

MRS HUDSON: Okay.

(She turns away, pulling her arm free of his.)

MRS HUDSON: I’ll leave you alone to, erm ... (her voice breaks again) ... you know.

(Crying, she walks away, fishing out a tissue to blow her nose. John looks down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. He looks back over his shoulder to see that Mrs Hudson is now out of earshot, then turns back to the grave again.)

JOHN (thoughtfully): Um ... mmm. (He pulls himself together a little.) You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There.

(He blows out a breath, whimpering slightly. Looking over his shoulder again, he walks over to the headstone and puts his fingertips onto the top of it.)

JOHN: I was so alone, and I owe you so much.

(He takes a tearful breath.)

JOHN: Okay.

(He turns and starts to walk away but only reaches the foot of the grave before he turns back again.)

JOHN: No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t ... be ... (his voice breaks and fills with tears) ... d*ad. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it. (He gestures down at the grave.) Stop this.

(He sighs and lowers his head and stands there, broken. Reflected in the smooth marble of the headstone, his figure appears to have the name SHERLOCK carved directly across his chest. He lowers his head further, covers his eyes with one hand and weeps. Finally he wipes his eyes, sniffs deeply and raises his head, coming to attention in front of his best friend. Nodding in salute to him and giving himself permission to dismiss, he turns smartly on one heel and then walks away.)

Standing some distance away under a tree and obscured from view by other headstones, Sherlock Holmes watches his best friend walk across the graveyard until he disappears from view. He looks reflective for a long moment, then turns and walks away.
{"type": "series", "show": "Sherlock", "episode": "02x03 - The Reichenbach Fall"}