In a bedsit somewhere in London, John Watson sits up on the side of his bed in the middle of the night, sweating and distressed by the nightmare which has awoken him. Later he is sitting at the desk in his room, wrapped up in his thoughts, a glass of water in front of him. His gaze is drawn to the metal walking cane leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily.
DAY TIME. John, now dressed, opens the top drawer in the desk to get his laptop. As he lifts the computer out of the drawer, we see that there is a pistol underneath. He looks at the gun for a long moment before sliding the drawer closed. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he hits a key to reactivate the screen and looks at the document page which appears. It reads, “The Personal Blog of Dr John H Watson.” The rest of the page is blank.
Later he is at his psychotherapist’s office and is sitting in a chair opposite her. ELLA: How’s your blog going? JOHN: Mmm, fine! Good. Very good. ELLA: Written much? JOHN (instantly): Not a word. (They both nod.) ELLA: John, it’s going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life ... (John grimaces.) JOHN: Sure. ELLA: ... and it will help so much to write about everything that’s happening to you. (John gazes back at her, his face full of despair.) JOHN: Nothing happens to me.
Opening credits.
BRIXTON. Detective Inspector Lestrade makes his way along a corridor in a building and stands at the doorway to a room. Doctor Anderson comes out of the room, dressed in blue coveralls. ANDERSON: As far as we can see, no marks on the body, no identification. LESTRADE: Same as the others? ANDERSON (nodding): Exactly the same. (He walks a few paces away to collect some evidence bags from a colleague. Lestrade takes out his phone and begins scrolling through its menu. Seeing what he’s doing, Anderson looks awkward.) ANDERSON: Um, you’re not phoning ... him, are you? ’Cause we can handle this. We can absolutely handle it. (Not looking up, Lestrade begins to dial.) LESTRADE: You’ve got work to do. (Sighing silently, Anderson goes back into the room. Lestrade raises the phone to his ear as it begins to ring out. He apparently immediately gets the voicemail of the person he’s calling.) LESTRADE (into phone): This is Inspector Lestrade. Please call me as soon as you get this. I think we’re gonna need you. (He hangs up and sighs as he looks at the crime scene.)
TUESDAY 13 JANUARY [as indicated by the date on John’s phone later in the episode]. PICCADILLY CIRCUS. A newspaper stand carries the headline “4th SUICIDE MURDER VICTIM.” John is walking down the road, leaning heavily on his cane. A man in a raincoat and carrying a briefcase walks past him, then turns and stares at him, clearly recognising him. He calls out. MIKE: John! John Watson! (John stops and turns around. Mike hurries towards him, smiling.) MIKE: Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together. JOHN: Yes, sorry, yes, Mike. (He takes Mike’s offered hand and shakes it.) Hello. MIKE (grinning and gesturing to himself): Yeah, I know. I got fat! JOHN (trying to sound convincing): No. MIKE: I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened? JOHN (awkwardly): I got shot.
A little later they are sitting opposite each other at a table in the bar of the Criterion restaurant. They each have a glass of wine – John’s wine is red and Mike’s white. A waiter brings them a basket of bread rolls and collects their menus as they talk. JOHN: So you’re still at Bart’s, then? MIKE: Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them! (John smiles.) MIKE: What about you? Staying in town ’til you get yourself sorted? JOHN: Can’t afford London on an Army pension. MIKE (shrugging): I dunno – get yourself a flatshare or something? JOHN: Who’d want me for a flatmate? (Mike chuckles thoughtfully.) JOHN: What? MIKE: Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today. JOHN: Who was the first?
ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL MORGUE. Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs. SHERLOCK: How fresh? (Mortician Molly Hooper walks over.) MOLLY: Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here – donated his body. I knew him. He was nice. (Sherlock straightens up and turns to her.) SHERLOCK: Fine. We’ll start with the riding crop.
Shortly afterwards the body has been removed from the bag and is lying on its front on the table. In the observation room next door, Molly watches while Sherlock flogs the body repeatedly and violently with a riding crop, grunting with the effort. She walks back into the room. MOLLY (jokingly): So, bad day, was it? (Sherlock turns and puts the crop down on a nearby shelf.) SHERLOCK: I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me. (Picking up his coat, he starts to walk past her on his way out of the room.) MOLLY (a little nervously): Listen, I was wondering: maybe later ... (Sherlock stops and frowns at her.) SHERLOCK: Are you wearing lipstick? You weren’t wearing lipstick before. MOLLY: I just refreshed it a bit. (She smiles at him nervously.) SHERLOCK: Sorry, you were saying? MOLLY (gazing at him intently): I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee. SHERLOCK: Black, two sugars, please. I’ll be upstairs. (He smiles falsely at her and walks away.) MOLLY: ... Okay.
BART’S COMPUTER LAB. In a room full of computers, Sherlock is currently the only person there, typing on one of the computers as he works his way through his emails. He is typing an email to “mycroft@dsux.org” and the subject line reads: “Re: An impossible situation”. He types into the message box:
When you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains must be the truth.
[And can your transcriber point out that he must be on a really cheap and rubbish email system because it has items on the menu labelled “Attac” and “Signiture”?!] It’s not clear whether he then sends that email or just shifts windows to his Inbox, which consists of the following emails [address, followed by the Subject]:
lestrade@strade.org.uk : Please call me mycroft@dsux.org : An impossible situation gregson@ftnu.co.uk : RE: Church bell theft smith@smithson.org : The curious cow jones@jkjoes.com : Samson and Del drhopps@drdoc.net : Strange substance in pocket
He begins to type a new email to “gregson@ftnu.co.uk” [although, for some odd reason he types the address manually instead of just clicking on ‘Reply’] with the Subject line of, “re: RE: Church bell theft”. In the message box he types:
If you can see the church from the bedroom window, Davies is your man.
He goes back to the Inbox and opens the email from “lestrade@strade.org.uk” headed ‘Please call me’. The message reads simply:
Please call me. Lestrade
Smirking, Sherlock deletes the email. As he begins to type a new email to “jones@” ... [before the camera cuts away], Mike – who has taken off his outdoor coat and replaced it with a white lab coat – leads John into the room. As Sherlock looks round at them, Mike stops and looks expectantly at John. JOHN: Well, it’s a bit different from my day. MIKE (chuckling): You’ve no idea! SHERLOCK (looking back at his computer): Mike, can I borrow your phone? No signal on mine. MIKE (sighing): And what’s wrong with the landline? SHERLOCK: I’d rather text. (Mike searches in his coat pockets but only comes up with a notebook.) MIKE: Sorry. Other coat. (John fishes in his jacket pocket and takes out his own phone.) JOHN: Oh, here. Use mine. SHERLOCK (standing up and turning to John as he brings the phone across the room to him): Oh. Thank you. MIKE: It’s an old mate of mine, John Watson. (Taking the phone, Sherlock sits down again with his back to the others.) SHERLOCK: Afghanistan or Iraq? (John smiles awkwardly, bewildered by the question.) JOHN: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...? (Already texting on John’s phone, Sherlock looks round as Molly comes into the room holding a mug of coffee.) SHERLOCK: Ah, coffee. Thank you, Molly. (He hands John’s phone back to him while Molly brings the mug over to him. He looks closely at her as she puts the mug down on the table. Her mouth is paler again.) SHERLOCK: What happened to the lipstick? MOLLY (smiling awkwardly at him): It wasn’t working for me. SHERLOCK: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Mouth’s too small now. (He picks up the mug and takes a sip.) MOLLY (unhappily): Okay. (She turns and heads back towards the door.) SHERLOCK (putting the mug down and starting to type again): How d’you feel about the violin? (John has been watching Molly but realises that Sherlock is talking to him.) JOHN: I’m sorry, what? SHERLOCK (still typing): I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. (He half glances round towards John.) Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other. (John looks round at Mike.) JOHN: Oh, you told him about me? MIKE (smiling smugly): Not a word. JOHN (turning to Sherlock again): Then who said anything about flatmates? SHERLOCK (standing up and putting on his greatcoat): I did. I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is after lunch with an old friend clearly home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t a difficult leap. JOHN: How did you know about Afghanistan? (Sherlock ignores the question and leans forward to shut down the computer.) SHERLOCK: Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we could afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. (He heads towards the door.) SHERLOCK: Sorry – I’ve gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary. (John throws a disbelieving grin at Mike and then turns towards the departing Sherlock.) JOHN: Is that it? (Sherlock stops near the door.) SHERLOCK: Is that what? JOHN: We’ve just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat? SHERLOCK: Problem? (John throws another look at Mike but he says nothing. John turns back to the younger man.) JOHN: We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know your name; I don’t even know where we’re meeting. (Sherlock lowers his gaze momentarily, then quirks a brief grin as he raises his eyes again.) SHERLOCK: I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve recently been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother with a bit of money who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. (John stares at him in surprise. Behind him, Mike lowers his head with a smug smile on his face.) SHERLOCK: And I know your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. (He smiles very briefly.) SHERLOCK: That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think? (He turns and walks towards the door again, but then comes back and leans around the wall which blocks the door from view.) SHERLOCK: The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street. (He click-winks at John.) SHERLOCK: Afternoon. (He turns and leaves the room. As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiles and nods to him.) MIKE: Yeah. He’s always like that. (He turns and walks away. John looks back towards the door, still looking confused.)
THE NEXT DAY. BAKER STREET, LONDON W1. John limps along the road and reaches the door marked 221B. Next door is a café restaurant which has a sign above the window reading “Mrs Hudson’s Snax ‘n’ Sarnies” which is not only appalling spelling but commits the ultimate sin of being written in Comic Sans font. As John stands and looks at the sign a black cab pulls up at the kerb and Sherlock gets out and walks over to him. SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson, our landlady. (He smiles as John turns to him.) JOHN: Ah, Mr Holmes. SHERLOCK: Sherlock, please. (They shake hands, then walk towards the door of 221B.) SHERLOCK: Getting a special rate. Owes me a favour. A few years ago, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out. (He knocks on the door.) JOHN: You stopped her husband being executed? SHERLOCK: Oh no. I ensured it. (The door is opened by Mrs Hudson, who opens her arms to the younger man.) MRS HUDSON: Sherlock, hello. (Sherlock turns and walks into her arms, hugging her briefly. As he steps back she gestures the boys inside.) MRS HUDSON: Come in, come in! (Sherlock leads the way inside.) JOHN (as he passes Mrs Hudson): Thank you. (Mrs Hudson closes the door. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first floor, then pauses and waits for John to hobble upstairs. Once John reaches the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of him and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat. John follows him in and looks around the room and at all the possessions scattered around it.) JOHN: Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed. SHERLOCK: Yes, I think so. My thoughts exactly. (He walks across the room.) SHERLOCK: So I went ahead and moved in. JOHN (simultaneously): Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... (He pauses, embarrassed, when he realises what Sherlock was saying.) JOHN: So ... this is all your stuff. SHERLOCK: Obviously I can straighten things up ... a bit. (He walks across the room and picks up some newspapers from one of the two armchairs, tossing them straight onto a nearby dining chair. John has noticed something on the mantelpiece and peers closely at it while Sherlock takes some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he puts them onto the mantelpiece and then stabs a multi tool knife into them.) JOHN: That’s a real skull. SHERLOCK: Friend of mine. Well, I say ‘friend’ ... (He grins. Mrs Hudson has followed them into the room.) MRS HUDSON: What d’you think, Doctor Watson? JOHN (turning to her): Hmm? MRS HUDSON (pointing upwards): There’s another bedroom upstairs ... (she winks) ... if you’ll be needing two bedrooms. JOHN: Well, of course we’ll be needing two. MRS HUDSON: Oh, don’t worry; there’s all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door’s got married ones. (John looks at her, startled. Unperturbed, she picks up a waste paper bin and walks across the room.) MRS HUDSON: Sherlock. The mess you’ve made. (As she starts tidying up and then goes into the kitchen, humming to herself, John looks around the room again. Sherlock has taken off his greatcoat and is rummaging through papers on the bureau by the windows. John walks over to one of the two armchairs and drops heavily down into it.) JOHN: Oh, I, um, looked you up on the internet last night. SHERLOCK (looking round at him): Anything interesting? JOHN: Found your website, The Science of Deduction. SHERLOCK: What did you think? JOHN: Quite amusing, I suppose. (Sherlock looks at him indignantly.) SHERLOCK: “Amusing”? JOHN: You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and – what was it? – a retired plumber by his left hand. SHERLOCK: Yes; and I can read your military career by your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits by your mobile phone. MRS HUDSON (to herself as she comes out of the kitchen and continues to tidy up): The state of the place already. JOHN (to Sherlock): How? SHERLOCK: You read the article. JOHN: The article was absurd. SHERLOCK (turning round to face him again): But I know about his drinking habits. I even know that he left his wife. (Mrs Hudson has picked up a copy of The Times newspaper and is looking at the front page.) MRS HUDSON: What about these suicides then, Sherlock? Thought that’d be right up your street. Been a fourth one now. (Outside the windows, the lights of a police car flash as it approaches with its siren going. Sherlock walks over to the window as the car pulls up outside.) SHERLOCK: Yes, actually. Very much up my street. JOHN (leaning forward in the chair): Can I just ask: what is your street? SHERLOCK (looking down at the police car): There’s been a fifth. (Sherlock turns as D.I. Lestrade [who apparently must have picked the lock on the front door ... like you do ...] trots up the stairs and comes into the living room.) SHERLOCK: Where this time? LESTRADE: Brixton, Lauriston Gardens. Will you come? SHERLOCK: Who’s on forensics? LESTRADE: It’s Anderson. SHERLOCK: Anderson won’t work with me. LESTRADE: He won’t be your assistant. SHERLOCK: But I need an assistant. LESTRADE: Will you come? SHERLOCK: Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind. LESTRADE: Thank you. (Looking round at John and Mrs Hudson for a moment, he turns and leaves the room. Biting his lip to hold back his delighted smile, Sherlock waits until the inspector is trotting down the stairs, then clenches his fists triumphantly and leaps into the air.) SHERLOCK: Oh! Brilliant! (Mrs Hudson giggles happily for him.) SHERLOCK: Thought it was gonna be a dull evening. (He starts putting his coat on.) SHERLOCK (to John): Honestly, can’t beat a really imaginative serial killer when there’s nothing on the telly. (Leaping across the room while he puts his scarf on, he goes across to the bureau.) SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson, I may be out late. Might need some food. MRS HUDSON: I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper. (Sherlock picks up a small pouch of equipment and checks the implements inside it.) SHERLOCK: Something cold will do. John, make yourself at home. Er, have a cup of tea. Don’t wait up. (He races out of the door and disappears from view. Mrs Hudson giggles.) MRS HUDSON: Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same. (John sits back in his chair, looking tired.) MRS HUDSON: But you’re more the sitting-down type, I can tell. (John looks uncomfortable.) MRS HUDSON (heading for the kitchen): I’ll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg. JOHN (loudly): Damn my leg! (His response was instinctive and he is immediately apologetic as Mrs Hudson gasps and comes back towards him, making an indignant sound.) JOHN: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just that sometimes this bloody thing ... (He bashes his leg with his cane.) MRS HUDSON: I understand, dear; I’ve got a hip. (She turns towards the kitchen again.) JOHN: A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you. MRS HUDSON: Just this once, dear. I’m not your housekeeper. JOHN (grabbing the nearby copy of The Times): Couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got ’em. MRS HUDSON (heading out of the kitchen door): I’m not your housekeeper! (John looks at the front page of the newspaper which bears the headline ‘Fourth “suicide” Found’ and shows a photograph of the man who just visited the flat, identifying him as Inspector Lestrade, the lead detective in charge of the investigation. As he reads on, Sherlock stands in the doorway of the lounge and watches him for a moment before coming back into the room.) SHERLOCK: You’re a doctor. (John looks round at him.) SHERLOCK: In fact you’re an Army doctor. JOHN (putting the paper down and standing up): Yes. SHERLOCK: Any good? JOHN: Very good. SHERLOCK: Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths. JOHN: Well, yes. SHERLOCK: Bit of trouble too, I bet. JOHN (quietly): Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much. SHERLOCK: Wanna see some more? JOHN (fervently): God, yes! (Smiling, Sherlock spins on his heel.) SHERLOCK: Come on, then. (He leads John out of the room and down the stairs. John calls out as he follows him down.) JOHN: Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I’ll skip the cuppa. Off out. MRS HUDSON (coming out of a downstairs room): What, both of you? (Sherlock has almost reached the front door but now turns back towards her.) SHERLOCK: No point sitting at home when there’s finally some halfway interesting murders! (He turns towards the door again.) MRS HUDSON: Look at you, all happy. It’s not decent. SHERLOCK (turning back again): Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on! (He and John hurry out onto the street and Sherlock hails an approaching black cab.) SHERLOCK: Taxi!
Shortly afterwards the boys are in the back of the taxi heading for Brixton. Sherlock gazes thoughtfully out of the window while John keeps stealing nervous glances at him. Finally Sherlock looks round at him. SHERLOCK: Okay, you’ve got questions. JOHN: Where are we going? SHERLOCK: Crime scene. There’s been a murder. Next? JOHN: Who are you? What do you do? SHERLOCK: What do you think? JOHN: I’d say private detective, but ... SHERLOCK: But? JOHN: ... the police don’t go to private detectives. SHERLOCK: I’m a consulting detective. I’m the only one in the world. I invented the job. JOHN: What does that mean? SHERLOCK: It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me. JOHN: But the police don’t consult ... (he pauses for a long moment, apparently reluctant to use the word) ... amateurs. (Sherlock looks at him for several seconds.) SHERLOCK: When I met you for the first time yesterday and asked, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” you looked surprised. JOHN: How did you know? SHERLOCK: I didn’t know, I saw. (Flashback to the computer lab at Bart’s as Sherlock takes John’s phone from him.) SHERLOCK (in flashback): Thank you. SHERLOCK: Tanned face but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your haircut and the way you hold yourself says military. Your conversation when you entered the room ... (Flashback to Mike leading John into the lab.) JOHN (in flashback): Ah. Bit different from my day. [Yes, that isn’t what he said at the time.] SHERLOCK: ... says trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor, obvious. (John stares at him, startled.) (Flashback to Sherlock noticing John’s cane in the lab.) SHERLOCK: Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it. That means the limp is at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatising. Wounded in action, then. So: where does an Army doctor get himself a suntan and wounded in action these days? Afghanistan or Iraq. JOHN: You said I had a therapist. SHERLOCK: You’ve got a psychosomatic limp – of course you’ve got a therapist. (Both of them are gazing out of their respective side windows. Sherlock takes a sharp breath and turns to John again.) SHERLOCK: Then there’s your brother. (Flashback to John offering Sherlock his phone.) JOHN (in flashback): Here, use mine. SHERLOCK (in flashback): Thank you. (In the flashback he takes the phone.) SHERLOCK (now holding John’s phone in the taxi): Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player. You’re looking for a flatshare – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then. (He turns it over and looks at it again as he talks.) SHERLOCK: Scratches. Not just one, but many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting beside me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this. It’s had a previous owner, then. The next bit’s easy. You know it already. JOHN: The engraving. (We see that engraved on the back of the phone are the words
Harry Watson From Clara Xxx
SHERLOCK: Harry Watson: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father; this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but then you’re a war hero returning home who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who’s Clara? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She’s given this to him recently – the model’s only six months old. So, it’s a marriage in trouble, then – six months on he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he’d have kept the phone, probably. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you; that says he wants you to stay in touch. He’s worried about you. (He gives the phone back to John.) SHERLOCK: You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you won’t go to your brother for help. That says you’ve got problems with him. (John shakes his head in disbelief.) SHERLOCK: Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don’t like his drinking. JOHN: How can you possibly know about the drinking? SHERLOCK: Shot in the dark. Good one, though. (Yet another flashback of Sherlock standing and taking John’s phone.) SHERLOCK (in flashback): Thank you. SHERLOCK (in the taxi): Power connection: tiny scuff marks around the edge of it. (John peers at the edge of the phone.) SHERLOCK: Every night he plugs it in to recharge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone; never see a drunk’s without them. (John shakes his head and puts the phone back in his pocket.) SHERLOCK: There you go, you see – you were right. JOHN: I was right? Right about what? SHERLOCK: The police don’t consult amateurs. (He looks out of the side window while he awaits John’s reaction. It takes John several seconds before he can formulate a response.) JOHN: That was ... amazing. (Sherlock looks round, apparently surprised by his comment.) SHERLOCK: Do you think so? JOHN: Of course it was! It was extraordinary! It was quite extraordinary! SHERLOCK (startled): That’s not what people usually say. JOHN: What do they usually say? SHERLOCK: ‘Piss off’! (John laughs and turns away to look out of the window as the journey continues.)
BRIXTON. The cab arrives at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock and John get out and walk through the pouring rain towards the police tape strung across the road. SHERLOCK: Did I get anything wrong? JOHN: Harry and me don’t get on, never have. Harry and Clara are getting a divorce – split up three months ago; Harry’s a drinker. SHERLOCK (looking impressed with himself): Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything. JOHN: Harry’s short for Harriet. (Sherlock turns and stares at him.) SHERLOCK: Harry’s your sister? JOHN: Now, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here? SHERLOCK (still surprised): Your sister! JOHN: No, seriously, why am I here? SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh! There’s always something! (They approach the police tape where they are met by Sergeant Sally Donovan.) DONOVAN: Hello, freak. SHERLOCK: I’m here to see Inspector Lestrade. DONOVAN: Why? SHERLOCK: I was invited. DONOVAN: Why? SHERLOCK (sarcastically): I think he wants me to take a look. DONOVAN (unwillingly lifting the tape): Well, you know what I think, don’t you? SHERLOCK (ducking under the tape): Always, Sally. (He turns back towards her.) Even know you didn’t make it home last night. DONOVAN (dropping the tape in front of John as she looks at him): Who’s this? SHERLOCK: Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. (His voice drips with sarcasm.) Old friend. DONOVAN: A colleague? How did you get a colleague?! (She turns to John.) DONOVAN: Did he follow you home? JOHN: Would it be better if I just go ... SHERLOCK (walking back and lifting the tape for him): No. (As John walks under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth.) DONOVAN (into radio): Yeah, freak’s here. Bringing him in. (She leads the boys towards the house. Sherlock loudly greets Doctor Anderson as he comes out of the house dressed in a coverall.) SHERLOCK: Ah, Anderson. Here we are again. ANDERSON: It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that? SHERLOCK: Quite clear. ANDERSON: Your magic tricks might impress Inspector Lestrade – they don’t work on me. SHERLOCK: And is your wife away for long? ANDERSON: Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that. SHERLOCK: Your deodorant told me that. ANDERSON: My deodorant? SHERLOCK: It’s for men. ANDERSON: Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it! SHERLOCK: So’s Sergeant Donovan. (Standing nearby, Donovan looks shocked. As Anderson looks across to her with wide eyes, Sherlock sniffs pointedly.) SHERLOCK: Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in? ANDERSON (pointing at him angrily): You – you listen to me, okay? (Sherlock leads John towards the front door. Anderson hurries after him.) ANDERSON: Whatever it is you’re trying to imply ... SHERLOCK (stopping and turning back to him): I’m not implying anything! I’m sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and happened to stay over. (He pauses for a moment.) SHERLOCK: And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees. ANDERSON (frustrated and angry): Right – just, just go in. Just, just go. (As the boys head into the house, Anderson turns and looks at Donovan, sighing. She shakes her head in exasperation.) (In a room inside the house, Lestrade is wearing a coverall and is about to put on a pair of latex gloves. He calls out to Sherlock as he comes into the room.) LESTRADE: You have two minutes. SHERLOCK: May need longer. (Lestrade looks in puzzlement at John as he walks in and takes the coverall that Sherlock hands to him.) SHERLOCK: Put this on. LESTRADE: Who’s this? SHERLOCK (picking up another coverall): He’s with me. LESTRADE: Yeah, but who is he? SHERLOCK: I told you; he’s with me. (He starts to step into the coverall.) SHERLOCK: So, where are we? LESTRADE (putting his gloves on): It’s upstairs.
