John has arrived at Roland-Kerr College. As the taxi pulls away, John tucks the notebook into his jacket and looks at the two identical buildings in front of him. Clearly the map isn’t precise enough to indicate exactly where the phone is. After a moment, he makes his choice and heads towards the buildings.
In the classroom, Sherlock lifts his clasped hands in front of his mouth and gazes at Jeff intently. SHERLOCK: So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why? (Jeff nods down to the bottles.) JEFF: Time to play. SHERLOCK (unfolding his fingers and adopting the prayer position in front of his mouth): Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There’s shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody’s pointed it out to you. (Flashback to Jeff sitting in the driver’s seat of the cab, which is when Sherlock noticed this.) SHERLOCK: Traces of where it’s happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there’s no-one to tell you. (Jeff tries not to fidget under Sherlock’s gaze.) SHERLOCK: But there’s a photograph of children. The children’s mother has been cut out of the picture. If she’d died, she’d still be there. (Flashback to the photograph attached to the dashboard of the cab. There is indeed a third person at the left of the photograph but the photo has been cut along that side to remove most of her image.) SHERLOCK: The photograph’s old but the frame’s new. You think of your children but you don’t get to see them. (Jeff’s gaze slides away from Sherlock and for the first time there’s a hint of pain in his eyes.) SHERLOCK: Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts. (He extends his index fingers.) SHERLOCK: Ah, but there’s more. (Jeff lifts his gaze back to Sherlock as he points his index fingers towards him.) SHERLOCK: Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you’re wearing’s at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What’s that about? (Jeff has got control of himself again and his expression says nothing as he gazes back at Sherlock. The detective’s eyes widen slightly as he makes his most important deduction.) SHERLOCK (softly): Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you? JEFF (flatly): Told me what? (Sherlock’s deduction seems to appear beside Jeff’s head:
DYING
SHERLOCK: That you’re a dead man walking. JEFF: So are you. SHERLOCK: You don’t have long, though. Am I right? (Jeff smiles.) JEFF: Aneurism. (He lifts his right hand and taps the side of his head.) JEFF: Right in ’ere. (Sherlock smiles in satisfaction.) JEFF: Any breath could be my last. SHERLOCK (frowning again): And because you’re dying, you’ve just murdered four people. JEFF: I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can ’ave on an aneurism. SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): No. No, there’s something else. You didn’t just kill four people because you’re bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children. JEFF (looking away and sighing): Ohh. (He looks at Sherlock again.) JEFF: You are good, ain’t you? SHERLOCK: But how? JEFF: When I die, they won’t get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs. SHERLOCK: Or serial killing. JEFF: You’d be surprised. SHERLOCK: Surprise me. (Jeff leans forward.) JEFF: I ’ave a sponsor. SHERLOCK: You have a what? JEFF: For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. You see? It’s nicer than you think. SHERLOCK (frowning): Who’d sponsor a serial killer? JEFF (instantly): Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ’olmes? (They stare at each other for a moment.) JEFF: You’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There’s others out there just like you, except you’re just a man ... and they’re so much more than that. (The side of Sherlock’s nose twitches in distaste.) SHERLOCK: What d’you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What? JEFF: There’s a name no-one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. (He nods down to the bottles.) JEFF: Time to choose. (Sherlock looks down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other.)
Elsewhere in the college, John is running through the corridors. JOHN (calling out): Sherlock? (He runs from door to door, trying them and peering in through windows.) JOHN: Sherlock!
CLASSROOM. SHERLOCK: What if I don’t choose either? I could just walk out of here. (Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, Jeff lifts up the pistol and points it at Sherlock.) JEFF: You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head. (Sherlock smiles calmly.) JEFF: Funnily enough, no-one’s ever gone for that option. SHERLOCK: I’ll have the gun, please. JEFF: Are you sure? SHERLOCK (still smiling): Definitely. The gun. JEFF: You don’t wanna phone a friend? (Sherlock smiles confidently.) SHERLOCK: The gun. (Jeff’s mouth tightens, and slowly he squeezes the trigger. A small flame bursts out of the end of the muzzle. Sherlock smiles smugly.) SHERLOCK: I know a real gun when I see one. (Calmly Jeff lifts the pistol/cigarette lighter and releases the trigger. The flame goes out.) JEFF: None of the others did. SHERLOCK: Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case. (He stands up and walks towards the door. Jeff puts the gun onto the desk and calmly turns in his seat.) JEFF: Just before you go, did you figure it out ... (Sherlock stops at the door and half-turns towards him.) JEFF: ... which one’s the good bottle? SHERLOCK: Of course. Child’s play. JEFF: Well, which one, then? (Sherlock opens the door a little but shows no sign of leaving the room.) JEFF: Which one would you ’ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you? (Sherlock closes the door again.) JEFF (chuckling): Come on. Play the game. (Slowly Sherlock walks back towards him. When he gets to the table, he reaches out and sweeps up the bottle nearest to Jeff, then walks past him. Jeff looks down at the other bottle with interest but his voice gives nothing away as he speaks.) JEFF: Oh. Interesting. (He picks up the other bottle as Sherlock looks down at the bottle in his own hand. Out in the corridors, John is still running along and searching. In the classroom, Jeff has opened his bottle and tips the capsule out into his hand. He holds it up and looks at it closely while Sherlock examines his own bottle.) JEFF: So what d’you think? (He looks up at Sherlock.) JEFF: Shall we? (In the corridors, John pulls open yet another door and looks inside the room before hurrying onwards.) JEFF: Really, what do you think? (He has stood up and is facing Sherlock.) JEFF: Can you beat me? (John races up a flight of stairs and continues his search.) JEFF: Are you clever enough to bet your life? (John bursts through a door and stares ahead of him as he finally sees who he’s looking for. His eyes fill with horror. Inside the classroom, Sherlock lifts his gaze from the bottle he’s holding ... and the camera zooms over his shoulder and out of the window behind him, soaring across the courtyard outside and in through another window to reveal John standing in an identical classroom in the other building, too far away to be of help. John cries out in horror.) JOHN: SHERLOCK! (Unaware that they’re being watched, Jeff continues to hold up his pill as he looks at Sherlock.) JEFF: I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A man like you ... (Sherlock unscrews the lid of the bottle.) JEFF: ... so clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it? (Sherlock takes out the capsule and holds it between his thumb and finger, raising it to the light to examine it more closely.) JEFF: Still the addict. (Slowly Sherlock lowers the pill again, holding it at eye level and gazing at it.) JEFF: But this ... this is what you’re really addicted to, innit? (Sherlock holds the pill in his fingers and stares at it.) JEFF: You’d do anything ... anything at all ... (Sherlock’s fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipation.) JEFF: ... to stop being bored. (Slowly Sherlock begins to move the pill closer to his mouth. Jeff matches the movement with his own pill towards his own mouth.) JEFF: You’re not bored now, are you? (Each of their hands gets closer to their mouths.) JEFF: Innit good? (A gunshot rings out and a bullet impacts Jeff’s chest close to his heart, continuing through his body and smashing into the door behind him. As he falls to the floor, Sherlock drops his pill in surprise. In the opposite building, John has his pistol still raised and aimed out of the window. He lowers the gun to his side. In the other building, Sherlock turns, slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window, bending down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass. The window of the opposite room is open but there is nobody in sight. As Sherlock straightens up, Jeff breathes heavily and coughs. Sherlock turns back, looking around the room and seeing one of the pills lying on the desk as Jeff convulses on the floor and gasps and coughs in pain. Sherlock snatches up the pill, kneels down and brandishes it at Jeff, who has a large pool of blood underneath him and is staring up at him in shock.) SHERLOCK: Was I right? (Jeff turns his head away in disbelief.) SHERLOCK: I was, wasn’t I? Did I get it right? (Jeff doesn’t reply. Sherlock angrily hurls the pill across the room and stands up.) SHERLOCK: Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my ‘fan’. I want a name. JEFF (weakly): No. SHERLOCK: You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you. Give me a name. (Jeff shakes his head. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifts his foot and puts it onto Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff gasps in pain.) SHERLOCK: A name. (Jeff cries out in pain.) SHERLOCK: Now. (Still Jeff can only whine in pain. His face intent and manic, Sherlock leans his weight onto his foot. Jeff whimpers.) SHERLOCK (furiously): The NAME! JEFF (agonised): MORIARTY! (His eyes close and his head rolls to the side. Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. After a few seconds, he silently mouths the word ‘Moriarty’ to himself.)
LATER. Outside the college, Sherlock is sitting on the back steps of an ambulance. A paramedic puts an orange blanket around his shoulders as Lestrade walks over. Sherlock gestures to the blanket. SHERLOCK: Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me. LESTRADE: Yeah, it’s for shock. SHERLOCK: I’m not in shock. LESTRADE: Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs. (He grins. Sherlock rolls his eyes.) SHERLOCK: So, the shooter. No sign? LESTRADE: Cleared off before we got ’ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but ... (he shrugs) ... got nothing to go on. (Sherlock looks at him pointedly.) SHERLOCK: Oh, I wouldn’t say that. (Now it’s Lestrade’s turn to roll his eyes.) LESTRADE: Okay, gimme. SHERLOCK (standing up): The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatised to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service ... (While he’s talking, he turns his head to look around the area and sees John standing some distance away behind the police tape.) SHERLOCK: ... and nerves of steel ... (He trails off. As John looks back at him innocently and then turns his head away, Sherlock clearly begins to realise the connection. Lestrade turns to follow Sherlock’s gaze and Sherlock turns back to him before he can start to ask questions.) SHERLOCK: Actually, do you know what? Ignore me. LESTRADE: Sorry? SHERLOCK: Ignore all of that. It’s just the, er, the shock talking. (He starts to walk towards John.) LESTRADE: Where’re you going? SHERLOCK: I just need to talk about the-the rent. LESTRADE: But I’ve still got questions for you. SHERLOCK (turning back to him in irritation): Oh, what now? I’m in shock! Look, I’ve got a blanket! (He brandishes the sides of the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it.) LESTRADE: Sherlock! SHERLOCK: And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less. (Lestrade looks at him thoughtfully for a moment.) LESTRADE: Okay. We’ll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go. (Sherlock walks away. Lestrade smiles as he watches him go. Taking the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock bundles it up as he approaches John, who is standing at the side of a police car. Sherlock tosses the blanket through the open window of the car and ducks under the police tape.) JOHN: Um, Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn’t it? Dreadful. (Sherlock looks at him for a moment.) SHERLOCK (quietly): Good shot. JOHN (trying and utterly failing to look innocent): Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window. SHERLOCK: Well, you’d know. (John gazes up at him, still unsuccessfully trying not to let his expression give him away.) SHERLOCK: Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case. (John clears his throat and looks around nervously.) SHERLOCK: Are you all right? JOHN: Yes, of course I’m all right. SHERLOCK: Well, you have just killed a man. JOHN: Yes, I ... (He trails off. Sherlock looks at him closely.) JOHN: That’s true, innit? (He smiles. Sherlock continues to watch him carefully.) JOHN: But he wasn’t a very nice man. (Apparently reassured that John really is okay, Sherlock nods in agreement.) SHERLOCK: No. No, he wasn’t really, was he? JOHN: And frankly a bloody awful cabbie. (Sherlock chuckles, then turns and starts to lead them away.) SHERLOCK: That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here! (John giggles, and Sherlock smiles.) JOHN: Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene! Stop it! SHERLOCK: You’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame me. JOHN: Keep your voice down! (They’re walking past Sergeant Donovan.) JOHN (to Donovan): Sorry – it’s just, um, nerves, I think. SHERLOCK (to Donovan): Sorry. (John clears his throat as they walk away from Donovan.) JOHN: You were gonna take that damned pill, weren’t you? (Sherlock stops and turns back to him.) SHERLOCK: Course I wasn’t. Biding my time. Knew you’d turn up. JOHN: No you didn’t. It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever. SHERLOCK: Why would I do that? JOHN: Because you’re an idiot. (Sherlock smiles, apparently delighted that he has finally found someone who understands him and – more to the point – doesn’t care about his behaviour. After a moment he forces the smile down.) SHERLOCK: Dinner? JOHN: Starving. (They turn and start to walk again.) SHERLOCK: End of Baker Street, there’s a good Chinese stays open ’til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle. (As he has been speaking, a few yards ahead of them a car has pulled up and the man who abducted John earlier gets out. Not-Anthea is with him. John stares.) JOHN: Sherlock. That’s him. That’s the man I was talking to you about. (Sherlock looks across at the man.) SHERLOCK: I know exactly who that is. (He walks closer to the man and stops, looking at him angrily. John glances round to gauge where the police are in case he needs to summon their help. The man speaks pleasantly to Sherlock.) M: So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that’s never really your motivation, is it? SHERLOCK: What are you doing here? M: As ever, I’m concerned about you. SHERLOCK: Yes, I’ve been hearing about your ‘concern’. M: Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side? SHERLOCK: Oddly enough, no! M: We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy. (John frowns as if unsure of what he just heard.) SHERLOCK: I upset her? Me? (The man glowers at him.) SHERLOCK: It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft. JOHN: No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy? SHERLOCK: Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft. (John stares at the man in amazement.) SHERLOCK (to Mycroft): Putting on weight again? M/MYCROFT: Losing it, in fact. JOHN (to Sherlock): He’s your brother?! SHERLOCK: Of course he’s my brother. JOHN: So he’s not ... SHERLOCK: Not what? (The brothers look at John as he shrugs in embarrassment.) JOHN: I dunno – criminal mastermind? (He grimaces at having even suggested it. Sherlock looks at Mycroft disparagingly.) SHERLOCK: Close enough. MYCROFT: For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government. SHERLOCK: He is the British government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. (Mycroft sighs.) SHERLOCK: Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic. (He walks away. John starts to follow him but then turns back to Mycroft, who has turned to watch his brother.) JOHN: So, when-when you say you’re concerned about him, you actually are concerned? MYCROFT: Yes, of course. JOHN: I mean, it actually is a childish feud? MYCROFT (still watching his brother): He’s always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners. JOHN: Yeah ... no. God, no! (He half-turns to follow Sherlock.) JOHN: I-I’d better, um ... (He turns back to not-Anthea, who has been standing nearby throughout the conversation with her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry.) JOHN: Hello again. (She looks up and smiles at him brightly.) NOT-ANTHEA: Hello. JOHN: Yes, we-we met earlier on this evening. (She stares at him as if she has never seen him before but is pretending that she remembers him.) NOT-ANTHEA: Oh! JOHN (somewhat exasperated): Okay, good night. (He includes Mycroft in his glance, then turns and follows after Sherlock.) MYCROFT: Good night, Doctor Watson. (John catches up to Sherlock and they walk away side by side.) JOHN: So: dim sum. SHERLOCK: Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies. JOHN: No you can’t. SHERLOCK: Almost can. You did get shot, though. JOHN: Sorry? SHERLOCK: In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound. JOHN: Oh, yeah. Shoulder. SHERLOCK: Shoulder! I thought so. JOHN: No you didn’t. SHERLOCK: The left one. JOHN: Lucky guess. SHERLOCK: I never guess. JOHN (laughing): Yes you do. (He looks across to Sherlock, who is smiling.) JOHN: What are you so happy about? SHERLOCK: Moriarty. JOHN: What’s Moriarty? SHERLOCK (cheerfully): I’ve absolutely no idea. (Back at the car, not-Anthea turns to Mycroft who is watching the boys as they walk away.) NOT-ANTHEA: Sir, shall we go? MYCROFT: Interesting, that soldier fellow. (Not-Anthea looks briefly at the departing boys, then turns her attention back to her BlackBerry.) MYCROFT: He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we’d better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active. (Not-Anthea looks up from her phone.) NOT-ANTHEA: Sorry, sir. Whose status? (Mycroft intensely watches the departing men.) MYCROFT: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. (Hero!shot as our boys walk in slow motion towards the camera before turning and smiling at each other as they mentally plan where and how many times they’re going to roger each other senseless once they get home.)
******************
*blinks innocently* What? My transcript – my interpretation. If you don’t like it, write your own!
The Blind Banker
In the National Antiquities Museum, an ancient Chinese clay tea set has been arranged on a tray. Oriental flute music is playing gently. A young Chinese woman, Soo Lin Yao, takes a large pinch of tea leaves from a bowl and sprinkles them into a clay teapot before pouring water on top of them. A group of children and a few adults are watching her demonstration. SOO LIN: The great artisans say the more the teapot is used, the more beautiful it becomes. (She has deliberately overfilled the pot so that when she picks up the lid and gently presses it down into place, water spills out over the sides of the pot. Now she picks up a small jug and pours more liquid over the top of the pot.) SOO LIN: The pot is seasoned by repeatedly pouring tea over the surface. The deposit left on the clay creates this beautiful patina over time. (She holds up the wet teapot to show her audience how the pot is shining.) SOO LIN: For some pots, the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago.
Some time later, the visitors have left and Soo Lin is gently drying and dusting off the tea set with a brush. TANNOY ANNOUNCEMENT: This museum will be closing in ten minutes. (A young English male employee, Andy Galbraith, walks over. He stands behind her and watches as she carefully packs the tea set into a box.) Andy (in a joking tone): Four hundred years old, and they’re lettin’ you use it to make yourself a brew! SOO LIN (not turning around): Some things aren’t supposed to sit behind glass. They’re made to be touched; to be handled. (She turns and looks at him. Andy – who clearly has a massive crush on her – looks back at her all doe-eyed. She turns back to the box and frowns.) SOO LIN: These pots need attention. (She holds up a dry-looking pot with no shine on it.) The clay is cracking. ANDY: Well, I can’t see how a tiny splash of tea’s gonna help. (He grins nervously.) SOO LIN: Sometimes you have to look hard at something to see its value. (She puts down the teapot as Andy steels himself to say something. Just as he opens his mouth she lifts up another pot to show him.) SOO LIN: See? This one shines a little brighter. (Andy braces himself.) ANDY: I don’t suppose ... um, I mean, I don’t suppose that you ... you wanna have a drink? (He grimaces.) Not tea, obviously. Um, in a pub, with me, tonight ... umm. (Soo Lin puts down the pot, not looking at him.) SOO LIN: You wouldn’t like me all that much. ANDY: Couldn’t I maybe decide that for myself? (She hesitates, but then briefly glances towards him.) SOO LIN: I can’t. I’m sorry. Please stop asking. (She closes the box.)
A little later, the main entrance doors to the museum are closed for the night and most of the lights are turned off. Down in the basement archive, Soo Lin is in one of the stacks, presumably putting her equipment away. There’s a noise nearby. SOO LIN (calling out): Is that Security? (There’s no response, and after an anxious pause she walks out of the stacks and looks around.) SOO LIN: Hello? (To her right, a tall and narrow object is covered with a white sheet which billows in a breeze. She nervously walks closer to the object, then hesitantly takes hold of the sheet and pulls it down. Whatever she sees underneath makes her face fill with horror and fear.)
Opening titles.
SUPERMARKET. John Watson is standing at one of two self-service checkouts, scanning items from his basket. A short queue has formed behind him. John scans another item. AUTOMATED VOICE: Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again.
221B BAKER STREET. In the living room of the flat, Sherlock Holmes is under attack from a heavily robed figure whose face and head are almost completely shrouded in a variety of scarves. As the attacker slashes at him with a curved sword, Sherlock backs up carefully and ducks this way and that to avoid the blows. The man backs Sherlock up as far as the sofa and takes another swing at him. Ducking under the sword, Sherlock drops onto the sofa in a sitting position. The attacker lifts his sword above his head with both hands and Sherlock raises a leg, kicking hard at the man’s chest and shoving him backwards. As the man stumbles back across the room, Sherlock gets to his feet and takes an all-important moment to straighten his jacket before charging across the room towards the man.
In the supermarket, John holds a lettuce in a plastic bag and moves it slowly across the scanner in an attempt to get it to read the barcode. AUTOMATED VOICE: Item not scanned. Please try again. (John straightens up, staring at the device in exasperation.) JOHN: D’you think you could keep your voice down?
In the flat, the attacker has his sword held horizontally in both hands and is pushing Sherlock backwards into the kitchen. With a tight grip on the man’s wrists, Sherlock falls back onto the kitchen table and the man follows him down, trying to press the edge of the blade into Sherlock’s throat. Grimacing with the effort, Sherlock pushes the man’s right wrist upwards to keep the blade from cutting him. The point of the sword begins to dig into the table to Sherlock’s right. Sherlock raises his left leg and knees the man in the side several times and, as this begins to weaken the man’s grip, Sherlock forces himself upwards again. The sword tip gouges a long slash across the top of the table.
In the supermarket, John has at last got everything scanned and has inserted his credit or debit card into the chip-and-PIN machine. He types in his PIN and waits. AUTOMATED VOICE: Card not authorised. Please use an alternative method of payment. JOHN: Yes, all right! I’ve got it! AUTOMATED VOICE: Card not authorised. Please use an alternative method of payment. (The man in the queue behind him has already picked up his own basket in expectation of getting to the scanner soon. John reaches towards his back pocket but apparently realises that he has no other way of paying.) JOHN: Got nothing. (He points at the machine.) JOHN: Right, keep it. Keep that. (As the man behind him looks on in surprise, John angrily walks away, abandoning his shopping and quite possibly his card as well.)
In the flat, Sherlock is on his feet again and the fight has moved back into the living room. The attacker takes another swing at Sherlock who ducks underneath the sword and then quickly straightens up, pointing directly over the man’s shoulder. SHERLOCK: Look! (The man has already half turned in that direction with the swing of his sword and is also perhaps momentary distracted by their reflections in the mirror over the fireplace behind him. Sherlock takes advantage and swings a powerful uppercut to the man’s chin, and the man drops unconscious into Sherlock’s armchair. Sherlock straightens up and immediately checks his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs and then dusting himself down. He looks down at the man with disdain, as if indignant that he messed his suit up.)
Some time later Sherlock is sitting in his armchair calmly reading a book. There is no sign of the attacker. John walks up the stairs and into the living room, stopping just inside the room and looking around as if he suspects that something has happened in his absence, but he can’t tell what. SHERLOCK (not looking up): You took your time. JOHN: Yeah, I didn’t get the shopping. SHERLOCK (looking indignantly over the top of his book): What? Why not? JOHN (tetchily): Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine. SHERLOCK (lowering his book a little): You ... you had a row with a machine? [It won’t be the last time that John argues with a ‘machine,’ Sherlock baby, but let’s not go there right now ...] JOHN: Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash? (Sherlock holds back his amused smile and nods towards the kitchen.) SHERLOCK: Take my card. (John walks towards the kitchen where Sherlock’s wallet is lying on the table, but before he gets there he turns back to his flatmate indignantly.) JOHN: You could always go yourself, you know. You’ve been sitting there all morning. You’ve not even moved since I left. (Sherlock briefly flashes back in his mind to a moment in the fight when he ducked under a swing from the attacker’s sword. [And oh my goodness can you see how the blade cuts right into The Coat hanging on the back of the door?! *cries*] He tries to look nonchalant as he turns the page of his book while John picks up the wallet from the table and rummages through it for a suitable payment card.) JOHN: And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond? SHERLOCK: Not interested. (Using a piece of paper as a bookmark he shuts the book with a loud snap, and only then realises that the attacker’s sword is still lying underneath his chair in plain view. He quickly slams a foot down onto the end and slides his foot and the sword further back to get the weapon out of sight.) SHERLOCK (firmly): I sent them a message. (Flashback to his uppercut that ended the fight.) (John has now found a card he can use, but pauses to bend over to look more closely at the new long narrow gouge in the top of the table. He sighs and runs his finger along the cut, rubbing at it in case it’s just a mark that can be removed.) JOHN (in an exasperated whisper): Ugh, Holmes. (Looking across to his flatmate, he tuts pointedly. Sherlock shakes his head innocently. John turns and leaves the room, trotting down the stairs as Sherlock smirks.)
