Upstairs in 221B, John and Sarah have relocated to the kitchen. John is sitting at the side table and Sarah is standing nearby. SARAH: Yeah! No, absolutely. I mean, well, a quiet night in’s just-just what the doctor ordered. JOHN (softly): Ha-ha-ha(!) SARAH: Er, I mean, I’d love to go out of an evening and wrestle a few Chinese gangsters, you know, generally, but a girl can get too much. (John has been giggling silently as she speaks and now he nods in agreement.) JOHN: No, okay. (They smile at each other, then she looks away, laughing in embarrassment.) JOHN: Hmm. Um, shall we get a takeaway? SARAH: Yeah! (John nods and gets up to find a menu.)
On the street, Sherlock is flicking through the pages of the A-Z. SHERLOCK: Page fifteen, entry one. Page fifteen, entry one ... (He has turned to the correct page and looks at the first entry on that index page. It reads “Deadmans Lane NW9.” He lifts his head.) SHERLOCK: Dead man. You were threatening to kill them. (He flashes back to the message sprayed across Sir William’s office, across the library shelf and across the statue in the library.) SHERLOCK: It’s the first cipher. (He takes the photograph of the message sprayed on the brick wall out of his coat pocket and unfolds it. With the first two words already translated, he looks at the third pair of symbols and then starts flicking to the correct page in the book.) SHERLOCK: Thirty-seven, nine; thirty-seven, nine ... [Okay, now your transcriber is getting peeved, because in close-ups of the photo, both now and earlier, it clearly shows that the next pair is numbered “36 37.” But who am I to question the accuracy of the scriptwriter and/or the people who produced the photo? *insert eye roll here* Anyway ...] (The appropriate entry on that page reads “Fore St EC2.” Sherlock gets out a pen and writes “FOR” over the relevant symbols on the photo.) SHERLOCK: Nine mill ... for ...
In the kitchen, Sarah has sat down on the seat that John vacated and is taking off her jacket. John has picked up the jug of punch and is filling the glasses. Someone knocks on the front door downstairs. JOHN: Ooh, blimey, that was quick. I’ll just pop down. (He hands her one of the glasses as he walks towards the kitchen door.) SARAH: Do you want me to lay the table? (John looks round at the kitchen table which is covered with Sherlock’s paperwork and experiments.) JOHN: Um, eat off trays? SARAH: Yeah. JOHN: Yeah!
On the street, Sherlock is still translating the symbols. SHERLOCK: Sixty, thirty-five. [And yes ... *weary sigh* ... the photo says “70 95.” How the hell he ever managed to translate the damned thing correctly is a mystery to me!] (On the relevant page, the appropriate entry reads “Jade Cl. E16.”) SHERLOCK: Jade. (He writes on the photograph as he says the word again.) Jade.
John opens the front door and smiles at the man standing on the doorstep, who is wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up. JOHN: Sorry to keep you. (Rummaging in his trouser pocket) How much d’you want? CHINESE MAN: Do you have it? JOHN (looking around blankly): What? CHINESE MAN: Do you have the treasure? JOHN: I don’t understand. (The man coshes John around the left side of his head with a pistol. John falls to the floor.)
On the street, Sherlock turns to the page for the final word. Finding the correct entry, he writes “TRAMWAY” onto the photograph and then reads the whole message aloud. SHERLOCK: “NINE MILL FOR JADE PIN DRAGON DEN BLACK ... (he raises his head and stares ahead of him) ... TRAMWAY.”
In the kitchen of the flat there’s no sign of Sarah. The overhead suspended neon light is swaying gently back and forth. Two trays are on the table, each containing a clean plate, cutlery and a glass of punch. Downstairs, the front door slams and Sherlock’s voice can be heard. SHERLOCK: John! John! I’ve got it! (He runs in through the kitchen door, sees nobody there and runs into the living room, brandishing the A-Z.) SHERLOCK: The cipher! The book! It’s the London A to Z that they’re using... (He trails off before he can finish the last word, staring in shock when he sees that yellow paint has been sprayed across the living room windows. On the left-hand window is the sort-of upside down eight with an almost horizontal line above it. On the right-hand window is the single almost horizontal slash. Together they spell out “DEAD MAN.” There is no sign of John or Sarah. Sherlock stares at the paint in horror.) [And hey, Sherlock baby, I love you to bits, but you were standing just a few yards away from 221B and facing towards the flat while you were translating the symbols. Now, I know you get engrossed in your work an’ all, but how come you never saw someone knocking at the door or any of the ensuing shenanigans while an unconscious John and Sarah were carried out of the building right under your nose?!]
John regains consciousness sitting on a chair somewhere dark. A fire is burning in a dustbin behind him. He slowly raises his head. There is a bleeding cut on his left temple. As he grimaces in pain, the voice of the Opera Singer comes out of the dim tunnel in front of him. OPERA SINGER: “A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket.” (Wincing, John turns his head to the left and sees Sarah sitting on another chair with a gag in her mouth. She looks round to him, terrified. Ahead of them is the Chinese woman who he saw photographing him and who was watching him and Sherlock on Hungerford Bridge. Despite the darkness she is still wearing her dark sunglasses. She walks towards him and we now see that they are in an abandoned tunnel. There are two Chinese men standing behind the approaching woman, and a couple of other fires are burning to illuminate the area. A few feet ahead of where John and Sarah are tied to their chairs by their hands and feet is a large object covered with cloth. The woman raises her sunglasses to the top of her head and looks down at John.) OPERA SINGER: Chinese proverb, Mr Holmes. (John looks at her, startled.) JOHN: I ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes. OPERA SINGER (smiling humourlessly): Forgive me if I do not take your word for it. (She reaches down and pulls open his jacket, rummaging in the inside pocket.) JOHN: Ow. Ow. (She takes out his wallet, opens it and takes something out of it.) OPERA SINGER: Debit card, name of S. Holmes. (Flashback to Sherlock sitting in the living room after John’s return without the shopping.) SHERLOCK (in flashback): Take my card. JOHN: Yes; that’s not actually mine. He lent that to me. OPERA SINGER (looking in the wallet again): A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr Sherlock Holmes. (Flashback to John taking the cheque from Sebastian.) JOHN: Yeah, he gave me that to look after. OPERA SINGER (finding something else in the wallet): Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes. JOHN: Yes, okay ... (Flashback to John and Sarah at the Box Office of the theatre.) MANAGER (in flashback): What’s the name? JOHN (in flashback): Uh, Holmes. JOHN (in the present): I realise what this looks like, but I’m not him. OPERA SINGER: We heard it from your own mouth. JOHN: What? OPERA SINGER: “I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone ...” (Flashback to John outside Soo Lin’s flat, storming back to the door and shouting through the letterbox.) JOHN (in flashback): “... because no-one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!” (John stares ahead of himself in disbelief.) JOHN: Did I really say that? (He chuckles weakly, then lowers his head in pain.) JOHN: I s’ppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression. (Before he can finish the sentence, the woman raises a small pistol and points it at his head. John cringes away from it, blowing out a panicked breath. The woman grins.) OPERA SINGER: I am Shan. (John stares up at her.) JOHN: You’re ... you’re Shan. OPERA SINGER/SHAN: Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight? (She lifts her other hand and cocks the pistol. John cringes back, turning his head away and whispering, “Don’t, don’t,” as he struggles against his bonds. Shan looks down at him and her expression becomes ominous. John breathes out heavily as her finger tightens on the trigger. John stares into the barrel of the gun, his face full of terror as she pulls the trigger all the way. The gun clicks. John grunts in shock, and Shan smiles smugly.) SHAN: It tells you that they’re not really trying. (John breathes heavily, trying to get control of himself.)
221B. Sherlock hurries over to the bookcase. SHERLOCK: Tramway. (As if he has lost control of his usual razor-sharp brain in his fear for his friend, he stares at the books on the shelf for a few moments while he tries to find what he wants.) SHERLOCK (faintly, under his breath): Oh, Christ. (Finally he finds and pulls out a folding map of London. Turning back to the dining table, he unfolds the map and spreads it out, running his finger over it until he stabs it down.) SHERLOCK: There. (He turns and heads out of the door.)
TRAMWAY TUNNEL. Shan slides a clip into the pistol and then cocks it before pointing it at John’s head a second time. John cringes away from it. SHAN: Not blank bullets now. [They weren’t blank bullets before, lady; that gun was empty.] JOHN (breathily): Okay. SHAN: If we wanted to kill you, Mr Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive. (She looks at him sternly.) SHAN: Do you have it? JOHN: Do I have what? SHAN: The treasure. JOHN: I don’t know what you’re talking about. SHAN (turning away): I would prefer to make certain. (She looks at her men, one of whom now pulls the cover off the large object to reveal the crossbow which was used at the circus. An arrow is already loaded in it. John stares at it and sighs deeply. Shan turns back to him.) SHAN: Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life ... (John turns and stares at Sarah.) SHAN: ... information. (The two men walk over and pick up Sarah’s chair. She cries out repeatedly through her gag as they carry her towards the crossbow.) JOHN (anguished, under his breath): Sorry. I’m sorry. (The men set down the chair on the other side of the crossbow, leaving Sarah facing the arrow tip and directly in line with it. She stares at it, crying and tugging in vain at the ropes tying her to the chair. Shan glares down at John.) SHAN: Where’s the hairpin? JOHN (tugging at his own bonds in spite of the pistol aimed at him): What? SHAN: The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr Holmes, have been searching. JOHN: Please. Please, listen to me. I’m not ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for. SHAN (loudly): I need a volunteer from the audience! JOHN (desperately): No, please. Please. SHAN (walking towards Sarah): Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you’ll do very nicely. (Sarah wails through her gag, tugging desperately at her ropes. Shan smiles, takes out a knife and reaches up to a nearby sandbag suspended over a pulley hanging from the ceiling. She stabs the knife into the bag and sand begins to pour out. Sarah continues to wail as John sighs out an appalled breath and stares up at the bag in horror.)
Sherlock is in the back of a taxi, looking around anxiously as the cab progresses through the streets.
Shan smiles and looks around at her audience. SHAN: Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes’ pretty companion in a death-defying act. JOHN: Please! (Shan has walked over to Sarah and now places a black origami lotus flower on her lap.) SHAN: You’ve seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends. JOHN (frantically): I’m not Sherlock Holmes! SHAN: I don’t believe you. SHERLOCK (offscreen): You should, you know. (Shan spins around as a familiar silhouette appears at the far end of the tunnel.) SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him. (Shan raises her pistol, cocks it [again] and aims it towards him. He immediately dodges to the side of the tunnel, disappearing into the shadows. One of Shan’s thugs starts to hurry towards the end of the tunnel.) SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness, as John sighs out a half-relieved, half-exasperated breath): How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic? [He clicks the k-sound at the end of that last word. Your transcriber wibbles happily.] JOHN (tetchily): Late? SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness): That’s a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second. SHAN (still aiming her pistol towards the shadows): Well? SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness): Well ... (The thug has reached a large storage container standing at the side of the tunnel. Sherlock runs out from behind it and thwacks the man across the stomach with a metal pipe. The man grunts and collapses to the ground. Sherlock immediately ducks back into the shadows.) SHERLOCK’s VOICE (quick fire, from the darkness): ... the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you. (He bursts out of the darkness and runs to the nearby burning dustbin, kicking it over. John flinches at the loud crash and Shan’s eyes widen when she realises that it’s now even more impossible to see that area of the tunnel. John peers into the darkness, trying to see how close his friend is. Sherlock reappears just behind Sarah and squats down behind her, starting to untie her bonds. However, the other man – who turns out to be Liang, Soo Lin’s brother – runs over to him and loops a long red scarf around his throat a couple of times. Sherlock cries out and stands up, tugging at the part of the scarf around his neck as Liang pulls it tight. While they struggle, Sarah looks at them for a moment and then turns back to stare at the arrowhead pointed directly at her. She lifts her gaze to the sandbag, which is just passing the counterbalanced weight on its way down towards the metal cup on the crossbow. Behind her, Sherlock has shaken off Liang for a moment and again crouches to Sarah’s bonds. Liang hurries forward and swings another loop of the scarf around Sherlock’s neck and again starts pulling him away. As the men continue to struggle, John realises that Sherlock isn’t going to get free in time. He struggles to stand, which is almost impossible with his hands tied in front of him and attached tightly to the underside of the chair, and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. Nevertheless he manages to stumble forward a couple of paces, half-carrying and half-dragging the chair with him, before he loses his balance and falls onto his side. Liang swings yet another loop of the scarf around Sherlock’s neck. Sarah gazes up at the descending metal ball while the men behind her continue to struggle and John thrashes on the floor. Her eyes drop to the arrowhead again as the ball continues relentlessly downwards. Her eyes full of tears, her gaze locks onto her imminent death and all hope begins to fade from her expression. Flailing and groaning with the effort, John manages to squirm around on the floor and finally gets one foot free enough to kick it upwards and connect with a part of the crossbow. The crossbow shifts position, twisting slightly to the left just as the ball connects with the cup. The arrow is released and flies across the tunnel ... and buries itself in Liang’s stomach. He grunts, then straightens up, his face full of shock. He groans breathily for a moment, then slowly topples to the floor. Gasping for breath, Sherlock stands up and looks around. Distant running footsteps can be heard – General Shan is leaving the building. He looks in the direction of the sound as if considering following, but Sarah’s anguished muffled sobs distract him and he unloops the red scarf from around his neck and then drops to his knees beside her.) SHERLOCK (soothingly): It’s all right. (On the floor, John groans as he struggles to get up onto his elbows. Sherlock unties Sarah’s gag and takes it from her mouth.) SHERLOCK (softly): You’re gonna be all right. It’s over now. It’s over. (Stroking his hands comfortingly down her arms, he then bends down to untie the ropes. She begins to sob as John looks up at her from the floor. He smiles wearily.) JOHN: Don’t worry. Next date won’t be like this. (She continues to sob as Sherlock straightens up and stands behind her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. [And, seriously, can we just love this man for doing that instead of taking off after Shan?] He looks down the tunnel wistfully.)
Later, the police have arrived to clear up the mess. Dimmock is waiting beside a police car just outside the tunnel as John puts his arm around Sarah’s shoulders [she’s wearing a shock blanket, John; she’s fine] and walks her away. Sherlock is just behind them and stops to talk to the inspector. SHERLOCK: We’ll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report. DIMMOCK: Mr Holmes ... SHERLOCK: I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career. DIMMOCK: I go where you point me. SHERLOCK (walking away): Exactly. (Dimmock turns and watches him leave. He smiles ruefully.)
MORNING. 221B. In the kitchen, John is sitting at the table while Sherlock stands next to him and pours him a mug of tea from a teapot.) JOHN: Ta. (He is looking at the translated message on the photograph.) JOHN: So, “Nine mill ...” SHERLOCK (pouring himself a mug of tea): Million. JOHN: Million, yes; “Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den, black Tramway.” SHERLOCK: An instruction to all their London operatives. JOHN: Mmm. SHERLOCK: A message; what they were trying to reclaim. JOHN: What, a jade pin? SHERLOCK: Worth nine million pounds. Bring it to the Tramway, their London hideout. JOHN: Hang on: a hairpin worth nine million pounds? SHERLOCK: Apparently. JOHN: Why so much? SHERLOCK: Depends who owned it.
SHAD SANDERSON BANK. The boys are walking towards the entrance to the bank. SHERLOCK: Two operatives based in London. They travel over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. One of them helps himself to something: a little hairpin. JOHN: Worth nine million pounds. SHERLOCK: Eddie Van Coon was the thief. He stole the treasure when he was in China. JOHN: How d’you know it was Van Coon, not Lukis? Even the killer didn’t know that. SHERLOCK (going through the revolving doors): Because of the soap. (He looks round smugly at John, who stops and stares back at him blankly for a moment before following him into the bank.)
Upstairs, Van Coon’s P.A. Amanda is sitting at her desk. She squirts a bit of hand lotion from the pump-action bottle on the desk and rubs it into her hands. Her phone rings and she picks it up and answers it. AMANDA: Amanda. SHERLOCK’s VOICE (over the phone): He bought you a present. AMANDA: Oh. Hello. SHERLOCK’s VOICE (over the phone): A little gift when he came back from China. AMANDA: How do you know that? SHERLOCK (from behind her): You weren’t just his P.A., were you? (She turns in surprise as he walks around to the side of the desk, switching off his phone and putting it back into his pocket.) AMANDA (switching off her own phone and putting it down): Someone’s been gossiping. SHERLOCK: No. AMANDA: Then I don’t understand. Why ...? SHERLOCK (interrupting): Scented hand soap in his apartment. (Brief flashback to Sherlock looking into Van Coon’s bathroom and seeing a pump-action bottle of luxury hand wash on the shelf.) SHERLOCK: Three hundred millilitres of it. Bottle almost finished. AMANDA (frowning in confusion): Sorry? SHERLOCK: I don’t think Eddie Van Coon was the type of chap to buy himself hand soap – not unless he had a lady coming over. And it’s the same brand as that hand cream there on your desk. (Amanda momentarily looks down awkwardly.) AMANDA: Look, it wasn’t serious between us. It was over in a flash. It couldn’t last – he was my boss. SHERLOCK: What happened? Why did you end it? AMANDA (sadly): I thought he didn’t appreciate me. Took me for granted. Stood me up once too often – we’d plan to go away for the weekend and then he’d just leave; fly off to China at a moment’s notice. SHERLOCK: And he brought you a present from abroad to say sorry. (His gaze is focussed on a small green jade hairpin in her hair.) SHERLOCK: Can I ... just have a look at it? (He holds out his hand.)
In Sebastian’s office, Seb is signing a cheque for £20,000. He looks up at John who is standing at the other side of the desk. SEBASTIAN: He really climbed up onto the balcony? (He puts the cheque into an envelope.) JOHN: Nail a plank across the window and all your problems are over. (Looking peeved, Sebastian holds out the envelope to John.) JOHN: Thanks.
Outside, Amanda is holding her hair in place with one hand while she takes out the pin with the other. AMANDA: Said he bought it in a street market. (She puts the pin into Sherlock’s outstretched hand.) SHERLOCK: Oh, I don’t think that’s true. I think he pinched it. AMANDA (chuckling ruefully): Yeah, that’s Eddie. SHERLOCK: Didn’t know its value; just thought it would suit you. AMANDA: Oh? What’s it worth? (Sherlock smirks.) SHERLOCK (slowly): Nine ... million ... pounds. (Amanda’s face fills with shock.) AMANDA: Oh my God! (She stumbles to her feet and staggers backwards as Sherlock grins.) AMANDA: Oh my G... (She turns and runs away.) AMANDA (high-pitched and hysterical): Nine million! (In Sebastian’s office, John turns his head at the sound of her voice, then turns back and nods to Sebastian before leaving the room.)
NEXT MORNING (or possibly the day after that). Sherlock, wearing a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, is sitting at the dining table while John sits opposite him. Sherlock is looking at the front page of the Sunday Express, where the headline reads, “Who wants to be a million-hair.” He folds the paper in half, puts it down and picks up another newspaper. JOHN: Over a thousand years old and it’s sitting on her bedside table every night. SHERLOCK: He didn’t know its value; didn’t know why they were chasing him. JOHN: Hmm. Should’ve just got her a lucky cat. (Sherlock smiles at him briefly, then looks away.) SHERLOCK: Hmm. (His gaze becomes distant. John looks at him closely.) JOHN: You mind, don’t you? SHERLOCK (looking at him): What? JOHN: That she escaped – General Shan. It’s not enough that we got her two henchmen. SHERLOCK: It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. You and I, we barely scratched the surface. JOHN: You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it. SHERLOCK: No. No. I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book. (He opens his newspaper and lifts it, beginning to read. John’s eyes drift over to the window, and he frowns and looks closely as a young man in a hooded jacket and wearing a cap walks over to a tall black box on the other side of the road which dispenses parking permits. Putting a bag on the ground, the young man looks around in all directions to make sure he’s not being watched, then lifts a spray can in his right hand and sprays his tag on the back of the box. John watches while the ‘artist’ finishes the tag, picks up his bag and hurries away. As Sherlock, oblivious to this, continues to read his paper, John looks thoughtful, and a police car sirens its way down the road.)
In a room somewhere, Shan is sitting at a desk and talking to someone over a computer. Her live image is being transmitted to the other person but the space on the screen which should be showing the face of whoever she’s talking to is marked “No image available.” There is also a text box on the screen which shows that the person to whom she’s talking is indicated simply as “M”. Shan sounds very humble as she speaks. SHAN: Without you – without your assistance – we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks. (The other person’s response appears typed on the screen:
M: GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS M: IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS
The computer beeps to indicate that the message has finished.) SHAN: We did not anticipate ... we did not know this man would come – this Sherlock Holmes. (Her face fills with concern.) SHAN: And now your safety is compromised. (The computer beeps and new text appears:
M: THEY CANNOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME
The computer beeps.) SHAN (sincerely): I will not reveal your identity. (The computer beeps.)
M: I AM CERTAIN.
(The computer beeps. Unseen by Shan, the red light of a rifle’s laser sight appears in the centre of her forehead. Our view of the scene fades to black, and then a single gunshot rings out as we hear the sound of the bullet smashing through the window opposite en route to its target.)
The Great Game
MINSK, BELARUS. In a prison visitors’ room, Sherlock – wearing the Coat with a fur collar attached – is sitting at one of the many tables in the room. Sitting on the other side of the table is Barry ‘Bezza’ Berwick, a young Englishman who is wearing an orange jumpsuit and who is obviously a prisoner. With the exception of a uniformed guard who stands some distance away, they are the only people in the room. It’s very cold in the room, as signified by the steam coming from their breath as they speak. Sherlock sounds bored. SHERLOCK: Just tell me what happened, from the beginning. BERWICK: We’d been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin’ with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren’t ’appy with that, so ... when we get back to the ’otel, we end up havin’ a bit of a ding-dong, don’t we? (Sherlock sighs out a deliberate and noisy breath.) BERWICK: She was always gettin’ at me, sayin’ I weren’t a real man. SHERLOCK: Wasn’t a real man. BERWICK: What? SHERLOCK: It’s not “weren’t”; it’s “wasn’t.” BERWICK: Oh. SHERLOCK: Go on. BERWICK: Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there’s a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives. (Sherlock’s gaze lowers to look at Barry’s hands which are resting on the table.) BERWICK: He learned us how to cut up a beast. SHERLOCK: “Taught.” BERWICK (starting to get angry): What? SHERLOCK: Taught you how to cut up a beast. BERWICK: Yeah, well, then-then I done it. SHERLOCK: “Did it.” BERWICK (losing his temper): Did it! Stabbed her ... (he repeatedly slams his hand down on the table) ... over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren’t ... (Sighing out a loud breath through his nose, Sherlock turns his head away. Getting control of his temper, Barry immediately corrects himself.) BERWICK: ... wasn’t movin’ no more. (Sherlock, who had just turned his head back towards Barry, now turns it away again with an annoyed look.) BERWICK: ... any more. (He lets out a shaky breath and lowers his head.) BERWICK (softly): You’ve gotta help me. I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear. (Sherlock gets to his feet and starts to walk away. Barry calls after him frantically.) BERWICK: You’ve gotta help me, Mr Holmes! (Sherlock stops.) BERWICK: Everyone says you’re the best. Without you, I’ll get hung for this. (Sherlock looks over his shoulder at the young man.) SHERLOCK: No, no, no, Mr Berwick, not at all. (He looks away thoughtfully for a second.) SHERLOCK: Hanged, yes. (He quirks a smile at the man, then turns and walks away.)
