John stares at him for a moment, then straightens up as he perhaps begins to realise that his friend is never going to change. Sherlock continues his online search, totally focussed on his work and oblivious to the emotional trauma which his flatmate is going through. After a while John sniffs, then walks across the room towards the sofa. Sherlock switches to a search for
Local News Greenwich Waterloo Battersea
He selects Waterloo as John tiredly sits down on the sofa and starts going through the pile of newspapers on the coffee table. Sherlock’s phone shows timed reports from the Waterloo area, giving tide times, police reports and other information.) JOHN (reading from a newspaper): Archway suicide. SHERLOCK (snapping irritably): Ten a penny. (John throws him a look as Sherlock goes back to the Local News option and selects Battersea. The page shows “No new reports.” He tries “Thames Police Reports” and starts scrolling through the duty log.) JOHN: Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington. (He puts that paper aside and looks at another one.) JOHN: Ah. Man found on the train line – Andrew West. (Sherlock looks exasperated when he finds no helpful information in the reports.) SHERLOCK: Nothing! (He hits a speed dial and the phone begins to ring out. As soon as it is answered he starts talking.) SHERLOCK: It’s me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?
On the south bank of the River Thames, the tide has receded to reveal the body of a large man wearing black trousers, a white shirt, black socks and no shoes.
Later, as the police and forensics officers work at the scene, our boys arrive. Sherlock is pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Lestrade is waiting beside the body. LESTRADE: D’you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber? SHERLOCK: Must be. Odd, though ... (he holds up the pink phone) ... he hasn’t been in touch. LESTRADE: But we must assume that some poor bugger’s primed to explode, yeah? SHERLOCK: Yes. (He steps back and takes a long look at the man’s body which is now lying on its back on a plastic sheet.) LESTRADE: Any ideas? SHERLOCK: Seven ... so far. LESTRADE: Seven?! (Sherlock walks closer to the body and squats down to examine the man’s face closely with his magnifier. He then looks at the ripped pocket on the shirt before working his way downwards until he reaches the man’s feet. He pulls off one of the socks and examines the sole of the foot with his magnifier. Standing up and closing the magnifier, he looks across to John and jerks his head down towards the body in a mute order to examine it. John looks enquiringly at Lestrade for permission; the inspector holds his hand out in a ‘be my guest’ gesture. John squats down beside the body and reaches out to take hold of the man’s wrist while Sherlock walks a few paces away and gets out his phone.) JOHN: He’s dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. (He looks up at Lestrade.) Did he drown? (Sherlock has called up
Interpol Most Wanted Criminal Organisations Regional Activities
LESTRADE: Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated. JOHN: Yes, I’d agree. (Sherlock looks up thoughtfully, then selects the latter option and the screen changes to:
Czech Republic Gangs Information Most Wanted Contact
JOHN: There’s quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here. (Sherlock selects the “Most Wanted” option, then looks up as he mentally flashes back to looking at the small round red marks beside the man’s mouth and near his hairline.) SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Fingertips. (As John stands up, Sherlock shifts to a new search:
Missing Persons
He scrolls through the options:
Last 36 hrs Age Location Local Search
JOHN: In his late thirties, I’d say. Not in the best condition. SHERLOCK: He’s been in the river a long while. The water’s destroyed most of the data. (He quirks a grin.) SHERLOCK: But I’ll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting’s a fake. LESTRADE: What? SHERLOCK: We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates ... LESTRADE: Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about? SHERLOCK: It’s all over the place. Haven’t you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it’s turned up. Worth thirty million pounds. LESTRADE: Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff? SHERLOCK (grinning briefly): Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem? LESTRADE: Golem? JOHN: It’s a horror story, isn’t it? What are you saying? SHERLOCK: Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay. It’s also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world. (He points down to the body.) SHERLOCK: That is his trademark style. LESTRADE: So this is a hit? SHERLOCK: Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands. LESTRADE: But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don’t see ... SHERLOCK (exasperated): You do see – you just don’t observe. JOHN: All right, all right, girls, calm down. Sherlock? D’you wanna take us through it? (Taking a moment before he responds, Sherlock eventually steps back and points to the body.) SHERLOCK: What do we know about this corpse? The killer’s not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They’re pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt – cheap. They’re both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There’s a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie. LESTRADE: Tube driver? (Sherlock throws him a look which blatantly says ‘idiot.’) JOHN: Security guard? SHERLOCK: More likely. That’ll be borne out by his backside. LESTRADE: Backside?! SHERLOCK: Flabby. You’d think that he’d led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard’s looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts. (Flashback to Sherlock pushing buttons on the man’s wristwatch and it showing an alarm time of 2:30.) LESTRADE: Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died. SHERLOCK: No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there’s something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution. (He takes something from his pocket.) SHERLOCK: Found this inside his trouser pockets. (He is holding a small scrunched-up ball of paper.) SHERLOCK: Sodden by the river but still recognisably ... JOHN (peering at the ball of paper): Tickets? SHERLOCK: Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing. (He points down to the body.) SHERLOCK: Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture’s a fake. JOHN (admiringly): Fantastic. SHERLOCK (shrugging, apparently still peeved about their earlier argument): Meretricious. LESTRADE: And a Happy New Year! (John throws him a ‘seriously?!’ look. Lestrade grins sheepishly, then John looks down at the body again.) JOHN: Poor sod. LESTRADE: I’d better get my feelers out for this Golem character. SHERLOCK: Pointless. You’ll never find him. But I know a man who can. LESTRADE: Who? SHERLOCK (grinning): Me. (He turns and walks away. John sighs, his entire body radiating ‘Oh, here we go again,’ but he dutifully follows his friend.)
TAXI. As the boys sit in the back of the cab, Sherlock is looking at the pink phone in frustration. SHERLOCK: Why hasn’t he phoned? He’s broken his pattern. Why? (A thought strikes him and he leans forward to the taxi driver.) SHERLOCK: Waterloo Bridge. JOHN: Where now? The Gallery? SHERLOCK: In a bit. JOHN: The Hickman’s contemporary art, isn’t it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master? SHERLOCK: Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data. (He has taken his notebook from his pocket and now writes something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it. He puts the paper into his pocket, then a few seconds later calls out to the driver.) SHERLOCK: Stop! (The cab pulls over to the side of the road.) SHERLOCK: You wait here. I won’t be a moment. (He gets out, goes to the railings at the edge of the pavement and easily vaults over them.) JOHN (also getting out of the cab): Sherlock ... (As Sherlock walks off, John shakes his head in exasperation, then scrambles over the railings and follows him. Sherlock trots up some steps to where a young homeless woman is sitting on a bench under Waterloo Bridge. She has a large bag beside her with a handwritten cardboard sign poking out of the top. The first two words on the sign say, “HUNGRY AND”. Presumably the next word, obscured by some of her possessions, is ‘HOMELESS.’) HOMELESS GIRL: Change? Any change? SHERLOCK: What for? HOMELESS GIRL: Cup of tea, of course. SHERLOCK (handing her the piece of paper from his pocket): Here you go – fifty. HOMELESS GIRL (smiling): Thanks. (He immediately turns and walks away again. John looks at him in bewilderment before turning and following, pointing back towards the girl.) JOHN: What are you doing? SHERLOCK: Investing. (John looks back to where the girl is unfolding the note and reading it. Sherlock goes to the railings and easily leaps over them again. He opens the door of the cab.) SHERLOCK: Now we go to the Gallery. (He stops and looks back at John.) SHERLOCK: Have you got any cash? (Presumably John – just offscreen – nods, because Sherlock gets into the cab and John follows.)
HICKMAN GALLERY. The taxi pulls up and Sherlock steps out. John is about to get out as well but Sherlock stops him. SHERLOCK: No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address. JOHN: Okay. (He closes the cab door and gives a new instruction to the driver. Sherlock walks away towards the gallery.)
ALEX WOODBRIDGE’S HOME. A woman leads John into Alex’s tiny attic bedroom. It’s messy with clothes scattered everywhere, and near the window which looks up into the sky is a large object covered with a sheet. JULIE: We’d been sharing about a year. Just sharing. JOHN: Mmm. (Julie stops and gestures around the room. John walks in and looks around, not touching anything. He looks at the sheet-covered object and points to it.) JOHN: May I? JULIE: Yeah. (John tries to lift just the top of the sheet but it slips from his fingers and falls to the floor.) JOHN: Sorry. (He looks at the telescope on a tripod which has been revealed.) JOHN: Stargazer, was he? JULIE: God, yeah. Mad about it. It’s all he ever did in his spare time. (She looks away sadly.) JULIE: He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him. (She looks around the room.) JULIE: He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering. (She laughs nervously. John smiles at her, then pulls a face as she looks away.) JOHN: What about art? Did he know anything about that? JULIE (shaking her head): It was just a job, you know? JOHN: Hmm. (He bends down and peers at the items on the bedside table.) JOHN: Has anyone else been round asking about Alex? JULIE: No. We had a break-in, though. JOHN (straightening up): Hmm? When? JULIE: Last night. There was nothing taken. Oh – there was a message left for Alex on the landline. JOHN: Who was it from? JULIE: Well, I can play it for you if you like. I’ll get the phone. JOHN: Please. (She goes out of the room briefly and comes back with the phone and plays the message.) WOMAN’s VOICE: Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it’s Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when ... (The message ends.) JOHN: Professor Cairns? JULIE: No, no idea, sorry. JOHN: Mmm. Can I try and ring back? JULIE: Well, no good. I mean, I’ve had other calls since – sympathy ones, you know. (John nods and Julie leaves the room again just as John’s phone trills a text alert. He gets the phone out and looks at the message which reads:
RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS Have you spoken to West’s fiancée yet? Mycroft Holmes
John grimaces and puts the phone away again.)
HICKMAN GALLERY. An elegantly dressed woman walks into the large white-painted room which is displaying the Vermeer painting. There is no other artwork or furniture of any kind in the room, but two rows of free-standing posts are roped together to form a path to the picture. The woman stops at the sight of a security man in a black jacket and black cap standing in front of the painting with his back to her. MISS WENCESLAS (in an Eastern European accent): Don’t you have something to do? SHERLOCK (for it is he): Just admiring the view. MISS WENCESLAS: Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work. We open tonight. (Sherlock looks over his shoulder and then turns and walks towards her.) SHERLOCK: Doesn’t it bother you? MISS WENCESLAS: What? SHERLOCK: That the painting’s a fake. MISS WENCESLAS (angrily): What? SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. It has to be. It’s the only possible explanation. (Getting closer to her, he looks at her I.D. badge.) SHERLOCK: You’re in charge, aren’t you, Miss Wenceslas? [And yes, he does call her Miss Wencleslas both here and later. I can only presume that this is a Benedict thing rather than a Sherlock thing – that’s a lot of sibilance to pronounce when you’ve got a lisp.] MISS WENCESLAS: Who are you? SHERLOCK (getting into her face and staring into her eyes): Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you? MISS WENCESLAS: Golem? What the hell are you talking about? SHERLOCK: Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them? MISS WENCESLAS: It’s not a fake. SHERLOCK: It is a fake. Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it. There has to be. MISS WENCESLAS: What the hell are you on about? You know, I could have you sacked on the spot. SHERLOCK: Not a problem. MISS WENCESLAS: No? SHERLOCK: No. I don’t work here, you see. Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice. MISS WENCESLAS: How did you get in? SHERLOCK (scornfully): Please. MISS WENCESLAS: I want to know. SHERLOCK: The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight. (He turns and begins to walk away, taking off his cap.) MISS WENCESLAS: Who are you? SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes. (He drops the cap onto the top of one of the railing posts and continues onwards.) MISS WENCESLAS: Am I supposed to be impressed? SHERLOCK: You should be. (Taking off the jacket, he looks round at her as he deliberately drops it on the floor. Reaching the doors, he flamboyantly shoves one open, almost dancing out of the room.) SHERLOCK: Have a nice day! (Miss Wenceslas walks closer to the painting and looks at it as the door slowly and squeakily swings closed.)
WESTIE’S FLAT. John is sitting on the sofa beside Andrew West’s fiancée. He has been there long enough for her to have made them mugs of something which are on the coffee table in front of them. Lucy is upset throughout the ensuing conversation. LUCY: He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t. JOHN (gently): Well, stranger things have happened. LUCY: Westie wasn’t a traitor. It’s a horrible thing to say! JOHN: I’m sorry, but you must understand that’s ... LUCY: That’s what they think, isn’t it, his bosses? JOHN (nodding): He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts ... LUCY: Everyone’s got debts; and Westie wouldn’t wanna clear them by selling out his country. JOHN: Can you, um, can you tell me exactly what happened that night? LUCY: We were having a night in, just watching a DVD. (She smiles at the memory.) LUCY: He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. (She becomes tearful.) LUCY: Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone. JOHN: And you’ve no idea who? (Shaking her head, Lucy begins to cry.)
Later, she opens the front door and shows John out. A cycle courier walks along the pavement towards the house, wheeling his pushbike. JOE: Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love? LUCY: Yeah. JOE: Who’s this? JOHN: John Watson. Hi. LUCY (to John): This is my brother, Joe. (She turns to her brother.) John’s trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe. JOE (looking John up and down): You with the police? JOHN: Uh, sort of, yeah. JOE: Well, tell ’em to get off their arses, will you? It’s bloody ridiculous. JOHN: I’ll do my best. (Nodding, Joe turns and puts a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder for a moment before wheeling his bike inside the house. John clears his throat and steps closer to Lucy.) JOHN: Well, er, thanks very much for your help; and again, I’m very, very sorry. (He turns to leave but Lucy calls after him.) LUCY: He didn’t steal those things, Mr Watson. (John turns back to her.) LUCY: I knew Westie. He was a good man. (She starts to cry.) He was my good man. (She turns and goes back indoors. John walks away looking like one awesome BAMF and melting ovaries everywhere. Hang on, why did I strike that out? Edit: John walks away, looking like one awesome BAMF and melting ovaries everywhere. There, fixed it for you me.)
NIGHT TIME. John is in the back of a taxi heading along Baker Street. Further along the road, the homeless girl is standing by the railings on the other side of Speedy’s, shaking a paper cup at people as they pass by. HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change? Any spare change? (Sherlock comes out of 221 and stops, looking down the road towards her. The taxi pulls up and John gets out. Sherlock walks over to him.) JOHN: Alex Woodbridge didn’t know anything special about art. SHERLOCK: And? JOHN: And ... (Sherlock looks towards the girl again and starts to head towards her while still talking to John.) SHERLOCK: Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality? JOHN: No, give us a chance! He was an amateur astronomer. (Sherlock stops dead, turns and points towards the taxi.) SHERLOCK: Hold that cab. (John trots back to the taxi while Sherlock goes over to the girl.) HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change, sir? SHERLOCK: Don’t mind if I do. JOHN (to the cab driver): Can you wait here? (The girl hands Sherlock a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he sees that she has written “VAUXHALL ARCHES” on it. Smiling briefly, he turns and walks back to John.) SHERLOCK: Fortunately, I haven’t been idle. (He opens the cab door and gets in.) SHERLOCK: Come on. (John climbs in and the taxi heads off.)
VAUXHALL. The boys have got out of the cab and are walking along, Sherlock buttoning his coat as he gazes up at the sky. SHERLOCK: Beautiful, isn’t it? (John looks up [and sees an impossibly dense star field that you would never see in central London in a million years].) JOHN: I thought you didn’t care about things like that. SHERLOCK: Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. (They walk into the Arches.) JOHN: Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat – a Professor Cairns? SHERLOCK: This way. JOHN: Nice(!) Nice part of town. Er, any time you wanna explain. SHERLOCK: Homeless network – really is indispensible. JOHN (getting a small flashlight from his pocket and switching it on): Homeless network? SHERLOCK: My eyes and ears all over the city. JOHN: Oh, that’s clever. So you scratch their backs and ... SHERLOCK: Yes, then I disinfect myself. (He has also brought a flashlight and shines it around as they continue into the darkness of the Arches. Their beams pick out homeless people all around the place, most of them settling down for the night. Suddenly, in the distance, the shadow of a man shows on a wall as he begins to stand up. The man is incredibly tall.) JOHN: Sherlock! SHERLOCK: Come on! (They duck to the side of a wall while the man continues straightening up for ages until he is over seven feet tall.) JOHN (in a whisper): What’s he doing sleeping rough? SHERLOCK (peering around the corner): Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag – much. (John looks down as he realises that he has come out without something essential.) JOHN: Oh shi... SHERLOCK (taking John’s pistol from his coat pocket): What? JOHN: I wish I’d ... SHERLOCK (handing him the gun): Don’t mention it. (The man breaks into a run and hurries away down another tunnel. The boys chase across towards where he was and reach the tunnel just in time to see him climbing into a waiting car which immediately speeds off. Sherlock punches the air in frustration.) SHERLOCK: No, no, no, no! It’ll take us weeks to find him again. JOHN: Or not. I have an idea where he might be going. SHERLOCK: What? JOHN: I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.
PLANETARIUM. Professor Cairns is alone in the planetarium’s theatre. As Gustav Holst’s “Mars” plays over the sound system, she is standing at the mixing desk and watching footage of a film which is played to visitors. Other than the light coming from the projector, the room is in darkness. NARRATOR (on the footage): Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system and the largest. Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it eleven times. CAIRNS (bored): Yes, we know that. (She stops the recording and fast-forwards it for a moment because starting the playback again.) NARRATOR: Titan is the largest moon. CAIRNS (fast-forwarding again): Come on, Neptune, where’re you hiding? (Behind her, a hand pushes open the door to the theatre. A moment later, just as Cairns starts the playback again, the door bangs shut. She looks round.) NARRATOR: Many are actually long dead ... (Cairns peers up to the projection room.) CAIRNS: Tom? Is that you? NARRATOR: ... exploded into supernovas. (She turns back to the desk. Behind her a long arm reaches out towards her.) NARRATOR: ... discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in eighteen forty-six. (A tall figure steps up behind Cairns and clamps one hand over her mouth and nose, pulling her backwards.) CAIRNS (muffled): Oh my God! (She claws at the hand, crying out in muffled panic, and her other hand flails out and drags several of the sliders down the mixing desk. The footage begins to jump randomly as Cairns’ attacker continues to suffocate her.) NARRATOR: ... composed mainly of hydrogen. Their light takes so long to reach us ... (Sherlock and John race into the theatre through another door. As John stops and aims his pistol towards the attacker, Sherlock yells at the top of his voice.) SHERLOCK: Golem! NARRATOR ... many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas. (The Golem looks up, grunts in surprise, then snaps Cairns’ neck and drops her to the floor. Her fingers drag along the mixing desk and the footage goes into fast-forward again, plunging the theatre into darkness. The Golem ducks down out of sight.) SHERLOCK: John! JOHN: I can’t see him. I’ll go round. I’ll go! (As the footage continues spooling and then stopping and playing before spooling again, light comes and goes in the room. Sherlock stares around as John hurries off.) SHERLOCK (loudly): Who are you working for this time, Dzundza? (Behind him, the Golem steps out of the fluctuating darkness and clamps one hand around Sherlock’s mouth and nose while gripping his neck with the other. Sherlock grabs at the hand on his face, struggling to pull it free as he is slowly suffocated. John races over and stops in front of them, his pistol held in both hands.) JOHN: Golem! (He cocks the gun and points it at the Golem’s face, his hands and voice steady.) JOHN: Let him go, or I will kill you. (Sherlock, whimpering in his efforts, continues trying to pull the man’s hand from his face. The Golem swings him around to the left and lashes out with his long right leg during a moment of darkness, kicking the pistol from John’s hands. Dropping Sherlock to the ground, he surges forward and wrestles with John. As Sherlock gets to his feet, the Golem shoves John into him, sending both of the boys tumbling to the floor. Sherlock scrambles up again and takes up a boxing stance in front of him, holding his fists up. He swings a punch at the man but Dzundza grabs his hand and swings his other arm down heavily onto Sherlock’s shoulder, dropping him to the floor yet again. The Golem follows him down and clamps both hands onto his face, leaning his weight onto them. Behind him, John throws himself onto his back. The Golem roars, releasing Sherlock as he claws at the hobbit on his back. He stands up with John still clinging to his back and spins around several times before finally managing to shake him off onto the floor. As John groggily tries to get up, the Golem turns, picks up Sherlock and skims him across the floor towards John. As Sherlock slides across the floor he grabs at the pistol and manages to pick it up. The Golem runs for the doors. Sherlock rolls over onto his back and fires twice towards him but the Golem makes it to the doors and disappears through them.) NARRATOR: ... long dead, exploded into supernovas. (As the image of a supernova dramatically explodes on the screen behind him, Sherlock angrily slams his hand down on the floor in front of him.)
MORNING. HICKMAN GALLERY. Sherlock is standing in front of the Vermeer painting, looking up information on his phone. He calls up subjects such as “Vermeer brush strokes,” “Pigment analysis,” “Canvas degradation,” “UV Light damage,” “Delft Skyline, 1600,” and “Vermeer influences.” John, Lestrade and Miss Wenceslas are standing behind him. SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. It has to be. MISS WENCESLAS: That painting has been subjected to every test known to science. SHERLOCK: It’s a very good fake, then. (He spins around and glares at her.) SHERLOCK: You know about this, don’t you? This is you, isn’t it? (Miss Wenceslas turns to Lestrade, looking exasperated.) MISS WENCESLAS: Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out? (The pink phone rings. Sherlock snatches it from his pocket and switches on the speaker.) SHERLOCK: The painting is a fake. (There’s a faint sound of breathing over the speaker but otherwise there is no response.) SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. That’s why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed. (Still there’s nothing more than breathing.) SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Proving it’s just the detail. The painting is a fake. I’ve solved it. I’ve figured it out. It’s a fake! That’s the answer. That’s why they were killed. (When the phone remains silent, Sherlock takes a deep breath to calm himself.) SHERLOCK: Okay, I’ll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time? (After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy comes over the phone’s speaker.) BOY’s VOICE: Ten ... (Instantly Sherlock spins and looks closely at the painting.) LESTRADE (shocked): It’s a kid. Oh, God, it’s a kid! JOHN: What did he say? SHERLOCK: “Ten.” BOY’s VOICE: Nine ... SHERLOCK (narrowing his eyes as he scans every inch of the painting): It’s a countdown. He’s giving me time. LESTRADE: Jesus! SHERLOCK: The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How? BOY’s VOICE: Eight ... SHERLOCK (turning and glaring at Miss Wenceslas): This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me! (Miss Wenceslas flinches and opens her mouth, but Sherlock immediately holds up his hand to stop her.) BOY’s VOICE: Seven ... SHERLOCK: No, shut up. Don’t say anything. It only works if I figure it out. (He turns back to the painting again. Unable to stand the tension, John turns and walks away a few paces. Lestrade turns to watch him, probably wanting to join in the pacing as well.) SHERLOCK (to himself, continuing to scan the painting): Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face. BOY’s VOICE: Six ... JOHN (urgently under his breath as he turns back): Come on. SHERLOCK: Woodbridge knew, but how? BOY’s VOICE: Five ... LESTRADE: It’s speeding up! JOHN (urgently): Sherlock. (Sherlock’s gaze falls on three tiny white dots of paint in the night sky. His mouth falls open as the penny finally drops.) SHERLOCK: Oh! BOY’s VOICE: Four ... SHERLOCK: In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous! (Turning and shoving the pink phone into John’s hands, he walks away from the painting, grinning as he pulls out his own phone from his pocket.) BOY’s VOICE: Three ... JOHN: What’s brilliant? What is? (Sherlock rapidly types “Astronomers” and “Supernovas” into his phone, then turns back and walks towards the others, laughing in delight.) SHERLOCK: This is beautiful. I love this! BOY’s VOICE: Two ... LESTRADE (furiously): Sherlock! (Sherlock grabs the pink phone from John and yells into it.) SHERLOCK: The Van Buren Supernova! (There’s a short pause, then the boy’s plaintive voice comes from the speaker.) BOY’s VOICE: Please. Is somebody there? (Sherlock sighs out a relieved breath.) BOY’s VOICE: Somebody help me! SHERLOCK (turning and handing the phone to Lestrade): There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up. (He gives John a long look, promising him a jolly good seeing-to later, then turns and points to one of the dots in the sky of the painting.) SHERLOCK: The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. (He holds up his phone over his shoulder so that Miss Wenceslas can see the screen.) Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight. (He turns and throws her a triumphant look, then walks away. John drags in a relieved breath, then walks closer to look at the painting.) JOHN: So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties? (He grins over his shoulder at Miss Wenceslas, then looks back to the picture again. His phone trills a text alert.) JOHN: Oh. (He digs out his phone, still breathing heavily, and looks at the message which reads:
