Dog Lover Public School Horse Rider Early Riser Left Side Of Bed
Sherlock’s eyes begin to rise up the man’s body again as his deductions continue.
Non-Smoker Father Half Welsh Keen Reader Tea Drinker
Sherlock looks across to Mycroft.) SHERLOCK: I’ll need some equipment, of course. MYCROFT: Anything you require. I’ll have it sent to ... SHERLOCK (interrupting): Can I have a box of matches? (He’s looking at the equerry as he speaks.) EQUERRY: I’m sorry? SHERLOCK: Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do. (He holds out his hand expectantly.) EQUERRY: I don’t smoke. SHERLOCK: No, I know you don’t, but your employer does. (After a pause during which John frowns in puzzlement, the equerry reaches into his pocket and takes out a lighter which he hands to Sherlock.) EQUERRY: We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes. SHERLOCK: I’m not the Commonwealth. (Taking the lighter and putting it into his trouser pocket, he turns away.) JOHN (to the equerry): And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you. (He follows after Sherlock as he strolls out of the room.) SHERLOCK (in an Estuary English accent, not sounding the ‘t’ in the word): Laters! (John throws an apologetic glance over his shoulder as they leave.)
Not long afterwards, the boys are in a taxi. JOHN: Okay, the smoking. How did you know? (Sherlock smiles briefly, then shakes his head.) SHERLOCK: The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but do not observe. JOHN: Observe what? (Sherlock reaches into his coat.) SHERLOCK: The ashtray. (He pulls out a glass ashtray. John laughs with delight as Sherlock tosses the ashtray into the air, catches it and tucks it back into his coat, chuckling. They are both unaware that someone – presumably in a car driving alongside theirs – is photographing them.) (Some time later, the photos have been sent to Irene’s phone. Sitting on the side of her bed, she looks through them, smiling, then calls out.) IRENE: Kate! (Kate, the woman who drove her earlier, comes into the room.) IRENE: We’re going to have a visitor. I’ll need a bit of time to get ready. (She walks over to her dressing table while Kate bends down to pick up a discarded stocking from the floor.) KATE: A long time? IRENE: Ages!
Later, wearing a see-through negligee over her knickers and stockings, Irene opens the doors to her enormous walk-in wardrobe and walks inside, running her fingers along her outfits as she decides what to wear.
At 221B, John is sitting at the table in the kitchen while Sherlock hurls clothes around his bedroom. With the door open, the noise is distracting and finally John looks up from what he’s reading. JOHN: What are you doing? SHERLOCK: Going into battle, John. I need the right armour. (He walks into view, wearing a large yellow hi-vis jacket.) SHERLOCK: No. (He rips it off again.)
At her house, Irene is looking at herself in a full-length mirror, turning side-on to look at the glittery dark purple cocktail dress she’s wearing. IRENE: Nah. KATE (leaning against the door jamb): Works for me. IRENE: Everything works on you.
TAXI. Sherlock and John are on the move. Sherlock is wearing his usual coat and scarf. JOHN: So, what’s the plan? SHERLOCK: We know her address. JOHN: What, just ring her doorbell? SHERLOCK: Exactly. (He calls out to the cab driver.) SHERLOCK: Just here, please. JOHN: You didn’t even change your clothes. SHERLOCK: Then it’s time to add a splash of colour.
At her house, Irene is doing the same thing as Kate carefully applies make-up to her eyes.
Nearby, the boys have got out of the taxi and Sherlock leads John down a narrow street, pulling his scarf off as he goes. Eventually he stops and turns around to face John. JOHN: Are we here? SHERLOCK: Two streets away, but this’ll do. JOHN: For what? SHERLOCK (gesturing to his own left cheek): Punch me in the face.
Kate runs her thumb over Irene’s mouth, wondering what colour lipstick to apply. KATE: Shade? (Irene smiles.) IRENE: Blood.
JOHN: Punch you? SHERLOCK: Yes. Punch me, in the face. (He gestures to his left cheek again.) Didn’t you hear me? JOHN: I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking, but it’s usually sub-text. SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh, for God’s sakes. (He punches John in the face. As John grunts in pain and reels from the blow, Sherlock shakes out his hand and then blows out a breath, bracing himself. John straightens up and immediately punches Sherlock. However, despite his anger – and his left-handedness – he does so right-handed and therefore strikes him on the left cheek just as Sherlock had indicated.) JOHN: Ow! (Turning away as Sherlock picks himself up, he flexes his hand painfully and examines his knuckles. Sherlock finally straightens up, holding his fingers to the cut on his cheek.) SHERLOCK: Thank you. That was – that was ... (Still fighting right-handed, John punches him in the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.)
Slowly Kate paints blood-red lipstick onto Irene’s mouth.
In the street, Sherlock is doubled over with John on his back half–strangling him. John’s face is contorted with pent-up anger and frustration, and Sherlock is struggling to pull his hands off him. SHERLOCK (half-choking): Okay! I think we’re done now, John. JOHN (savagely): You wanna remember, Sherlock: I was a soldier. I killed people. SHERLOCK: You were a doctor! JOHN: I had bad days!
Kate finishes painting Irene’s lips. KATE: What are you gonna wear? IRENE: My battle dress. KATE: Ooh! Lucky boy! (Downstairs, the intercom buzzes. Kate goes downstairs and activates it, looking at the camera footage from the front door.) KATE (into intercom): Hello? (Sherlock stares into the camera wide-eyed and flustered. He talks in an anxious, tearful, posh voice and keeps looking around behind him as he speaks.) SHERLOCK: Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I’ve just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they ... they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Umm, please could you help me? (Kate has been holding back her laughter while listening to him.) KATE: I can phone the police if you want. SHERLOCK (tearfully): Thank you, thank you! Could you, please? (He takes a step back and the camera now shows that his shirt is buttoned right up to the top and there is a piece of white plastic under the collar which makes him look like he is wearing the ‘dog collar’ of a vicar.) SHERLOCK: Oh, would you ... would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much. (Holding a handkerchief to his cheek, he starts to grizzle pathetically. Grinning, Kate buzzes him in. Sherlock comes in, followed by John.) SHERLOCK (still in character): Thank you. (He briefly looks around the large entrance hall.) Er, ooh! JOHN (closing the door): I – I saw it all happen. It’s okay, I’m a doctor. (Kate nods.) JOHN: Now, have you got a first aid kit? KATE: In the kitchen. (She gestures for Sherlock to go into the front room.) KATE: Please. SHERLOCK: Oh! Thank you! JOHN: Thank you. (He follows Kate towards the kitchen.)
Very shortly afterwards Sherlock has taken off his coat and is sitting on a sofa in the elegant sitting room and looking around. Hearing footsteps approaching, he sits up a little and holds his handkerchief to his cheek. IRENE (offscreen): Hello. Sorry to hear that you’ve been hurt. I don’t think Kate caught your name. SHERLOCK (in his posh tremulous voice): I’m so sorry. I’m ... (He turns and looks at Irene as she walks into view and stops at the doorway. His voice fails him when he realises that, with the exception of high-heeled shoes, she is stark naked. His jaw drops a little.) IRENE: Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fright, isn’t it? (She walks into the room and stands directly in front of him, straddling his legs and half-kneeling on the sofa, then reaches forward and pulls the white dog collar from his shirt collar.) IRENE: There now – we’re both defrocked ... (She smiles down at him.) IRENE: ... Mr Sherlock Holmes. SHERLOCK (in his normal voice): Miss Adler, I presume. IRENE (gazing down at his face): Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try? (Narrowing her eyes, she lifts the dog collar to her mouth and bites down onto the edge of it. As Sherlock stares up at her in confusion, John walks into the room carrying a bowl of water and a fabric napkin. His eyes are lowered to the bowl to avoid spilling its contents.) JOHN: Right, this should do it. (He stops dead in the doorway as he lifts his eyes and sees the scene in front of him. Irene looks round to him, the dog collar still in her teeth. John looks at her awkwardly, then down at the bowl before looking up again.) JOHN: I’ve missed something, haven’t I? (Irene takes the collar from her teeth.) IRENE: Please, sit down. (She steps back from Sherlock, who fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa as she walks away.) IRENE: Oh, if you’d like some tea I can call the maid. SHERLOCK: I had some at the Palace. IRENE: I know. (She sits down in a nearby armchair and crosses her legs, folding her arms gracefully to obscure the view of her chest.) SHERLOCK: Clearly. (They stare silently at each other for several seconds, weighing each other up. John looks at them awkwardly.) JOHN: I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone’s interested. (Sherlock’s eyes are still fixed on Irene while he attempts to make as many deductions about her as he can. His final analysis is as follows:
???????
Bewildered, he turns and looks at John and starts to analyse him:
Looking at his neckline: Two Day Shirt Looking at his lower face: Electric not blade Looking at the bottom of his jeans and his shoes: Date tonight
John frowns as Sherlock continues to gaze at him.
Looking at John’s right eyebrow: Hasn’t phoned sister Looking at John’s lower lip: New toothbrush Looking just underneath his eyes: Night out with Stamford
Relieved that he hasn’t had a brain embolism, he slowly turns his head and looks at Irene again. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he applies all his deductive reasoning as she smiles confidently back at him, and he quickly comes to the following conclusion:
???????
He frowns.) IRENE: D’you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes? (He quirks an eyebrow at her.) IRENE: However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait. SHERLOCK: You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face? IRENE: No, I think you’re damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself. (Apparently fed up with the tightness of his shirt, Sherlock starts unbuttoning the top two buttons. Irene leans forward.) IRENE: Oh, and somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too. (She glances across to John momentarily. John forces a laugh.) JOHN: Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all. (He looks down at what he’s holding.) A napkin. IRENE: Why? Are you feeling exposed? SHERLOCK (standing up): I don’t think John knows where to look. (He picks up his coat, shakes it out and holds it out towards Irene. Ignoring him for the moment, she stands up and walks closer to John, who rolls his head on his neck uncomfortably and forces himself to maintain eye contact with her and not to let his eyes wander lower.) IRENE: No, I think he knows exactly where. (She turns to Sherlock who is still holding out the coat while steadfastly keeping his gaze averted.) IRENE (taking the coat from him): I’m not sure about you. SHERLOCK: If I wanted to look at naked women I’d borrow John’s laptop. JOHN: You do borrow my laptop. SHERLOCK: I confiscate it. (He walks over to the fireplace opposite the sofa.) IRENE (putting on the coat and wrapping it around her): Well, never mind. We’ve got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know. (She walks over to the sofa and sits down.) IRENE: How was it done? SHERLOCK: What? IRENE (taking off her shoes): The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed? (The boys look confused.) SHERLOCK: That’s not why I’m here. IRENE: No, no, no, you’re here for the photographs but that’s never gonna happen, and since we’re here just chatting anyway ... JOHN: That story’s not been on the news yet. How do you know about it? IRENE: I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes. JOHN: Oh. (He sits down beside her.) And you like policemen? IRENE: I like detective stories – and detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy. SHERLOCK (incoherently): Positionofthecar ... (John and Irene stare at him while he quickly pulls himself together.) SHERLOCK (starting to pace slowly): Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That’s all you need to know. IRENE: Okay, tell me: how was he murdered? SHERLOCK: He wasn’t. IRENE: You don’t think it was murder? SHERLOCK: I know it wasn’t. IRENE: How? SHERLOCK: The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room. IRENE: Okay, but how? SHERLOCK: So they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in. (The two of them exchange a significant look, then John gets up and puts the bowl and napkin on a table before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. In the hallway he looks around, then picks up a magazine from a nearby table and rolls it up. Back in the sitting room, Irene sits up straighter, looking suspiciously at the closed door.) SHERLOCK (starting to pace again): Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car. IRENE: Oh. I – I thought you were looking for the photos now. SHERLOCK: No, no. Looking takes ages. I’m just going to find them but you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment, so let’s pass the time. (He stops and turns to her.) SHERLOCK: Two men, a car, and nobody else. (He squats down and suddenly it’s as if he is at the crime scene, squatting down next to the driver’s door of Phil’s car. Inside, frozen in time, Phil’s face is screwed up with rage while his hands are raised, about to slam down angrily onto the steering wheel.) SHERLOCK: The driver’s trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere. (Straightening up, he turns and looks into the field.) SHERLOCK: And the hiker’s taking a moment, looking at the sky. (Now he’s down in the field, walking around the hiker who is also frozen in time.) SHERLOCK: Watching the birds? (He looks doubtful.) SHERLOCK: Any moment now, something’s gonna happen. What? (Nearby, Irene is sitting on her sofa which has mysteriously appeared in the field near the hiker.) IRENE: The hiker’s going to die. SHERLOCK: No, that’s the result. What’s going to happen? IRENE: I don’t understand. SHERLOCK: Oh, well, try to. IRENE: Why? SHERLOCK: Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. (Sarcastically) It’s the new sexy. IRENE: The car’s going to backfire. SHERLOCK: There’s going to be a loud noise. IRENE: So, what? SHERLOCK: Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance ... (Back in the sitting room – which they obviously never really left – he pauses dramatically and a moment later a smoke alarm starts to beep insistently from the hall. Out in the hall, John had set light to the end of the rolled-up magazine, blown it mostly out again and allowed the smoke to drift upwards. Now he waves his hand over the magazine and blows on it to try to put it out completely. In the sitting room, Irene turns and looks at the large mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock turns his head and follows her gaze.) SHERLOCK: Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities. (He walks over to the fireplace and begins running his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. Finding a switch under there, he presses it and the mirror slides upwards, revealing a small wall safe behind it. Sherlock turns and looks at Irene as she stands up.) SHERLOCK: Really hope you don’t have a baby in here. (He calls out.) SHERLOCK: All right, John, you can turn it off now. (In the hall, John is still trying to put out the smouldering magazine.) SHERLOCK (loudly): I said you can turn it off now. JOHN: Give me a minute. (He starts thwacking the end of the magazine on the table, grimacing when sparks fly up from the paper, but then looks round as three men run down the stairs. The first one raises an enormous pistol – the silencer of which is so long that he must be compensating for some other shortcoming – and fires it up at the smoke alarm, shattering it. The beeping stops. One of the other men hurries towards John, aiming his pistol at him and John instantly raises his hands, looking at the first man as he walks over and stops in front of him.) JOHN: Thank you. (In the sitting room Sherlock is looking closely at the number pad on the front of the safe.) SHERLOCK: Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit’s always on the first key used – that’s quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I’d say from the make that it’s a six digit code. Can’t be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight’s barely used, so ... IRENE: I’d tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have. (Sherlock frowns at her.) IRENE: Think. (The door bursts open and the leader of the group, Neilson, comes in and aims his pistol at Sherlock.) NEILSON: Hands behind your head. (To Irene) On the floor. Keep it still. (A second man goes over to Irene and walks her nearer to John who is being bundled in by a third man.) JOHN: Sorry, Sherlock. (As Sherlock raises his hands, Neilson looks round at Irene.) NEILSON: Ms Adler, on the floor. (His colleague shoves her to her knees beside John who has also been pushed to his knees and is doubled over with his hands behind his head and a pistol pointed to the back of his neck.) SHERLOCK: Don’t you want me on the floor too? NEILSON: No, sir, I want you to open the safe. SHERLOCK (clocking his accent): American. Interesting. Why would you care? (He glances across at Irene as she puts her hands behind her head.) NEILSON: Sir, the safe, now, please. SHERLOCK: I don’t know the code. NEILSON: We’ve been listening. She said she told you. SHERLOCK: Well, if you’d been listening, you’d know she didn’t. NEILSON: I’m assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I’m assuming you didn’t, Mr Holmes. JOHN: For God’s sake. She’s the one who knows the code. Ask her. NEILSON: Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman. IRENE: Mr Holmes doesn’t ... NEILSON: Shut up. One more word out of you – just one – and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship. (Sherlock glares at him ferociously.) NEILSON: Mr Archer. At the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I don’t have the code. (John cowers down as Archer presses the muzzle of his pistol into the back of his neck and cocks the gun.) NEILSON: One. SHERLOCK (emphatically): I don’t know the code. NEILSON: Two. SHERLOCK: She didn’t tell me. (Raising his voice) I don’t know it! NEILSON: I’m prepared to believe you any second now. (Sherlock looks across to Irene who lowers her gaze pointedly downwards.) NEILSON: Three. SHERLOCK: No, stop! (Neilson holds up his free hand to stop Archer. John closes his eyes. Sherlock’s gaze becomes distant while his mind works frantically, then he slowly turns towards the safe and lowers his hands. As Neilson watches him closely, he slowly reaches out a finger towards the keypad and punches the ‘3’ and then the ‘2’. Hesitating for a moment, he then punches ‘2’ and ‘4’. Pausing again, he hits ‘3’ and ‘4’. The safe beeps and noisily unlocks. Irene smiles in satisfaction as Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes briefly. John sags lower on his knees and shuts his own eyes again.) NEILSON: Thank you, Mr Holmes. Open it, please. (Twisting the button that will open the door, Sherlock looks across to Irene again who lowers her gaze to the floor and makes a tiny jerk with her head. He turns back to the safe.) SHERLOCK (urgently): Vatican cameos. (Instantly John throws himself to the floor. At the same moment Sherlock pulls open the door of the safe while ducking down below the fireplace. Inside the safe, a tripwire attached to the door tugs on the trigger of a pistol with an equally long and over-compensatory silencer which is aimed straight out of the safe. The gun fires and Archer – who happened to be standing directly in front of it – is shot in the chest. Sherlock grabs for Neilson’s pistol and Irene spins around on her knees and savagely elbows her guard in the groin. Pulling the pistol from Neilson’s grip, Sherlock holds the silencer end and smashes the butt across his face and Neilson drops to the floor unconscious. As Irene’s guard crumples under her blow, she grapples for his pistol and is on her feet and aiming it down at him while he’s still falling. Sherlock turns to her.) SHERLOCK: D’you mind? IRENE: Not at all. (As her guard tries to get up, she slams the gun across his face and knocks him unconscious. While she’s distracted, Sherlock reaches into the safe and takes something out of it. Nearby, John has checked Archer over and now stands up.) JOHN: He’s dead. IRENE (to Sherlock, continuing to aim her pistol down at her guard): Thank you. You were very observant. JOHN: Observant? IRENE: I’m flattered. SHERLOCK: Don’t be. JOHN: Flattered? SHERLOCK: There’ll be more of them. They’ll be keeping a eye on the building. (Still holding Neilson’s pistol but having removed the silencer [obviously because he doesn’t need to over-compensate ...], he hurries out of the room. John tucks Archer’s gun into the back of his jeans and follows him. Irene goes over to the safe and stares into it wide-eyed. Sherlock trots out onto the street with John behind him.) JOHN: We should call the police. SHERLOCK: Yes. (Pointing the pistol into the air, he fires it five times. Nearby, tyres screech.) SHERLOCK: On their way. (He turns and trots back into the house.) JOHN: For God’s sake! SHERLOCK: Oh shut up. It’s quick. (He goes back into the sitting room. Irene turns around from the safe to face him.) SHERLOCK (to John): Check the rest of the house. See how they got in. (John heads off and Sherlock takes the item which he just stole from the safe out of his pocket and flips it nonchalantly into the air before catching it again.) SHERLOCK: Well, that’s the knighthood in the bag. IRENE: Ah. And that’s mine. (She holds out her hand. Ignoring her, Sherlock switches on the security lock on the phone he’s holding. It requires four letters or numbers to activate it and it has “I AM” above the four spaces and “LOCKED” below them.) SHERLOCK: All the photographs are on here, I presume. IRENE: I have copies, of course. SHERLOCK: No you don’t. You’ll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn’t be able to sell them. IRENE (lowering her hand): Who said I’m selling? SHERLOCK (looking at the dead and unconscious bodies lying on the floor): Well, why would they be interested? Whatever’s on the phone, it’s clearly not just photographs. IRENE: That camera phone is my life, Mr Holmes. I’d die before I let you take it. (She walks closer and holds her hand out again.) It’s my protection. JOHN (calling out): Sherlock! SHERLOCK (pulling the phone back and looking at Irene pointedly): It was. (He turns and leaves the room. She chases after him. Upstairs in the bedroom, John is kneeling over the silent figure of Kate lying on the floor. Putting his ear to her mouth to check her breathing, he straightens up and takes her pulse. Standing up, he goes into the en suite bathroom and looks at the open window in there. Sherlock comes into the bedroom followed by Irene.) JOHN: Must have come in this way. SHERLOCK: Clearly. (He goes into the bathroom to look out of the window as Irene walks anxiously towards Kate.) JOHN: It’s all right. She’s just out cold. IRENE: Well, God knows she’s used to that. There’s a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson. (Sherlock has come out of the bathroom and nods to him.) JOHN: Sure. (He leaves the room. Irene goes over to the dressing table, opens a drawer and covertly takes a syringe out of it. Sherlock is looking at the camera phone and doesn’t notice.) SHERLOCK: You’re very calm. (She looks round at him blankly.) SHERLOCK: Well, your booby trap did just kill a man. IRENE: He would have killed me. It was self defence in advance. (Walking across to Sherlock, she strokes her hand down his left arm. As he looks down at her hand she steps around behind him and stabs the syringe into his right arm. He gasps and spins around, trying to grab at his arm.) SHERLOCK: What? What is that? What ...? (As his face turns towards her again, she slaps him hard. He stumbles and falls to the floor. She holds out her hand to him.) IRENE: Give it to me. Now. Give it to me. (Sherlock’s vision is going fuzzy. Grunting, he tries to get back to his feet.) SHERLOCK: No. IRENE: Give it to me. (Starting to lose control of his muscles, Sherlock slumps to his hands and knees, still holding onto the phone.) SHERLOCK: No. IRENE: Oh, for goodness’ sake. (She picks up her riding crop from the dressing table and wields it at him.) IRENE: Drop it. (Sherlock continues trying to struggle to his feet.) IRENE: I ... (she thrashes him) ... said ... (she thrashes him again) ... drop it. (She strikes him a third time and he falls to the floor, unintentionally dropping the phone.) IRENE: Ah. Thank you, dear. (As he lies on his back unable to move, she picks up the phone and types on it, standing over Sherlock and looking down at him smugly.) IRENE: Now tell that sweet little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They’re not for blackmail, just for insurance. (She puts the phone into the pocket of Sherlock’s coat which she’s still wearing.) IRENE: Besides, I might want to see her again. (Grunting, Sherlock tries to get up. Irene presses him back down to the floor with one foot and the end of her crop.) IRENE: Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it. (She gently strokes the end of the crop against his face.) IRENE: This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you. (Sherlock’s vision becomes more fuzzy.) IRENE: Goodnight, Mr Sherlock Holmes. (She heads for the bathroom just as John walks back into the bedroom.) JOHN: Jesus. What are you doing? IRENE: He’ll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse. (She sits on the windowsill in the bathroom, puts her feet up on the edge of the bath and takes hold of a cord hanging from the ledge.) JOHN (picking up the syringe lying on the floor): What’s this? What have you given him? Sherlock! IRENE: He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends. JOHN (kneeling and looking down at his flatmate): Sherlock, can you hear me? IRENE: You know, I was wrong about him. He did know where to look. JOHN (standing up again and turning to her): For what? What are you talking about? IRENE: The key code to my safe. JOHN: What was it? (She looks down to Sherlock who is gazing at her barely conscious but still trying in vain to get up.) IRENE: Shall I tell him? (John looks down at him for a moment then turns back to Irene just as sirens announce the arrival of the police. Irene smiles at him.) IRENE: My measurements. (And with that she pushes her feet against the edge of the bath and topples backwards out of the window, still holding what looked like a cord but is apparently more like a thin rope. John hurries over to the window and looks out while Sherlock still tries vainly to lift himself up but continues to fall back helplessly.) (As he lapses into unconsciousness, he finds himself – inside his own mind anyway – back at the crime scene in the country and sitting in the driver’s seat of Phil’s car. Irene is standing outside clinging onto the ledge of the rolled-down window and looking in at him urgently.) IRENE: Got it! (Blinking and trying to clear his head, he turns as if to get out of the car but she holds up a finger.) IRENE: Oh, shush now. Don’t get up. I’ll do the talking. (She goes around to the rear of the car and bends down to look more closely at the exhaust pipe.) IRENE: So the car’s about to backfire ... (She stands up again and suddenly she and Sherlock are standing near the hiker in the field while he stands frozen and staring upwards at a forty-five degree angle.) IRENE: ... and the hiker, he’s staring at the sky. Now, you said he could be watching birds but he wasn’t, was he? (She walks around to the front of the hiker, following his gaze. Sherlock follows her.) IRENE: He was watching another kind of flying thing. The car backfires and the hiker turns to look ... (The hiker turns his head to look back towards the car and at the same moment an object flies in so rapidly that we can’t see what it is. It strikes him on the back of the head, bounces off and skims quickly away. The man falls backwards and – for a brief moment – Sherlock is back in Irene’s bedroom and falls backwards to the floor. Then he’s back at the crime scene and he and Irene look down at the ground just in front of the hiker.) IRENE: ... which was his big mistake. (She looks towards the road again.) IRENE: By the time the driver looks up, the hiker’s already dead. What he doesn’t see is what killed him because it’s already being washed downstream. (Floating at the edge of the stream is the most unlikely item you’d ever expect to see – a boomerang.) IRENE: An accomplished sportsman recently returned from foreign travel with ... a boomerang. You got that from one look? Definitely the new sexy. (She turns and smiles at Sherlock.) SHERLOCK (vaguely): I ... (He blinks, looking around in confusion.) SHERLOCK: I ... (Behind him, a bed rises up to meet him. The angle changes and he sinks down onto the bed and a sheet rises up to wrap around him. His eyes close.) IRENE (softly): Hush now. (She leans down over him. Sherlock’s fuzzy view of her shows that she’s no longer in the field but inside a room.) IRENE: It’s okay. I’m only returning your coat. (She leans closer towards him, then fades out. Sherlock jerks back into consciousness and finds himself alone and in bed in his own bedroom, fully clothed and covered with a sheet. He lifts his head.) SHERLOCK: John? (He shakes his head, trying to clear it.) SHERLOCK (louder): John! (In the living room, John looks round. Sherlock throws the sheet off and kneels up on the bed, then promptly loses his balance, falls forward and rolls over the foot of the bed and onto the floor. John opens the bedroom door and comes in as he sits up.) JOHN: You okay? SHERLOCK: How did I get here? JOHN: Well, I don’t suppose you remember much. You weren’t making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone. SHERLOCK (getting to his feet): Where is she? JOHN: Where’s who? SHERLOCK: The woman. That woman. JOHN: What woman? SHERLOCK (stumbling around the room aimlessly): The woman. The woman woman! JOHN: What, Irene Adler? She got away. No-one saw her. (Sherlock stumbles over to the open window and looks through it.) JOHN: She wasn’t here, Sherlock. (Turning around, Sherlock either falls down again or deliberately drops to the floor – it’s not clear which. While he’s down there he drags himself across the floor and peers under the bed as if looking to see whether Irene is hiding under there, then he squints around as if checking that she’s not hidden under or behind the wardrobe.) JOHN: What are you ...? What ...? No, no, no, no. (He hauls Sherlock up and drops him face-down onto the bed.) JOHN: Back to bed. (He covers him over with the sheet again.) You’ll be fine in the morning. Just sleep. SHERLOCK (blurrily): Of course I’ll be fine. I am fine. I’m absolutely fine. JOHN: Yes, you’re great. Now I’ll be next door if you need me. SHERLOCK (fuzzily): Why would I need you? JOHN: No reason at all. (He walks out of the room shutting the door behind him. Sherlock’s coat is hanging on the back of the door. A few moments later his pocket lights up as his phone activates and an orgasmic female sigh comes from the speaker. Sherlock opens his eyes and sits up, looking blearily across to his coat. Frowning at it as if realising that it can only have been returned by Irene, he gets out of bed and wobbles across the floor towards it, losing his balance a couple of times en route but managing to stay on his feet. Finally he gets to the door and takes the phone out of his pocket. Bracing himself against the wall he activates the phone. A new text message reads:
