He raises his eyes to Neilson’s again.) SHERLOCK: I believe I do. (Mrs Hudson whimpers as he releases her hands and straightens up, putting his hands behind his back again.) MRS HUDSON: Oh, please, Sherlock. SHERLOCK (to Neilson): First, get rid of your boys. NEILSON: Why? SHERLOCK: I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room. (Neilson hesitates for a moment, then glances at his colleagues.) NEILSON: You two, go to the car. SHERLOCK: Then get into the car and drive away. (He looks back to Neilson.) Don’t try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn’t work. (He loudly clicks the ‘k’ of ‘work.’ Your transcriber faints. The two men leave the room and head down the stairs.) SHERLOCK: Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me. NEILSON: So you can point a gun at me? SHERLOCK (stepping back and spreading his arms to either side): I’m unarmed. NEILSON: Mind if I check? SHERLOCK: Oh, I insist. (Neilson comes around from behind Mrs Hudson. She whimpers nervously.) MRS HUDSON: Don’t do anything. (Neilson walks over to Sherlock and pats his breast pocket and flicks the coat open while Sherlock stands meekly with his arms still spread. Walking around behind him, Neilson starts patting for any hidden weapon at his back. Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically at Mrs Hudson, but he is already covertly starting to bend his right arm towards himself. So fast that your transcriber absolutely can’t tell where it came from, he whips out the sanitizer spray can, twists around and sprays the contents directly into Neilson’s eyes. As Neilson screams, Sherlock rears back and then savagely headbutts him in the face. Neilson falls back onto the coffee table, unconscious, and Sherlock triumphantly flips the can into the air.) SHERLOCK: Moron. (Slamming the can onto the dining table, he hurries over to Mrs Hudson and, tutting – probably in annoyance at what the man has done to her – he drops to his knees in front of her.) MRS HUDSON (tearfully): Oh, thank you. SHERLOCK (gently stroking her face): You’re all right now, you’re all right. MRS HUDSON: Yes. (Sherlock looks over his shoulder towards Neilson’s prone body, his expression still promising murder.)
Not long afterwards, the black car pulls up outside 221 and John gets out. The car drives away and he walks to the door, then stops when he sees a handwritten note attached underneath the knocker. He looks around the street for a moment, then pushes the door open and goes inside. Written on the note is:
CRIME IN PROGRESS PLEASE DISTURB
He goes upstairs and hurries into the living room. JOHN: What’s going on? (He stops at the sight of Neilson, bound and gagged with duct tape and sitting on the chair near the fireplace. His nose is broken and blood has run down his face and is dripping from his chin. Mrs Hudson is sitting on the sofa and Sherlock is in a chair nearby, holding Neilson’s pistol aimed at him with one hand, and his phone to his ear with the other.) JOHN: Jeez. What the hell is happening? SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson’s been attacked by an American. I’m restoring balance to the universe. (John immediately hurries over to sit down next to her.) JOHN: Oh, Mrs Hudson, my God. Are you all right? (Glaring at Neilson as he puts his arm around her shoulders) Jesus, what have they done to you? (Mrs Hudson breaks down in tears again.) MRS HUDSON (covering her face with her hands): Oh, I’m just being so silly. JOHN (pulling her closer): No, no. (Sherlock gets to his feet, still holding the phone to his ear while aiming the gun at Neilson.) SHERLOCK (to John): Downstairs. Take her downstairs and look after her. (John stands up and helps her to her feet.) JOHN (gently): All right, it’s all right. I’ll have a look at that. MRS HUDSON (tearfully): I’m fine, I’m fine. (As she walks out of the room, John steps over to Sherlock, whose eyes are fixed on Neilson.) JOHN: Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? SHERLOCK: I expect so. Now go. (They look at each other for a moment, then turn their gazes to Neilson and now he’s got two murderous expressions aimed at him. John turns to leave the room but just before his head is completely turned away, a small smile begins to form on his face as if he wants Neilson to understand that he is about to encounter a whole world of hurt.) SHERLOCK (into phone as John walks away): Lestrade. We’ve had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance. (Finally taking his eyes off Neilson, he walks across to the dining table and lays the pistol down on it.) Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we’re fine. No, it’s the, uh, it’s the burglar. He’s got himself rather badly injured. (Neilson looks nervous while Sherlock listens to Lestrade’s question.) SHERLOCK: Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull ... suspected punctured lung. (He looks over his shoulder at Neilson.) SHERLOCK (into phone): He fell out of a window. (Still looking into Neilson’s eyes, he hangs up.)
Downstairs in Mrs Hudson’s kitchen, she and John are standing by the sink while he gently applies some antiseptic to the cut on her cheek with a piece of cotton wool. She flinches. MRS HUDSON: Ooh, it stings. (John nods as he continues cleaning the cut. A moment later a shape plummets down past the window and lands with a crash. John and Mrs H look at the window.) MRS HUDSON: Ooh. That was right on my bins. (There’s an agonised groan from outside.)
Some time later, it’s fully dark outside and an ambulance is only now pulling away from 221. Sherlock is standing outside Speedy’s café with Lestrade, who apparently decided that his least irritating officer was himself. LESTRADE: And exactly how many times did he fall out the window? SHERLOCK: It’s all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count. (Not bothering to comment, Lestrade walks away. A little later Sherlock comes in through the kitchen door of 221A and carefully wipes his feet on the doormat. Mrs Hudson and John are sitting at her small kitchen table. Mrs H still looks very shaken.) JOHN: She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her. MRS HUDSON: No. SHERLOCK: Of course, but she’s fine. JOHN: No, she’s not. Look at her. (Sherlock opens the fridge door and peers inside before picking something up.) JOHN: She’s got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor’s orders. (Kicking the fridge door shut, Sherlock frowns at John and bites into a mince pie.) SHERLOCK: Don’t be absurd. JOHN: She’s in shock, for God’s sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone. Where is it, anyway? SHERLOCK: Safest place I know. (Wiping crumbs from his mouth, he looks down at Mrs Hudson who reaches down inside her top and pulls the phone out of her bra before handing it to Sherlock.) MRS HUDSON: You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot. (She laughs briefly.) I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry. SHERLOCK (tossing it into the air before putting it in his coat pocket): Thank you. (He looks at John.) SHERLOCK: Shame on you, John Watson. JOHN: Shame on me?! SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street? (He puts a protective arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him.) SHERLOCK (sternly): England would fall. (She laughs and strokes his hand. He chuckles gently. John smiles at them both.)
Later, the boys are back upstairs. John fixes himself a drink in the kitchen and then comes into the living room where Sherlock is taking off his coat. JOHN: Where is it now? SHERLOCK: Where no-one will look. (Walking across to the window, he picks up his violin and turns his back to the room.) JOHN: Whatever’s on that phone is more than just pictures. SHERLOCK: Yes, it is. (He tinkers with his violin and checks its tuning. John watches him for a moment.) JOHN: So, she’s alive then. How are we feeling about that? (In the distance, Big Ben begins to toll the hour. Sherlock pulls in a sharp breath.) SHERLOCK: Happy New Year, John. JOHN: Do you think you’ll be seeing her again? (Turning around but not yet meeting his eyes, Sherlock picks up his bow and flips it in the air before catching it and then starting to play “Auld Lang Syne,” looking pointedly at John. John gets the message and sits down in his chair while Sherlock turns back to the window and continues to play.) (Not far away, within sight of St Paul’s Cathedral, Irene is walking along the street when her phone trills a text alert. Taking the phone from her bag and checking the message, she sees that it reads:
Happy New Year SH
She looks at the message for a long time before continuing onwards.)
DAY TIME. ST BART’S. In the Molly lab, Sherlock is looking at an X-ray on a computer screen which is showing the interior parts of a phone. Molly is nearby. He leans closer to the screen and sees four small round dark areas scattered around the phone. He looks exasperated. MOLLY: Is that a phone? SHERLOCK: It’s a camera phone. MOLLY: And you’re X-raying it? SHERLOCK: Yes, I am. MOLLY: Whose phone is it? SHERLOCK: A woman’s. MOLLY: Your girlfriend? SHERLOCK: You think she’s my girlfriend because I’m X-raying her possessions? MOLLY (laughing nervously): Well, we all do silly things. SHERLOCK: Yes. (He lifts his head as if suddenly inspired and he looks round to Molly.) SHERLOCK: They do, don’t they? Very silly. (She looks confused as he gets to his feet and takes the phone out of the X-ray machine and holds it up.) SHERLOCK: She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games. MOLLY: She does? (Sherlock pulls up the “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen and types “221B” into the phone. The phone beeps warningly and a message comes up reading: “WRONG PASSCODE. 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING”. He looks exasperated and sits down again.)
SOME MONTHS LATER. 221B. Sherlock reaches the top of the stairs and then stops abruptly outside the kitchen door. He sniffs deeply. Taking a couple more deep breaths, he turns and looks into the kitchen, then walks across to the window and checks it, realising that it is open. Turning and sniffing again, he starts to walk slowly towards his bedroom just as the downstairs door slams and feet start trotting up the stairs. Reaching his room, he pushes the door open as John comes into the kitchen with bags of shopping. Sherlock walks into the bedroom and turns to stand and look down at the bed. John notices him. JOHN: Sherlock ... SHERLOCK: We have a client. JOHN: What, in your bedroom?! (He walks along the passage and into the bedroom, then his jaw drops when he sees the bed.) JOHN: Ohhh. (Irene – fully clothed – is asleep in Sherlock’s bed.)
Some time later Irene has apparently showered, as her hair is loose and damp. She is wearing one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns and is sitting in his chair in the living room. The boys are sitting at the dining table looking at her. SHERLOCK: So who’s after you? IRENE: People who want to kill me. SHERLOCK: Who’s that? IRENE: Killers. JOHN: It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific. SHERLOCK: So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them. IRENE: It worked for a while. SHERLOCK: Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me. IRENE: I knew you’d keep my secret. SHERLOCK: You couldn’t. IRENE: But you did, didn’t you? Where’s my camera phone? JOHN: It’s not here. We’re not stupid. IRENE: Then what have you done with it? If they’ve guessed you’ve got it, they’ll be watching you. SHERLOCK: If they’ve been watching me, they’ll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago. IRENE: I need it. JOHN: Well, we can’t just go and get it, can we? (He looks round to Sherlock, inspired.) JOHN: Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart’s; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back. SHERLOCK (smiling): Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions. JOHN: Thank you. (He picks up his phone.) So, why don’t ... Oh, for ... (He has just seen Sherlock take the camera phone out of his jacket pocket and hold it up. Sherlock looks at the phone closely as Irene stands up.) SHERLOCK: So what do you keep on here – in general, I mean? IRENE: Pictures, information, anything I might find useful. JOHN: What, for blackmail? IRENE: For protection. I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be. SHERLOCK: So how do you acquire this information? IRENE: I told you – I misbehave. SHERLOCK: But you’ve acquired something that’s more danger than protection. Do you know what it is? IRENE: Yes, but I don’t understand it. SHERLOCK: I assumed. Show me. (Irene holds out her hand for the phone. Sherlock holds it up out of her reach.) SHERLOCK: The passcode. (She continues to hold her hand out, and eventually Sherlock sits forward and hands her the phone. Activating it and holding it so he can’t see the screen or the keypad, she types in four characters. The phone beeps warningly.) IRENE: It’s not working. SHERLOCK (standing up and taking the phone from her): No, because it’s a duplicate that I had made, into which you’ve just entered the numbers one oh five eight. (He walks over to his chair in which she was just sitting and retrieves the real camera phone from under the cushion.) SHERLOCK: I assumed you’d choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway. (He pulls up the “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen and types “1058” into the phone. He looks at her smugly but then the phone beeps warningly and a message comes up reading: “WRONG PASSCODE. 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING”. He stares in disbelief.) IRENE: I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it’s in my hand. SHERLOCK: Oh, you’re rather good. IRENE (smiling at him): You’re not so bad. (She holds out her hand again and takes the phone from him. John frowns at the pair of them while they have intense eyesex for the next few seconds.) JOHN (abruptly): Hamish. (They both turn to look at him.) JOHN: John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names. (Sherlock frowns in confusion.) IRENE: There was a man – an MOD official. I knew what he liked. (Walking a short distance away from the boys so they can’t see her screen or keypad, she types in her real passcode and calls up a photo.) IRENE: One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn’t know it, but I photographed it. (She hands the phone to Sherlock.) He was a bit tied up at the time. It’s a bit small on that screen – can you read it? (Sherlock sits down on the other side of the table to John and narrows his eyes at the photograph. The top of the email – possibly the subject line – reads:
007 Confirmed allocation
Underneath in smaller print is a string of numbers:
4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K
SHERLOCK: Yes. IRENE: A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn’t figure it out. (Sherlock leans forward, concentrating on the screen.) IRENE: What can you do, Mr Holmes? (She leans over his shoulder.) IRENE: Go on. Impress a girl. (Time slows down as she begins to lean towards him. Oblivious to her approach, the numbers in the code race through Sherlock’s mind and begin to form into shapes for him. Opposite him, John has taken a drink of tea and is lowering his mug in slow motion towards the table. By the time the mug reaches the table and Irene has leaned in and kissed Sherlock’s cheek, he has already solved it. His eyes drift momentarily in her direction as she pulls back smiling, but then he concentrates on the screen again.) SHERLOCK (speaking rapidly): There’s a margin for error but I’m pretty sure there’s a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it’s going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I’ve only been on the case for eight seconds. (He looks at John’s blank face in front of him, then glances round at Irene who hasn’t even fully straightened up yet.) SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. It’s not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look ... (He shows the screen to John.) SHERLOCK (quick fire): There’s no letter ‘I’ because it can be mistaken for a ‘1’; no letters past ‘K’ – the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter ‘K’ or rows past fifty-five, which is why there’s always an upstairs. There’s a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there’s the style of the flight number – zero zero seven – that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport. (By now he has stood up, and now he lowers the phone and looks down at Irene, who gazes up at him in admiration.) SHERLOCK (engaging the full force of his cello jaguar voice and sending your transcriber into a complete meltdown): Please don’t feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John’s expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language. IRENE (intensely): I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice. (The two of them stare at each other for a long moment before Sherlock speaks again.) SHERLOCK (with his eyes still locked on Irene’s): John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I’m right? JOHN (vaguely, overcome by all the sex in the air): Uh-huh. I’m on it, yeah. (Clearing his throat, he starts to type on his laptop. Sherlock and Irene continue to stare at each other.) SHERLOCK: I’ve never begged for mercy in my life. IRENE (emphatically): Twice. JOHN (looking at his screen): Uh, yeah, you’re right. Uh, flight double oh seven. SHERLOCK (looking round at him): What did you say? JOHN: You’re right. SHERLOCK: No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that? JOHN: Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven. SHERLOCK (quietly to himself): Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven ... (Pushing Irene out of the way, he begins to pace.) SHERLOCK: ... something ... something connected to double oh seven ... What? (As he continues to pace and mutter the numbers to himself, Irene puts her other phone behind her back and begins to type blind on it:
747 TOMORROW 6:30PM HEATHROW
(The message is sent to the phone of Jim Moriarty. Standing in Westminster very near the Houses of Parliament, he takes out his phone and reads the message. Back at 221B, Sherlock has walked to the fireplace and is standing in front of the mirror with his eyes closed.) SHERLOCK (quietly): Double oh seven, double oh seven, what, what, something, what? (His eyes snap open as he begins to remember and he turns and looks at the living room door, remembering Mycroft standing on the landing talking into his phone.) MYCROFT (in flashback): Bond Air is go. (Sherlock walks towards the door.) MYCROFT (in flashback): Bond Air is go. ... Bond Air is go. (While the words continue to echo in Sherlock’s mind, at Westminster Jim is typing a message onto his phone:
Jumbo Jet. Dear me Mr Holmes, dear me.
He presses Send and the message wings its way up into the air. As if watching it go, Jim raises his eyes towards Big Ben, the very image of the seat of the British government, and blows a long and loud raspberry at it. At Mycroft’s house/residence/fancy office he picks up his phone from the dining table and looks at a newly arrived message. It reads:
Jumbo Jet. Dear me Mr Holmes, dear me.
Time passes and Mycroft returns to the chair at the end of the dining table and sinks down into it, running his hand over his face and clearly still shocked by the turn of events. More time passes and Mycroft has removed his jacket and has a glass of brandy in front of him. His hands are folded in front of his mouth and he is lost in wide-eyed and horrified thought. Much later, as night begins to fall, Mycroft’s face is furrowed with anguish and his eyes are still wide at the horror which only he knows about. The glass beside him is empty. Slowly he closes his eyes and sinks his head into his hands in despair.)
NIGHT TIME. 221B. Sherlock sits in his armchair gently plucking the strings of his violin. In his mind he can still hear Mycroft’s phone call. MYCROFT (voiceover): Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. (Sherlock finally rouses a little and looks up.) SHERLOCK: Coventry. (Irene, still wearing Sherlock’s dressing gown and with her hair down, is curled up in John’s chair watching him closely.) IRENE: I’ve never been. Is it nice? SHERLOCK: Where’s John? IRENE: He went out a couple of hours ago. SHERLOCK: I was just talking to him. IRENE (smiling): He said you do that. What’s Coventry got to do with anything? SHERLOCK: It’s a story, probably not true. In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they’d broken the German code but they didn’t want the Germans to know that they’d broken the code, so they let it happen anyway. IRENE: Have you ever had anyone? (Sherlock frowns at her blankly.) SHERLOCK: Sorry? IRENE: And when I say “had,” I’m being indelicate. SHERLOCK: I don’t understand. IRENE: Well, I’ll be delicate then. (Getting up from the chair she walks over and kneels in front of Sherlock, putting her left hand on top of his right hand and curling her fingers around it.) IRENE: Let’s have dinner. SHERLOCK: Why? IRENE: Might be hungry. SHERLOCK: I’m not. IRENE: Good. (Hesitantly, Sherlock sits forward a little and slowly turns his right hand over, curling his own fingers around her wrist.) SHERLOCK: Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry? (Slowly Irene begins to lean forward, her gaze fixed on his lips.) IRENE (softly): Oh, Mr Holmes ... (Sherlock’s fingers gently stroke across the underside of her wrist.) IRENE: ... if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me? MRS HUDSON (calling up the stairs): Sherlock! (Sherlock’s eyes slide towards the door.) IRENE (ruefully): Too late. SHERLOCK: That’s not the end of the world; that’s Mrs Hudson. (Irene pulls her hand free and stands up, walking away from him as Mrs Hudson comes in with none other than Plummer from the Palace.) MRS HUDSON: Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working? (She turns around to Plummer and points at Sherlock.) MRS HUDSON: He shot it. SHERLOCK (tetchily, to Plummer): Have you come to take me away again? PLUMMER: Yes, Mr Holmes. SHERLOCK: Well, I decline. PLUMMER (taking an envelope from his jacket and offering it to him): I don’t think you do. (Sherlock snatches it from him and opens it. Inside is a Business Class boarding pass for Flyaway Airways in the name of Sherlock Holmes for flight number 007 to Baltimore, scheduled to leave at 18.30. Very shortly afterwards, Sherlock has put on his coat and is getting into the back of a car outside the flat. As Plummer gets into the passenger seat and the car drives away, Irene stands at the window of the flat and watches them go.)
In the car, Sherlock gets out the plane ticket again, then tells Plummer what he has deduced. SHERLOCK: There’s going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it but rather than expose the source of that information they’re going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new. (Neither Plummer nor the driver respond to him in any way. Some time later the car arrives at Heathrow Airport and is driven past hangars to a 747 Jumbo Jet parked on the tarmac. The car stops near the plane and Sherlock gets out and walks over to the steps which lead up to the entry door. A familiar figure is standing at the bottom of the steps. It’s Neilson.) SHERLOCK (nonchalantly, in a deliberately fake American accent): Well, you’re lookin’ all better. How ya feelin’? NEILSON: Like putting a bullet in your brain ... sir. (Sherlock lets out a quiet snigger and starts to walk up the steps.) NEILSON: They’d pin a medal on me if I did ... (Sherlock stops.) NEILSON (insincerely): ... sir. (Sherlock half-turns back towards him, then apparently decides he can’t be bothered and continues up the steps. Inside, he pulls back the curtain obscuring the passenger seating and walks into the aisle. The lighting is very low and it’s hard to see. There are people sitting in almost all the seats but none of them is moving or speaking or showing any signs of life at all. Frowning, he walks forward and looks more closely at the nearest passengers. An overhead light shows more clearly the faces of two men sitting beside each other and Sherlock now realises the truth: they are dead. Although they’re not yet showing any signs of decomposition, their skin is very grey and they’ve clearly been dead for some time. He turns and looks to the passengers on the other side of the aisle, turning on another overhead light to get a better view. The man and woman sitting there are also long dead. As he straightens up, realising that everyone on board the plane must be in the same condition, his brother speaks from the other end of the section.) MYCROFT: The Coventry conundrum. (Sherlock turns as Mycroft pushes back the curtain and steps through into the cabin. For the first part of the ensuing conversation he talks softly, almost as if out of respect for the dead bodies in front of him.) MYCROFT: What do you think of my solution? (Sherlock gazes around the cabin, still taking it all in.) MYCROFT: The flight of the dead. SHERLOCK: The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies. MYCROFT: Neat, don’t you think? (Sherlock smiles humourlessly.) MYCROFT: You’ve been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern? (Sherlock flashes back in his mind to the two little girls sitting in his living room.) LITTLE GIRL: They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead. (He lifts his head a little, remembering the creepy guy sitting in the same chair on a different occasion, holding a funeral urn.) CREEPY GUY: She’s not my real aunt. I know human ash. MYCROFT: We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn’t make the flight. (Sherlock flashes back to the car with the body in the boot and the passport stamped in Berlin airport.) MYCROFT: But that’s the deceased for you – late, in every sense of the word. SHERLOCK: How’s the plane going to fly? (He answers himself immediately.) Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new. MYCROFT: It doesn’t fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished. SHERLOCK: Your MOD man. MYCROFT: That’s all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special. SHERLOCK (quirking an eyebrow): Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully. MYCROFT (loudly, furiously): I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I’m talking about you. (He slams the tip of his umbrella on the floor. Sherlock frowns, genuinely confused.) MYCROFT (more softly): The damsel in distress. (He smiles ironically.) In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ... (his voice drops to a whisper while he twirls the end of his umbrella in the air) ... and watch him dance. SHERLOCK: Don’t be absurd. MYCROFT: Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress? IRENE (from behind Sherlock): I think it was less than five seconds. (Sherlock spins around to see her standing at the end of the cabin, dressed beautifully, fully made up and with her hair perfectly coiffured. This is The Woman at her immaculate best.) MYCROFT (ruefully to Sherlock): I drove you into her path. (He pauses momentarily.) I’m sorry. (He lowers his eyes.) I didn’t know. (Sherlock is still looking at Irene as she walks towards him.) IRENE: Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk. SHERLOCK: So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on. IRENE (walking past him): Not you, Junior. You’re done now. (She continues down the aisle towards Mycroft. Sherlock turns and watches her go as she activates her phone and holds it up to show his brother.) IRENE: There’s more ... loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother. (Mycroft can no longer hold her gaze and turns his head away, lowering his eyes.)
