BART’S. Molly comes out of a small side room in a lab, switches off the lights and walks across the darkened lab, sighing tiredly. As she reaches the door to the corridor, Sherlock is standing in the darkness behind her with his face turned away from her. She doesn’t see him and reaches for the door handle. SHERLOCK: You’re wrong, you know. (She gasps and jumps, spinning around towards him.) SHERLOCK: You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you. (He turns his head towards her.) SHERLOCK: But you were right. I’m not okay. MOLLY: Tell me what’s wrong. SHERLOCK (slowly walking towards her): Molly, I think I’m going to die. MOLLY: What do you need? SHERLOCK (still slowly approaching her): If I wasn’t everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me? (She gazes up at him as he stops close to her.) MOLLY: What do you need? (He steps even closer, his expression intense.) SHERLOCK: You.
THE DIOGENES CLUB. Mycroft walks across one of the common rooms, where an old man is fast asleep in an armchair, and goes into the smaller private room, reaching for the door handle to close it, but he stops when he realises that John is sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him. John is still looking through Kitty’s file. JOHN: She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know. MYCROFT (closing the door): Ah. JOHN: Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Two names: yours and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me. (Mycroft walks across the room to face him.) MYCROFT: John ... JOHN: So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim? (Mycroft sits down in the chair opposite and opens his mouth but John interrupts again. His voice is full of controlled anger.) JOHN: Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac. MYCROFT: I never inten... I never dreamt ... JOHN (interrupting): So this ...th-th-this ... (he looks through the papers again) ... is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it: “Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.” (He slaps the papers down on the table beside his chair and sits back, clearing his throat as he tries to stay calm.) JOHN: How did you meet him? (Mycroft draws in a long breath.) MYCROFT: People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door. JOHN: And you abducted him to try and find the keycode? MYCROFT: Interrogated him for weeks. (Flashback to Mycroft watching through a one-way mirror while, in the cell on the other side of the mirror – the cell we saw at the end of “The Hounds of Baskerville” – a man viciously beats a seated Jim across the face.) JOHN: And? MYCROFT: He wouldn’t play along. (In the flashback, Jim slowly turns his head towards the front after the blow and stares up at his interrogator, who strikes him again.) MYCROFT: He just sat there, staring into the darkness. (Again Jim turns his head to the front, appearing unfazed by the assault. The interrogator strikes him again.) MYCROFT: The only thing that made him open up ... (Ruefully he gestures to himself. In the flashback, Mycroft opens the door to the cell and stops in the doorway. Jim lifts his head and looks at Mycroft’s reflection in the mirror in front of him.) MYCROFT: I could get him to talk ... (Mycroft comes into the room and turns to shut the door behind him. Jim closes his eyes and smiles blissfully as Mycroft walks closer.) MYCROFT: ... just a little, but ... (He trails off. John grimly finishes the sentence for him.) JOHN: ... in return you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true. (He leans forward in his chair.) JOHN: Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition. (He smiles bitterly at him. Mycroft lowers his eyes. John pulls in a sharp breath and then gets to his feet, turning towards the door.) MYCROFT: John ... (John turns back. Mycroft looks up at him.) MYCROFT (softly): I’m sorry. JOHN (tightly): Oh, please ... (He shakes his head in disbelief and turns away, laughing humourlessly as he walks to the door.) MYCROFT: Tell him, would you? (John opens the door and walks away, leaving the door open behind him.)
BART’S LAB. The lights are now on. Sherlock sits alone on the floor with his back against the bench. He is bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard in front of him and catching it before repeating the action constantly. John comes in. JOHN: Got your message. (Sherlock catches the ball and holds on to it.) SHERLOCK: The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it – beat Moriarty at his own game. JOHN: What d’you mean, “use it”? SHERLOCK: He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook. JOHN: And bring back Jim Moriarty again. SHERLOCK (standing up): Somewhere in 221B, somewhere – on the day of the verdict – he left it hidden. (He turns and faces the bench, putting both hands on the work surface. John walks to stand beside him, unconsciously mimicking his stance.) JOHN: Uh-huh. (Both of them stare ahead of them, thinking. John purses his lips, then looks at Sherlock.) JOHN: What did he touch? SHERLOCK: An apple. Nothing else. (He briefly drums his fingers on the bench.) JOHN: Did he write anything down? SHERLOCK: No. (John hisses in a breath and looks away, racking his brains and again unconsciously mimicking his friend by drumming his own fingers on the bench. After a moment, he turns and walks across the lab, blowing the breath out again. Sherlock lifts the fingers of his right hand, hesitates for a moment, then begins to drum them again but now he’s beating out a specific rhythm and, in his mind, binary code begins to stream out from his fingers. He lifts his head as John sighs heavily, unaware of Sherlock’s sharpened expression. Straightening up, Sherlock turns his back to John, takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to type a text message:
Come and play. Bart’s Hospital rooftop. SH
He pauses for a moment, then adds:
PS. Got something of yours you might want back.
Sending the message, he tucks his phone away into his jacket and then turns back towards the bench, his eyes full of thought.)
Some hours later, dawn is breaking. Sherlock is still in the same place in the lab, sitting on a stool with his feet up on the bench. He is rapidly rolling the rubber ball from side to side across the bench, his fingers flickering rapidly over the top of the ball. John has sat on a stool at a nearby bench and he has his head down on his folded arms, asleep. His phone rings. Lifting his head tiredly, he groans and answers the phone. JOHN: Yeah, speaking. (He listens for a moment.) JOHN (shocked): Er, what? (He gets to his feet.) JOHN: What happened? Is she okay? (He listens.) Oh my God. Right, yes, I’m coming. (He switches the phone off.) SHERLOCK: What is it? JOHN: Paramedics. Mrs Hudson – she’s been shot. SHERLOCK: What? How? JOHN (frantically): Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract ... Jesus. Jesus. She’s dying, Sherlock. Let’s go. (He turns towards the door.) SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): You go. I’m busy. (John turns back towards him, his face appalled.) JOHN: Busy? SHERLOCK: Thinking. I need to think. JOHN: You need to ...? Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her. SHERLOCK (shrugging): She’s my landlady. JOHN (furiously): She’s dying ... (He flails a hand in front of himself in utter disbelief at Sherlock’s attitude.) JOHN: You machine. (He looks down, shaking his head.) JOHN: Sod this. Sod this. (He heads towards the door.) You stay here if you want, on your own. SHERLOCK: Alone is what I have. Alone protects me. JOHN (opening the door and looking back at him angrily): No. Friends protect people. (He storms out of the room. Sherlock lifts his gaze towards the door. A moment later his phone trills a text alert. He reaches into his pocket and looks at the message:
I’m waiting... JM
Taking his feet off the bench and standing up, he walks across the lab buttoning his jacket. He picks up his coat, opens the door and leaves the room.)
On the roof of the hospital, daylight has come. Jim Moriarty – now back in a typical smart suit and overcoat and with his hair slicked back – calmly sits on the raised ledge at the edge of the roof with his phone in his hand while The Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” plays from it. He doesn’t look at Sherlock as he comes onto the roof and walks towards him. JIM: Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem. (He holds the phone up higher.) JIM: Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it? (Angrily he switches off the phone.) JIM: It’s just ... (he holds his hand out flat with the palm down and skims it slowly through the air level to the roof) ... staying. (He pulls his hand back and briefly sinks his head into it while Sherlock paces around the roof in front of him.) JIM: All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have you. Because I’ve beaten you. (Sherlock’s head turns sharply towards him as he continues to pace.) JIM: And you know what? In the end it was easy. (Sherlock stops and folds his hands behind his back.) JIM (quietly, disappointed): It was easy. Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them. (He lowers his head again and rubs his face before looking up at Sherlock.) JIM: Ah well. (He stands up and walks closer, then starts to pace slowly around the detective.) JIM: Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you? SHERLOCK: Richard Brook. JIM: Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do. SHERLOCK: Of course. JIM: Attaboy. SHERLOCK: Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name. JIM (in a fake American accent): Just tryin’ to have some fun. (Continuing to pace around him, he looks down to Sherlock’s hands and sees that he is tapping out a rhythm with his fingers.) JIM: Good. You got that too. SHERLOCK: Beats like digits. (Flashback to Jim sitting at 221B drumming his fingers on his knee.) SHERLOCK: Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system. JIM: I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy. SHERLOCK (gesturing to his own head): Yes, but now that it’s up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty. (Jim gazes at him for a moment, then turns away with a disappointed look on his face.) JIM: No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy. (He buries his head in his hands.) JIM: This is too easy. (Lowering his hands, he turns back to Sherlock.) JIM: There is no key, DOOFUS! (He screams the last word into Sherlock’s face.) JIM: Those digits are meaningless. They’re utterly meaningless. (Sherlock can’t hide the confusion on his face.) JIM: You don’t really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I’m disappointed. (He turns away and lumbers across the roof, making his voice sound moronic as he continues speaking.) JIM: I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock. SHERLOCK: But the rhythm ... JIM: “Partita number one.” Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach. SHERLOCK: But then how did ... JIM (speaking over him): Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison? (He turns and spreads his arms wide.) JIM: Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants. (In flashback at the White Tower, Jim selects the Crown icon on his phone. A message is automatically sent to the man in the surveillance room who hasn’t gone to make tea. He lifts his own phone to see the message: “it’s showtime !” then types on his keyboard and the alarms begin to sound as the security screens go blank. He gets up from the desk and hurries off, presumably to close the security door that will shut Jim into the Crown Jewels display room.) JIM: I knew you’d fall for it. That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it. (Sherlock has been staring blankly into the distance. Now he sounds bewildered.) SHERLOCK: Do it? Do – do what? (He blinks as it becomes clearer to him and he turns towards Jim.) SHERLOCK: Yes, of course. My suicide. JIM: “Genius detective proved to be a fraud.” I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales. (Sherlock walks to the edge of the roof and leans forward, looking over the side to the ground below. Jim walks to stand beside him and looks over the side as well.) JIM: And pretty Grimm ones too. (He turns his head and looks ominously at Sherlock.)
221B. A taxi pulls up outside and John jumps out and hurries towards the door, scrabbling for his keys. Hurrying inside, he sees the tattooed bald workman standing at the top of his stepladder just in front of the stairs, drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs Hudson is standing nearby watching him. As John runs towards her, she jolts in startlement, having not heard his approach over the sound of the drill. MRS HUDSON: Oh, God, John! You made me jump! JOHN (staring at her in confusion): But ... MRS HUDSON: Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out? (John stares for a moment longer and then it suddenly sinks in.) JOHN (softly, his voice full of horror): Oh my God. (He turns around and runs outside, looking up and down the street frantically. Luckily he immediately sees what he needs.) JOHN: Taxi! (A cab begins to pull over on the other side of the road. John chases across the road towards it.) JOHN: Taxi! (A man is standing at the side of the road having also just hailed the cab. As he leans into the front window to tell the driver his destination, John runs around the cab and pulls open the rear door, talking even as he scrambles inside.) JOHN: No, no, no, no, police! ... Sort of. MAN (walking away angrily): Oh, thanks, mate – thanks a lot(!)
BART’S ROOFTOP. The two men have turned towards each other at the edge of the roof. SHERLOCK: I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity. JIM (wearily exasperated): Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort. (Sherlock turns away, pacing distractedly.) JIM: Go on. For me. (He makes his voice into a high-pitched squeal for the next word.) JIM: Pleeeeeease? (In a sudden movement, Sherlock grabs him by the collar of his coat with both hands and spins him around so that Jim’s back is to the drop. He stares into his face and then shoves him back one step nearer the edge. Jim looks at him with interest as Sherlock’s breathing becomes shorter.) SHERLOCK: You’re insane. (Jim blinks.) JIM: You’re just getting that now? (Sherlock shoves him further back, now holding him over the edge. Jim whoops almost triumphantly and gazes back at him with no fear in his eyes, holding his hands out wide and committing himself to Sherlock’s grasp.) JIM: Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. (Sherlock frowns. Jim’s voice becomes more savage.) JIM: Your friends will die if you don’t. (Fear begins to creep into Sherlock’s eyes.) SHERLOCK: John. JIM: Not just John. (In a whisper) Everyone. SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson. JIM (in a whisper, with a delighted smile): Everyone. SHERLOCK: Lestrade. JIM: Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There’s no stopping them now. (Furiously, Sherlock pulls Jim back upwards to safety. Jim stares into his face.) JIM: Unless my people see you jump. (Sherlock gazes past him, breathing heavily and appearing lost in horror. Jim shakes himself free of his grasp and smiles triumphantly.) JIM: You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ... SHERLOCK: ... unless I kill myself – complete your story. (Jim nods and smiles ecstatically.) JIM: You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier. SHERLOCK (his gaze distant and lost): And I die in disgrace. JIM (in a matter-of-fact tone): Of course. That’s the point of this. (He looks over the side and sees that someone has stopped at the benches near the bus stop below them, and several other people are in the vicinity.) JIM: Oh, you’ve got an audience now. Off you pop. (He rolls his head from side to side on his neck.) JIM: Go on. (Sherlock slowly steps past him and up onto the ledge.) JIM: I told you how this ends. (Sherlock’s breathing becomes more shaky as he looks down.) JIM (not even looking at him): Your death is the only thing that’s gonna call off the killers. I’m certainly not gonna do it. (Now he turns his head and looks up at his enemy expectantly. Sherlock blinks anxiously.) SHERLOCK: Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy? (He glances down at Jim.) SHERLOCK: Please? (Jim looks disappointed that Sherlock should be so ‘ordinary.’) JIM: Of course. (He moves away across the roof. Sherlock takes several shallow anxious breaths, then he stops breathing for a moment as his brain kicks into gear again. He lifts his gaze and his expression becomes more like the Sherlock we know while his eyes become thoughtful. Slowly a smile spreads across his face and he starts to chuckle. Behind him, Jim is slowly walking away across the roof but he stops, his expression livid, when Sherlock laughs with delight. Jim spins around furiously.) JIM: What? (Sherlock continues to laugh.) JIM (angrily): What is it? (Sherlock half turns on the ledge, smiling towards him as he glares back.) JIM (angrily): What did I miss? (Sherlock hops down off the ledge and walks closer to him.) SHERLOCK: “You’re not going to do it.” So the killers can be called off, then – there’s a recall code or a word or a number. (Now he’s the one circling his prey.) SHERLOCK: I don’t have to die ... (his voice becomes sing-song) ... if I’ve got you. JIM: Oh! (He laughs in relieved delight.) You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that? SHERLOCK (still circling him): Yes. So do you. JIM: Sherlock, your big brother and all the King’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to. SHERLOCK (stopping and getting into Jim’s face): Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you. (Jim shakes his head slowly.) JIM: Naah. You talk big. Naah. You’re ordinary. You’re ordinary – you’re on the side of the angels. SHERLOCK (his voice becoming more ominous): Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them. (The enemies lock eyes for a long moment while Jim tries to deduce how far Sherlock will go.) JIM: No, you’re not. (He blinks, then closes his eyes briefly. Sherlock does likewise in an unintentional mirror movement. Jim smiles and opens his eyes again.) JIM (softly, insanely): I see. You’re not ordinary. No. You’re me. (He hisses out a delighted laugh and his voice becomes more high-pitched.) JIM: You’re me! Thank you! (He lifts his right hand as if to embrace Sherlock, but then lowers it and offers it to him to shake instead.) JIM: Sherlock Holmes. (They both look down at the offered hand, then Sherlock slowly raises his own right hand and takes it.) JIM (nodding almost frenetically, though his voice stays soft): Thank you. Bless you. (He blinks and lowers his gaze as if blinking back tears.) JIM: As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends; you’ve got a way out. (He continues to blink with his gaze lowered.) JIM: Well, good luck with that. (In rapid succession he raises his eyes to Sherlock’s, grins manically, opens his mouth wide and pulls Sherlock closer while he reaches into his waistband with his other hand and pulls out a pistol and raises it towards his own mouth. As Sherlock instinctively pulls back, crying out in alarm, Jim sticks the muzzle into his own mouth and pulls the trigger, dropping to the roof instantly. Sherlock stares in horror as blood begins to trickle across the roof underneath Jim’s head. Jim’s eyes are fixed and open and there is a smile of victory on his face. Sherlock spins away from him, his breathing noisy and frantic as he raises his hands to his head in horror. Not far away and obviously unseen by Sherlock, a man trots up a staircase and then sits down on the stairs and begins to assemble a high-powered rifle. Meanwhile John sits anxiously in the taxi on his way back to Bart’s. At 221, Mrs Hudson gives a mug of tea to the workman who is squatting in the hallway. He takes it and smiles gratefully, and once she has moved away he picks up one of his tools and puts it into his toolbox. Lying on top of all the other tools is a pistol with a small silencer attached to it. He raises his eyes ominously in the direction of Mrs H as she goes back into 221A. While the assassin on the staircase continues to assemble his rifle, at Scotland Yard a plain clothed police officer in the general office looks round to Greg’s office with his eyes narrowed as the D.I. speaks on the phone.) LESTRADE (into phone): Yes, sir, thank you. ’Bye. (On the stairwell, the assassin finishes his assembly, opens the nearby window and aims his gun out of it as John’s taxi gets closer to Bart’s. On the rooftop, Sherlock breathes shallowly and rapidly, holding his sleeve up over his mouth in horror as he turns to look again at Jim’s fixed grin. He thinks frantically for a while, then slowly turns towards the edge of the building. His breathing begins to slow as he steps up onto the ledge, blows out another breath and looks down towards the ground. In the street below, John’s taxi pulls up. Sherlock takes out his phone and selects a speed dial. The answering phone begins to ring below him as John gets out of the taxi and raises his phone to his ear as he trots towards the hospital.) JOHN: Hello? SHERLOCK: John. JOHN: Hey, Sherlock, you okay? SHERLOCK: Turn around and walk back the way you came now. JOHN: No, I’m coming in. SHERLOCK (frantically): Just do as I ask. Please. JOHN (turning back and looking around bewildered): Where? (Sherlock pauses for a moment while John walks back along the road, then speaks urgently.) SHERLOCK: Stop there. JOHN (stopping): Sherlock? SHERLOCK: Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop. (John turns and looks up, his face filling with horror.) JOHN: Oh God. SHERLOCK: I ... I ... I can’t come down, so we’ll ... we’ll just have to do it like this. JOHN (anxiously): What’s going on? SHERLOCK: An apology. It’s all true. JOHN: Wh-what? SHERLOCK: Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty. (He looks around briefly at his enemy’s grinning body lying behind him. On the ground, John stares up at his friend in disbelief.) JOHN: Why are you saying this? (Sherlock turns back to look down at him. His voice breaks.) SHERLOCK: I’m a fake. JOHN: Sherlock ... SHERLOCK (his voice becoming tearful): The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes. JOHN: Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right? SHERLOCK: Nobody could be that clever. JOHN: You could. (Sherlock laughs and gazes down at his friend, a tear dripping from his chin.) SHERLOCK: I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. (He sniffs quietly.) It’s a trick. Just a magic trick. (John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly.) JOHN: No. All right, stop it now. (He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance.) SHERLOCK (urgently): No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. (John stops and backs up, holding up his hand towards Sherlock in capitulation.) JOHN: All right. (Breathing rapidly, Sherlock has his own hand stretched out towards his friend.) SHERLOCK: Keep your eyes fixed on me. (His voice becomes frantic.) Please, will you do this for me? JOHN: Do what? SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note? (John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he’s beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky.) JOHN: Leave a note when? SHERLOCK: Goodbye, John. JOHN (shaking his head): No. Don’t. (Sherlock gazes down at his friend for several seconds, then he lowers his arm and drops the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself. John lowers his own phone and screams upwards.) JOHN: No. SHERLOCK! (Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground. John stares in utter horror.) JOHN: Sher... (A couple of seconds later the body impacts the ground. John’s hearing whites out as his entire body focuses on getting to Sherlock as soon as he can. Sherlock had disappeared from view towards the end of his fall because a building was in the way of John’s view of him, and John now runs to the corner of the building, then slows down and stops in the middle of the road when he gets his first glimpse of the still figure lying on the wet pavement, the lower part of his body obscured by a lorry parked at the roadside. Behind John, a young man on a fast pedal cycle slams into him and sends him crashing to the ground, his head hitting the asphalt hard. Groaning, he struggles to stay conscious while, nearby, people begin to run towards the body on the pavement. The lorry pulls away and a couple of medics from the hospital hurry out and start trying to prevent the onlookers from getting too close. Grimacing with pain, John rolls onto his side and looks across to the pavement where Sherlock is lying on his side with a lot of blood under his head. Slowly John hauls himself to his feet and stumbles towards him as more onlookers gather, talking excitedly about what they saw. John forces himself onwards.) JOHN (in a whisper): Sherlock, Sherlock ... (He reaches the crowd.) JOHN: I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please. (Some of the crowd try to hold him back but he pushes through them.) JOHN: No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please. (He reaches down to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist, searching for a pulse. A woman peels his fingers off and she and another person pull him away. As he reaches towards his friend again, more medics arrive with a wheeled stretcher.) JOHN (frantically): Please, let me just ... (The impact of the shock and the bang on his head begin to take effect and his knees give out. As he slumps to the floor supported by a couple of onlookers, two people gently roll Sherlock onto his back revealing his blood stained face and wide staring eyes. John groans in utter despair.) JOHN: Nggh, Jesus, no. (He tries to stand but sinks back again.) JOHN: God, no. (As the onlookers support him, four people lift Sherlock’s body onto the stretcher and then rapidly wheel it away into the hospital. John stares after it, his face blank and uncomprehending. He finally manages to get to his feet and shakes off his helpers, staring blindly in the direction that his friend’s body was taken. In a nearby building, a rifle sight is aimed directly at John’s head. As John continues to stand in profile to the sniper, a perfect target, the assassin lifts his gun back inside the window and begins to disassemble the weapon. Packing it into his bag, he stands up and walks away.)
