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The Reichenbach Fall 6 page

DIOGENES CLUB. Sitting in one of the chairs in the common room, Mycroft is holding a copy of “The Sun.” Its headline screams “SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS” and the straplines state “SUPER-SLEUTH IS DEAD” and “Fraudulent detective takes his own life”. Folding the paper and putting it down on the table beside him, he stares blankly into the distance and then folds his hands in front of his face in the prayer position.

221B. John sits in his armchair, dressed but with his feet bare and tucked together in front of him. One hand is propping up his head and he gazes into the distance, lost and alone.

ELLA’S OFFICE. As the rain continues to pour down, John gazes blankly at his therapist.
ELLA: There’s stuff that you wanted to say ...
(John opens his mouth briefly but then closes it.)
ELLA: ... but didn’t say it.
JOHN (his voice breaking): Yeah.
ELLA: Say it now.
JOHN (tearfully): No. (He shakes his head.) Sorry. I can’t.

TAXI. John and Mrs Hudson are sitting in the back of a cab as it drives into a graveyard. Mrs H is holding a bunch of flowers. Not long afterwards, they stand beside each other in front of a black marble headstone. The flowers are now resting at the base of the headstone.
MRS HUDSON: There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school.
(She looks at John.)
MRS HUDSON: Would you ...?
JOHN: I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment.
(She takes his arm sympathetically.)
JOHN: I’m angry.
(He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down. She gently pats his arm.)
MRS HUDSON: It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.
(She gazes at the smooth black marble which simply bears the words SHERLOCK HOLMES.)
MRS HUDSON: All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!
JOHN: Yeah.
MRS HUDSON: Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!
JOHN: Yes.
(He closes his eyes as she continues, her own voice breaking.)
MRS HUDSON: And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!
(John turns to her.)
JOHN: Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?
MRS HUDSON: Okay.
(She turns away, pulling her arm free of his.)
MRS HUDSON: I’ll leave you alone to, erm ... (her voice breaks again) ... you know.
(Crying, she walks away, fishing out a tissue to blow her nose. John looks down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. He looks back over his shoulder to see that Mrs Hudson is now out of earshot, then turns back to the grave again.)
JOHN (thoughtfully): Um ... mmm. (He pulls himself together a little.) You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There.
(He blows out a breath, whimpering slightly. Looking over his shoulder again, he walks over to the headstone and puts his fingertips onto the top of it.)
JOHN: I was so alone, and I owe you so much.
(He takes a tearful breath.)
JOHN: Okay.
(He turns and starts to walk away but only reaches the foot of the grave before he turns back again.)
JOHN: No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t ... be ... (his voice breaks and fills with tears) ... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it. (He gestures down at the grave.) Stop this.
(He sighs and lowers his head and stands there, broken. Reflected in the smooth marble of the headstone, his figure appears to have the name SHERLOCK carved directly across his chest. He lowers his head further, covers his eyes with one hand and weeps. Finally he wipes his eyes, sniffs deeply and raises his head, coming to attention in front of his best friend. Nodding in salute to him and giving himself permission to dismiss, he turns smartly on one heel and then walks away.)




Standing some distance away under a tree and obscured from view by other headstones, Sherlock Holmes watches his best friend walk across the graveyard until he disappears from view. He looks reflective for a long moment, then turns and walks away.

Many Happy Returns

 

THE HIMALAYAS. In a monastery in the mountains, a Buddhist monk lights the last of many small white candles. Close by, several monks are kneeling side by side, their heads covered by cowls and their hands raised in front of them. Another monk, apparently the abbot, comes into the large tent, his head also hidden under a cowl, and hobbles towards them. He works his way along the row, running his hands quickly over each monk’s head, murmuring, “Tashi delek,” and then briefly clasping his hands. When he reaches the last monk in the row he reaches towards that monk’s head but pauses for a couple of seconds, then reaches towards the cowl and flips it up to reveal a blonde woman. She glares up at him.
WOMAN: You bastard!
(The other monks, all men, pull back their own cowls and stare in surprise at the abbot. He begins to raise his head, his face still in shadow.)

LONDON. Greg Lestrade and Doctor Anderson are sitting at a table in a corner of a pub. Greg is wearing a shirt and jacket, and Anderson has a beard and is wearing an oatmeal knitted jumper. Greg stares at Anderson in disbelief.
LESTRADE: A breakaway sect of Buddhist warrior monks infiltrated by a blonde drug smuggler?! That never really happened!
ANDERSON: A-A blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of observation and deduction!
LESTRADE: A blonde woman hiding amongst bald monks? That wouldn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes!
ANDERSON: Well, perhaps it did.
LESTRADE: He’s dead.
(Anderson looks at him with a hurt expression on his face.)
LESTRADE: I’m sorry. I wish he wasn’t, but he really is dead and gone.
(Anderson looks away.)
ANDERSON: Well, how d’you explain this?
(He pulls a map of the world towards himself and points at a red cross drawn above New Delhi.)
ANDERSON: Sighting number two: Incident at New Delhi.
(Greg looks at him, appalled.)
LESTRADE: You haven’t been titling these?

FLASHBACK. NEW DELHI. Photographers are taking pictures of a police inspector sitting at a table with a couple of his colleagues either side of him. Many microphones are set up on the table in front of him. He smiles smugly at his audience.
INSPECTOR PRAKESH: After that it was simply a matter of tracking down the killer, which I did by working out the depth to which the chocolate Flake had sunk into the victim’s ice-cream cone.
(He chuckles contentedly as the photographers and reporters crowd closer to the table.)

Shortly afterwards he leaves the room while the photographers continue trying to get one last picture. Closing the door behind him, he turns and looks at someone waiting a little way down the corridor.
PRAKESH: My friend!
(He looks over his shoulder as if to make sure that nobody is looking through the round glass window in the door, then turns back to the person in front of him.)
PRAKESH: Will you not take any of the credit? This was all down to you.
(We see who he’s looking at. A very familiar shape with curly hair and wearing a greatcoat is standing facing him. His face is obscured in shadow.)

THE PRESENT. PUB.
LESTRADE: Clever man, Inspector Prakesh.
ANDERSON: Oh, for ...! What police inspector could have made that deduction?
LESTRADE: Oh, thank you(!)
ANDERSON: You remember how Sherlock never took the credit when he solved all of your cases?
LESTRADE (indignantly): He didn’t solve all of my cases!
ANDERSON (gazing thoughtfully into the distance): He’s out there. He’s hiding. But he can’t stop himself from getting involved.
(He chuckles.)
ANDERSON: It’s so obviously him, if you know how to spot the signs!
LESTRADE: The Klein Brothers, the Tower House thing, the Kensington Ripper – I solved all those myself!
ANDERSON: Well, you got Tower House wrong.
LESTRADE: No I didn’t!
ANDERSON: Yep, you did.
(He folds the map to another location.)
ANDERSON: Okay, sighting number three ... (he taps Hamburg on the map) ... the Mysterious Juror.
(Greg literally head-desks, thumping his forehead down onto the table.)

FLASHBACK. HAMBURG. In a jury room, the male foreman rubs his head tiredly before addressing the rest of the jury in German.
FOREMAN: Nun, wie wir alle wissen, wurde diese Jury unter höchst ungewöhnlichen Umständen zusammengerufen. Aber ich muss Sie jetzt auf ein Urteil drängen. Ist Herr Trephoff schuldig oder nicht schuldig am Mord seiner Frau?
[Translation as subtitled: As we all know this jury was convened under highly unusual circumstances, but now I must press you for a judgment. Is Herr Trepoff guilty or not guilty of the murder of his wife?]
(One by one, the jurors answer in German.)
FEMALE JUROR 1: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]
(At the end of the table, the fingers of a male juror wearing a shirt and dark coat drum impatiently on the table.)
FEMALE JUROR 2: Nicht schuldig.
MALE JUROR 1: Nicht schuldig.
(The juror’s fingers continue to drum ...)
MALE JUROR 2: Nicht schuldig.
(... and drum ...)
FEMALE JUROR 3: Nicht schuldig.
MALE JUROR 3: Nicht schuldig.
MALE JUROR 4: Nicht schuldig.
(... and drum ...)
FEMALE JUROR 4: Nicht schuldig.
MALE JUROR 5: Nicht schuldig.
FEMALE JUROR 5: Nicht schuldig.
(... and drum ... and then stop above the table. The foreman sighs wearily and looks at the last juror.)
FOREMAN (in an exasperated voice): Nun? [Well?]
(We see part of the juror from behind. He has dark curly hair and is wearing a dark greatcoat with the collar popped.)

Some time later, a man walks across to a display of newspapers. The “CAM Global News” front page headline reads “Trepoff ‘Guilty’ Sensation!” while a German newspaper beside it reads “TREPOFF SCHULDIG!” [Trepoff guilty!]

THE PRESENT. PUB.
ANDERSON: It had to be him! There’s no-one else it can be! Do you not see?
LESTRADE: I see that you lost a good job fantasising about a dead man coming back to life, and I know why you want that to happen. (He grimaces.) But it’s never gonna.
(Anderson shakes his head.)
LESTRADE: Okay ... (he finishes his pint) ... I’m gonna go and see an old friend.
(He picks up his coat and looks across to Anderson.)
LESTRADE: You take care, okay?
(He stands and picks up a white box from a nearby stool, then looks down at his former colleague sympathetically.)
LESTRADE: I’ll put a word in – see if they won’t review your case.
ANDERSON: Just look at the map, though.
(An imaginary dotted line works its way from New Delhi to Hamburg and then on to Amsterdam, and then Brussels.)
ANDERSON: He’s getting closer.
(He looks up at Greg.)
ANDERSON: It’s like he’s coming back.
(Greg looks thoughtful for a minute, then nods politely to Anderson and leaves the pub.)

JOHN WATSON’S HOME. John walks across the living room of his flat or house and puts the white box down on top of a filing cabinet. He turns and smiles at Greg.
JOHN: It’s good to see you, Greg.
LESTRADE: And you.
(They shake hands.)
JOHN: Have a seat.
LESTRADE (sitting down in an armchair): So, how’ve you been?
JOHN (sitting down on the sofa): Er, yeah, good. Yeah. Much better.
(Greg nods. John points towards the box.)
JOHN: Er, so what’s in the, er ...?
LESTRADE: Oh, that, yeah. That’s, er, that’s some stuff from my office – some stuff of Sherlock’s, actually. I probably should have thrown it out, but I didn’t know if ...
(He looks awkwardly at John.)
JOHN: No, fine, yeah.
(He smiles at Greg, who stands up and walks over to the box, smiling.)
LESTRADE: Yeah, there’s-there’s-there’s something here. Um, wasn’t sure whether I should have kept it in.
(He takes off the lid. Inside the box are a pink iPhone – perhaps the pink phone – together with a box of nicotine patches, a small sheet of paper with some writing on it, a toy train engine, a yellow mask of a face and a DVD in a case. He takes out the DVD.)
LESTRADE: You remember the video message he made for your birthday?
(John nods.)
LESTRADE: Oh, I had to practically threaten him.
(John smiles a little.)
LESTRADE: This is the uncut version. It’s quite funny.
(Smiling, he hands the DVD to John.)
JOHN: Oh, right.
(He takes it and looks at it.)
LESTRADE: Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it.
JOHN: Don’t worry. It’s okay. Probably won’t even watch it.
(They smile awkwardly at each other, then John looks down at the DVD again.)

LATER. Greg has gone. John is sitting in the armchair pouring himself a glass of whisky. Screwing the lid back on, he stands up and puts the bottle away in a nearby cupboard, then sits down again, picks up the glass and takes a drink. Gazing at the DVD on the table in front of him for a while, he eventually picks it up, looks thoughtfully across to the TV, then gets up and walks across the room to put the disc into the player. It loads and he walks back to get his glass. On the TV screen is the very familiar sight of the sofa in 221B Baker Street, with the smiley face sprayed on the wall behind it. John sits down on the sofa opposite the TV and takes another drink.
SHERLOCK’s VOICE: Was that supposed to happen – the light going down? Yeah, okay.
(On the TV screen, Sherlock paces across the living room in front of the sofa.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, er, mmm. So, what do I, what do I, what d’you want me to do at the end?
(He stops and looks at Greg who is presumably behind the camera.)
SHERLOCK: Shall I, um ...? Smile and wink. I do that sometimes. I’ve no idea why. People seem to like it – humanises me.
(He turns away.)
LESTRADE: Fine. Whatever.
SHERLOCK (turning back around): Why am I doing this, again?
LESTRADE: You’re gonna miss the dinner.
SHERLOCK: Of course I’m gonna miss dinner. There’ll be people.
(He starts to turn away, then turns back.)

SHERLOCK: How can John be having a birthday dinner? All his friends hate him.
(John smiles very briefly.)
SHERLOCK: You only have to look at their faces. I wrote an essay on suppressed hatred in close proximity based entirely on his friends.
(John smiles again. Sherlock looks away thoughtfully.)
SHERLOCK: On reflection, it probably wasn’t a very good choice of gift.
(He pulls himself together and looks into the camera for a moment before looking past it to Greg.)
SHERLOCK: What was my excuse again?
LESTRADE: You said you had a thing.
SHERLOCK: Ah, right, yes! That’s right. A thing.
LESTRADE: You might wanna elaborate.
SHERLOCK: No, no, no. Only lies have detail.
(John closes his eyes and shakes his head minutely. Sherlock stares intensely into the camera for a couple of seconds.)
SHERLOCK: Right, I just ... I need a moment to, um, figure out what I’m going to do.
(He walks towards the window. John looks down at his glass.)
JOHN: I can tell you what you can do. You can stop being dead.
(He drinks.)
SHERLOCK (back in front of the camera and looking straight into it): Okay.
(John looks at the screen, startled, but Sherlock has already walked away again.)
SHERLOCK: Okay, I’m ready now.
(He sits down in his armchair, settles into it, then looks into the camera.)
SHERLOCK: Hallo, John. (He smiles.) I’m sorry I’m not there at the moment. I’m very busy. However, many happy returns.
(John looks at the screen, his face hard to read.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, and don’t worry. I’m going to be with you again very soon.
(John’s doorbell rings. He looks round, then sits forward, putting his glass on the table and pressing the Pause button on the remote control. The picture freezes on Sherlock looking intensely into the camera. John stands up and walks out of the room.)

ANDERSON: He’s coming back.
(In the pub, he looks up and smiles to himself, then laughs quietly and looks down at the map, chuckling with delight.)

Greg is walking along a road, intermittently looking down at his phone, but then stops and stares at a man with a white beard standing nearby. The man is reading a copy of the Daily Express and the back page of the newspaper is facing towards Greg. It shows three footballers in the middle of a match, and the headline reads, “THE GAME IS BACK ON!” Greg stares at the headline for a few seconds, then smiles cynically and walks into a nearby shop.

Back in John’s living room, the Pause button shifts to Play on its own. Sherlock smiles widely into the camera and winks.

The Empty Hearse

 

As John Watson’s anguished cry of “Sherlock!” rings in the air, John himself approaches Sherlock Holmes’ headstone. We see brief flashback clips of Sherlock and Jim Moriarty on the rooftop of Bart’s Hospital, then of John arriving by taxi at the hospital and Sherlock standing on the roof’s edge talking to him by phone.
SHERLOCK: It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.
JOHN: No. All right, stop it now.
(He starts to walk towards the hospital.)
SHERLOCK: No, stay exactly where you are.
(John backs up.)
SHERLOCK: Don’t move.
JOHN: All right.
(They seem to hold out their hands towards each other.)
SHERLOCK: Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?
JOHN: Do what?
SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s ... it’s my note.
(But now we’re seeing new footage. Behind Sherlock, two men are dragging the body of Jim Moriarty across the roof towards the door. Sherlock doesn’t react to them and continues to concentrate on John.)
SHERLOCK: It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?
JOHN: Leave a note when?
SHERLOCK: Goodbye, John.
JOHN: No. Don’t.
(The men drag Jim’s body into a service elevator inside the hospital, and lay it on the floor. While Sherlock continues to look down towards John, one of the men opens a case. Inside is a latex mask which is a perfect replica of Sherlock’s face. The other man closes the lift doors, while the first man takes a small bottle from the case and, using tweezers, carefully extracts a blue soft contact lens.
On the roof, Sherlock drops his phone behind him and stares intensely ahead of himself as John screams, “Sherlock!” up at him.
In the elevator, Jim’s dead open eyes are now blue instead of brown. The man takes the mask out of the case and lays it over Jim’s face, then picks up a scalpel and reaches forward to start lifting the closed eyes on the mask. The second man starts to apply a dark curly wig to Jim’s slicked-down hair.
On the roof, Sherlock spreads his arms and falls forward. John stares in horror, and a man on a pushbike slams into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. Sherlock plummets towards the ground, but now it’s clear that he is attached to a bungee cord. While John lies on the ground still trying to catch his breath, Molly Hooper watches from a window of Bart’s as Sherlock plunges past, the bungee cord trailing behind him. He heads towards the pavement but the cord stops his fall when it reaches its full extension. Sherlock’s breath whooshes out of him ... then the elastic begins to contract and Sherlock is yanked skywards. Molly gasps as he shoots back into view, flailing to change his direction and, before she can react, he wraps his arms around his head and kicks his way through the window in front of her. She cringes back from the breaking glass and Sherlock lands on his feet and quickly unclips the bungee cord from his waist. It is whipped out of the window and disappears from view and Sherlock straightens his coat, ruffles his hands through his hair and marches over to Molly, taking her head in his hands and kissing her deeply for a couple of seconds. She reaches up to hold his head but he pulls away, gives her a long last look and then leaves the room. She watches him go with a girly smile on her face.
Downstairs, the two men are dragging Jim’s body – now perfectly disguised as Sherlock’s, including being dressed in a Belstaff coat and blue scarf – out onto the street. Nearby, a man wearing a fur-lined hooded jacket is approaching John. The men put the body into position on the pavement and one of them squirts fake blood onto the paving stones around the head. Other people – various fake medical staff and passers-by – are running into position around the body. The jacket-wearing man walks over to John as more people run towards the scene. John gets up onto his knees, seeing the passers-by running over to the body and pointing upwards as they appear to discuss what they just saw. John gets to his feet, and the man steps into his way.)

DERREN: John.
(It’s none other than Derren Brown, the famous illusionist and hypnotist! [Click here for more information about him.] He puts his hand onto John’s shoulder.)
DERREN: John. Look at me. Look at me.
(John drags his eyes away from the scene of Sherlock’s fall and looks at Derren, whose face is a little fuzzy so close-up. Derren puts his fingers over John’s face.)
DERREN: And sleep!
(John collapses forward, his eyes closing. Derren supports him and gently lowers him to the ground.)
DERREN: Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way sound asleep. That’s right. That’s good – keeping my voice just there in the centre of your head and floating all the way around you.
(While he’s speaking, he reaches down to John’s wrist and adjusts his watch, turning it back a few minutes. He straightens up and looks down at John.)
DERREN: And you will awaken in three, two, one ...
(John starts to move on the ground.)
DERREN: ... zero.
(Flipping up his hood to cover his head again, he walks away. John rolls over onto his side, grimacing with pain. The crowd continues to gather around the body and John – unaware of the passage of time since he first was knocked over by the bike – clambers to his feet and stumbles towards the pavement.
Inside the hospital, Sherlock walks towards a set of double doors.
John hurries over to the crowd and tries to push his way through them, while they do all they can to hold him back.)

JOHN (anguished): Let me come through, please. He’s my friend.
(Sherlock half-turns as he walks, taking one last look behind him.
Outside, John’s knees give out and he half-collapses, supported by some of the bystanders. The wrist of the dead man falls limply out of John’s grasp. Paramedics arrive with a stretcher and load the body onto it while John watches in anguish. The stretcher is wheeled away; and Sherlock pushes his way through the doors and walks around the corner, disappearing from view.)

LESTRADE (offscreen): Bollocks!
(The dramatic action-movie music which has played all through the previous scene stops, and suddenly we’re in a different part of London. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Doctor Anderson – the latter sporting a scruffy beard and with unwashed hair – are standing at a mobile coffee stall.)
ANDERSON: No-no-no-no! It’s obvious! That’s how he did it! It’s obvious!
LESTRADE: Derren Brown?! Let it go. Sherlock’s dead.
ANDERSON: Is he?
LESTRADE: There was a body. It was him. It was definitely him. Molly Hooper laid him out.
ANDERSON: No, she’s lying. It was Jim Moriarty’s body with a mask on!
LESTRADE: A mask?!
(Anderson nods eagerly.)
LESTRADE: A bungee rope, a mask, Derren Brown. Two years, and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more’ve you got for me today?
ANDERSON: Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area – even the exact ones that he landed on – you know they were all ...
LESTRADE (interrupting): Guilt. (He looks sternly at Anderson.) That’s all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan.
(Anderson looks down sadly.)
LESTRADE: You did this, and it killed him, and he’s staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it’s gonna change what really happened?
(Taking his cup of coffee with him, he starts to walk away.)
ANDERSON: I believe in Sherlock Holmes.
(Greg turns around.)
LESTRADE: Yeah, well that won’t bring him back.
(He continues on towards where several camera crews are filming reporters.)
REPORTER 1 (into his crew’s camera): ... that after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty ...
REPORTER 2 (into a different camera): ... amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion ...
REPORTER 3: ... but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago ...
REPORTER 1: ... Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far.
(Greg and Anderson are now standing side by side, each holding a coffee cup and watching the reporters.)
REPORTER 2: Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London’s Bart’s Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it’s unlikely he was able to cope with ...
(Greg turns to Anderson.)
LESTRADE: Well then. (He raises his cup.) Absent friends. Sherlock.
ANDERSON (sadly raising his own cup): Sherlock.
(They tap their mugs together.)
LESTRADE: And may God rest his soul.
(They drink.)

At Sherlock’s grave, John gazes down at the headstone, his eyes haunted with memories and loss. Since we last saw him he has grown a moustache. As he continues to look at the grave, which has several bunches of flowers – some of them fading with age – at the base of the headstone, a woman steps to John’s side and takes his hand. He clasps it tightly.

SERBIA. NIGHT TIME. A man with long straggly hair is running through a forest. Above him, a helicopter is circling around, shining a searchlight into the trees while the crew watch their infrared camera, radioing instructions in Serbian to the ground crew. There is much shouting and running and chasing of the man through the woods which your transcriber can’t be bothered to relate second by second but eventually some of the soldiers block the way in front of the man. One of them sends a burst of automatic gunfire towards his feet and he has no choice but to stop. The soldiers surround the man and aim their rifles at him. He slumps to the ground, exhausted.
Some time later, in what may be a bunker or an interrogation centre, a soldier wearing a thick coat and a furry hat is guarding the entrance to a room. He has earphones in his ears playing loud music. Behind the closed door, the prisoner cries out as he is struck for what is apparently the umpteenth time. Hearing the noise, the soldier takes out one of his ear buds and looks round to the door as the prisoner is struck again and groans. The soldier puts his ear bud back in and turns away. Inside the room, the torturer shouts repeatedly at the prisoner, who is naked from the waist up and whose arms are chained to opposite walls of the small room, forcing him to stay upright. The man is slumped forward as far as he can, apparently exhausted by the repeated blows and unable to support his own weight. In a dark corner of the room another soldier, well wrapped against the cold and with a furry hat on his head, sits with his feet up on a small table and watches while the torturer paces across the room.

TORTURER (in Serbian): You broke in here for a reason.
(He picks up a large metal pipe and walks towards the prisoner again, whose face we cannot see through the long straggly hair which is falling across it.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?
(He draws back the pipe over his shoulder and prepares to strike the prisoner but the man quietly whispers something. The torturer stops, lowering the pipe and leaning forward.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): What?
(He reaches down and pulls the man’s head back by the hair, leaning closer as the prisoner continues to whisper. The soldier in the corner speaks ... in a voice which sounds more than a little familiar, although it is currently speaking with a heavy accent.)
SOLDIER (in Serbian): Well? What did he say?
(Straightening up and releasing the prisoner’s head, the torturer looks down at him in puzzlement.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair.
SOLDIER (in Serbian): What?
(The prisoner continues to whisper and the torturer relays his words to the other man.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): ... that the electricity isn’t working in my bathroom; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour!
(He reaches down and pulls up the prisoner’s head by the hair again.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): And?
(The prisoner replies briefly and the man releases his head.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): The coffin maker!
(Once again he bends to the prisoner, lifting his head with a fist in his hair.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): And? And?
(The prisoner continues whispering, then the torturer drops his head and relays the words to the soldier.)
TORTURER (in Serbian): If I go home now, I’ll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!
(He storms out of the room, leaving the prisoner slumped in his chains.)
SOLDIER (in Serbian): So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me.
(He takes his feet off the table and stands up.)
SOLDIER (in Serbian): You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.
(He walks across the room to the prisoner, whose back is covered in blood and wounds from his beating. The soldier grabs a handful of the prisoner’s hair and pulls his head up a little. Leaning close to the man’s ear, he speaks in English and now we know that the familiar voice is none other than that of Mycroft Holmes.)
MYCROFT: Now listen to me. There’s an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear.
(He releases the prisoner’s head and straightens up.)
MYCROFT: Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.
(Under the long hair draped across his face, Sherlock smiles.)


Date: 2015-12-24; view: 494


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