The Reichenbach Fall 7 page

OPENING CREDITS

LONDON. In an Underground station, the doors of a Tube train close and the train moves off. John sits inside.
Above ground, a black car with tinted rear windows heads through the streets.
The two journeys continue, while Mycroft sits behind a desk in a dark-walled windowless office (although there might be skylights letting in a little daylight) looking through paperwork. The car pulls up outside the Diogenes Club, which presumably contains this office.

BAKER STREET. John walks across the road towards 221. Two young boys come around the corner, one of them pushing a pushchair in front of him. Sitting in the pushchair is a home-made Guy Fawkes ‘guy’ with an orange balloon for a head, with a face drawn on with marker pen. One of them calls out the traditional plea to a passer-by.
BOY: Penny for the guy?
[See more about Guy Fawkes traditions here.]
(The woman shakes her head as she walks past and the boys continue on, reaching John just before he gets to the front door.)
BOY: Oi, mate! Penny for the guy?
(John rolls his eyes.)
SECOND BOY: Penny for the guy, mate?
FIRST BOY: Penny for the guy?
(John looks round at them quizzically and they continue onwards, calling out their plea to everyone they see. He unlocks the front door and goes inside. Partway down the hall, he stops, staring at Mrs Hudson’s front door and letting out an anxious breath. In his head he starts to hear Sherlock’s violin playing a fragment of Irene’s lament, and his head snaps up and he looks up the stairs as a snippet of an old conversation sounds inside his mind.)
JOHN: That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.
SHERLOCK: And you invaded Afghanistan!
(John blinks, his face sad as the violin fades from his mind. Just then, Mrs Hudson opens her door and comes out, staring at John in surprise. He raises a hand in greeting, clearing his throat before walking towards her after a final glance up the stairs.)

In Mycroft’s office, someone is reading the front page headline of a newspaper which reads, “SKELETON MYSTERY”. The strapline, of which we can only see the beginning, says, “Remains found in the wall of a ...” The reader folds down the newspaper to reveal Mycroft sitting behind his desk a short distance away, reading a file.
MYCROFT: You have been busy, haven’t you?
(We now see that it’s Sherlock who’s holding the newspaper. He is reclined flat on his back in a barber’s chair while a man is shaving his face with a cut-throat razor. Sherlock’s hair has been cut back to its normal length and is currently wet and straight. He tosses the paper onto a nearby trolley.)
MYCROFT: Quite the busy little bee. (He chuckles.)
SHERLOCK: Moriarty’s network – took me two years to dismantle it.
MYCROFT: And you’re confident you have?
SHERLOCK: The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle.
MYCROFT: Yes. You got yourself in deep there ... (he checks his report) ... with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.
SHERLOCK: Colossal.
MYCROFT (shutting the file): Anyway, you’re safe now.
SHERLOCK: Hmm.
MYCROFT: A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.
SHERLOCK: What for?
MYCROFT: For wading in.
(Sherlock raises a hand to the barber to make him stop shaving him. The man steps back a little.)
MYCROFT: In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.
(Grunting in pain, Sherlock slowly sits up and looks at his brother angrily.)
SHERLOCK: “Wading in”? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp.
MYCROFT (frowning indignantly): I got you out.
SHERLOCK: No – I got me out. Why didn’t you intervene sooner?
MYCROFT: Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything.
SHERLOCK (glowering at him): You were enjoying it.
MYCROFT: Nonsense.
SHERLOCK: Definitely enjoying it.
MYCROFT (leaning forward): Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going ‘under cover,’ smuggling my way into their ranks like that? (He grimaces.) The noise; the people.
(He sits back. Groaning softly, Sherlock painfully sinks back to lie down in the chair again. The barber resumes his work.)
SHERLOCK: I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.
MYCROFT: I didn’t, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words. (He shrugs.) Took me a couple of hours.
SHERLOCK: Hmm – you’re slipping.
MYCROFT (smiling tightly): Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all.
(The door opens and Anthea – or not-Anthea, who we last saw in “A Study in Pink” – holds up a dark suit and white shirt on a hanger to show to Sherlock.)

221A BAKER STREET. John is sitting at Mrs Hudson’s kitchen table. She firmly slams down a small tray containing a cup and saucer and a jug of milk, then goes across the room to pick up a plate of biscuits, which she equally loudly slams down onto the table. John silently watches her while she picks up a sugar bowl and thumps that onto the table. She hesitates, then points at the sugar bowl.
MRS HUDSON: Oh no – you don’t take it, do you?
JOHN: No.
MRS HUDSON: You forget a little thing like that.
JOHN: Yes.
MRS HUDSON (pointedly): You forget lots of little things, it seems.
JOHN: Uh-huh.
(Mrs H purposely runs her finger between her nose and her upper lip while looking at John.)
MRS HUDSON: Not sure about that.
(John reaches up to touch his moustache.)
MRS HUDSON: Ages you.
JOHN: Just trying it out.
MRS HUDSON: Well, it ages you.
(John looks awkwardly at her.)
JOHN: Look ...
MRS HUDSON: I’m not your mother. I’ve no right to expect it ...
JOHN: No ...
MRS HUDSON: ... but just one phone call, John.
(Her anger dissipates and she looks upset.)
MRS HUDSON: Just one phone call would have done.
JOHN: I know.
(He looks down.)
MRS HUDSON: After all we went through.
JOHN (looking her in the eye): Yes. I am sorry.
MRS HUDSON (sitting down at the table): Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after ... after ...
(She stops, shaking her head sadly.)
JOHN: I just let it slide, Mrs Hudson. I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow.
(Sighing, he looks away for a moment, then turns his eyes back to hers.)
JOHN: D’you know what I mean?
(After a moment, Mrs Hudson sighs too and reaches out to put her hand on his arm. He immediately puts his hand over hers.)

MYCROFT’S OFFICE. Sherlock’s hair is now dry and curly, and he is on his feet and almost dressed. He tucks his shirt into his trousers while he looks at himself in a large mirror on the wall. Mycroft and not-Anthea stand nearby.
MYCROFT: I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?
SHERLOCK: What do you think of this shirt?
MYCROFT (exasperated): Sherlock!
SHERLOCK: I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft.
(He briefly looks at his brother.)
SHERLOCK: Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.
NOT-ANTHEA: One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London – a big one.
SHERLOCK (putting on his jacket): And what about John Watson?
(Anthea throws an exasperated glance towards Mycroft.)
MYCROFT: John?
SHERLOCK: Mmm. Have you seen him?
MYCROFT: Oh, yes – we meet up every Friday for fish and chips(!)
(He gestures to Anthea, who hands Sherlock a folder.)
MYCROFT: I’ve kept a weather eye on him, of course.
(Sherlock opens the file. There are two black and white surveillance photos of John and a printed report underneath.)
MYCROFT: You haven’t been in touch at all, to prepare him?
SHERLOCK (distractedly): No.
(He looks at the picture of John with his new moustache.)
SHERLOCK: Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.
MYCROFT: “We”?
SHERLOCK: He looks ancient. I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man.
(He closes the file and drops it onto the desk.)

221B. John has gone upstairs and opens the door to the living room. He stands in the doorway, looking into the room. It’s quite dark because the curtains are closed, but lots of dust is floating around, illuminated by the few shafts of light coming into the room. John continues to stand still, looking towards Sherlock’s chair by the fireside. Mrs Hudson comes in and switches on the lights.
MRS HUDSON: I couldn’t face letting it out.
(She walks across to the right-hand window and pulls the curtains back, coughing at the dust.)
MRS HUDSON: He never liked me dusting.
JOHN (turning to look into the kitchen): No, I know.
(Mrs Hudson goes across the room to open the other curtains.)
MRS HUDSON: So, why now? What changed your mind?
(Drawing in a deep breath, John turns back to face her.)
JOHN: Well, I’ve got some news.
(Mrs H turns to him and her face fills with horror.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, God. Is it serious?
JOHN: What? No – no, I’m not ill. I’ve, er, well, I’m ... moving on.
MRS HUDSON (sadly): You’re emigrating.
JOHN: Nope. Er, no – I’ve, er ... I’ve met someone.
(Mrs Hudson giggles with delight. Clapping her hands, she walks towards him smiling happily.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, lovely!
JOHN (smiling): Yeah. We’re getting married ... well, I’m gonna ask, anyway.
MRS HUDSON (looking more doubtful): So soon after Sherlock?
JOHN: Well, yes.
(Mrs H looks away thoughtfully for a moment, then smiles at John.)
MRS HUDSON: What’s his name?
JOHN (letting out a huge exasperated sigh): It’s a woman.
MRS HUDSON: A woman?!
JOHN: Yes, of course it’s a woman.
(Mrs H laughs in surprise.)
MRS HUDSON: You really have moved on, haven’t you?
JOHN: Mrs Hudson! How many times ...? Sherlock was not my boyfriend.
MRS HUDSON (smiling affectionately): Live and let live – that’s my motto.
JOHN (slowly getting louder): Listen to me: I am not gay!

MYCROFT’S OFFICE.
SHERLOCK (straightening his jacket): I think I’ll surprise John. He’ll be delighted!
MYCROFT (smiling cynically): You think so?
SHERLOCK: Hmm. I’ll pop into Baker Street. Who knows – jump out of a cake.
MYCROFT (frowning): Baker Street? He isn’t there any more.
(Sherlock looks surprised.)
MYCROFT: Why would he be? It’s been two years. He’s got on with his life.
SHERLOCK: What life? I’ve been away.
(Mycroft pretty much rolls his eyes without actually rolling them.)
SHERLOCK: Where’s he going to be tonight?
MYCROFT: How would I know?
SHERLOCK: You always know.
MYCROFT: He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion ... though I prefer the 2001.
SHERLOCK: I think maybe I’ll just drop by.
MYCROFT: You know, it is just possible that you won’t be welcome.
SHERLOCK: No it isn’t. Now, where is it?
MYCROFT: Where’s what?
SHERLOCK: You know what.
(Anthea also knows what, because she immediately appears in the open doorway holding Sherlock’s Belstaff coat. Sherlock smiles with delight, and slides his arms into the sleeves as Anthea lifts it into position. She has even already popped the collar for him.)
ANTHEA: Welcome back, Mr Holmes.
SHERLOCK (pulling the collar tips into a better position): Thank you ...
(He turns to face his brother.)
SHERLOCK (sarcastically): ... blud.
[See urban dictionary definition of ‘blud’ here. Also see some of the Comments below (here) for an alternative possibility, although Benedict later admitted that he ad-libbed the word during filming.]

EVENING. THE LANDMARK HOTEL, MARYLEBONE ROAD. Sherlock approaches the door to the restaurant, handing his Belstaff to a member of staff. Waiters open the doors for him and he walks in. The maître d’ steps forward.
MAITRE D’: Sir, may I help you?
(Having only glanced briefly at him, Sherlock has gone into full-blown deduction mode, seeming to hear a woman crying out in pain:

Expectant Father

The man’s phone beeps a text alert.)
SHERLOCK: Your wife just texted you. Possibly her contractions have started.
(The man fishes his phone out of his pocket, looks at the screen and hurries away. Sherlock smiles smugly to himself.
Nearby, John is sitting alone at a table, checking the inside pocket of his jacket before taking a drink from a glass of water. Sherlock looks across the room at him, then hesitates. A waitress picks up some menus from the bar and walks across in front of him.)
WAITRESS: ’Scuse me, sir.
(Sherlock’s attention is drawn to the bowtie she is wearing as part of her uniform. He looks to a nearby table where a couple are sitting. There is a glass of red wine and a glass of water to the man’s left. The man has his back to the door but Sherlock can see him reflected in the water glass. As John picks up the wine list and starts looking at it, Sherlock smiles to himself again and walks over to the side of the other couple’s table where he picks up the glass of water and pours it down the man’s front. The man – wearing a white shirt, black jacket and a bowtie – recoils and cries out in shock.)
SHERLOCK: Sorry! I’m so, so sorry!
(The man lifts his napkin from his lap and starts mopping himself with it. Sherlock steps behind him, pulling the napkin higher up the man’s chest.)
SHERLOCK: Please, let me just go to the kitchen and, er, dry that off for you.
(With one smooth tug, he pulls off the man’s bowtie and walks away, tying the bowtie around his own neck. Continuing across the restaurant, he sees a man at another table taking off his glasses and putting them down on top of the menu he has just been reading. Sherlock walks to his side.)
SHERLOCK: Finished with that, sir? Allow me to take it for you.
(Not paying much attention, the man waves him away. Sherlock picks up the menu and the glasses and walks away, putting on the glasses as he goes. At a nearby table, a woman’s small handbag is open beside her. Sherlock sees that there is an eyeliner pencil on the top. He steps close behind her, offering her the menu he’s holding with his right hand while simultaneously taking the menu she is holding with his left hand.)
SHERLOCK: Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It’s, er, completely identical.
(She automatically takes the menu from his right hand and he instantly pinches the eyeliner from her bag and steps away, turning his back to the bulk of the restaurant and lifting the eyeliner towards his face. When he turns back, he has drawn a small pencil moustache on his top lip. He goes over to John’s table, standing to his left and one step behind him. He addresses John in a French accent.)
SHERLOCK: Can I ’elp you with anything, sir?
JOHN (not looking round at him): Hi, yeah. I’m looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one.
SHERLOCK (leaning closer): Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages.
JOHN: Er, it’s not really my area. What do you suggest?
SHERLOCK (his French accent becoming a little Captain du Creff-esque): Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you’d like my personal recommendation ...
JOHN: Mm-hm.
SHERLOCK (French accent) (gesturing at the list with his eyeliner pencil): ... this last one on the list is a favourite of mine.
(John nods, still not looking up at him.)
SHERLOCK (French accent) (straightening up): It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past.
(He takes off his glasses and waits expectantly. John still doesn’t look round.)
JOHN: Great. I’ll have that one, please.
(He finishes his glass of red wine. Sherlock looks startled that John hasn’t recognised him yet.)
SHERLOCK (French accent): It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!
(He almost lapses into his own voice on the final word and he gestures grandly. John grimaces at the taste of his wine, then – still without looking round – hands the wine list to the man he thinks is the wine waiter.)
JOHN: Well, er, surprise me.
SHERLOCK (tetchily, in pretty much his own voice): Certainly endeavouring to, sir.
(He walks away. John reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a small red velvet box. Opening it, he looks at the three-stone diamond ring inside, then closes the box and puts it on the table in front of him. Nearby, a woman walks down the stairs. John fidgets with the box, turning it this way and that, perhaps in an attempt to make it look perfectly placed. He blows out a nervous breath as his dinner date, Mary Morstan, rejoins him, patting his shoulder before walking round to her own seat.)
MARY: Sorry that took so long.
(John snatches the box off the table and shoves it back into his pocket. She sits down and smiles at him.)
MARY: You okay?
JOHN: Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine.
(She smiles sweetly. John chuckles and gazes at her with a delighted look on his face.)
MARY: Now then, what did you want to ask me?
(John’s smile fades and he looks nervous.)
JOHN: More wine?
MARY: No, I’m good with water, thanks.
JOHN: Right. (He briefly looks away.)
MARY: So ...
JOHN: Er, so ... Mary. Listen, erm ... I know it hasn’t been long ... I mean, I know we haven’t known each other for a long time ...
(He looks down, clearly struggling.)
MARY (encouragingly): Go on.
JOHN: Yes, I will. As you know, these last couple of years haven’t been easy for me; and meeting you ...
(He looks at her for a moment, then nods.)
JOHN: Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened.
MARY: I agree.
JOHN: What?
MARY (smiling): I agree I’m the best thing that could have happened to you.
(John laughs. Mary screws up her nose apologetically.)
MARY: Sorry.
JOHN: Well, no. That’s, um ...
(He pauses, then looks at her.)
JOHN: So ... if you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um ...
(She giggles. He clears his throat.)
JOHN: ... if you could see your way to ...
(Just as he’s about to go for it, Sherlock glides over to the table, still with the glasses, the ridiculous fake moustache and the ridiculous fake accent, but now with the added bonus of a bottle of champagne which he shows to John.)
SHERLOCK (French accent): Sir, I think you’ll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking.
(Mary shields her face with her hand so that the ‘waiter’ can’t see her as she giggles silently at John.)
SHERLOCK (French accent): It ’as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new.
JOHN (his eyes locked on Mary’s): No, sorry, not now, please.
SHERLOCK (French accent): Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers ...
(Mary pulls a face at John.)
SHERLOCK (French accent): ... suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend.
(He takes off his glasses.)
JOHN: No, look, seriously ... (he finally lifts his gaze to meet the waiter’s eyes) ... could you just ...
(His face drops. His entire body jolts and he stares with an expression of utter disbelief.)
SHERLOCK (in his normal accent): Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters.
(John turns his head towards Mary, then his eyes fill with tears and he ducks his head momentarily before he stumbles clumsily to his feet.)
MARY (concerned): John?
(As John straightens up, Sherlock begins to move his right hand forward as if expecting John to shake it. John looks down at the table breathing heavily before lifting his head and briefly locking eyes with him.)
MARY (worried): John, what is it? What?
(John looks down again, clearly still in shock.)
SHERLOCK (a little awkwardly): Well, short version ...
(John raises his eyes to him again.)
SHERLOCK: ... Not Dead.
(John stares at him, his face full of pain, shock and growing anger. Sherlock finally seems to catch on and looks a little guilty.)
SHERLOCK: Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny.
(He laughs nervously, not meeting John’s eyes, which is probably for the best because John’s gaze is slowly turning murderous.)
SHERLOCK: Okay, it’s not a great defence.
MARY: Oh no! You’re ...
SHERLOCK (glancing towards her): Oh yes.
MARY (shocked): Oh, my God.
SHERLOCK: Not quite.
MARY: You died. You jumped off a roof.
SHERLOCK: No.
MARY (appalled): You’re dead!
SHERLOCK: No. I’m quite sure. I checked. Excuse me.
(Picking up a napkin from the table, he dips it into Mary’s glass of water and then starts to rub off his moustache.)
SHERLOCK (trying to sound nonchalant as he meets John’s furious gaze): Does, er, does yours rub off, too?
(The tight smile which John directs at him bears absolutely no humour at all. Mary’s anger is clear in her voice as she speaks.)
MARY: Oh my God, oh my God. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?
SHERLOCK (looking down nervously): Okay, John, I’m suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of an apology.
(Clenching his left fist, John slams it down onto the table. It’s a credit to the manufacturers of the table that he doesn’t shatter it. He hunches over his fist.)
MARY: All right, just ... John? Just keep ...
(John pulls in a deep shaky breath before looking up at Sherlock.)
JOHN (in a whisper): Two years.
(He shakes his head, dragging in another long breath and blowing it out again before starting to straighten up.)
JOHN (still in a tight whisper): Two years.
(He moans and slumps down over his hands again. Sherlock has the decency to look awkward. John glances up at him momentarily.)
JOHN: I thought ...
(He groans, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly. Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock.)
JOHN: I thought ... you were dead. (His face begins to fill with anger again.) Hmm?
(He breathes rapidly and shallowly.)
JOHN: Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?
(Sherlock looks down, biting his lip.)
JOHN (softly but furiously): How?
SHERLOCK (as John’s breathing becomes more intense): Wait – before you do anything that you might regret ...
(John half-groans again.)
SHERLOCK: ... um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um ...
(John looks at him, his eyes still full of fury.)
SHERLOCK (almost giggling as he gestures towards his own top lip): Are you really gonna keep that?!
(He grins as he turns his head to look at Mary. She laughs in disbelief. John draws in one more long breath, then hurls himself at Sherlock, grabbing his lapels and bundling him back across the floor until Sherlock loses his footing and they both fall to the floor, John on top of Sherlock and trying to throttle him. Mary and various waiters run to pull John off.)

LATER. The three of them have presumably been thrown out of the restaurant and have relocated to a café. Sherlock sits on one side of a table wearing his coat, his fingers steepled in front of him. John and Mary, also in their coats, sit side by side opposite him with their arms folded.
SHERLOCK: I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I’d invited Moriarty onto the roof.
(Flashbacks of Sherlock on the rooftop of Bart’s intersperse the following dialogue.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible.
(Sherlock rapidly looks around the roof and all the surrounding buildings, visually calculating trajectories, angles and even the possibility of a ladder being lowered from a helicopter.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling ...
JOHN (interrupting): You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick.
SHERLOCK: What?
JOHN (tightly): I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why.
SHERLOCK (bewildered): Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped.
(He looks at John’s expression.)
SHERLOCK: Oh. ‘Why’ as in ...
(He lifts a finger, pointing it in John’s direction. John nods.)
SHERLOCK: I see. Yes. ‘Why?’ That’s a little more difficult to explain.
JOHN (darkly): I’ve got all night.
SHERLOCK (clearing his throat and looking down): Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft’s idea.
JOHN: Oh, so it’s your brother’s plan?
MARY (pointing towards Sherlock): Oh, he would have needed a confidant ...
SHERLOCK (nodding at her in agreement): Mm-hm.
(Mary trails off at John’s look.)
MARY: Sorry.
(She refolds her arms and looks down. John turns back to Sherlock.)
JOHN: But he was the only one? The only one who knew?
(Sherlock closes his eyes briefly and seems to force the next sentence out.)
SHERLOCK: Couple of others.
(John lowers his head. Sherlock talks quickly.)
SHERLOCK: It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities ...
JOHN (in a despairing whisper): Who else?
(He looks up to Sherlock.)
JOHN: Who else knew?
(Sherlock hesitates.)
JOHN: Who?
SHERLOCK: Molly.
JOHN (angrily): Molly?
MARY (softly): John.
SHERLOCK: Molly Hooper – and some of my homeless network, and that’s all.
JOHN: Okay. (He sits up a little and glances round at Mary, who gives him a sympathetic smile. He turns to Sherlock again.) Okay. So just your brother, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps.
(Sherlock chuckles.)
SHERLOCK: No! Twenty-five at most.
(John hurls himself across the table and attempts to throttle his old friend again.)

LATER. The three of them have presumably been thrown out of the café and have relocated to a kebab shop. John and Mary stand leaning with their backs against the counter. John apparently managed more than just an attempted throttling, because Sherlock has taken his coat off and is holding a paper napkin to a cut on his lower lip. He looks at the blood on the napkin, wincing, then presses it to his lip again. He looks at John as he raises his head, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze.
SHERLOCK: Seriously, it’s not a joke? (He gestures to his own top lip.) You’re-you’re really keeping this?
(John clears his throat and meets Sherlock’s eyes.)
JOHN: Yeah.
SHERLOCK: You’re sure?
JOHN: Mary likes it.
SHERLOCK: Mmmmmm, no she doesn’t.
JOHN: She does.
SHERLOCK: She doesn’t.
(John glances briefly round at Mary, then does a double-take. She makes incoherent apologetic noises.)
JOHN: Oh! (He tries to cover his moustache with his hand.) Brilliant.
MARY: I’m sorry. Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t know how to tell you.
JOHN: No, no, this is charming(!)
(He points angrily at Sherlock, clearly referring to his talent of instant deduction.)
JOHN: I’ve really missed this(!)
(He looks down, then takes an aggressive step towards Sherlock and gets into his face.)
JOHN: One Word, Sherlock. That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you were alive.
(He steps back, breathing heavily.)
SHERLOCK (quietly): I’ve nearly been in contact so many times, but ...
(John laughs disbelievingly.)
SHERLOCK: ... I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet.
JOHN: What?
SHERLOCK: Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag.
JOHN (stepping closer again): Oh, so this is my fault?!
(Mary laughs with disbelief.)
MARY: Oh, God!
JOHN (shouting angrily): Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong – the only one reacting like a human being?!
SHERLOCK: Over-reacting.
JOHN (furiously): “Over-reacting”?!
MARY: John!
JOHN (still shouting): “Over-reacting.” So you fake your own death ...
SHERLOCK: Shh!
JOHN: ... and you waltz in ’ere large as bloody life ...
SHERLOCK: Shh!
JOHN (initially more quietly, but getting louder all the time): ... but I’m not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it’s a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!
SHERLOCK (shouting): Shut up, John! I don’t want everyone knowing I’m still alive!
JOHN (shouting): Oh, so it’s still a secret, is it?
SHERLOCK (loudly): Yes! It’s still a secret.
(He looks round at the other customers in the shop.)
SHERLOCK (casually): Promise you won’t tell anyone.
JOHN (angrily, sarcastically): Swear to God!
(Finally he looks round at the other customers and backs down a little, blowing out a long breath. Sherlock steps closer to him and speaks quietly.)
SHERLOCK: London is in danger, John. There’s an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help.
(John stares at him in amazement, then turns to throw a quirky ‘can you believe this guy?!’ look at Mary. He turns back to Sherlock.)
JOHN: My help?
(Sherlock’s eyes narrow as he deduces John’s genuine reaction to his request, then he smiles.)
SHERLOCK: You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world ...
(John grabs his lapels, rears his head back and then moves in for the kill.)