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The Reichenbach Fall 8 page

LATER. The three of them have presumably been thrown out of the kebab shop. Sherlock, wearing his coat again, stands just outside the door with his head tilted back a little. Blood is running from his nose.
SHERLOCK: I don’t understand.
(He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and holds a paper napkin underneath with the other.)
SHERLOCK: I said I’m sorry. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?
(Mary is standing beside him, while John is a few yards up the road hailing an approaching taxi.)
MARY: Gosh. You don’t know anything about human nature, do you?
(Sherlock lowers his head and looks at her.)
SHERLOCK: Mmm, nature? No. Human? ... No.
MARY: I’ll talk him round.
(Sherlock takes the napkin from under his nose and looks at her curiously.)
SHERLOCK: You will?
MARY (smiling confidently): Oh yeah.
(Sherlock looks at her closely and goes into deduction mode. Many, many words appear in his mind, some of them repeated several times. They include, in no particular order:

only child linguist Clever part time nurse Shortsighted Guardian Bakes Own Bread Disillusioned Cat Lover Romantic Appendix Scar Lib Dem Secret Tattoo Size 12 Liar

She smiles at him, then looks round as John calls to her.)
JOHN: Mary.
(She turns to give Sherlock a last smile, then walks over to John. They get into the taxi and it drives away. Sherlock watches them go.
In the taxi John indignantly turns to Mary.)

JOHN: Can you believe his nerve?
(Smiling, Mary looks round at him.)
MARY: I like him.
JOHN: What?
MARY (shrugging and still smiling): I like him.
(She turns her head away and looks out of the window. John narrows his eyes, looking completely bewildered.
Back at the kebab shop, Sherlock looks down thoughtfully, then turns and walks away.)

ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Molly Hooper walks into a locker room, takes out her keys and opens her locker. As the door swings open, the mirror on the inside reveals Sherlock standing a short distance away behind her, smiling slightly. She gasps and turns to look at him, starting to smile.

In an underground car park, Greg Lestrade walks across the area searching his pockets as he goes. Behind him, Sherlock’s distinctive silhouette quickly walks past and disappears into the shadows of an unlit area of the car park. Unaware of this, Greg continues rummaging in various pockets. Something metallic clinks noisily in the darkness. Greg looks around but can see nothing and he resumes his search through his pockets until he finally finds what he was looking for. Tipping a cigarette out of the pack, he sticks it into his mouth, puts the rest of the pack back into his pocket and then flicks his lighter and raises it towards the end of the cigarette.
SHERLOCK’s VOICE (in the darkness): Those things’ll kill you.
(Greg freezes, the flame not quite reaching the end of his cigarette as he stares into the distance while his brain catches up with what – and who – he just heard. Finally he lowers his lighter and takes his fag out of his mouth.)
LESTRADE: Ooh, you bastard!
SHERLOCK (walking towards him out of the darkness): It’s time to come back. You’ve been letting things slide, Graham.
LESTRADE: Greg!
SHERLOCK: Greg.
(Greg stares at him for a long moment, his lips slowly lifting to reveal his teeth. Grimacing, he lunges towards Sherlock ... and wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him into a tight hug. Sherlock groans – quite possibly because the hug, while adorable for us to look at, is doing no good to his recent injuries acquired in Serbia – but he tolerates Greg’s affection.)



John and Mary are in bed. Mary is asleep, but John stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

221A BAKER STREET. Mrs Hudson is in the kitchen washing up a pan. The radio is on.
RADIO: ... with an anti-terrorism bill this important, the government feels duty-bound to push through the legislation with all due expe...
(Hearing the main front door being opened, she turns down the volume and goes to her front door and opens it, brandishing the pan in front of her. The front door closes, and a familiar silhouette appears behind the frosted window of the internal door. Mrs Hudson stares at it in disbelief – and then Sherlock pushes open the door and looks at her. She screams hysterically.)

FLASHBACK to the end of “The Reichenbach Fall.” John gets out of the taxi and heads towards the hospital. Cut to partway through his phone conversation with Sherlock when John tries again to go towards the hospital.
SHERLOCK (over phone): No, stay exactly where you are.
JOHN (into phone): Where are you?
SHERLOCK: Don’t move. Keep your eyes fixed on me.
(On the rooftop’s edge, a dummy has been dressed in replicas of Sherlock’s coat and scarf. It’s wearing a curly dark wig, and a life-sized photo of Sherlock’s face has been stuck on the front of its head. One hand is raised to hold a phone.)
JOHN’s VOICE (over phone): What-what’s happening? What’s going on?
(A few feet behind the dummy, Sherlock is sitting on the roof with his back against a low chimney. Jim Moriarty is sitting beside him. Sherlock is holding a rope to keep the dummy upright. He speaks tearfully into another phone.)
SHERLOCK: Please, will you do this for me? Please.
JOHN: Do what?
SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s my note. That’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note.
(Beside him, Jim lowers his head and giggles quietly. Sherlock takes the phone away from his mouth and angrily but silently shushes him.)
JOHN’s VOICE (over phone): Leave a note when?
SHERLOCK (raising the phone to his mouth again): Goodbye, John.
JOHN’s VOICE (over phone): No ...
(Switching off the phone, Sherlock flicks the rope and releases it and the dummy topples over the edge of the roof. Jim chuckles, and John’s horrified voice can be heard screaming from ground level.)
JOHN: Sherlock!
JIM: Oh-ho!
(He and Sherlock both laugh as if delighted that their plan has worked. They turn and look at each other, still giggling, but when their eyes meet their smiles slowly begin to fade as if they are starting to realise something or to feel something new. Sherlock frowns a little, looking puzzled, but Jim waits patiently for him to catch up. After a few moments Sherlock works it out and begins to lean towards him, and Jim moves to meet him. Their lips are just about to touch when ...

ANDERSON (horrified): What?! Are you out of your mind?!
(He is standing and staring down at a dark-haired young woman sitting in his living room. She shrugs.)
LAURA: I don’t see why not. It’s just as plausible as some of your theories.
(Behind her, the walls of the room are absolutely covered with notes, photographs and Post It notes. Pieces of red string link some of the paperwork together, some of the strings even crossing the room. Laura is not the only person in the room with Anderson – six or seven others are squeezed onto the furniture. At least three of them are wearing deerstalker hats, and one is wearing a Sherlock-like coat and scarf.)
ANDERSON: Look, if you’re not going to take it seriously, Laura, you can ... (He makes a ‘get out’ gesture.)
LAURA (angrily): I do take it seriously. (She looks disapprovingly around at the others.) I don’t think we should wear hats.
ANDERSON: I founded ‘The Empty Hearse’ so like-minded people could meet, discuss theories ...
(He chokes on his words and steps closer to Laura, looking down at her angrily.)
ANDERSON: Sherlock’s still out there.
(She rolls her eyes.)
ANDERSON: I’m convinced of it.
(Laura’s eyes have drifted to the TV behind him and her eyes widen. Anderson turns to look. The sound is muted but a reporter talking live from somewhere in London is bringing some breaking news. The rolling headline at the bottom of the screen announces, “HAT DETECTIVE ALIVE”. Underneath, a separate headline states, “Magnussen summoned before parliamentary ...” and presumably the next word is “commission” but nobody is paying attention to that news.)
LAURA: Oh my God.
(Instantly everyone’s phones begin to signal text alerts. Everybody scrabbles in their pockets. Laura holds up her own phone to show the screen to Anderson, her face alight with excitement.)
LAURA: Oh. My. God!
(On the phones, Twitter is full of hashtags like #SherlockHolmesAlive! and #SherlockIsNotDead, and #SherlockLives, and more messages stream in by the second.)

Sitting up in bed, Mary is holding an iPad and reading aloud from one of John’s old blog entries.
MARY (narrating dramatically): “His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent.”
JOHN (offscreen a short distance away): You what?
MARY: “I couldn’t help thinking what an amazing criminal he’d make if he turned his talents against the law.”
(John comes out of the small ensuite bathroom, his lower face and upper lip covered with shaving foam.)
JOHN: Don’t read that.
MARY (still looking at the screen): The famous blog, finally!
JOHN: Come on – that’s ...
MARY: ... ancient history, yes, I know. But it’s not, though, is it, because he’s ...
(She raises her eyes from the iPad and stops when she sees John.)
MARY (smiling): What are you doing?!
JOHN: Having a wash.
MARY (grinning): You’re shaving it off.
JOHN: Well, you hate it.
MARY: Sherlock hates it.
JOHN: Apparently everyone hates it.
(Mary giggles.)
MARY: Are you gonna see him again?
JOHN: No – I’m going to work.
MARY: Oh. And after work, are you gonna see him again?
(Rolling his eyes, John walks back into the bathroom.)
MARY: Cor, I dunno – six months of bristly kisses for me, and then His Nibs turns up ...
JOHN (looking into the mirror while he applies more shaving foam): I don’t shave for Sherlock Holmes.
MARY: Oh! You should put that on a T-shirt!
JOHN: Shut up.
MARY (cheekily): Or what?
JOHN: Or I’ll marry you.
(He turns to look at her. She grins. Rinsing off his hands, John picks up his razor, looks into the mirror, sighs, then lifts the razor towards his upper lip.)

SHERLOCK (voiceover): London. It’s like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents and drifters are irresistibly drained.
(In the living room of 221B, Sherlock – wearing a red dressing gown over his clothes – has been peering at the wall behind the sofa, and now he steps onto the sofa and begins to stick up maps, notes and paperwork.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): Sometimes it’s not a question of ‘Who?’; it’s a question of ‘Who Knows?’
(Somewhere in London a man in his twenties or thirties with a shaved head is sitting on a park bench eating a sandwich.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): If this man cancels his papers ...
(Near the bench, a scruffily dressed and rather grubby woman – presumably one of Sherlock’s Homeless Network – takes photos of the man on her phone.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): ... I need to know.
(Keeping a wary eye on the man, the woman sends her photos to Sherlock, and he pins one of them onto the wall.
Elsewhere, a woman with a dog on a lead walks through a street market.)

SHERLOCK (voiceover): If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know.
(Another homeless woman photographs the dog owner and texts it to Sherlock, who again pins the photo onto the wall. He continues sticking up pictures of people and adding crosses and other marks to the pictures and the map underneath.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): There are certain people – they are markers. If they start to move, I’ll know something’s up – like rats deserting a sinking ship.

John, now moustache-free, approaches and goes into the surgery in which he works.

221B. LIVING ROOM.
MYCROFT: All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical.
(The brothers are sitting opposite each other in front of the unlit fire, Sherlock still in his dressing gown. We can see a chess set between them. Sherlock sits back from making a move, his eyes locked onto Mycroft’s.)
SHERLOCK: Boring. Your move.
MYCROFT: We have solid information. An attack is coming.
(He glances down towards the table between them.)
SHERLOCK: “Solid information.” A secret terrorist organisation’s planning an attack – that’s what secret terrorist organisations do, isn’t it? It’s their version of golf.
MYCROFT: An agent gave his life to tell us that.
SHERLOCK: Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn’t have done. He was obviously just trying to show off.
(Mycroft appears to hold back a sigh.)
MYCROFT: None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously? (He glances down again and we hear him makes a move.) Your move.
SHERLOCK: No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I’ll find the answer. It’ll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad.
(He had only glanced down briefly before speaking, but out of view there’s a slight click as he moves his piece.)
SHERLOCK: Your move.
(Mycroft glances down briefly before raising his eyes to Sherlock’s again.)
MYCROFT: I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case.
SHERLOCK: I am on the case. We’re both on the case. Look at us right now.
(On the table in between them, there’s a loud buzzing and a red light flashes.)
MYCROFT: Oh, bugger!
(He angrily drops the small tweezers he was using in their game of “Operation.” We realise that a clever perspective shot had lured us into believing they were playing chess, but the chess set is actually on the coffee table in front of the sofa.)
[More details about “Operation” here if you need them; and then do check out Redscharlach’s hilarious “Sherloperation”!]

SHERLOCK: Oopsie!
(Mycroft returns the piece to the board.)
SHERLOCK (looking at which piece Mycroft had failed to remove successfully): Can’t handle a broken heart – how very telling.
(Looking smug, he sits back in his chair and crosses his legs.)
MYCROFT: Don’t be smart.
SHERLOCK: That takes me back. (In a little boy’s voice) “Don’t be smart, Sherlock. I’m the smart one.”
MYCROFT (glowering at him): I am the smart one.
(Sherlock looks off to the side reflectively.)
SHERLOCK: I used to think I was an idiot.
MYCROFT: Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on ’til we met other children.
SHERLOCK: Oh, yes. That was a mistake.
MYCROFT: Ghastly. What were they thinking of?
SHERLOCK: Probably something about trying to make friends.
MYCROFT: Oh yes. Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.
SHERLOCK (looking at him closely): And you don’t? Ever?
MYCROFT: If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.
(Sherlock steeples his fingers in front of him and looks at his brother.)
SHERLOCK: Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.
MYCROFT: So?
SHERLOCK (shrugging): Oh, I don’t know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a ... goldfish.
MYCROFT (looking appalled): Change the subject – now!
(He stands up and walks over to the fireplace.)
SHERLOCK: Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre.
(Mrs Hudson, carrying a tray of tea things, walks into the room with her traditional “Ooh-ooh!”)
MYCROFT: Speaking of which ...
(Sherlock smiles.)
MRS HUDSON (happily, putting the tray on the dining table): I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again!
(She looks at Mycroft.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Mr Holmes?
MYCROFT: I can barely contain myself(!)
SHERLOCK: Oh, he really can, you know.
MRS HUDSON: He’s secretly pleased to see you underneath all that ... (she pulls a sour face).
MYCROFT: Sorry – which of us?
MRS HUDSON: Both of you.
(She leaves the room.)
SHERLOCK: Let’s play something different.
MYCROFT (with an exasperated sigh): Why are we playing games?
SHERLOCK: Well, London’s terror alert has been raised to Critical. (He flails his legs over the table in front of him and stands up.) I’m just passing the time. Let’s do deductions.
(He walks over to the dining table and picks up a woollen bobble hat which has earflaps [It’s an ear hat, John!] and a dangly woollen pom pom hanging from each flap.)
SHERLOCK: Client left this while I was out. What d’you reckon?
(He tosses it to his brother.)
MYCROFT (catching it): I’m busy.
SHERLOCK: Oh, go on. It’s been an age.
(Mycroft lifts the hat to his nose and sniffs, then looks across to Sherlock.)

MYCROFT: I always win.
SHERLOCK: Which is why you can’t resist.
MYCROFT (quick fire): I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis ...
(He stops when he notices Sherlock’s widening smile.)
MYCROFT: Damn.
(He throws the hat back to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: Isolated, too, don’t you think?
MYCROFT: Why would he be isolated?
SHERLOCK: “He”?
MYCROFT: Obviously.
SHERLOCK: Why? Size of the hat?
MYCROFT: Don’t be silly. Some women have large heads too.
(Sherlock flinches slightly, possibly at Mycroft’s insult to his intelligence.)
MYCROFT: No – he’s recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside.
(Sherlock looks down at the hat, pouting slightly.)
SHERLOCK: Some women have short hair, too.
MYCROFT: Balance of probability.
SHERLOCK: Not that you’ve ever spoken to a woman with short hair – or, you know, a woman.
MYCROFT: Stains show he’s out of condition, and he’s sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four ...
SHERLOCK: Five times. (He throws the hat back to his brother.) Very neatly. (Quick fire) The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it’s more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five’s excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive.
MYCROFT: Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that?
(He throws the hat back to Sherlock, who grabs it with an exasperated grimace.)
MYCROFT: The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he’s worn it abroad – in Peru.
SHERLOCK: Peru?
MYCROFT: This is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It’s made of alpaca.
SHERLOCK (smirking): No.
MYCROFT: No?
SHERLOCK: Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres.
MRS HUDSON (coming back into the room with a teapot): I’m sure there’s a crying need for that.
(Sherlock pauses for a moment, then turns back to his brother.)
SHERLOCK: You said he was anxious.
MYCROFT: The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he’s a man of a nervous disposition but ...
SHERLOCK (talking over him): ... but also a creature of habit because he hasn’t chewed the bobble on the right.
MYCROFT: Precisely.
(Sherlock lifts the hat and sniffs it before lowering it again, grimacing.)
SHERLOCK: Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath.
(He turns away.)
SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Brilliant(!)
MYCROFT: Elementary.
SHERLOCK: But you’ve missed his isolation.
MYCROFT: I don’t see it.
SHERLOCK: Plain as day.
MYCROFT: Where?
SHERLOCK: There for all to see.
MYCROFT: Tell me.
SHERLOCK: Plain as the nose on your ...
MYCROFT: Tell me.
SHERLOCK (turning back to him): Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn’t in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?
MYCROFT: Not at all. Maybe he just doesn’t mind being different. He doesn’t necessarily have to be isolated.
SHERLOCK: Exactly.
(He looks down at the hat again. Mycroft blinks several times, apparently confused.)
MYCROFT: I’m sorry?
SHERLOCK (looking at him): He’s different – so what? Why would he mind? You’re quite right.
(He lifts the hat and perches it on the top of his head, then looks pointedly at his brother.)
SHERLOCK: Why would anyone mind?
(Mycroft opens his mouth but seems to struggle to speak for a moment.)
MYCROFT: ... I’m not lonely, Sherlock.
(Sherlock tilts his head down and looks closely at him, then steps nearer with an intense expression on his face.)
SHERLOCK: How would you know?
(Taking off the hat, he turns away. Mrs Hudson, who has been pottering in the kitchen, comes to the doorway and smiles.)
MYCROFT: Yes. Back to work if you don’t mind. Good morning.
(Looking a little wide-eyed as a result of the recent conversation, he heads for the door. Behind him, Sherlock winks at Mrs Hudson, who giggles happily.)
SHERLOCK (turning to face the wall of information behind the sofa): Right. Back to work.

JOHN’S SURGERY. Mary knocks on the door and looks in.
MARY: Mr Summerson.
JOHN: Right.
MARY: Undescended testicle.
JOHN: ... Right.
(Mary leaves again. The clock shows 10 past 10.)

221B. Sherlock holds up his phone and looks at the latest photos of one of his ‘markers.’ Mrs Hudson comes to the door of the living room and watches while Sherlock draws a cross over the photo of the man which is pinned to the wall.
MRS HUDSON: Sherlock.
SHERLOCK (absently): Mm?
MRS HUDSON: Talk to John.
SHERLOCK: I tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear.

In his surgery, John has his hand held up in front of him with the middle finger pointing upwards. With his other hand he pulls a medical glove tighter down onto his fingers. His patient is standing in front of him, naked from the waist down and looking awkward.
JOHN: Just relax, Mr Summerson.
(He walks towards him.)

MRS HUDSON: What did he say?
SHERLOCK: F...

JOHN: Cough.
(He is cradling Mr Summerson’s testicles with his gloved hand.)

MRS HUDSON: Ooh dear!
(She turns away.)

Later, John sits looking at his computer in his surgery. The intercom beeps and he switches it on.
JOHN: Hi.
MARY (over intercom): Er, Mrs Reeves. Thrush.
(John lowers his head momentarily.)
JOHN: Right.
(The clock shows 4 minutes past 1.)

At 221B, Sherlock is standing at the window. He grimaces slightly as Molly walks into the room behind him.
MOLLY: You wanted to see me?
SHERLOCK (turning to face her): Yes.
(He starts to walk towards her.)
SHERLOCK: Molly?
MOLLY: Yes?
SHERLOCK: Would you ...
(He stops, looking down, then slowly starts to walk closer.)
SHERLOCK: Would you like to ...
MOLLY: ... have dinner?
SHERLOCK (simultaneously): ... solve crimes?
MOLLY (awkwardly): Ooh.

John writes out a prescription while talking to the patient sitting behind him.
JOHN: Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs Reeves. It’s very common ... (he turns and hands the prescription to her) ... but I’m recommending a course of ...

SHERLOCK: ... monkey glands.
(He is looking at the wall, while Molly sits on a dining chair beside Sherlock’s armchair. She bites back a smile as Sherlock turns towards the two clients in the room. A woman is sitting in what was John’s chair and a man stands beside her.)
SHERLOCK: But enough about Professor Presbury. Tell us more about your case, Mr Harcourt.
(Molly speaks quietly to him as he walks past her.)
MOLLY: Are you sure about this?
SHERLOCK: Absolutely.
MOLLY: Should I be making notes?
SHERLOCK: If it makes you feel better.
MOLLY: It’s just that that’s what John says he does, so if I’m being John ...
SHERLOCK (sitting down in his chair): You’re not being John – you’re being yourself.
(Molly smiles proudly.)
MR HARCOURT: Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen.
(Sherlock looks closely at him, zooming in on his jacket, then his hairline and then the skin above his eyes. He stands and walks closer to him.)
SHERLOCK: Why didn’t you assume it was your wife?
MR HARCOURT: Because I’ve always had total faith in her.
SHERLOCK: No – it’s because you emptied it. (He points at the three areas on the man at which he had just looked and speaks rapidly.) Weight loss, hair dye, Botox; affair. (Whipping out a business card, he holds it out to Mrs Harcourt.) Lawyer. Next!

Mary shows the next patient into the room and looks at John.
MARY: This is Mr Blake. (Whispering) Piles.
(John nods politely. The clock shows half past 3. John turns and smiles at his patient.)
JOHN: Mr Blake, hi.

Sherlock is sitting on a stool close to a young woman who is sitting on the sofa. He is clasping her hands and patting them sympathetically while he talks softly to her.
SHERLOCK: And your pen pal’s emails just stopped, did they?
(The woman nods, whimpering as she cries. Molly looks across to her but then continues writing notes at the dining table. An older man is sitting beside the woman.)
SHERLOCK (softly): And you really thought he was the one, didn’t you? The love of your life?
(As the woman takes off her glasses and cries harder, Sherlock turns and looks at Molly for a moment, then stands and walks across to her. Keeping his back to the clients, he speaks quietly.)
SHERLOCK: Stepfather posing as online boyfriend.
MOLLY (shocked): What?!
SHERLOCK: Breaks it off, breaks her heart. She swears off relationships, stays at home – he still has her wage coming in.
(He turns to the man and addresses him sternly.)
SHERLOCK: Mr Windibank, you have been a complete and utter ...

JOHN: ... piss pot.
(He is holding up a small plastic cylinder used for collecting urine samples. He hands it to his latest patient who is sitting facing him.)
JOHN: It’s nothing to worry about. Just a small infection by the sound of it. Er, Doctor Verner is your usual GP, yes?
(The man speaks in a rough voice with a thick accent.)
MR SZIKORA: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
(John looks startled. The man appears to be in his sixties, has long white hair and a white beard and is wearing very dark glasses and a black knitted hat.)
MR SZIKORA: He looked after me, man and boy.
(He beckons John closer and talks confidentially.)
MR SZIKORA: I run a little shop, just on the corner of Church Street.
JOHN: Oh, right.
MR SZIKORA (picking up a plastic bag from the floor): Er, magazines, DVDs. Brought along a few little beauties that might interest you.
(Taking a DVD from the bag, he shows it to John.)
MR SZIKORA: “Tree Worshippers.” Oh, that’s a corker. It’s very saucy.
(John nods in a bemused way, looking closely at the man as if he is beginning to suspect something. The man gets out a magazine and holds it up.)
MR SZIKORA: “British Birds.” Same sort of thing.
(The magazine cover shows two glamorous women in skimpy clothing, and some of the captions around the photograph read, “We’re a real handful,” “Hot British Birds! XXX” and “Knocker Glory.”)
JOHN: I’m fine, thanks.
MR SZIKORA (holding up another DVD and translating its foreign title): “The Holy War.” Sounds a bit dry, I know, but there’s a nun with all these holes in her habit ...
JOHN: Jesus. Sherlock ...
MR SZIKORA: Huh?
JOHN: ... what do you want?
MR SZIKORA: Huh?
JOHN: Have you come to torment me?
MR SZIKORA: What are you talking about?
JOHN (impersonating his accent): “What are you talking ...” (He stands up and walks closer.) What, d’you think I’m gonna be fooled by this bloody beard?
(He tugs at it while the man flails in panic.)
MR SZIKORA: Are you crazy?!
(John straightens a little and imitates his flaily hands, mockingly saying, “No, no, no, no!” in the man’s accent, then leans into his face.)
JOHN: It’s not as good as your French. Not as good as your French. It’s not even a good disguise, Sherlock!
(He rips off the man’s hat and glasses. The man stares up at him with a terrified look on his face.)
JOHN: Where’d you get it from? A bloody joke ... sh-shop ...?
(Staring at the man with dawning horror, he reaches out and pulls his head forward to confirm that he genuinely is bald on top.)
JOHN: Oh my God.
(The man whimpers as John gently puts his glasses back onto his face.)
JOHN: I am so sorry. Oh my God.
(Mary comes in, having presumably heard the noise. John puts the man’s hat back onto his head.)
JOHN: Please for... (He looks across to Mary, speaking a little plaintively.) It’s fine.
(Clearing his throat, he sits down again. Mary goes out and closes the door.)


Date: 2015-12-24; view: 509


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