FLASHBACK. John and Sherlock walk up the stairs and into the living room of 221B, then stop dead at the sight which greets them. In John’s chair which is facing towards the door is a suit, laid out exactly as it would appear if there was actually anyone inside it and sitting in the chair. There is even a pair of shoes at the bottom of the trousers.
SHERLOCK: ... the Poison Giant ...
FLASHBACK. A man is running across a rooftop. As he comes into full view we see that he is a person of short stature. He stops and raises a blowpipe to his lips. SHERLOCK (offscreen): Get down, John! (The man blows into the pipe and on the other side of the roof Sherlock and John duck down to avoid the dart which flies out of it. They immediately jump up again and run on in pursuit of the man.)
SHERLOCK: We’ve had some frustrating cases ...
FLASHBACK. In 221B John sits down at the dining table with a mug of tea. He looks across to Sherlock sitting in his chair, who is running his finger across his top lip and frowning down thoughtfully at a matchbox held in his other hand. JOHN: What is that? (Sherlock looks at him.) SHERLOCK: A French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes – all empty except this one. JOHN: And what’s in that one? SHERLOCK (looking at the matchbox): The inexplicable. (He slowly pushes open the matchbox. Whatever is inside glows brightly, illuminating Sherlock’s face. He grins with delight.)
SHERLOCK (rolling his eyes): ... ‘touching’ cases ...
FLASHBACK. John is standing at the window of 221B looking down into the street. JOHN: She’s going to ring the doorbell. (He’s looking at a young woman who is hovering outside Speedy’s and looking towards 221’s front door. She stops and then turns around.) JOHN: Oh, no. She’s changed her mind. (The woman walks away a few paces, then stops and turns around again.) JOHN: No, she’s gonna do it ... No, she’s leaving. She’s leaving. ... Oh, she’s coming back. (Sherlock is sprawled in his chair with his head raised towards the ceiling. His eyes are closed.) SHERLOCK: She’s a client. She’s boring. I’ve seen those symptoms before. JOHN: Hmm? SHERLOCK: Oscillation on the pavement always means there’s a love affair.
SHERLOCK: ... and of course I have to mention the elephant in the room.
FLASHBACK. The boys stand in the doorway of what looks like a fairly ordinary room somewhere. They stare up wide-eyed at what they can see inside. Sherlock opens his mouth. Offscreen, an elephant trumpets loudly. Sherlock closes his mouth again.
SHERLOCK: But we want something ... very particular for this special day, don’t we? (He looks down at his phone, then raises his eyes again.) SHERLOCK: The Bloody Guardsman.
FLASHBACK. John’s blog entry entitled “The Bloody Guardsman” drifts across the screen for a moment, then fades to a view of Sherlock standing in the living room of 221B looking at his information wall behind the sofa. He turns to where Mary is sitting at the dining table and John is sitting in his armchair and looking at his phone. SHERLOCK: Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin. MARY (smiling): Ah, orphan’s lot. Friends – that’s all I have. Lots of friends. (We get a glimpse of the paperwork on the wall and realise that Sherlock is organising the hell out of the wedding. There is a list of things which need to be done, all of them ticked off, and the wall is divided into areas which are headed, “Transport,” “Catering,” “Rehearsal,” “Wine,” and probably other items too. On the table beside Mary is a cardboard 3D model of the reception venue.) SHERLOCK: Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11.48. MARY: But the rehearsal’s not for another two weeks. Just calm down. SHERLOCK: Calm? I am calm. I’m extremely calm. MARY: Let’s get back to the reception, come on. (He walks over to the table.) MARY (handing him an RSVP card): John’s cousin. Top table? SHERLOCK (looking at the card): Hmm. Hates you. Can’t even bear to think about you. MARY (looking up at him): Seriously? SHERLOCK: Second class post, cheap card ... (he sniffs it and grimaces) ... bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She’s obviously unconsciously retaining saliva. MARY: Ah. (Over her shoulder to John) Let’s stick her by the bogs. [Transcriber’s note: ‘bogs’ is a slang word for ‘toilets.’] SHERLOCK: Oh yes. (He sits down. Mary leans closer to him.) MARY: Who else hates me? (Instantly Sherlock hands her a sheet of paper. There’s a long list of names on it.) MARY: Oh great – thanks(!) JOHN (looking at his phone): Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting. MARY (looking at paperwork on the table): Table four ... SHERLOCK: Done. JOHN (chuckling at something on his screen): “My husband is three people.” MARY: Table five. SHERLOCK (looking at a list): Major James Sholto. Who he? MARY: Oh, John’s old commanding officer. I don’t think he’s coming. JOHN: He’ll be there. MARY: Well, he needs to RSVP, then. JOHN (firmly): He’ll be there. MARY: Mmm ... JOHN (reading from his phone): “My husband is three people.” It’s interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin. SHERLOCK (standing up and speaking quick fire): Identical triplets – one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat. Now, serviettes. (He squats down beside the coffee table, reaches under it and pulls out a tray with two serviettes folded into different shapes. He gestures to them as he looks up at Mary.) SHERLOCK: Swan, or Sydney Opera House? MARY: Where’d you learn to do that?! SHERLOCK (looking down): Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation ... MARY: Fibbing, Sherlock. SHERLOCK: I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of ... MARY: I’m not John. I can tell when you’re fibbing. SHERLOCK (exasperated): Okay – I learned it on YouTube. MARY: Opera House, please. (She leans to one side and reaches into her trouser pocket.) MARY: Ooh, hang on. I’m buzzing. (She takes out her phone and lifts it to her ear.) MARY: Hello? (She listens for a second, then stands up.) MARY: Oh, hi, Beth! (John’s eyes lift from his phone as Mary heads for the kitchen.) MARY (into phone): Yeah, yeah, don’t see why not. JOHN (standing up and looking at Sherlock): Actually, if that’s Beth, it’s probably for me too. Hang on. (He heads for the kitchen, while Sherlock sits down on the floor cross-legged and facing the coffee table. In the kitchen, John smiles at Mary as he walks closer to her. They talk quietly.) JOHN: He knows we don’t have a friend called Beth. He’s gonna figure out that it’s code. MARY: He’s YouTube-ing serviettes. JOHN: He’s thorough. MARY: He’s terrified. JOHN: ’Course he’s not. MARY: Right, you know when you’re scared of something, you start wishing it sooner just to get it all going? That’s what he’s doing. JOHN: Why would he be scared that we’re getting married? It’s not gonna change anything – we’ll still do stuff. MARY: Well, you need to prove it to him. I told you to find him a new case. JOHN: I’m trying. MARY: You need to run him, okay? Show him it’s still the good old days. (She nods encouragingly to him. He doesn’t immediately respond, and she nods again and gestures towards the living room. He looks around, then turns and slowly starts towards the door between the kitchen and the living room. Mary puts her hands on his back and shoves him forward. Sherlock is still sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, his head propped up on one hand. He briefly looks round at John, then turns back and gestures at what’s in front of him. There are at least seven serviettes folded in Sydney Opera House shapes on the table, and sixteen or so more on the floor.) SHERLOCK: That just sort of ... happened. (He looks round at John again, who frowns but then smiles. Glancing back into the kitchen for a moment, he walks towards his friend.) JOHN: Sherlock, um ... (Sherlock stands up.) JOHN: ... mate ... (Again he frowns briefly, perhaps wondering if he is overdoing it.) JOHN: I-I’ve ... (He walks over to the dining table. Sherlock glances towards the kitchen where Mary can be heard talking as if she’s on a phone call, then they both sit down at the table.) JOHN: I’ve smelled eighteen different perfumes; I’ve sampled ... (he stops to think) ... nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical; I like the bridesmaids in purple ... SHERLOCK: Lilac. JOHN: ... lilac. Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don’t even understand the decisions that we have made. I’m faking opinions and it’s exhausting, so please, before she comes back ... (He glances towards the kitchen, activates his phone, clears his throat and holds the phone across the table. The screen is showing Sherlock’s “Science of Deduction” website.) JOHN: ... pick something. (Sherlock’s eyes flicker down to the screen a couple of times.) JOHN: Anything. Pick one. SHERLOCK: Pick what? (John blinks a few times and then laughs.) JOHN: A case. Your Inbox is bursting. Just ... get me out of here. SHERLOCK (leaning closer and speaking quietly): You want to go out on a case? N-now? JOHN: Please, Sherlock, for me. (Sherlock takes the phone.) SHERLOCK (quietly): Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll get you out of this. (He starts to flick through messages on his website. After only a few seconds he finds something of interest.) SHERLOCK: Oh.
[Transcriber’s note for the following scenes: my knowledge of military terminology is extremely limited. I have googled the heck out of certain terms in the hope of getting them right but am not confident that I am using the correct words all the time. I’m happy to take corrections from people with expertise. Click here for information about Her Majesty’s Foot Guards, which also indicates that Sherlock is incorrect in referring to his new client as a ‘Grenadier.’ While I wouldn’t necessarily expect him to have the knowledge of how to distinguish between the different Guards, I would have expected the writers to do their homework.]
In a military barracks inside a grand building, two members of The Queen’s Foot Guards wearing full dress uniform and carrying their tall fur bearskin caps walk up the stairs. The voice of one of them narrates his message to Sherlock. BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “Dear Mr Holmes, My name is Bainbridge. I’m a Private in Her Majesty’s Household Guard. I’m writing to you about a personal matter ... (Outside Wellington Barracks in London, Bainbridge is one of two men standing on duty outside the gates in the full uniform of the Welsh Guards [not the Grenadier Guards]. A Japanese tourist stands beside him posing with her thumbs up while her male friend takes photographs.) BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “... one I don’t care to bring before my superiors – it would sound so trivial – but I think someone’s stalking me. (Over the other side of the road, three tourists are taking photos of the view. Bainbridge – with his gaze fixed ahead of him as he must do while on duty – has a clear view of them.) BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “I’m used to tourists – it’s part of the job – but this is different. Someone’s watching me. (The tourists over the road walk away. Standing behind them is a man with the hood of his jacket pulled up and obscuring the view of his face. He seems to be looking directly at Bainbridge but as soon as the tourists are no longer blocking him, he turns and walks away.) BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “He’s taking pictures of me every day. (Inside the barracks, Bainbridge walks across what may be his bedroom or dorm room, which overlooks the parade ground. He is bare chested. He idly looks out of the window and sees the usual group of tourists outside the gates but his attention is immediately drawn to a man wearing an overcoat and with a cap on his head. The man is standing close to the fence and is initially aiming his camera in a different direction, but he then swings the camera across and up to point at Bainbridge in the window.) BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “Don’t want to mention it to the major, but it’s really preying on my mind.” (The man snaps a couple of photographs, then hurries away.)
SHERLOCK (still looking at John’s phone in 221B): Uniform fetishist. “All the nice girls like a soldier.” JOHN: It’s “sailor.” [Click here for the lyrics of the song to which the boys are referring.] JOHN: And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke. (Sherlock looks at the phone again, perhaps reading more of Bainbridge’s email.) JOHN: Let’s go and investigate. Please? SHERLOCK (reading): “Elite Guard.” JOHN: Forty enlisted men and officers. SHERLOCK: Why this particular Grenadier? Curious. JOHN: Now you’re talking. SHERLOCK (handing his phone back): Okay. (They stand up and walk towards the doors just as Mary comes back into the room with her phone at her ear.) MARY (into phone): ’Bye. JOHN: Er, we’re just going to ... I need, um, Sherlock to help me choose some, er, socks. SHERLOCK (simultaneously): ... ties. MARY (looking from one to the other): Why don’t we go with socks? JOHN: Yeah. MARY: I mean, you’ve got to get the right ones. JOHN: Exactly – to go with my ... SHERLOCK: ... tie. JOHN (simultaneously): ... outfit. MARY (looking at John): That’ll take a while, right? (John points towards the kitchen.) JOHN: My coat in there? MARY: Yes! (He walks into the kitchen and Mary and Sherlock walk closer together.) SHERLOCK (quietly): Just going to take him out for a bit – run him. MARY: I know. (Sherlock smiles at her.) MARY (gesturing happily towards him): You said you’d find him a case! SHERLOCK: Mm. JOHN (from the kitchen doorway): Come on, Sherlock. SHERLOCK: Coming. (He turns and goes to the living room door, then turns back to face Mary. Unseen by each other, Sherlock does a double thumbs-up at her and gives her a “only you and I know about what we’re doing here” grin, while from the kitchen John circles his thumb and forefinger at her and winks much the same message. She holds up her thumbs to both of them and grins widely. The boys both turn and head for the stairs. Going out of the front door, Sherlock finishes putting his coat on and calls out to an approaching cab.) SHERLOCK: Taxi!
There are a few interspersed scenes of a group of Guards marching back to the barracks, and Sherlock and John making their way to the barracks themselves. The Guards arrive back and are in the parade ground marching into position preparing to be dismissed. PARADE SERGEANT: Company, halt! ... Right turn! (Our boys are at the entrance to the barracks. John has given his wallet containing his military ID card to the duty sergeant.) JOHN: We’re here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge. DUTY SERGEANT: He’s on duty right now, sir ... (he hands the wallet back) ... but I’ll certainly let him know when he’s free. SHERLOCK: And when will that be? DUTY SERGEANT: Another hour.
Bainbridge, with another Foot Guard, is on duty outside the gates of the barracks. He stands fixed in position and tourists take photographs. Over the other side of the road and a few yards back from the pavement, Sherlock and John are sitting on a bench in the park looking towards the gates. SHERLOCK: Do you think they give them classes? JOHN: Classes? SHERLOCK: How to resist the temptation to scratch their behinds? JOHN: Afferent neurons in the peripheral nervous system. (Sherlock turns his head slightly in John’s direction.) JOHN: Bum itch. SHERLOCK: Oh! (They sit in silence for a few seconds.) SHERLOCK: So why don’t you see him any more? JOHN: Who? SHERLOCK: Your previous commander, Sholto. JOHN: “Previous commander.” SHERLOCK (briefly closing his eyes awkwardly): I meant “ex.” JOHN: “Previous” suggests that I currently have a commander. SHERLOCK: Which you don’t. JOHN: Which I don’t. SHERLOCK (with a small smile): ’Course you don’t. He was decorated, wasn’t he? A war hero. JOHN: Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle. SHERLOCK: “Crows”? JOHN: New recruits. It’s standard procedure; break the new boys in – but it went wrong. They all died; he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you. SHERLOCK: Oh, I wouldn’t count on that. JOHN: Why have you suddenly taken an interest in another human being? SHERLOCK: I’m ... chatting. (John raises his eyebrows and looks round at him. Sherlock half-turns his head and looks at him out of the corner of his eye.) SHERLOCK (turning his head back to the front): Won’t be trying that again. JOHN: Changing the subject completely ... (he pulls in a breath through his nose, then looks at Sherlock again) ... you know it won’t alter anything, right, me and Mary, getting married? We’ll still be doing all this. SHERLOCK: Oh, good. JOHN: If you were worrying. SHERLOCK: Wasn’t worried. (John looks down and chuckles thoughtfully.) JOHN: See, the thing about Mary – she has completely turned my life around; changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years there are two people who have done that ... and the other one is ... (He looks round. Sherlock is no longer sitting at his side.) JOHN: ... a complete dickhead. (He looks all around the park but there is no sign of said dickhead.)
Inside the barracks, the duty sergeant sits at his desk looking through paperwork. Through the window behind him, three pairs of Guards march past, only the upper part of their bodies and their bearskins visible. A seventh bearskin-wearing person marches behind them ... except that this one is wearing a highly non-regulation Belstaff coat. Outside, Sherlock marches along behind the others, smartly swinging his arms, then he stops, takes off the bearskin and puts it down on a nearby ledge. Using the window above the ledge as a mirror, he ruffles his flattened hair back into position, then heads off across the parade ground. Inside the barracks, he walks across the entrance hall towards one of two flights of stairs. Two Guards wearing standard khaki army attire walk down the other flight and Sherlock turns his head away from them and apparently instantly becomes invisible, because they take no notice of him. He trots up the stairs, employing the “I’m invisible if I don’t look at you” trick again partway up when two more soldiers walk across the landing, then he goes up onto the landing. Several voices can be heard talking and laughing from a nearby room, and he walks across and opens the door. Inside is a rec room where many soldiers are sitting and chatting. Two are playing table tennis and others are watching them. Sherlock must have gone into invisibility mode again, because nobody looks at him or reacts in any way. He closes the door again and moves on. Outside the barracks, a new Guard has come to relieve Bainbridge. He marches over, turns to stand at Bainbridge’s side and shuffles sideways until their shoulders touch. Bainbridge marches forward a few paces, then turns and marches into the barracks. Inside, now holding his bearskin under his arm, he walks up the stairs. His face appears to be rather sweaty. He walks into the shower room, puts the bearskin down and undoes his white webbing belt, grimacing a little. Putting the belt down, he starts to unbutton his jacket.
In an office nearby, an officer called Major Reed is sitting behind his desk and looking at John’s military ID card. He looks up at John who is sitting opposite him. REED: Can I ask what this is in connection with? JOHN: Private Bainbridge contacted us about a personal matter, sir. REED: Nothing’s personal when it concerns my troops. What do you really want? JOHN: I’m here on a legitimate enquiry. REED: Press? Digging for some bloody Royal story or something? JOHN (pointing at his ID card): No, sir, I’m Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. REED: Retired. You could be a used car salesman now, for all I know.
The duty sergeant walks into the shower room. One of the showers is running and steam billows across the floor. DUTY SERGEANT: Bainbridge! Gentleman here to see you! (He walks across towards the cubicle.) DUTY SERGEANT: Bainbridge! (He raps on the closed door of the cubicle, then looks down. Through the almost-opaque door, Bainbridge can be seen slumped on the floor with his back against the door, and bloodstained water is pouring out of the cubicle.)
REED’S OFFICE. Major Reed looks closely at John. REED: I know you, don’t I? JOHN: Hmm? (Reed tosses John’s card across the table. John picks it up and puts it back into his wallet.) REED: I’ve seen you in the papers. (John clears his throat uncomfortably.) REED: Hang around with that detective – the one with the silly hat. What the hell does Bainbridge want with a detective? JOHN: I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. REED: You’re not at liberty to say?! He’s a soldier in my regiment – I’ll be damned if he’s going to get up to cloak and dagger nonsense like this. (The duty sergeant hurries into the room.) DUTY SERGEANT: Sir ... (He stops when he realises that Reed isn’t alone in the room.) DUTY SERGEANT: Sir. REED: What’s going on? DUTY SERGEANT: It’s Bainbridge, sir. He’s dead. (Looking horrified, Reed gets up and follows the sergeant out of the room. John hurries after them.)
In the shower room, Bainbridge is now lying face down on the floor on top of a great deal of broken glass. There is a lot of blood on his lower back. The duty sergeant leads the others in, and Reed hurries over to the body staring at it in shock. REED: My God! (Sighing deeply at the sight, John walks towards Bainbridge but Reed holds up a hand to stop him.) JOHN: Ah, no, let me take a look, sir. I’m a doctor. REED: What? Sergeant, arrest this man. (The duty sergeant instantly takes hold of John’s left arm and twists it behind his back.) JOHN: What? No-no! I’m a – I’m a doctor. REED: Oh, you’re a doctor now, too. Sergeant ... (He jerks his head towards the door.) JOHN: Let me examine him, please! (The sergeant starts to pull John away but just then another sergeant comes in, bundling Sherlock into the room. He has Sherlock’s right arm twisted up behind his back.) SERGEANT: Sir, caught this one snooping around. (Reed looks at John.) REED: Is that what this was all about? Distracting me so that this man could get in here and kill Bainbridge? JOHN: Don’t be ... (Sherlock has pulled free of his sergeant and is walking forward to look more closely at the body. The sergeant follows him, taking hold of his arms and pulling him away again.) SHERLOCK (to Reed): Kill him with what? Where’s the weapon? REED: What? SHERLOCK: Where’s the weapon? Go on, search me. (He holds his arms wide.) No weapon. JOHN: Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When’s this supposed to have happened? REED (to Sherlock): You obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower. SHERLOCK: No. REED: No?! SHERLOCK: He’s soaking wet and there’s still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower and then someone stabbed him. DUTY SERGEANT: The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open. REED: You must have climbed over the top. SHERLOCK: Well then I’d be soaking wet too, wouldn’t I? JOHN (loudly): Major, please. I’m John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital. (Firmly) Let me examine this body. (Reed looks down at the body for a long moment, then finally looks at the duty sergeant and nods sharply. The man releases John.) JOHN (taking his jacket off): Thank you. (Walking forward, he puts the jacket onto a bench and then goes over to crouch down beside Bainbridge. The duty sergeant talks quietly to Sherlock.) DUTY SERGEANT: Suicide? SHERLOCK: No. The weapon again – no knife. (He walks to the front of the shower cubicle and bends down to look all around it, then squats down at Bainbridge’s head. John is examining Bainbridge’s lower back.) JOHN: Hmm. There is a wound to the abdomen – incredibly fine. SHERLOCK: Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of here. (John has moved to Bainbridge’s head and has peeled one of his eyes open.) JOHN: Sherlock. SHERLOCK: Mmm? JOHN: He’s still breathing. DUTY SERGEANT: Oh my God. SHERLOCK (to John): What do we do? JOHN: Give me your scarf. SHERLOCK: What? JOHN: Quickly, now. (While Sherlock unwraps his scarf from his neck, John looks up at Reed and the others.) JOHN: Call an ambulance. SERGEANT: What? JOHN (loudly): Call an ambulance now. (He points towards the door. Still the men hesitate.) JOHN (firmly): Do it! (Both of the sergeants turn and hurry from the room. John has pressed the scarf against the wound in Bainbridge’s back and now he takes Sherlock’s hand and puts it on top of the scarf, positioning his fingers where he wants them.) JOHN: Nurse, press here – hard. SHERLOCK (wrinkling his nose in distaste): “Nurse”? JOHN: Yeah, I’m making do. Keep pressure on that wound. (Sherlock leans closer so that he can press harder. John moves to Bainbridge’s head.) JOHN: Stephen. Stephen, stay with me.
RECEPTION. SHERLOCK: Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He’d stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish – but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess? (The guests fidget and look at each other.) SHERLOCK: Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this. (He clears his throat. Still the guests remain silent.) SHERLOCK: Scotland Yard. (Greg lifts his head.) SHERLOCK: Have you got a theory? (Greg stares at him blankly.) SHERLOCK: Yeah, you. You’re a detective – broadly speaking. Got a theory? LESTRADE: Er, um, if the, uh, if the, if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um ... (he stops to think for a moment) ... grating in the air vent ... maybe a-a ballista or a – or a – or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could-could crawl in there. (He sucks in a breath.) So, yeah, we’re loo... we’re looking for a-a-a-a dwarf. (Sherlock is staring at him blankly.) SHERLOCK: Brilliant. LESTRADE: Really? SHERLOCK (instantly): No. (Greg sighs and lowers his head.) SHERLOCK: Next! TOM (whispering to Molly): He stabbed himself. SHERLOCK: Hello? Who was that? (Tom looks round, wide-eyed.) SHERLOCK: Tom. (Grimacing, Tom slowly stands up.) SHERLOCK: Got a theory? (Tom sways nervously from foot to foot for a moment.) TOM (slowly, tentatively): Um ... attempted suicide, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen ... like a meat ... dagger. (A couple of the guests snigger. Sitting beside Tom, Molly’s face is a picture of disbelief. She may be reconsidering her marriage options. At the top table, Sherlock’s expression also speaks volumes.) SHERLOCK (speaking precisely): A meat dagger. TOM (awkwardly): Yes. MOLLY (whispering through gritted teeth): Sit. Down. SHERLOCK (to Tom, speaking precisely): No. (Tom sits down.) SHERLOCK (to the guests): There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson – who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. (Mary quietly laughs in delight, and John smiles.) SHERLOCK: There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling. (He looks down at John.) SHERLOCK: The best and bravest man I know – and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff. (John lowers his head and chuckles with embarrassment.) SHERLOCK: ... except wedding planning and serviettes – he’s rubbish at those. JOHN: True! (The guests laugh.) SHERLOCK: The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder – or attempted murder – I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I’m not just here to praise John – I’m also here to embarrass him, so let’s move on to some ... LESTRADE (interrupting): No-no, wait, so how was it ... how was it done? SHERLOCK: How was what done? LESTRADE: The stabbing. (Sherlock looks down awkwardly for a few moments, then raises his head.) SHERLOCK: I’m afraid I don’t know. I didn’t solve that one. That’s ... (he pauses) ... It can happen sometimes. It’s very ... very disappointing. (He looks reflective for a second, then takes a breath and looks out to the guests again.) SHERLOCK: Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.
