MP ROCKWELL SOUTH ADULTERER (SEE FILE) REFORMED ALCOHOLIC PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL FINANCES: 41% DEBT (SEE FILE) STATUS UNIMPORTANT
then, in red underneath:
PRESSURE POINT: >
The last line flashes momentarily.) MAGNUSSEN: I don’t think it’s wrong that a private individual should accept an invitation. (The line stops flashing and adds further information:
PRESSURE POINT: > DISABLED DAUGHTER (SEE FILE)
MAGNUSSEN: However, you have my sincere apologies for being foreign. GARVIE: That’s not what I meant. That is not in any way ... LADY SMALLWOOD (talking over him): Mr Magnussen, can you recall an occasion when your remarks could have influenced government policy or the Prime Minister’s thinking in any way? (While she has been speaking, Magnussen has turned his gaze to her and information immediately appears in front of his eyes.)
LADY ELIZABETH SMALLWOOD MARRIED SOLVENT FORMER GYMNAST PORN PREFERENCE: NONE VICES: NONE
and, in red underneath:
PRESSURE POINT: >SEARCHING
The line flashes for a moment. Magnussen takes off his glasses and reaches for a small cloth on the table.) MAGNUSSEN: No. LADY SMALLWOOD: Are you sure? (Magnussen pauses while he cleans the lenses on his glasses and then puts them on again. He looks at Lady Smallwood and the information about her reappears in front of his eyes. The basic details about her then disappear leaving just the red line which is no longer flashing and now reads:
PRESSURE POINT: > HUSBAND
MAGNUSSEN (holding her gaze): I have an excellent memory.
[Transcriber’s note: on the Region 2 DVD of this episode, when Magnussen looks at Lady Smallwood and sees the text in front of his eyes, it actually reads ‘Lady Alicia Smallwood’, not ‘Lady Elizabeth Smallwood’. This error was not on the version transmitted by the BBC, and whoever let the wrong version appear on the DVD wants a good slapping. Anyway, onwards ...]
DUSK. Ornate electronic gates open across a wide drive, and a black car bearing the licence plate 1 CAM drives through and progresses along the drive which curves across the centre of a small lake. At the end of the drive is a large beautiful and almost futuristic-looking house with tall windows and curved walls. At the house, a man in a suit opens the door to Magnussen and he walks into an opulent-looking hall which has walls that are part bare pale grey brick and part plastered in white. The floor is a pale colour and glass panels line the staircases. Magnussen walks downstairs, passing a kitchen which is all pale brown tiling and stainless steel. He progresses to a glass wall with a glass door in it which leads into a room – possibly a study – which has a table inside on which are some slender and strange-looking ornaments. He goes in and walks across to a double set of wooden doors. He pauses for a moment, then opens them. He walks down a light brown wooden spiral staircase, again lined with glass panels. Further down, the spiral staircase becomes narrower and is now made of light grey metal. The stairs lead into a large library. The shelves are full of files and ledgers. He walks through the stacks, his fingers raised and flicking towards various shelves as if he is trying to remember where he has put something specific. At the rear of the library the room becomes familiar to us and we realise that this is the place where the man we now know to be Magnussen watched the footage of Sherlock rescuing John from the bonfire at the end of “The Empty Hearse.” It is dark and creepy in this area and the grotesque dolls, stuffed animals and unpleasant-looking sculptures are still on display. Magnussen goes to a rotating card index and flicks through it until he finds what he wants, then he moves on and soon afterwards we see him looking at a file which has a photograph of Lady Smallwood paperclipped to the inside. He smiles a little. Next to her photograph is a picture of a man of around her age, and now Magnussen slides under the paperclip a photo of a beautiful girl who appears to be in her late teens. The girl has ornately coiffed hair and is wearing a strappy white top and is looking directly into the camera, clearly posing for the photograph. Not long afterwards, Magnussen is sitting in a chair facing a large wall. A film projector whirrs beside him and the photograph of the girl is now being projected onto the wall. He is holding the original photograph in one hand and looking at it. After a moment he raises the photo to his mouth and runs one corner slowly down his bottom lip.
Some time later Lady Smallwood is sitting at a table in a room which has several other tables and chairs scattered around. It’s possible that this room is in an exclusive club similar to The Diogenes Club. She is looking at paperwork. A smartly dressed attendant speaks to a man near the door. ATTENDANT: Your car’s waiting outside, sir. See you tomorrow. (The man leaves. Magnussen is sitting in an armchair some feet away from the table. Lady Smallwood puts down her papers and pen and looks across to Magnussen as he stands up and walks across the room towards her.) MAGNUSSEN: May I join you? LADY SMALLWOOD: I don’t think it’s appropriate. MAGNUSSEN: It isn’t. (He goes over to a wheeled chair nearby and rolls it across to the side of her table.) LADY SMALLWOOD: Mr Magnussen, outside the enquiry we can have no contact, no communication at all. (Magnussen sits down, then reaches out and grasps her hand.) LADY SMALLWOOD: Please don’t do that. MAGNUSSEN: In 1982 your husband corresponded with Helen Catherine Driscoll. LADY SMALLWOOD: That was before I knew him. MAGNUSSEN: The letters were lively, loving – some would say explicit – and currently in my possession. LADY SMALLWOOD: Will you please move your hand? MAGNUSSEN (narrating part of one of the letters): “I long, my darling, to know the touch of your ... (he pauses briefly, then continues) ... body.” LADY SMALLWOOD: I know what was in the letters. MAGNUSSEN: She was fifteen. LADY SMALLWOOD: She looked older. MAGNUSSEN: Oh, she looked delicious. We have photographs, too – the ones she sent him. (He smacks his lips.) Yum yum. LADY SMALLWOOD: He was unaware of her age. He met her only once before the letters began. When he discovered the truth, he stopped immediately. Those are the facts. MAGNUSSEN: Facts are for history books. I work in news. LADY SMALLWOOD: Your hand is sweating. MAGNUSSEN: Always, I’m afraid. I have a condition. LADY SMALLWOOD: It’s disgusting. MAGNUSSEN: Ah, I’m used to it. (He strokes his finger across the top of her hand.) The whole world is wet to my touch. LADY SMALLWOOD: I will call someone. I will have you removed. (She tries to withdraw her hand from his but he clamps his fingers around it.) MAGNUSSEN: What is that? (He gently lifts her hand, turns it over and then clamps his fingers around it again as he raises her wrist towards his face and sniffs it.) MAGNUSSEN: Claire de la Lune? (He looks up at her.) A bit young for you, isn’t it? (She pulls her hand free and flails towards him but he seizes her arm and holds it still.) MAGNUSSEN: You want to hit me now? Could you, still? You’re an old lady now. Perhaps you should settle for calling someone. (She tugs her hand free and this time he releases it. She looks away.) MAGNUSSEN: Well? Go on. (She continues to look away.) MAGNUSSEN: No? Because now there are consequences. I have the letters and therefore I have you. LADY SMALLWOOD: This is blackmail. MAGNUSSEN: Of course it isn’t blackmail. This is ... ownership. (She turns to glare at him.) LADY SMALLWOOD: You do not own me. (The attendant walks across the room towards them but stops some distance away. Magnussen’s eyes turn briefly as if hearing his footsteps but otherwise he takes no notice of him. Instead, he half-rises, leans towards Lady Smallwood, sticks out his tongue and runs the tip of it up the side of her face. She cringes. He sits back down.) MAGNUSSEN: Claire de la Lune. (He picks up a paper napkin from the tray on her table, sticks his tongue out again and rubs the napkin over it.) MAGNUSSEN: It never tastes like it smells, does it? (Lady Smallwood stares ahead of herself. He puts the napkin down, gives her one last look and then stands and walks away.) MAGNUSSEN (to the attendant): Lady Smallwood’s bill is on me. See to it. ATTENDANT: Yes, Mr Magnussen. (Lady Smallwood lowers her head and lets out a shuddering breath.)
Later, she is being driven home. Sitting in the back of her Rolls Royce, she is holding an open compact mirror in one hand and has a handkerchief pressed to the side of her face where Magnussen licked it. She breathes out shakily. LADY SMALLWOOD (quietly): Oh, God. (Her chauffeur looks in his rear view mirror at her.) CHAUFFEUR: You all right, ma’am? LADY SMALLWOOD: Fine, yes. (She lowers the handkerchief and looks at herself in her compact mirror.) LADY SMALLWOOD (softly, angrily): Magnussen. (Furiously she snaps the compact closed.) LADY SMALLWOOD (louder, but to herself): No-one stands up to him. No-one dares. No-one even tries. (She picks up her ornate bottle of Claire de la Lune perfume from her handbag and starts spraying herself with it.) LADY SMALLWOOD: There isn’t a man or woman in England capable of stopping that disgusting creature ... (She stops, staring out of the window for a moment.) CHAUFFEUR: Ma’am? LADY SMALLWOOD: Turn the car around. We’re going back into town. Turn around. (The chauffeur does a U-turn and starts driving back the way they just came.) CHAUFFEUR: Where are we going, ma’am? LADY SMALLWOOD: Baker Street.
OPENING CREDITS.
John and Mary are asleep in bed, Mary’s hand resting on top of John’s on top of the covers. John’s hand twitches as his dream flashes back to his time in Afghanistan and he hears gunfire and explosions and sees his comrades fall and grimace in pain around him. He shakes his head in his sleep and his dream moves to a flashback of Sherlock during their first meeting at Baker Street. SHERLOCK (in the dream): Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths? JOHN (in the dream): Enough for a lifetime. (In the Watsons’ bedroom there’s a pounding sound nearby, as if someone is knocking on the front door.) SHERLOCK (in the dream): Wanna see some more? JOHN (in the dream): Oh, God, yes. (The banging sound comes again and John jolts and sits up in bed. Half asleep, in his mind’s eye he can see Sherlock looking intensely at him.) SHERLOCK: The game is on. (He smiles.) (John wakes up properly and throws back the covers. Now wearing a dressing gown over his night clothes, he goes to the front door where someone is still knocking. He opens the door and sees a woman standing there looking back at him. She has clearly been crying for some time.) WOMAN (tearfully): I know it’s early. (She starts to cry.) Really, I’m sorry. (John stares at her a little blankly. Mary comes into view at the end of the hall, putting on her dressing gown. She peers down the hall.) MARY: Is that Kate? JOHN: Y-yeah, it’s Kate. (Kate sobs, holding a paper tissue to her nose.) MARY: Invite her in? JOHN: Er, sorry, yes. D-d’you wanna come in, Kate? (He steps aside and Kate walks down the hall towards Mary, still crying.) MARY (sympathetically): Hey ...
Later, Mary and Kate are sitting on the sofa. Mary is stroking Kate’s arm while she continues to cry. MARY: It’s all right. (John comes over and puts two mugs onto the coffee table.) JOHN: There you go. MARY (to John): It’s Isaac. JOHN (to Kate): Ah, your husband. MARY: Son. JOHN: Son, yeah. KATE: He’s gone missing again. Didn’t come home last night. (Mary lets out a sympathetic sigh and looks at John.) MARY: The usual. JOHN: He’s the drugs one, yeah? (He starts to pace back and forth. Kate breaks down in tears again.) MARY: Er, yeah, nicely put, John. JOHN: Look, is it Sherlock Holmes you want? Because I’ve not seen him in ages. MARY: About a month. (John continues pacing, the fingers of his left hand twitching.) KATE: Who’s Sherlock Holmes? MARY (looking at John): See? That does happen. KATE: There’s a – a place they all go to, him and his ... friends. (Cutaway close-up of someone cooking-up a drug in a spoon with a lighter held underneath. Nearby, someone blearily props their head on their hand.) KATE (voiceover): They all ... do whatever they do ... (The first person clicks the lighter closed.) KATE: ... shoot up, whatever you call it. JOHN: Where is he? KATE: It’s a house. It’s a dump. I mean, it’s practically falling down. JOHN: No, the address. (Mary turns and looks at him.) JOHN: Where, exactly?
Shortly afterwards John is dressed and walking down the path outside the house and heading towards their car parked at the kerb. Mary, still in her pyjamas and dressing gown, is following him. MARY: Seriously? JOHN (turning back to her): Why not? She’s not going to the police. Someone’s got to get him. MARY (stopping at the gate as John continues on): Why you? JOHN: I’m being neighbourly. MARY: Since when? JOHN (chuckling briefly): Since now. Since this exact minute. MARY: Why are you being so ...? (She twirls her hands expressively.) JOHN (stopping at the driver’s door and turning back to her): What? MARY: I dunno. What’s the matter with you? JOHN (loudly): There is nothing the matter with me. (Quickly, less forcefully) Imagine I said that without shouting. MARY: I’m trying. (She walks briskly towards the passenger side of the car.) JOHN: No, you can’t come. You’re pregnant. MARY: You can’t go. I’m pregnant. (She opens the passenger door and gets in, shutting the door. John looks away for a moment, then gets into the car.)
Later, they have parked on a piece of concreted waste ground outside the address Kate gave them. John opens the boot of the car and takes out something, then walks round to the passenger side. Mary laughs and points at what he’s tucking into the top of his jeans. MARY: What is that?! JOHN: It’s a tyre lever. MARY: Why? JOHN (nodding towards the house): ’Cause there were loads of smackheads in there, and one of them might need help with a tyre. If there’s any trouble, just go. I’ll be fine. (He turns and starts to walk towards the house but Mary gets out of the car.) MARY: Er, John, John, John, John. (He stops and turns back to her.) MARY: It is a tiny bit sexy. JOHN (nonchalantly): Yeah, I know. (He walks across to the front door of the house, which has a large sign stuck to the front of it saying, “PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT,” and bangs loudly on the door.) JOHN: Hello? (The door is opened by a young man wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up over his head. He looks scruffy and dirty.) BILL: What d’you want? JOHN: ’Scuse me. (He barges his way in and walks down the hall. Bill looks outside for a moment, then turns towards John.) BILL: Naah, naah, you can’t come in ’ere! JOHN (looking into a room as he walks past): I’m looking for a friend. (He continues on, looking into doorways as he goes.) JOHN: A very specific friend – I’m not just browsing. (Reaching the last room, he looks in there and then starts walking back again.) BILL: You’ve gotta go. No-one’s allowed ’ere. JOHN (stopping several paces away from Bill and clearing his throat): Isaac Whitney. You seen him? (Bill takes a flick-knife from his pocket and snaps the blade open, holding it towards John.) JOHN: I’m asking you if you’ve seen Isaac Whitney, and now you’re showing me a knife. Is it a clue? (Bill gestures with his knife towards the open door behind him.) JOHN: Are you doing a mime? BILL: Go. Or I’ll cut you. JOHN: Ooh, not from there. Let me help. (He walks towards him, stopping close enough to Bill that he could stab him if he wanted to. Bill stares back at him wide-eyed.) JOHN (now in full soldier mode): Now, concentrate. (Slowly, precisely) Isaac Whitney. BILL: Okay, you asked for it. (Before Bill can even think about moving, John lashes out with his left hand, seizing Bill’s right arm and slamming his right hand down onto the arm. As Bill cries out in pain John wraps his right hand round the front of Bill’s neck and slams him against the wall, then uses his right foot to sweep Bill’s feet from under him. Bill slumps to the floor and John steps back. Bill chokes and groans in pain. John bends down and picks up the flick-knife which has fallen to the floor.) JOHN: Right. (He squats down beside Bill.) JOHN: Are you concentrating yet? BILL: You broke my arm! JOHN: No, I sprained it. (He looks all around to make sure there’s no-one else nearby.) BILL: It feels squishy! Is it supposed to feel squishy? (He holds out his right arm to John.) BILL: Feel that! (John reaches out and squeezes the arm. Bill groans.) JOHN: Yeah, it’s a sprain. I’m a doctor – I know how to sprain people. (He releases the arm. Bill groans.) JOHN: Now where is Isaac Whitney? BILL: I don’t know! (John gives him a look.) BILL: Maybe upstairs. JOHN: There you go. (He pats Bill’s leg.) Wasn’t that easy? (He stands up and walks towards the stairs.) BILL (grumpily): No. It’s really sore. You’re mental, you are. JOHN (pocketing the flick-knife as he goes): No. Just used to a better class of criminal. (He walks up the stairs and into a large room at the top. Several people are lying or sitting on mattresses around the edge of the room. All of them look very stoned and unaware of what’s going on in the real world. Grimacing, John walks slowly across the room.) JOHN: Isaac? Isaac Whitney? (He walks over towards two people lying side by side on mattresses.) JOHN (quietly): Isaac? (One of them tiredly raises a hand. The young man gazes blearily up at John as he walks to his side and kneels down beside him.) JOHN: Hello, mate. (He puts a supporting hand behind his back.) JOHN: Sit up for me? Sit up. (He helps him to sit, then lifts one of his eyelids. The boy’s eyes roll uncontrollably and he tries to focus on John.) ISAAC: Doctor Watson? JOHN (lifting his other eyelid): Yep. ISAAC: Where am I? JOHN: The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me. ISAAC (blearily): Have you come for me? JOHN: D’you think I know a lot of people here?! (Isaac laughs hazily.) JOHN: Hey, all right? (On the mattress to Isaac’s right and behind John, another person – wearing jogging bottoms and a jacket with the hood up – rolls over, props himself onto one elbow and looks round to them.) SHERLOCK (for it is he): Ah, hello, John. (John raises his head, his eyes widening.) SHERLOCK: Didn’t expect to see you here. (He pushes his hood back as John turns round to look at him. Sherlock squinches up his eyes and peers at him.) SHERLOCK: Did you come for me, too? (John looks at him for a second, then his eyes begin to narrow.)
Outside shortly afterwards, Isaac stumbles over to the car where Mary is now sitting in the driver’s seat. MARY: Hallo, Isaac. ISAAC (blurrily): Mrs Watson, can I – can I get in, please? MARY (pointing her thumb behind her): Yes, of course, get in. Where’s John? ISAAC (opening the rear car door): They’re ’avin’ a fight. MARY (urgently): Who is? (Over at the house, on the first floor landing of the fire escape, Sherlock angrily punches open a temporary door which had been nailed across a doorway, knocking it off all its nails and sending it crashing across the fire escape.) SHERLOCK (angrily): For God’s sakes, John! I’m on a case! JOHN (following him down the fire escape): A month – that’s all it took. One. (Halfway down, Sherlock vaults over the side of the fire escape and onto a wall beside it.) SHERLOCK: I’m working. (He jumps down onto the top of a wheelie bin beside the wall and then down onto another one laying on its side before stepping to the ground. John follows.) JOHN: Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How’s that gonna look? SHERLOCK: I’m undercover. JOHN: No you’re not! SHERLOCK (gesticulating angrily): Well, I’m not now! (Mary has driven the car quickly towards the house, and she pulls up alongside them with a squeal of brakes.) MARY (sternly): In. Both of you, quickly. (John gets into the passenger seat while Sherlock gets into the seat behind him. Bill hurries over towards the car, cradling his hurt arm. Mary sighs in exasperation at her boys, then turns to look through the front windscreen at the new arrival standing in front of the car.) BILL: Please. Can I come? I think I’ve got a broken arm. MARY: No. Go away. JOHN: No, let him. MARY: Why? JOHN (to Bill, leaning out of the open side window and pointing towards the rear of the car): Yeah, just get in. It’s a sprain. (Bill runs round the side of the car.) MARY: Anyone else? I mean, we’re taking everybody home, are we? (Sighing, Sherlock shifts to the centre of the rear seat to give Bill some room. Bill gets in and looks round at him.) BILL: All right, Shezza? JOHN (incredulously): “Shezza”? SHERLOCK (tetchily): I was undercover. MARY: Seriously – “Shezza,” though?! (Sherlock sighs again.) JOHN: We’re not going home. We’re going to Bart’s. I’m calling Molly. (In the rear seat, Sherlock is wiping some of the dirt off his face with a handkerchief.) MARY: Why? JOHN (holding his phone to his ear and turning to look over his shoulder at his friend before directing the rest of the sentence to Mary): Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar. (Sherlock lowers his handkerchief and closes his eyes with exasperation. Mary drives them all away.)
Later, in the lab at Bart’s, Molly is finishing her tests on Sherlock’s urine sample. He is standing nearby, leaning back against the central bench and looking sulky. On the other side of the lab Bill is sitting on a side bench while Mary is wrapping a bandage round his arm. Isaac is also sitting nearby. Molly takes off her gloves with two loud snaps. JOHN: Well? Is he clean? (Throwing her gloves down, Molly turns to him.) MOLLY: Clean? (She turns and walks over to face Sherlock, then slaps him hard around the face with her right hand. Mary, Bill and Isaac look over to them in surprise. Molly slaps him again just as hard and then, for good measure, slaps him again with her left hand. Sherlock blinks and grimaces.) MOLLY: How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? (She glances briefly towards John and then looks back at Sherlock.) MOLLY: And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you’re sorry. SHERLOCK (holding his face): Sorry your engagement’s over – though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring. MOLLY: Stop it. (Angrily) Just stop it. (John storms towards him, his face stern but his voice low.) JOHN: If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me. SHERLOCK: Please do relax. This is all for a case. (Mary, still wrapping Bill’s arm, shakes her head.) JOHN: A ca... What kind of case would need you doing this? SHERLOCK: I might as well ask you why you’ve started cycling to work. JOHN (shaking his head): No. We’re not playing this game. (He turns and walks away.) SHERLOCK: Quite recently, I’d say. You’re very determined about it. JOHN: Not interested. BILL: I am. (Sherlock turns to look at him. Bill looks down at Mary.) BILL: Ow. MARY: Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain. BILL: Yeah. Somebody ’it me. MARY: Huh? (Bill turns his head to look at John.) BILL: Eh, just some guy. JOHN: Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix. SHERLOCK (pointedly, looking directly at John): Yes. I think, in a way, it was. (John holds his eyes for a moment, then looks away.) BILL: Is it his shirt? SHERLOCK (looking round at him): I’m sorry? BILL: Well, it’s the creases, innit? (He looks across to John. Sherlock does likewise and zooms in on the creases in his shirt.) BILL: The two creases down the front. It’s been recently folded but it’s not new. (Sherlock smiles slightly.) BILL: Must have dressed in a hurry this morning ... (Flashback to John in his bedroom, folding a shirt on top of the bed.) BILL: ... so all your shirts must be kept like that. (John stares at him in confusion.) BILL: But why? Maybe ’cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an’ then dress in the clothes you brought with you. (Sherlock looks at him, clearly impressed.) BILL (still looking at John): You keep your shirts folded ... (Flashback to John, in his bedroom, putting the folded shirt into a small backpack.) BILL: ... ready to pack. SHERLOCK: Not bad. BILL (still looking at John): An’ I further deduce ... (Sherlock raises his eyebrows, and he and John exchange a brief glance.) BILL: ... you’ve only started recently, because you’ve got a bit of chafing. (John looks down his body.) SHERLOCK: No – he’s always walked like that. Remind me – what’s your name again? BILL: They call me The Wig. SHERLOCK: No they don’t. BILL (awkwardly): Well, they-they call me Wiggy. SHERLOCK: Nope. BILL (hesitating, then looking down): Bill. Bill Wiggins. SHERLOCK: Nice observational skills, Billy. (His phone sounds a text alert. He takes out the phone and looks at the message.) SHERLOCK: Ah! Finally. MOLLY: “Finally” what? BILL: Good news? SHERLOCK: Oh, excellent news – the best. (He turns and heads for the door, working on his phone.) SHERLOCK: There’s every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on. (Raising his phone to his ear as he reaches the door, he turns and looks round the room briefly.) SHERLOCK: Excuse me for a second. (He leaves the room.)
Later, he and John are alone in the back of a taxi. Sherlock is still in his scruffy clothes, so it appears they have gone directly from Bart’s. SHERLOCK: You’ve heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course. JOHN: Yeah. Owns some newspapers – ones I don’t read. (Sherlock frowns and looks round the cab and then out of the back window.) SHERLOCK: Hang on – weren’t there other people? JOHN: Mary’s taking the boys home; I’m taking you. We did discuss it. (Sherlock raises his eyes upwards as if trying to remember.) SHERLOCK: People were talking, none of them me. I must have filtered. JOHN: I noticed. SHERLOCK: I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I’ve got Mrs Hudson on semi-permanent mute. (The journey continues and the taxi eventually pulls up outside 221B Baker Street. As soon as he sees the closed front door, Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh.) SHERLOCK: What is my brother doing here? (He gets out and heads for the front door. John calls after him.) JOHN (tetchily): So I’ll just pay, then, shall I? (Sherlock goes up onto the doorstep and glares at the door knocker.) SHERLOCK: He’s straightened the knocker. (He turns to John as he gets out of the cab.) SHERLOCK: He always corrects it. He’s OCD. Doesn’t even know he’s doing it. (He deliberately pushes the door knocker to one side, then lets himself in.) JOHN: Why’d you do that? SHERLOCK: Do what? JOHN: Nothing. (They go inside, John shutting the door behind him, and Sherlock opens and goes through the inner door, then stops and rolls his eyes at the sight of Mycroft sitting on the stairs.) MYCROFT: Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce? SHERLOCK: What are you doing here? JOHN: I phoned him. MYCROFT: The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy – though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you. SHERLOCK (folding his arms and directing his comment to John without looking at him): You phoned him. JOHN: ’Course I bloody phoned him. MYCROFT: ’Course he bloody did. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking? SHERLOCK: “We”? ANDERSON’s VOICE (from upstairs): Mr Holmes? (In the kitchen, Anderson closes the door to one of the cupboards in the kitchen.) SHERLOCK (furiously): For God’s sake! (He storms up the stairs, Mycroft sliding sideways on his step to get out of his way. Mycroft and John exchange a look and John blows out a breath as Mycroft leans on his umbrella to push himself to his feet. Sherlock goes into the kitchen and glares at Anderson who is with a female colleague called Benji. [Don’t ask why she has such an odd name but that’s how she’s named in the end credits – I can only assume it’s some kind of in-joke or shout-out to a personal friend, or family pet, of the writer.]) SHERLOCK (angrily): Anderson. ANDERSON (raising his gloved hands apologetically): I’m sorry, Sherlock. It’s for your own good. (Looking annoyed, Sherlock drops his keys onto the kitchen table. Benji stares at him.) BENJI: Oh, that’s him, isn’t it? (Sherlock turns and storms towards his armchair, where another member of the ‘search team’ is sitting and reading a book. The man scrambles out of the chair, putting the book onto the table beside it, and hurries away. Sherlock flips up his hood and climbs into the chair.) BENJI: You said he’d be taller. MYCROFT (coming into the kitchen and looking towards Sherlock): Some members of your little fan-club. Do be polite. They’re entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat. (Sherlock has curled up sideways in his chair and now lays his head on one of the arms, closing his eyes.) MYCROFT: You’re a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can’t afford a drug habit. SHERLOCK (opening his eyes and looking at him irritatedly): I do not have a drug habit. (John’s attention is focussed on a large space between Sherlock’s chair and the kitchen. He points.) JOHN: Hey, what happened to my chair? SHERLOCK: It was blocking my view to the kitchen. JOHN (turning to Mycroft): Well, it’s good to be missed(!) SHERLOCK: Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity. JOHN: No, you saw the kitchen. (Mycroft turns to Anderson.) MYCROFT: What have you found so far? Clearly nothing. SHERLOCK: There’s nothing to find. MYCROFT (turning toward the hallway behind the kitchen): Your bedroom door is shut. (Sherlock sighs.) MYCROFT (slowly walking along the hallway): You haven’t been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion? (Sherlock has raised his head and flipped back his hood while Mycroft progressed. Now Mycroft reaches the door and puts his hand on the door knob. Sherlock hurls himself up into a sitting position.) SHERLOCK: Okay, stop! Just stop. (Mycroft turns the knob but doesn’t open the door.) SHERLOCK: Point made. JOHN: Jesus, Sherlock. (Mycroft releases the door knob and comes slowly back along the hall.) MYCROFT: Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. (Sherlock looks down and closes his eyes.) MYCROFT: Won’t be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing. (Sighing, Sherlock stands up and walks closer to his brother.) SHERLOCK: This is not what you think. This is for a case. MYCROFT: What case could possibly justify this? SHERLOCK: Magnussen. (Mycroft’s slight smile drops.) SHERLOCK: Charles Augustus Magnussen. (Mycroft draws in a breath and turns to Anderson and Benji.) MYCROFT: That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don’t reply – just look frightened and scuttle. (Anderson immediately ushers Benji out of the kitchen and follows her onto the landing, closing the door behind him. Mycroft turns back to where John is standing beside Sherlock.) MYCROFT: I hope I won’t have to threaten you as well. JOHN: Well, I think we’d both find that embarrassing. (Sherlock snorts laughter, turning his head away.) MYCROFT (sternly to Sherlock): Magnussen is not your business. SHERLOCK (turning back and pointing at his brother): Oh, you mean he’s yours. MYCROFT: You may consider him under my protection. SHERLOCK: I consider you under his thumb. MYCROFT (quietly, ominously): If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me. SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Okay. I’ll let you know if I notice. (He strolls towards the kitchen door.) SHERLOCK: Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. (He opens the door.) SHERLOCK: Bye-bye. (He points the way out. Mycroft walks round him, then turns to face him.) MYCROFT: Unwise, brother mine. (Immediately Sherlock seizes Mycroft’s left arm just below the elbow. Twisting his arm up behind his back, he slams his brother face-first against the wall beside the kitchen door. Mycroft cries out in pain. Sherlock breathes rapidly, his voice venomous.) SHERLOCK: Brother mine, don’t appal me when I’m high. (John hurries over to Mycroft’s side.) JOHN (softly but very firmly, watching Sherlock’s face all the time): Mycroft, don’t say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might. (Mycroft pushes himself free of his brother’s grip and holds his left arm in pain. Sherlock turns and walks away. Mycroft turns towards him.) JOHN (to Mycroft): Don’t speak. Just leave. (Mycroft lowers his right arm. John looks down towards the floor.) JOHN: Oh. (He bends down and picks up Mycroft’s umbrella which he had dropped. Straightening up again, he offers it to him, clearing his throat. Mycroft snatches it from his hand and leaves. In the living room, Sherlock is stretching and rubbing the back of his neck. John turns and walks towards him.) JOHN: Er, Magnussen? SHERLOCK: What time is it? JOHN: About eight. (Sherlock sniffs deeply and sighs out a disgusted breath.) SHERLOCK: I’m meeting him in three hours. I need a bath. (He walks through the kitchen towards the hallway.) JOHN: It’s for a case, you said? SHERLOCK: Yep. JOHN: What sort of case? SHERLOCK: Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in. JOHN: You trying to put me off? SHERLOCK: God, no. (With his hand on the knob of the bathroom door, he looks back at John.) SHERLOCK: Trying to recruit you. (He gives him a small smile and goes into the bathroom.) SHERLOCK (offscreen): And stay out of my bedroom. (The bathroom door closes. John immediately starts to walk across the kitchen towards the bedroom. He has just reached the hallway when the bedroom door opens and a familiar face peers out.) JANINE: Oh, John, hi. (Opening the door wider, she laughs in an embarrassed way, pulling down the bottom of the shirt she’s wearing. She’s not wearing anything on her legs.) JANINE: How are you? JOHN (staring at her in disbelief): Janine? JANINE: Sorry. Not dressed. (She heads towards the kitchen, John standing aside to let her pass.) JANINE: Has everybody gone? I heard shouting. JOHN: Yes, they’re gone. JANINE (looking at her watch): God, look at the time. I’ll be late. (She goes over to the worktop and picks up a cafetiere.) JANINE: Sounded like an argument. (She turns to John.) Was it Mike? JOHN: Mike? JANINE: Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They’re always fighting. JOHN: Mycroft. JANINE: Do people actually call him that?! JOHN: Yeah. JANINE: Huh! Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on? JOHN: ... Sure, right, yeah. JANINE (heading back towards the hallway): Thanks. (She stops and put a hand briefly on John’s shoulder.) JANINE: Ooh, how’s Mary? How’s married life? JOHN: She’s fine. We’re both fine, yeah. (He turns and walks towards a cupboard. Janine points in another direction.) JANINE: Oh, it’s over there now. (She looks around.) JANINE: Where’s Sherl? JOHN (breathing out the name with a bemused look on his face): Sherl! (Grinning and clearing his throat, he turns back to her.) JOHN: He’s just having a bath. I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute. JANINE: Oh, like he ever is! JOHN: Yeah(!) (He frowns as if still unable to believe what’s happening, then wanders vaguely towards the cupboard that Janine had indicated. She goes along the hallway and knocks on the bathroom door, immediately opening it and going inside.) JANINE: Morning! Room for a little one?! (Offscreen, Sherlock laughs and she giggles while there is much sound of splashing water. John turns and looks along the hallway.) SHERLOCK (offscreen, as the bathroom door closes): Morning. (He can be heard chuckling and Janine lets out a high-pitched “Ooh!” John turns away as if wondering what bizarro-world he has fallen into.)
