SHERLOCK: Oh, God! (He looks round at John intensely.) SHERLOCK: John, I need some. Get me some. JOHN (calmly): No. SHERLOCK (intensely): Get me some.
SHERLOCK (sighing): Oh, John, I envy you so much. (John hesitates, wondering whether to rise to the bait, but eventually asks.) JOHN: You envy me? SHERLOCK: Your mind: it’s so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. (Loudly, frantically) I need a case!
SHERLOCK: Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen? (John’s eyes raise skywards at Sherlock’s insensitive question.) HENRY: There’s a place – it’s... it’s a sort of local landmark called Dewer’s Hollow. (He gazes at Sherlock who tilts his head at him as if to say, “And...?”) HENRY: That’s an ancient name for the Devil. SHERLOCK (quirking an eyebrow): So? JOHN: Did you see the Devil that night? (His face haunted with memories, Henry looks across to him and nods.) HENRY (in a whisper): Yes.
HENRY: Louise Mortimer. She’s the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.
JOHN: Mycroft’s name literally opens doors!
HENRY: It’s-it’s a couple of words. It’s what I keep seeing. “Liberty” ... JOHN (reaching into his pocket for his notebook): Liberty. HENRY (looking up to him): “Liberty” and ... “in.” It’s just that. (He picks up the bottle of milk that’s on the island.) HENRY: Are you finished? JOHN: Mmm. (Henry turns around to put the milk into the fridge. John looks at Sherlock.) JOHN: Mean anything to you? SHERLOCK (softly): “Liberty in death” – isn’t that the expression? The only true freedom. (John nods in agreement as Henry turns back around, sighing. Sherlock takes a drink from his mug.)
SHERLOCK: Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it. (John stops and turns back to face him.) SHERLOCK: I don’t have friends. (He bites his lip briefly.) SHERLOCK: I’ve just got one.
SHERLOCK: John? John! (He starts to chase after him.) SHERLOCK: You are amazing! You are fantastic!
SHERLOCK: Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to ... to spy on me incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself Greg? JOHN: That’s his name. SHERLOCK (frowning): Is it?
JOHN: You know he’s actually pleased you’re here? (Greg throws him a disbelieving look.) JOHN: Secretly pleased. LESTRADE: Is he? That’s nice(!) I suppose he likes having all the same faces back together. Appeals to his ... his ... (He stops and searches for the right word. John provides an appropriate suggestion.) JOHN: ...Asperger’s?
LESTRADE (stumbling backwards): Oh my God. (And now the hound turns and leaps a short way down the slope, its eyes flashing red in the torchlight.) LESTRADE: Oh, Christ! (John stares at it as it stops again, its red glowing eyes now clearly visible as it opens its mouth and reveals a mouthful of long pointed teeth that you would never see on any dog. Its snarl is completely terrifying. Henry has fallen silent, gazing up at it as if he knows that it is going to kill him shortly. Sherlock is still trying to believe what his own eyes are telling him ... and now there’s movement behind them. Sherlock looks over his shoulder and sees a tall human figure through the mist. The new arrival is wearing a breathing mask with a clear visor over his face. Sherlock turns and rushes towards him, grabbing at the mask and ripping it upwards to fully reveal the man’s face ... and Jim Moriarty grins manically back at him.) SHERLOCK (staring at him in appalled horror): No! (Behind him the hound growls ominously again. Jim’s expression becomes intense and murderous but then his head begins to distort and flail about, morphing between Jim’s face and someone else’s so quickly that it’s impossible to keep up with the changes. Sherlock grimaces, groaning at the insanity going on in front of him while Jim’s face keeps reasserting itself.) SHERLOCK (frantically): It’s not you! You’re not here! The fog.
SHERLOCK: So they didn’t have it put down, then – the dog. JOHN (tucking into his breakfast while Sherlock stands next to him and drinks his coffee): Obviously. Suppose they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it. SHERLOCK: I see. JOHN (smiling): No you don’t. SHERLOCK: No, I don’t. Sentiment? JOHN: Sentiment! SHERLOCK (rolling his eyes): Oh.
Jim Moriarty sits silently and calmly with his eyes closed in the middle of a small windowless concrete-lined cell. In an adjoining room, Mycroft walks towards the other side of the one-way mirror which Jim is facing, and narrows his eyes as he looks closely at the other man. Some time afterwards, the door to the cell is unlocked and Jim opens his eyes but does not turn around as Mycroft walks in. Later, Mycroft has left the cell again. A man in a suit has opened the cell door and has walked inside. MYCROFT (voiceover): All right. Let him go. (Jim turns and casually strolls out of the cell. Behind him, the man turns and looks around the room. On almost every plain concrete panel of the walls, Jim has somehow carved a single word into the cement. In different sizes and at different angles,the word repeats all around the cell – and the word isSHERLOCK. And with the dust which was loosened by the carving, Jim has scratched Sherlock’s name backwards on the mirror so that whoever is watching him from the other side of the mirror will see the name the right way round. The man in the suit turns and walks away, closing the cell door behind him.)
