A Scandal in Belgravia 3 page

Till the next time, Mr. Holmes

Sherlock peers at it for a long moment and then looks around suspiciously, totally oblivious to the fact that the most suspicious thing in the room is the red kiss-shaped lipstick mark just to the left of his mouth.)

NEXT MORNING. Sherlock – now fully recovered – and John are sitting at the table in the living room. John is eating breakfast while Sherlock is reading a newspaper. Mycroft stands nearby.
SHERLOCK: The photographs are perfectly safe.
MYCROFT: In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.
SHERLOCK: She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?
MYCROFT: How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.
SHERLOCK: She’d applaud your choice of words.
(John smirks.)
SHERLOCK: You see how this works: that camera phone is her “Get out of jail free” card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.
JOHN: Though not the way she treats royalty.
(He smiles round at Mycroft sarcastically, who returns the smile humourlessly. Just then an orgasmic female sigh fills the room. John and Mycroft frown.)
JOHN: What was that?
SHERLOCK (trying to look nonchalant): Text.
JOHN: But what was that noise?
(Sherlock gets up and goes over to pick up his phone from nearby. He looks at the message which reads:

Good morning, Mr. Holmes

SHERLOCK: Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.
(He goes back to the table and sits down again as John looks round at Mycroft.)
JOHN: Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft.
(Mrs Hudson brings in a plate of breakfast from the kitchen and puts it down in front of Sherlock.)
MRS HUDSON (sternly): It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes.
MYCROFT: Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson.
SHERLOCK (furiously): MYCROFT!
JOHN (simultaneously and equally furiously): OI!
(Mycroft looks at their angry faces glaring at him, then cringes and looks contritely at Mrs Hudson.)
MYCROFT: Apologies.
MRS HUDSON: Thank you.
SHERLOCK: Though do, in fact, shut up.
(His phone sighs orgasmically again. Mrs Hudson, who was going back into the kitchen, turns back.)
MRS HUDSON: Ooh. It’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?
(Sherlock looks at the latest message which reads:

Feeling better?

SHERLOCK: There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see.
MYCROFT: I can put maximum surveillance on her.
SHERLOCK: Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is “TheWhipHand.”
MYCROFT: Yes. Most amusing.
(His phone rings and he takes it from his pocket.)
MYCROFT: ’Scuse me.
(He walks out into the hall.)
MYCROFT (into phone): Hello.
(Sherlock watches him leave, frowning suspiciously. John looks at him.)
JOHN: Why does your phone make that noise?
SHERLOCK: What noise?
JOHN: That noise – the one it just made.
SHERLOCK: It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text.
JOHN: Hmm. Your texts don’t usually make that noise.
SHERLOCK: Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise.
JOHN: Hmm. So every time they text you ...
(Right on cue, the phone sighs orgasmically again.)
SHERLOCK: It would seem so.
MRS HUDSON: Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it’s ...
(The latest text message reads:

I’m fine since you didn’t ask

Sherlock puts down the phone again and goes back to reading the paper which is showing the headline “Refit for Historical Hospital.”)
JOHN: I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?
(Sherlock raises his newspaper so that it’s obscuring his face.)
SHERLOCK: I’ll leave you to your deductions.
(John smiles.)
JOHN: I’m not stupid, you know.
SHERLOCK: Where do you get that idea?
(Mycroft comes back into the room, still talking on his phone.)
MYCROFT: Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.
(He hangs up. Sherlock looks at him.)
SHERLOCK: What else does she have?
(Mycroft looks at him enquiringly.)
SHERLOCK: Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more.
(He stands up and faces his brother.)
SHERLOCK: Much more.
(Mycroft looks at him stony-faced. Sherlock walks closer to him.)
SHERLOCK: Something big’s coming, isn’t it?
MYCROFT: Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this.
SHERLOCK (locking eyes with him): Oh, will I?
MYCROFT: Yes, Sherlock, you will.
(Sherlock shrugs and turns away.)
MYCROFT: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.
SHERLOCK (picking up his violin): Do give her my love.
(He begins to play the National Anthem, “God Save The Queen.” Mycroft rolls his eyes, turns and leaves the room, Sherlock following along behind him while John grins. As Mycroft hurries down the stairs, Sherlock turns back and walks over to the window, still playing.)

Time passes and now it’s Christmas. Fairy lights are strung up around the window frame of the flat and it’s snowing outside. Inside, the living room is festooned with Christmas decorations and cards, and Sherlock is walking around playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on his violin. Mrs Hudson is sitting in his chair with a glass in her hand, watching him happily. Lestrade is standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding a wine glass, and John – wearing a very snazzy Christmassy jumper – walks across the room with a cup and saucer in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. As Sherlock finishes the tune with a fancy flourish, Lestrade whistles in appreciation.
MRS HUDSON: Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!
JOHN: Marvellous!
(Sherlock sketches a small bow to his audience. Mrs Hudson, apparently a little bit squiffy, giggles up at him.)
MRS HUDSON: I wish you could have worn the antlers!
SHERLOCK: Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson.
JOHN (handing her a cup of tea, perhaps in an attempt to sober her up): Mrs H.
(A dark-haired woman in her thirties brings over a tray containing mince pies and slices of cake and offers it to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK (politely): No thank you, Sarah.
(Her face falls. John hurries over to her and puts his arm around her as she turns away.)
JOHN: Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names.
SHERLOCK: No-no-no, I can get this.
(The woman puts the tray down and straightens up, folding her arms and looking at Sherlock rather grimly.)
SHERLOCK: No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?
JEANETTE: Nobody.
SHERLOCK: Jeanette! (He grins falsely at her.) Ah, process of elimination.
(John awkwardly shepherds Jeanette away. Sherlock looks across to the door as a new arrival comes in.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, dear Lord.
(Molly Hooper walks in, smiling shyly and carrying two bags which appear to be full of presents.)
MOLLY: Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello.
(John walks over to greet her, smiling.)
MOLLY: Er, it said on the door just to come up.
(Everyone greets her cheerfully. Sherlock rolls his eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, everybody’s saying hullo to each other. How wonderful(!)
(Smiling at him nervously, Molly starts to take her coat and scarf off.)
JOHN (standing ready to take her coat): Let me, er ... holy Mary!
(Lestrade gawps in similar appreciation as Molly reveals that she’s wearing a very attractive black dress.)
LESTRADE: Wow!
MOLLY: Having a Christmas drinkies, then?
SHERLOCK (sitting down at the dining table): No stopping them, apparently.
MRS HUDSON: It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it!
(Molly giggles nervously, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock as he starts typing on John’s laptop. John brings a chair over for her.)
JOHN: Have a seat.
SHERLOCK: John?
JOHN: Mmm?
(He goes over to see what Sherlock is looking at. Lestrade touches Molly’s arm to get her attention.)
LESTRADE: Molly? (She turns to him.) Want a drink?
(As she accepts his offer, John leans over Sherlock’s shoulder to look at the screen.)
SHERLOCK: The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.
JOHN (pulling a mock-angry face): Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!
(Sherlock points to the side bar which has one of the press pictures of him in his deerstalker.)
SHERLOCK: And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!
JOHN: People like the hat.
SHERLOCK: No they don’t. What people?
(He continues looking at the laptop as John walks away. Molly turns to Mrs Hudson.)
MOLLY: How’s the hip?
MRS HUDSON: Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.
MOLLY: I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.
(An awkward silence falls. Molly looks embarrassed.)
MOLLY: Oh, God. Sorry.
SHERLOCK: Don’t make jokes, Molly.
MOLLY: No. Sorry.
(Lestrade hands her a glass of red wine.)
MOLLY: Thank you. I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.
LESTRADE: That’s first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted.
(He grins at her.)
SHERLOCK (without looking up from the computer): No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.
(Lestrade’s smile becomes rather fixed. Molly turns to John who is sitting on the arm of his armchair. Jeanette is sitting in the chair itself.)
MOLLY: And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?
JOHN: Yeah.
MOLLY: Sherlock was complaining.
(Sherlock raises his eyebrows indignantly. Molly corrects herself.)
MOLLY: ... saying.
(Nearby, Lestrade has been running Sherlock’s comment through his mind, and his face slowly becomes a picture of exasperation when he seems to realise that it’s probably true.)
JOHN: First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.
SHERLOCK: Nope.
JOHN: Shut up, Sherlock.
SHERLOCK: I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.
MOLLY: Sorry, what?
SHERLOCK: In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.
JOHN (quietly, exasperated): Take a day off.
LESTRADE (taking a glass across to the table and putting it down near Sherlock): Shut up and have a drink.
SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.
(He stands up and walks towards Molly, looking at the other presents which aren’t so carefully wrapped.)
SHERLOCK: It’s for someone special, then.
(He picks up the well-wrapped present.)
SHERLOCK: The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.
(John looks anxiously at Molly as she squirms in front of Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing.
(Smiling smugly across to John and Jeanette, he starts to turn over the gift tag attached to the present.)
SHERLOCK: Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts ...
(He trails off as he looks down at the writing on the tag. Written in red ink, the greeting reads:

Dearest Sherlock
Love Molly xxx

Sherlock gazes at the words in shock when he realises the terrible thing that he has just done. Molly gasps quietly.)
MOLLY: You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.
(As she fights back tears, Sherlock turns to walk away ... but then stops and turns back to her.)
SHERLOCK: I am sorry. Forgive me.
(John looks up, startled and amazed at such a human reaction from his friend. Sherlock steps closer to Molly.)
SHERLOCK (softly): Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.
(He leans forward and gently kisses her on the cheek. It’s a sweet and beautiful moment, which is instantly ruined by the sound of an orgasmic sigh. Molly gasps in shock.)
MOLLY: No! That wasn’t ... I – I didn’t ...
SHERLOCK: No, it was me.
LESTRADE: My God, really?!
MOLLY: What?!
SHERLOCK: My phone.
(He reaches into his jacket pocket to get the phone. John narrows his eyes.)
JOHN: Fifty-seven?
SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?
JOHN: Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I’ve heard.
(Sherlock looks at the message which reads simply:

Mantelpiece

SHERLOCK (walking to the mantelpiece): Thrilling that you’ve been counting.
(He picks up a small box wrapped in blood-red paper and tied with black rope-like string. Instantly he flashes back to the colour of Irene’s lipstick, which was identical to this paper.)
SHERLOCK: ’Scuse me.
(He walks toward the kitchen.)
JOHN: What – what’s up, Sherlock?
SHERLOCK (continuing walking): I said excuse me.
JOHN (calling after him): D’you ever reply?
(Ignoring him, Sherlock walks into his bedroom, sits on the bed and opens the box. Inside is Irene’s camera phone. He takes it out of the box and looks at it closely, then gazes off into the distance thoughtfully.)
(In his own house – or possibly in an official government residence or even just a fancy office – Mycroft is sitting by the fireside. His phone rings and he takes it from his jacket, looks at the Caller ID and then, with a look of “Good grief!” on his face, he puts the phone to his ear.)
MYCROFT: Oh dear Lord. We’re not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?
SHERLOCK: I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.
(John has come to the door of the bedroom and stands there listening to the conversation.)
MYCROFT: We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.
SHERLOCK: No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.
(Hanging up the phone, he stands up and walks towards the bedroom door.)
JOHN: You okay?
SHERLOCK: Yes.
(He pushes the door closed, shutting John out. At his place, Mycroft gazes out of the window at the falling snow.)

ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Sherlock and Mycroft walk to the morgue and go inside. Molly is waiting inside. She has changed into trousers and a Christmassy jumper and is wearing her lab coat open over the top of her clothes. A body is lying on the table covered with a sheet.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home.
SHERLOCK: You didn’t need to come in, Molly.
MOLLY: That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with ... Christmas.
(Looking awkward, she gestures to the body.)
MOLLY: The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.
(She pulls the sheet down to reveal the face.)
MYCROFT: That’s her, isn’t it?
SHERLOCK (to Molly): Show me the rest of her.
(Grimacing, Molly walks along the side of the table, pulling the sheet back as she goes. Sherlock looks along the length of the body once, then turns and starts to walk away.)
SHERLOCK: That’s her.
MYCROFT: Thank you, Miss Hooper.
MOLLY: Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from ... not her face?
(Mycroft smiles politely at her, then turns and follows his brother. He finds him standing in the corridor outside, looking out of the window. Walking up behind him, he holds a cigarette over his shoulder.)
MYCROFT: Just the one.
SHERLOCK: Why?
MYCROFT: Merry Christmas.
(Sherlock takes the cigarette and Mycroft digs into his coat pocket to find a lighter.)
SHERLOCK: Smoking indoors – isn’t there one of those ... one of those law things?
(Mycroft lights the cigarette for him.)
MYCROFT: We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.
(Sherlock inhales deeply and then blows the smoke out again.)
MYCROFT: How did you know she was dead?
SHERLOCK: She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.
(He takes another drag on his cigarette.)
MYCROFT: Where is this item now?
(Sherlock looks round at the sound of sobbing. A family of three people is standing on the other side of the doors at the end of the corridor, cuddled together and clearly grieving the death of someone close to them. Sherlock and his brother turn to look at the family.)
SHERLOCK: Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?
MYCROFT: All lives end. All hearts are broken. (He looks round at his brother.) Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.
(Sherlock blows out another lungful of smoke, then looks down at the cigarette in disgust.)
SHERLOCK: This is low tar.
MYCROFT: Well, you barely knew her.
SHERLOCK: Huh!
(He walks away down the corridor.)
SHERLOCK: Merry Christmas, Mycroft.
MYCROFT: And a happy New Year.
(As his brother continues down the corridor, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the floor, Mycroft gets out his phone and hits a speed dial.)
MYCROFT (into phone): He’s on his way.
(He’s talking to John who is still back at the flat.)
MYCROFT: Have you found anything?
JOHN: No. Did he take the cigarette?
MYCROFT: Yes.
JOHN: Shit. (He looks round to Mrs Hudson.) He’s coming. Ten minutes.
MRS HUDSON: There’s nothing in the bedroom.
JOHN (into phone): Looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?
MYCROFT: No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.
JOHN: I’ve got plans.
MYCROFT: No.
(He hangs up.)
JOHN: Mycroft. M...
(The line goes dead. Chewing the inside of his mouth, he walks across to where Jeanette is sitting on the sofa and sits down beside her.)
JOHN: I am really sorry.
JEANETTE: You know, my friends are so wrong about you.
JOHN: Hmm?
JEANETTE: You’re a great boyfriend.
JOHN (looking a little startled): Okay, that’s good. I mean, I always thought I was great.
JEANETTE: And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.
(John groans.)
JOHN: Jeanette, please.
JEANETTE (bitterly, putting on her shoes): No, I mean it. It’s heart-warming. You’ll do anything for him – and he can’t even tell your girlfriends apart.
(She stands up and heads for the door. He jumps up and follows her as she puts on her coat.)
JOHN: No, I’ll do anything for you. Just tell me what it is I’m not doing. Tell me!
JEANETTE: Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes.
JOHN: I’ll walk your dog for you. Hey, I’ve said it now. I’ll even walk your dog ...
JEANETTE: I don’t have a dog!
JOHN: No, because that was ... the last one. Okay.
JEANETTE: Jesus!
(Picking up her bag, she storms out.)
JOHN: I’ll call you.
JEANETTE: No!
JOHN: Okay.
(Exasperated, he turns back into the room as she runs down the stairs. Mrs Hudson looks at him sympathetically.)
MRS HUDSON: That really wasn’t very good, was it?

Shortly afterwards, John is sitting in his chair reading a book. Sherlock comes up the stairs and stops in the doorway of the living room. John looks round at him.
JOHN: Oh, hi.
(Sherlock stands there, his eyes roaming all around the living room.)
JOHN: You okay?
(Sherlock continues to scan the room for a long moment, then turns and walks back to the kitchen door, heading for his bedroom.)
SHERLOCK: Hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.
(His bedroom door slams shut. John puts down his book and sighs heavily.)

MORNING. 221B. Sherlock is standing at the left-hand window with his back to the living room and playing a sad lament on his violin. John walks into the room and sighs at the sight of him. Mrs Hudson walks across to the table and picks up the plates, looking at John pointedly to make him realise that Sherlock hasn’t touched his breakfast. John hums resignedly as he takes his jacket from the back of a chair and puts it on. Sherlock stops playing and picks up a pencil to make a notation on his music.
MRS HUDSON: Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven’t heard that one before.
JOHN: You composing?
SHERLOCK: Helps me to think.
(He turns back to the window, lifts the violin and begins to play the same tune again.)
JOHN: What are you thinking about?
(Sherlock suddenly spins around and puts down the violin. He points at John’s laptop.)
SHERLOCK (rapidly): The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.
JOHN: Yeah, it’s faulty. Can’t seem to fix it.
SHERLOCK (taking out Irene’s camera phone): Faulty – or you’ve been hacked and it’s a message.
(He pulls up the security lock with its “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen.)
JOHN: Hmm?
(Sherlock types “1895” into the phone. The phone beeps warningly and a message comes up reading: “WRONG PASSCODE. 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING”. The enthusiasm in his eyes dies again.)
SHERLOCK: Just faulty.
(He turns away and picks up his violin again.)
JOHN: Right.
(Sherlock begins to play the sad tune once more.)
JOHN: Right. Well, I’m going out for a bit.
(Sherlock doesn’t respond. John turns and walks to the kitchen where Mrs Hudson is tidying up.)
JOHN (quietly): Listen: has he ever had any kind of ... (he sighs) ... girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?
MRS HUDSON: I don’t know.
JOHN (sighing in frustration): How can we not know?
MRS HUDSON: He’s Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?
(John smiles sadly.)
JOHN: Right. See ya.
(He trots off down the stairs. Mrs Hudson looks at Sherlock playing his violin at the window, and then leaves the room.
Downstairs, John goes out of the front door and pulls it closed. As he turns to go to the left, a woman is standing just to the right of the flat. She calls out to him.)
WOMAN: John?
JOHN: Yeah.
(He stops and turns around to her as she looks at him flirtatiously.)
JOHN: Hello.
(It takes him a moment but then he realises that she’s very pretty and her body language appears to be saying, “Take me big boy I’m all yours.”)
JOHN: Hello!
WOMAN (walking closer): So, any plans for New Year tonight?
(John laughs while his eyes continually roam over her body.)
JOHN: Er, nothing fixed. Nothing I couldn’t heartlessly abandon. You have any ideas?
(The woman looks over her shoulder towards the road.)
WOMAN: One.
(John follows her gaze and sighs in exasperation when a black car pulls up and stops beside them.)
JOHN: You know, Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.
(They get into the car and it pulls away ... and takes them to the biggest power complex in the neighbourhood – the empty shell of Battersea Power Station. Pulling up inside the building, John and the woman get out and she leads him through the abandoned structure.)
JOHN: Couldn’t we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn’t follow me everywhere.
(Still walking, the woman types onto her phone, then stops and gestures ahead of herself.)
WOMAN: Through there.
(John gives her a look, then walks on. The woman turns and heads back the way she came, lifting her phone to her ear.)
WOMAN (into phone): He’s on his way. You were right – he thinks it’s Mycroft.
(John reaches a large room and starts talking straightaway even though he can’t yet see anybody.)
JOHN: He’s writing sad music; doesn’t eat; barely talks – only to correct the television.
(He walks further into the room and finally a figure begins to step out of the shadows at the other end.)
JOHN: I’d say he was heartbroken but, er, well, he’s Sherlock. He does all that anyw...
(He trails off as Irene Adler walks into view.)
IRENE: Hello, Doctor Watson.
(She stops some distance away from him and he simply stares at her for several seconds before he finally finds some words.)
JOHN (quietly, but with a note of pleading in his voice): Tell him you’re alive.
IRENE (shaking her head): He’d come after me.
JOHN: I’ll come after you if you don’t.
IRENE: Mmm, I believe you.
JOHN (louder): You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you.
IRENE: DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep.
JOHN: And I bet you know the record-keeper.
IRENE: I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear.
JOHN: Then how come I can see you, and I don’t even want to?
IRENE: Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.
JOHN: No.
IRENE: It’s for his own safety.
JOHN: So’s this: tell him you’re alive.
IRENE: I can’t.
JOHN (breathing heavily and fighting back his anger): Fine. I’ll tell him, and I still won’t help you.
(He turns and starts to walk away.)
IRENE: What do I say?
JOHN (furiously, turning back to her): What do you normally say? You’ve texted him a lot.
(Irene has taken out her phone and holds it up as John stops and glares at her.)
IRENE: Just the usual stuff.
JOHN: There is no ‘usual’ in this case.
(Irene looks down at her phone and starts to read back messages she has sent to Sherlock.)
IRENE: “Good morning”; “I like your funny hat”; “I’m sad tonight. Let’s have dinner” ...
(John looks round at her, startled.)
IRENE: ... “You looked sexy on ‘Crimewatch.’ Let’s have dinner”; “I’m not hungry, let’s have dinner”.
(John stares at her in disbelief.)
JOHN: You ... flirted with Sherlock Holmes?!
IRENE (still looking at her phone): At him. He never replies.
JOHN: No, Sherlock always replies – to everything. He’s Mr Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word.
IRENE: Does that make me special?
JOHN: ... I don’t know. Maybe.
IRENE: Are you jealous?
JOHN: We’re not a couple.
IRENE: Yes you are. There ...
(She holds up her phone to show John the screen, although he’s too far away to read it. She tells him what she has typed anyway.)
IRENE: “I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.”
(She presses the Send button. John turns away momentarily and then turns back to her.)
JOHN (quietly): Who ... who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but – for the record – if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.
IRENE: Well, I am. Look at us both.
(John laughs ruefully. Just then an orgasmic female sigh can be heard a short distance away. In the corridor outside the room, unseen by either of them, Sherlock switches off his phone and rapidly walks away. John starts to walk in the direction of the sound but Irene holds out her hand to stop him. She looks at him pointedly.)
IRENE: I don’t think so, do you?

Some time later, Sherlock is walking down Baker Street towards his flat, his gaze distant and lost. As he arrives at the front door of 221B and turns to put his key in the door, his expression sharpens when he realises that the door has been jemmied open. Slowly pushing the door open, he goes inside and carefully puts his hand onto the opaque glass window of the interior door before also pushing that one open and stepping through into the hall. Immediately he sees that the door to 221A is ajar, and partway down the hall is a plastic bucket. He takes a quick glance at the various items inside the bucket and sees that they’re cleaning materials: a pair of rubber gloves, a duster, a spray can of what is probably screen and telephone sanitizer, a toilet brush and a bottle of disinfectant, and a couple of other items.
Sherlock steps closer to the stairs and sees a couple of scuff marks on the wall just above the risers. He instantly realises that one of the marks was made by someone awkwardly walking backwards up the stairs and having to feel their way with their feet, while the second was made by someone following the first person while facing forwards but being thrown off-balance by something. Looking more closely at the wall he sees a small indentation in the wallpaper. Putting a finger against the dent, his gaze becomes more intense as he deduces that it was formed by someone dragging their hand along the wall, clawing at it in a desperate attempt to stop themselves being hauled backwards up the stairs. The depth of the nail mark can only have been made by someone with fairly long nails, and now Sherlock knows that the person being dragged was Mrs Hudson. Slowly he raises his head while he visualises her struggling as she is half-pulled and half-carried upstairs by a couple of men, a third man preceding them. In his mind, he hears her panic-stricken protests of, “Stop it!” at her assailants before she cries out Sherlock’s name in terror and anguish.
Sherlock stares intensely up the stairs and slowly, without a muscle in his face moving, his expression changes from deductive to outright murderous. Your transcriber sobs at the ferocity in his gaze and challenges anyone to say that Benedict Cumberbatch isn’t one of the finest actors of our time. Sherlock stands there for a few seconds while his rage builds, and then he gets moving.
Not long afterwards he slowly pushes open the door to the living room of 221B. In front of the fireplace Mrs Hudson is sitting on a dining chair facing the sofa, and behind her stands Neilson, the CIA man who led the raid on Irene’s house. He is holding another pistol with an over-compensatory silencer attached and is aiming the gun at the back of Mrs Hudson’s head. One of his men is standing looking out of the window but turns when the door opens; the other stands near the sliding door into the kitchen. As Sherlock slowly strolls into the room with his hands clasped behind his back, Mrs Hudson – already crying quietly – begins to sob a little louder.
MRS HUDSON: Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock!
SHERLOCK: Don’t snivel, Mrs Hudson. It’ll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet.
(He looks at Neilson.)
SHERLOCK: What a tender world that would be.
MRS HUDSON (sobbing quietly as she gazes up at him): Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock.
NEILSON: I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes.
SHERLOCK: Then why don’t you ask for it?
(He walks closer and holds out his right hand towards Mrs Hudson. She flails towards it, whimpering, and he gently turns back the sleeve of her right hand and looks at the bruises on her wrist.)
MRS HUDSON (crying): Sher...
NEILSON: I’ve been asking this one. She doesn’t seem to know anything.
(Sherlock’s gaze rises a little and he sees that the right shoulder of Mrs H’s cardigan has been ripped at the seam, exposing her skin underneath.)
NEILSON: But you know what I’m asking for, don’t you, Mr Holmes?
(Sherlock looks a little higher and sees a cut on her right cheek. His eyes flick across to Neilson’s right hand holding the pistol. He has a silver ring on his third finger and there is blood on it. Sherlock raises his head and looks directly at Neilson – but he isn’t deducing him. In very rapid succession he is picking out target points on his body:

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 476