***Recap***
(Images of the night Henrik died flashed across her memory. Henrik had woken up her and Klaus to go and see a werewolf shift, but it resulted in her youngest brother's death. Klaus and Nikki still blamed themselves for what had happened and both twins believed that if Henrik didn't die then their mother would've never created the Original Vampires and the Original Hybrids. Sherlock could tell that the topic of her brother's death still bothered her even though it happened years ago. However, Sherlock didn't quite know how many years ago.)
Sherlock: It wasn't your fault.
Nikki: Excuse me?
Sherlock: Your brother's death, it wasn't your fault.
(Nikki just smiled at her mate, she wasn't ready to tell him what she was. She wanted to gain his trust first and not scare him. Sherlock ended up surprising himself by offering her a cup of tea which Nikki accepted. As the newly found mates spent the next two hours getting to know one another, Nikki learned that her mate was the world's only consulting detective but she was a puzzle to him that he welcomed with open arms. Sherlock was surprised to find out that Nikki came from a very large family but also a wealthy family, and her family was one of the first Viking families.)
(Eventually, Nikki said goodnight to her mate and both of them promised one another that they would like to continue to get to know one another before moving forward into a relationship since Sherlock had told her that he considered himself married to his work. Nikki thought it was funny but she agreed to his terms, and both agreed to do dinner or have tea with one another once a week. Over the next three and a half months Nikki and Sherlock had grown closer to one another and had kept their relationship a secret from his brother, but that might have had something to do with Nikki using compulsion on the oldest Holmes.)
***Now***
(In a bedsit somewhere in London, John Watson is having a nightmare. He is reliving his Army days and his team is under fire somewhere abroad. A colleague cries out his name as the gunfire continues. Finally, he jolts awake and sits up in bed wide-eyed and breathing heavily until he realizes that he is safe and a long way from the war. Flopping back onto his pillow, he tries to calm his breathing as he continues to be haunted by his memories. Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.)
(Sometime later he sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. It's still dark outside. John sits quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, and looks across to the desk on the other side of the room. A metal walking cane is leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily, then continues to gaze into the distance. He will not be sleeping again tonight.)
(DAY TIME. The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a dressing gown over his nightwear, hobbles across the room leaning heavily on his cane. In his other hand, he has a mug of tea and an apple, both of which he puts down on the desk. The mug bears the arms of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Sitting down, he opens the drawer on the desk to get his laptop. As he lifts the computer out of the drawer, we see that he also has a pistol in there. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads, "The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson". The rest of the page is blank. Later he is at his psychotherapist's office and he sits in a chair opposite her.)
Ella: How's your blog going?
John: Yeah, good. (He clears his throat awkwardly.) Very good.
Ella: You haven't written a word, have you?
John (pointing to Ella's notepad on her lap): You just wrote, "Still has trust issues."
Ella: And you read my writing upside down. D'you see what I mean?
(John smiles awkwardly.)
Ella: John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life, and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.
(John gazes back at her, his face full of despair.)
John: Nothing happens to me.
(OCTOBER 12TH. A well-dressed middle-aged businessman walks across the concourse of a busy London railway station talking into his mobile phone.)
Sir. Jeffrey: What d'you mean, there's no ruddy car?
(His secretary is at his office talking into her phone as she walks across the room.)
Helen: He went to Waterloo. I'm sorry. Get a cab.
Sir. Jeffrey: I never get cabs.
(Helen looks around furtively to make sure that nobody is within earshot, then speaks quietly into the phone.)
Helen: I love you.
Sir. Jeffrey (suggestively): When?
Helen (giggling): Get a cab!
(Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.)
(Some unspecified time later, sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an office many stories above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle that contains three large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid and puts the capsule into his mouth. Later, he is writhing on the floor in agony. We can now see that the office in which his dying body is lying is empty of furniture.)
(POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Flanked by a police officer and another man who may be her solicitor or a family member, Sir Jeffrey's wife is sitting at a table making a statement to the press.)
Margaret Patterson (tearfully as she reads from her statement): My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work - and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him.
(Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.)
(NOVEMBER 26TH. Two boys in their late teens are running down a street at night in the pouring rain. Gary has opened a fold-up umbrella and is trying to keep it under control in the wind, while Jimmy has his jacket pulled up over his head. He calls out in triumph when a black cab approaches with its yellow sign lit to show that it is available for hire.)
Jimmy: Yes, yes, taxi, yes!
(He whistles and waves to the taxi but it drives past. He makes an exasperated sound, then starts to head back in the direction he just came, looking around at his friend.)
Jimmy: I'll be back in two minutes, mate.
Gary: What?
Jimmy: I'm just going home; get my mum's umbrella.
Gary: You can share mine!
Jimmy: Two minutes, all right?
(He walks away. Sometime later Gary looks at his watch, apparently worried because Jimmy has been gone for too long. He turns around and heads back in pursuit of his friend.)
(Some unspecified time later, Jimmy sits crying and clutching a small glass bottle that contains three large capsules. He unscrews the lid, his hands shaking, and sobs. We see that he is sitting on a window ledge inside a sports center overlooking a sports court. The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline "Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports center".)
(JANUARY 27TH. At a public venue, a party is being held. A large poster showing a photograph of the guest of honor is labeled "Your local MP, Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport." As pounding dance music comes from inside the room, one of Beth's aides walks out of the room and goes over to her male colleague who is standing at the bar. He looks at her in exasperation.)
Aide 1: Is she still dancing?
Aide 2: Yeah, if you can call it that.
Aide 1: Did you get the car keys off her?
Aide 2 (showing him the keys): Got 'em out of her bag.
(The man smiles in satisfaction, then looks into the dance hall and frowns.)
Aide 1: Where is she?
(Beth has slipped out of the venue and is standing at the side of her car searching through her handbag for her keys. She sighs when she can't find them and looks around helplessly.)
(Some unspecified time later, Beth stands inside a portacabin on a building site and sobs hysterically. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle that contains three large capsules.)
(POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable while his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters.)
Donovan: The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.
Reporter 1: Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?
Lestrade: Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...
Reporter 1 (interrupting): But you can't have serial suicides.
Lestrade: Well, apparently you can.
Reporter 2: These three people: there's nothing that links them?
Lestrade: There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one.
(Everybody's mobile phone trills a text alert simultaneously. As they look at their phones, each message reads:
Wrong!)
(Donovan looks at the same message on her own phone.)
Donovan: If you've all got texts, please ignore them.
Reporter 1: Just says, 'Wrong'.
Donovan: Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end.
Reporter 2: But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?
Lestrade: As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ...
(Everybody's mobile trills another text alert and again each message reads:
Wrong!)
Reporter 1: Says, 'Wrong' again.
(Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally.)
Donovan (to the reporters): One more question.
Reporter 3: Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?
Lestrade: I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered.
Reporter 3: Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?
Lestrade: Well, don't commit suicide.
(The reporter looks at him in shock. Donovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning.)
Donovan: "Daily Mail."
(Lestrade grimaces and looks at the reporters again.)
Lestrade: Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.
(Again the mobiles trill their text alerts, and once more each message reads:
Wrong!)
(But Lestrade's phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads:
You know where
to find us.
SH/NM)
(Looking exasperated, he puts the phone into his pocket and looks at the reporters as he stands up.)
Lestrade: Thank you.
(Shortly afterward, he and Donovan are walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard.)
Donovan: You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots.
Lestrade: Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him.
(RUSSELL SQUARE PARK. John is limping briskly through the park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walks past a man sitting on a bench, the man stares after him, clearly recognizing him. He calls out.)
Mike: John! John Watson!
(John turns back to Mike as he stands up and hurries towards him, smiling.)
Mike: Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together.
John: Yes, sorry, yes, Mike. (he takes Mike's offered hand and shakes it.) Hello, hi.
Mike (grinning and gesturing to himself): Yeah, I know. I got fat!
John (trying to sound convincing): No.
Mike: I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?
John (awkwardly): I got shot.
(They both look embarrassed.)
(A little later they have bought takeaway coffees and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park. Mike looks at John worriedly. Oblivious, John takes a sip from his coffee and then looks across at his old colleague.)
John: Are you still at Bart's, then?
Mike: Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!
(They both laugh.)
Mike: What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?
John: I can't afford London on an Army pension.
Mike: Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know.
John (uncomfortably): Yeah, I'm not the John Watson ...
(He stops. Mike awkwardly looks away and drinks his coffee. John switches his own cup to his right hand and looks down at his left hand, clenching it into a fist as he tries to control the tremor that has started. Mike looks round at him again.)
Mike: Couldn't Harry help?
John (sarcastically): Yeah, like that's gonna happen!
Mike (shrugging): I dunno - get a flatshare or something?
John: Come on - who'd want me for a flatmate?
(Mike chuckles thoughtfully.)
John: What?
Mike: Well, you're the second person to say that to me today.
John: Who was the first?
(ST BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL MORGUE. Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs. Standing next to the consulting detective stood Nikki, his girlfriend officially for two months. However, they had not made themselves public since neither one was ready for their families or friends to know.)
Sherlock: How fresh?
(Pathologist Molly Hooper walks over.)
Molly: Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice.
(Zipping up the bag, Sherlock straightens, turns to her, and smiles falsely. Nikki kept a watchful eye on Molly, having seen how she flirts with her mate, didn't settle right with the hybrid.)
Sherlock: Fine. We'll start with the riding crop.
(Shortly afterward the body has been removed from the bag and is lying on its back on the table. In the observation room next door, Molly watches and flinches while Sherlock flogs the body repeatedly and violently with a riding crop, but her face is also full of admiration. Nikki was watching Molly more than her mate, she didn't trust the human and was half tempted to compel her to leave London for good. However, Nikki knew that even though Sherlock would never openly admit it, he viewed Molly as a friend. Both Molly and Nikki walk back into the room and as he finishes and straightens up, breathless, she goes over to him.)
Molly (jokingly): So, bad day, was it?
Sherlock (ignoring her banter as he gets out a notebook and starts writing in it): I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.
Molly: Listen, I was wondering: maybe later when you're finished ...
(Sherlock glances across to her as he is writing, then does a double-take and frowns at her. He knew that Molly fancied him since Nikki had told him.)
Sherlock: Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before.
Molly (nervously): I, er, I refreshed it a bit.
(She smiles at him flirtatiously, causing Nikki to roll her eyes. He gives her a long oblivious look, then goes back to writing in his notebook.)
Sherlock: Sorry, you were saying?
Molly (gazing at him intently): I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee.
(Sherlock puts away his notebook.)
Sherlock: Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs. Come along Nikki.
(He walks away, Nikki silently laughed at the human's failed attempt as she followed him.)
Molly: ... Okay.
(BART'S LAB. Sherlock is standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. Mike knocks on the door and brings John in with him. Sherlock glances across at them briefly before looking at his work again. John limps into the room, looking around at all the equipment.)
John: Well, bit different from my day.
Mike (chuckling): You've no idea!
Sherlock (sitting down): Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.
Mike: And what's wrong with the landline or asking Nikki?
Sherlock: I prefer to text.
Nikki: Dead battery.
Mike: Sorry. It's in my coat.
(John fishes in his back pocket and takes out his own phone.)
John: Er, here. Use mine.
Sherlock: Oh. Thank you.
(Glancing briefly at Mike, he stands up and walks towards John. Mike introduces him to the mates.)
Mike: It's an old friend of mine, John Watson.
(Sherlock reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning partially away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it.)
Sherlock: Afghanistan or Iraq?
(John frowns while Nikki smiles proudly at her mate. Nearby, Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock as he continues to type.)
John: Sorry?
Sherlock: Which was it - Afghanistan or Iraq?
(He briefly raises his eyes to John's before looking back to the phone. John hesitates, then looks across to Mike, confused. Mike just smiles smugly.)
John: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?
(Sherlock looks up as Molly comes into the room holding a mug of coffee.)
Sherlock: Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.
(He shuts down John's phone and hands it back while Molly brings the mug over to him. He takes it and looks closely at her. Her mouth is paler again.)
Sherlock: What happened to the lipstick?
Molly (smiling awkwardly at him): It wasn't working for me.
Sherlock: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.
(He turns and walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.)
Molly: ... Okay.
(She turns and heads back towards the door.)
Sherlock: How do you feel about the violin?
(John looks round at Molly but she's on her way out the door. He glances at Mike who is still smiling smugly, and finally realises that Sherlock is talking to him.)
John: I'm sorry, what?
Sherlock (typing on a laptop keyboard as he talks): I play the violin when I'm thinking, Nikki sometimes plays it herself. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. (he looks around at John.) Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.
(He throws a hideously false smile at John causing Nikki to laugh, who looks at him blankly for a moment then looks across to Mike.)
John: Oh, you ... you told him about me?
Mike: Not a word.
John (turning to Sherlock again): Then who said anything about flatmates?
Sherlock (picking up his greatcoat and putting it on): I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Nikki's my neighbor and is always around, don't know why she just doesn't move in already. (giving his girlfriend a side glance) Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap.
John : How did you know about Afghanistan?
(Sherlock ignores the question, wraps his scarf around his neck, then picks up his mobile and checks it as Nikki grabs her jacket putting it on.)
Sherlock: Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.
(He walks towards John.)
Sherlock: We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry - gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.
(Putting his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, he walks past John and heads for the door.)
John (turning to look at him): Is that it?
(The mates turns back from the door and Sherlockstrolls closer to John again.)
Nikki/Sherlock: Is that what?
John: We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?
Sherlock: Problem?
(John smiles in disbelief, looking across to Mike for help, but his friend just continues to smile as he looks at Sherlock. John turns back to the younger man and woman, if he only knew.)
John: We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your names.
(Sherlock looks closely at him for a moment before speaking.)
Sherlock: I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him - possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic - quite correctly, I'm afraid.
(John looks down at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly.)
Nikki (smugly): That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?
(He turns and walks to the door again, opening it for Nikki so she can leave first before going through himself, but then leans back into the room again.)
Sherlock: The name's Sherlock Holmes and Nichole Mikaelson and the address is two two one B Baker Street.
(He click-winks at John, then looks round at Mike.)
Sherlock: Afternoon.
(Mike raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room. As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiles and nods to him.)
Mike: Yeah. He's always like that.
(Sherlock and Nikki leave St. Barts, his arm draped security around her shoulders in a protective manner. As the mates leave Molly sees them feeling upset that she will never be Sherlock's.)