***RECAP***
(He starts to hurry down the stairs again, pulling Nikki along with him.)
Sherlock: Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!
(The two mates reach the bottom of the stairs and disappear from view.)
Lestrade (calling after him): Of course, yeah - but what mistake?!
(Nikki and Sherlock came back into view and ran up a couple of stairs so that he can be seen before he stops and yells up to Lestrade.)
NIKKI/SHERLOCK: PINK!
***NOW***
(The two hurry off again. Lestrade, baffled, turns and goes back into the room while Anderson and his team, who had been waiting on the next landing down, hurry up the stairs and follow him into the room.)
Anderson: Let's get on with it.
(Forgotten by everyone else, John hesitates on the landing for a moment and then slowly starts making his way down the stairs. A couple more police officers hurry up and one of them bumps into him, throwing him off-balance and making him lurch heavily against the banisters. The man hurries on without a word, although his colleague does at least look apologetically at John as he passes. John regains his balance and continues down the stairs.)
(Shortly afterward he removed his coverall and put his jacket back on, and now walks out onto the street. Looking all around, he can see no sign of Sherlock. He walks towards the police tape, still looking around. Donovan, standing at the tape, sees him.)
Donovan: They're gone.
John: Who, Sherlock Holmes and Nichole Mikaelson?
Donovan: Yeah, they just took off. They do that.
John: Are they coming back?
Donovan: Didn't look like it.
John: Right.
(He looks around the area again thoughtfully, unsure what to do.)
John: Right ... Yes.
(He turns to Donovan again.)
John: Sorry, where am I?
Donovan: Brixton.
John: Right. Er, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er ... well ... (he looks down awkwardly at his walking stick) ... my leg.
Donovan: Er ... (she steps over to the tape and lifts it for him) ... try the main road.
John (ducking under the tape): Thanks.
Donovan: But you're not his friend.
(John turns back towards her.)
Donovan: He doesn't have friends. So who are you?
John: I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him.
Donovan: Okay, a bit of advice then: stay away from that guy.
John: Why?
Donovan: You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there.
John: Why would he do that?
Donovan: Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored. Plus that woman with him, she's just as dangerous, so I'd stay as far away from her as possible.
Lestrade (calling from the entrance to the house): Donovan!
Donovan (turning and calling to him): Coming.
(She turns back towards John as she walks towards the house.)
Donovan: Stay away from Sherlock Holmes and Nichole Mikaelson!
(John watches her go for a moment, then turns and begins to limp off down the road. To his right, the phone in a public telephone box begins to ring. He stops and looks at it for a few seconds but then looks down at his watch, shakes his head and continues down the road. The phone stops ringing.)
(Not long afterward, John is walking down what may well be Brixton High Road. He tries to hail a passing taxi.)
John: Taxi! Taxi ...
(The taxi passes him by. In Chicken Cottage, the fast food restaurant outside which John is standing, the payphone on the wall begins to ring. John turns and looks as one of the serving staff walks over to it but as he reaches for the phone, it stops. John walks on down the road and shortly afterward approaches another public telephone box. The phone inside starts to ring. Mystified by this, he pulls open the door, goes inside and lifts the phone.)
John: Hello?
(A man's voice speaks down the phone.)
Man's Voice: There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?
John (frowning): Who's this? Who's speaking?
Man's Voice: Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?
(John looks through the window of the phone box at the CCTV camera high up on the wall of a nearby building.)
John: Yeah, I see it.
Man's Voice: Watch.
(The camera, which was pointing directly at the phone box, now swivels away.)
Man's Voice: There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?
(John looks across to the second camera, which is also pointed towards the phone box.)
John: Mm-hm.
(The camera immediately swivels away.)
Man's Voice: And finally, at the top of the building on your right.
(John stares up into the third camera which is watching him but now turns away.)
John (into phone): How are you doing this?
Man's Voice: Get into the car, Doctor Watson.
(A black car pulls up at the kerbside near the phone. The male driver gets out and opens the rear door.)
Man's Voice: I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you.
(The phone goes dead. John puts it down and looks thoughtful for a long moment, then apparently decides that there's not much else he can do and turns to leave the phone box.)
(A few moments later he is sitting in the back seat of the car as it pulls away and drives off. An attractive young woman is sitting beside him, her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry while she types on it. She is pretty much ignoring him.)
John: Hello.
Woman (smiling brightly at him for a moment before returning her gaze to her phone): Hi.
John: What's your name, then?
Woman: Er ... Anthea.
John: Is that your real name?
Woman (smiling): No.
(John nods, then twists to look out of the rear window briefly before turning back again.)
John: I'm John.
Not-Anthea: Yes. I know.
John: Any point in asking where I'm going?
Not-Anthea: None at all ...
(She turns and smiles briefly at him, then looks back at her phone again.)
Not-Anthea: ... John.
John: Okay.
(Sometime later, the car pulls into an almost-empty warehouse. A man in a suit is standing in the center of the area, leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella while he watches the car stop and John get out. In front of the man is a straight-backed armless chair facing him. He gestures to it with the point of his umbrella as John limps towards him leaning heavily on his cane.)
M: Have a seat, John.
(John continues towards him, his voice calm.)
John: You know, I've got a phone.
(He looks around the warehouse.)
John: I mean, very clever and all that, but, er ... you could just phone me. On my phone.
(He walks straight past the chair and stops a few paces in front of the man.)
M: When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.
(His voice, which has had a pleasant smile in it so far, now becomes a little sterner towards the end of the next phrase.)
M: The leg must be hurting you. Sit down.
John: I don't wanna sit down.
(The man looks at him curiously.)
M: You don't seem very afraid.
John: You don't seem very frightening.
(The man chuckles.)
M: Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?
(He looks at John sternly.)
M: What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes and Nichole Mikaelson?
John: I don't have one. I barely know them. I met them ...
(He looks away thoughtfully, then appears surprised as if he hadn't realized until now how little time has passed.)
John: ... yesterday.
M: Mm, and since yesterday you've moved in with Sherlock and become neighbors with Miss Mikaelson and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?
John: Who are you?
M: An interested party.
John: Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends.
M: You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has, other than Miss Mikaelson? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having.
John: And what's that?
M: An enemy.
John: An enemy?
M: In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic.
(John looks pointedly around the warehouse.)
John (sarcastically): Well, thank God you're above all that.
(The man frowns at him. Just then John's phone trills a text alert. He immediately digs into his jacket pocket, takes out the phone, and activates it, looking at the message while ignoring the man in front of him. The message reads:
Baker Street.
Come at once
if convenient.
SH)
M: I hope I'm not distracting you.
John (casually): Not distracting me at all.
(He takes his time looking up from the phone before he pockets it.)
M: Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes and Nichole Mikaelson?
John: I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business.
M (a little ominously): It could be.
John: It really couldn't.
(The man takes a notebook from his inside pocket, then opens it and consults it as he speaks.)
M: If you do move into, um ... two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.
(He closes the notebook and puts it away again.)
John: Why?
M: Because you're not a wealthy man.
John: In exchange for what?
M: Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel ... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what they're up to.
John: Why?
M: I worry about him. Constantly. And with Miss Mikaelson around, I'm not entirely sure what to think of her. Something tells me that she could be very dangerous, so I'd be mindful around her.
John (insincerely): That's nice of you. And should I be worried about her?
M (shrugging his shoulders): I'm not one hundred percent on what to think about her. But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship.
(John's phone sounds like another text alert. Again he immediately fishes the phone out and looks at the message which reads:
If inconvenient,
come anyway.
NM)
John (in response to the man's offer): No.
M: But I haven't mentioned a figure.
John (putting his phone away again): Don't bother.
M (laughing briefly): You're very loyal, very quickly.
John: No, I'm not. I'm just not interested.
(The man looks at him closely for a moment, then takes out his notebook and opens it again.)
M (gesturing slightly to make it clear that he is reading a note from the book): "Trust issues," it says here.
(For the first time since their encounter began, John looks a little unnerved.)
John: What's that?
M (still looking down at his book): Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?
John: Who says I trust him?
M: You don't seem the kind to make friends easily.
John: Are we done?
(The man raises his head and looks into John's eyes.)
M: You tell me.
(John looks at him for a long moment, then turns his back on him and starts to walk away.)
M: I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from them, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen.
(John stops dead. His shoulders tense and drop and he angrily shakes his head a little. He is clearly furious as he turns back around to face the man.)
John (savagely, through bared teeth): My wot?
M (calmly): Show me.
(He has nodded towards John's left hand as he speaks, and now he plants the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leans casually on it like a man who is used to having his orders obeyed. John, however, is not going to be intimidated and deliberately shifts his feet under him as if digging in. He raises his left hand, bending it at the elbow, and stands still. His message is clear: if the man wants to look at his hand, he'll have to come to him. Apparently unperturbed by this belligerence, the man strolls forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reaches for John's hand. John instantly pulls his hand back a little.)
John (tensely): Don't.
(The man lowers his head and raises his eyebrows at John, almost as if saying, 'Did I mention trust issues?!' John very reluctantly lowers his hand, holding it out flat with the palm down. The man takes it in both of his own hands and looks at it closely.)
M: Remarkable.
John (snatching his hand away): What is?
M (turning and walking a few paces away): Most people blunder around this city, and all they see are streets and shops, and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes and Nichole Mikaelson, you see the battlefield. (he turns towards John again.) You've seen it already, haven't you?
John: What's wrong with my hand?
M: You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.
(Perhaps unintentionally, John nods his head.)
M: Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service.
(John almost flinches as the man accurately fires off these facts at him. His gaze is fixed ahead of him and a muscle in his cheek twitches repeatedly.)
John (angry and distressed): Who the hell are you? How do you know that?
M: Fire her. She's got it the wrong way around. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.
(John's eyes flicker downwards before returning to stare ahead of himself, his face set and struggling to hold back his anger.)
M: You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson. You miss it.
(He leans closer to him. Reluctantly John's eyes rise up to meet his.)
M (in a whisper): Welcome back.
(He turns and starts to walk away just as John's phone trills another text alert.)
M (casually twirling his umbrella as he goes): Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson.
(John stands fixed to the spot for a few seconds, then turns and glances towards the departing man while, behind John, the car door opens and not-Anthea gets out and walks a few paces towards him, her attention still riveted to the BlackBerry held in front of her in both hands.)
Not-Anthea: I'm to take you home.
(John half-turns towards her, then stops and takes out his phone to look at the new message. It reads:
Could be dangerous.
SH/NM)
(Putting the phone back into his pocket, John holds out his left hand in front of him and studies the lack of tremor coming from it. He smiles wryly.)