***Recap***
(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.)
***Now***
Not-Anthea: Address?
John (turning and walking towards her): Er, Baker Street. Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop somewhere first.
(Later, John opens the door to his bedsit and switches on the light. Walking inside and closing the door behind him, he goes across to the desk and opens the drawer, taking out his pistol. Checking the clip, he tucks the gun into the back of the waistband of his jeans and turns to leave again.)
(Later again, the car pulls up outside 221B Baker Street. Not-Anthea is still riveted by whatever she's typing on her phone [that must be one heck of a running blog that she's writing]. John looks across at her.)
John: Listen, your boss - any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?
Not-Anthea (nonchalantly): Sure.
John: You've told him already, haven't you?
(She smiles across at him briefly.)
Not-Anthea: Yeah.
(John nods in resignation and turns to get out of the car but just as he has opened the door, he turns back to her.)
John: Hey, um ... do you ever get any free time?
(She chuckles.)
Not-Anthea (sarcastically): Oh, yeah. Lots.
(John waits expectantly. She continues working her phone for a long moment, then turns and looks at him before allowing her gaze to drift past him to the door of 221B.)
Not-Anthea: 'Bye.
John: Okay.
(He gets out and closes the door, then watches the car pull away before turning and walking across the pavement to the front door of 221B. He knocks on the door.)
(Upstairs in the living room of the flat, Sherlock is lying stretched out on the sofa with his head towards the window and resting his head on Nikki's lap as she lazily ran her fingers through her mate's hair. In Nikki's other hand she held a wine glass filled with A+ blood that she passed off as red wine and her Edgar Allen Poe Complete addition book resting on the armrest, while Sherlock had his jacket off and his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms, he has his eyes closed and he is pressing the palm of his right hand firmly onto the underside of his left arm just below the elbow. After some seconds his eyes snap open wide and he stares fixedly up towards the ceiling, then he sighs out a noisy breath and relaxes. John comes through the door, then stops and stares as Sherlock repeatedly clenches and unclenches his left fist.)
John: What are you doing?
Nikki (almost sounding bored): Reading.
Sherlock (calmly): Nicotine patch. Helps me think.
(He lifts his right hand to show that he has three round nicotine patches stuck to his arm and it was these that he was pressing against his skin to release the substances more quickly.)
Sherlock: Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work.
(He loudly clicks the 'k' on the last word.)
John (walking further into the room): It's good news for breathing.
Nikki (dismissively, since she didn't really need to breathe): Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring.
(John frowns as he looks more closely at Sherlock's arm.)
John: Are that three patches?
Sherlock (pressing his hands together in the prayer position under his chin): It's a three-patch problem.
(He closes his eyes as Nikki continues to run her fingers through his hair. John looks around the room for a moment, then looks down at Sherlock again.)
John: Well?
(Sherlock doesn't respond and Nikki doesn't answer.)
John: You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important.
(Sherlock still doesn't respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds, his eyes snap open. He doesn't bother turning his head to look at John.)
Sherlock: Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?
John: My phone?
Sherlock: Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website.
John: Mrs. Hudson's got a phone. Or what about Nikki?
Nikki: It's in my flat and Sherlock didn't want to get up. (smiling down at her mate)
Sherlock: Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear me.
John (beginning to get angry): I was on the other side of London.
Sherlock (mildly): There was no hurry.
(John glares at him as he gazes serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually, John digs his phone out of his jacket pocket and holds it toward him.)
John: Here.
(Without opening his eyes, Sherlock holds out his right hand with the palm up. John glowers at him for a moment, then steps forward and slaps the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turns and walks a few paces away before turning around again.)
John: So what's this about - the case?
Sherlock (softly): Her case.
John: Her case?
Sherlock (opening his eyes): Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake.
John: Okay, he took her case. So?
Sherlock (quietly, as if to himself): It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it.
(Raising his voice a little, he imperiously holds the phone out towards John, still not looking at him.)
Sherlock: On my desk, there's a number. I want you to send a text.
(John half-smiles in angry disbelief.)
John (tightly): You brought me here ... to send a text.
Sherlock (oblivious to his anger): Text, yes. The number on my desk.
(He continues to hold the phone out while John glowers at him, possibly wondering if he can get away with justifiable homicide. Eventually, he stomps across the room and snatches the phone from Sherlock's hand. Sherlock refolds his hands under his chin and closes his eyes but instead of going to the table, John walks over to the window and looks out into the street below. Sherlock opens his eyes and tilts his head slightly toward him.)
Sherlock: What's wrong?
John: Just met a friend of yours.
(Sherlock frowns in confusion, while Nikki knew that he was talking about Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother.)
Sherlock: A friend?
John: An enemy.
(Sherlock immediately relaxes while Nikki chuckles quietly.)
Sherlock (calmly): Oh. Which one?
John: Your arch-enemy, according to him. (he turns towards Sherlock.) Do people have arch-enemies?
(Sherlock looks towards him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.)
Sherlock: Did he offer you money to spy on me and Nikki?
John: Yes.
Sherlock: Did you take it?
John: No.
Nikki (shaking her head): Idiot
Sherlock: Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time.
John: Who is he?
Sherlock (softly): The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now. (more loudly) On my desk, the number.
(John gives him a dark look but Sherlock has already looked away again so John walks over to the desk and picks up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label. He looks at the name on the paper. Nikki just shook her head, clearly Sherlock wouldn't think that of his brother if he met her twin.)
John: Jennifer Wilson. That was ... Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?
Sherlock: Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number.
(Shaking his head, John gets his phone out and starts to type the number onto it.)
Sherlock: Are you doing it?
John: Yes.
Sherlock: Have you done it?
John: Ye... hang on!
Sherlock: These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out."
(John starts to type but looks briefly across to Sherlock as if concerned at what he just said. Sherlock continues his narration.)
Sherlock: "Twenty-two Northumerland Street. Please come."
(John has got as far as:
What happened at
Lauriston Gdns?
I must have b...)
(Now he looks across to Sherlock again, frowning.)
John: You blacked out?
Sherlock: What? No. No!
(He flips his legs around and stands up, taking the shortest route towards the kitchen - which involves walking over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than around it. Finally free from her mate Nikki stood up and stretched. She followed Sherlock to the kitchen to clean out her empty wine glass from her "meal".)
Sherlock: Type and send it. Quickly.
(Going into the kitchen, he picks up a small pink suitcase from a chair and brings it back into the living room. Walking over to the dining table, he lifts one of the dining chairs and flips it around, setting it down in front of one of the two armchairs near the fireplace. He puts the suitcase onto the dining chair and sits down in the armchair. John is still typing.)
Sherlock: Have you sent it?
John: What's the address?
Nikki (impatiently): Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up! (putting the wine glass away after cleaning it and joins Sherlock at his side.)
(John finishes the message, then looks round as Sherlock unzips the case and flips open the lid, revealing the contents. There are a few items of clothing and underwear - all in varying shades of pink - a washbag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled "Come To Bed Eyes." As John turns towards the case he staggers slightly in shock when he realises what he's looking at.)
John: That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case.
Sherlock (studying the case closely): Yes, obviously.
(John continues to stare, and Sherlock looks up at him and then rolls his eyes.)
Sherlock (sarcastically): Oh, perhaps I should mention: We didn't kill her.
John: I never said you did.
Sherlock: Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption.
John: Do people usually assume you're the murderers?
Nikki/Sherlock (smirking): Now and then, yes.
(He puts his hands onto the arms of the armchair and lifts his feet up and under him so that he is perching on the seat with his backside braced against the back rest, then clasps his hands under his chin.)
John: Okay ...
(He limps across the room and drops heavily into the armchair on the other side of the fireplace.)
John: How did you get this?
Nikki: By looking.
JOHN: Where?
Sherlock: The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention - particularly a man, which is statistically more likely - so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ...
(Cut-away shot of Nikki and Sherlock standing on the edge of a rooftop looking down into the streets below as they searches for a glimpse of places where the case might have been hidden.)
Sherlock: ... and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed.
(Cut-away shot of Sherlock back on the ground and rooting through a large skip in an alley before unearthing the case buried under some black plastic, then checking the luggage label attached to the handle.)