At 221B, Sherlock’s phone begins to ring. His eyes snap open. Outside the court, John is hurrying along the pavement.
JOHN (into phone): Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty. No defence, and Moriarty’s walked free.
(Sherlock lowers his phone.)
JOHN (into phone): Sherlock. Are you listening? He’s out. You-you know he’ll be coming after you. Sher...
(Sherlock switches the phone off and gets up off the sofa. In the kitchen he switches on the kettle and slams down a small tray beside it, putting a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a teapot and two cups and saucers with teaspoons onto the tray. The kettle comes to the boil and switches off and Sherlock, now wearing a jacket in place of the dressing gown, makes the tea and takes the tray to the table beside John’s chair, then walks over to his own chair and picks up his violin and bow. As he begins to play Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor, downstairs the front door is expertly lockpicked and pushed open. Jim’s easily-recognisable shadow precedes him as he slowly walks along the hall and up the stairs. Partway up, one of the stairs creaks noisily and Jim pauses for a moment, as does Sherlock’s playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumes from a few notes before where he stopped and Jim starts to climb the stairs again. Sherlock, standing with his back to the living room door, keeps playing until Jim pushes open the door, then he stops but doesn’t yet turn around.)
SHERLOCK: Most people knock. (He shrugs.) But then you’re not most people, I suppose.
(He gestures over his shoulder with his bow towards the table.)
SHERLOCK: Kettle’s just boiled.
(Jim walks further into the room and bends to pick up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table.)
JIM: Johann Sebastian would be appalled.
(Tossing the apple and catching it [in an Arthur Shappey-like attempt to be really happy for a brief moment], he looks around the living room as if searching for a seat.)
JIM: May I?
SHERLOCK (turning to face him): Please.
(He gestures with the end of his bow towards John’s chair. Jim immediately walks over to Sherlock’s chair and sits in that one instead. Sherlock looks slightly unnerved. Jim takes out a small penknife and starts to cut into the apple as Sherlock puts down the violin and begins to pour tea into the cups.)
JIM: You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ...
SHERLOCK: ... and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.
JIM: Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.
SHERLOCK: Neither can you. That’s why you’ve come.
JIM: But be honest: you’re just a tiny bit pleased.
SHERLOCK: What, with the verdict?
(He picks up one of the teacups, adds a splash of milk and turns and offers the cup to Jim, who sits up straighter and takes it.)
JIM: With me ... (softly) ... back on the streets. (He gazes up into Sherlock’s eyes, smiling.) Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.
(He grins. Sherlock turns away and adds milk to his own cup.)
JIM: You need me, or you’re nothing. Because we’re just alike, you and I – except you’re boring.
(He shakes his head in disappointment.)
JIM: You’re on the side of the angels.
(He sips his tea as Sherlock picks up his own cup and stirs his drink.)
SHERLOCK: Got to the jury, of course.
JIM: I got into the Tower of London; you think I can’t worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?
SHERLOCK: Cable network.
(Flashback to the foreman of the jury in her hotel room sitting on the side of the bed and looking at her TV screen.)
JIM (voiceover): Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen ...
(Close-up of the TV screen showing the Westhampton Hotel’s Information Service. At the top of the page the message reads “Hello Ms Williams”. The information underneath instantly changes to a photograph of two young children and a baby. A message in red above the photograph reads, “IF YOU WANT YOUR BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN TO STAY BEAUTIFUL THEN FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS”)
JIM (voiceover): ... and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm.
(The foreman stares at the TV screen in horror. At 221B, Jim lifts his teacup to his mouth again.)
JIM (softly): Easy-peasy.
(By now Sherlock has unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in John’s chair. In a perhaps unconscious mimicking of the man seated opposite him, he too has his cup lifted close to his mouth.)
SHERLOCK: So how’re you going to do it ...
(He pointedly blows gently on his tea.)
SHERLOCK: ... burn me?
JIM (softly): Oh, that’s the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?
(Sherlock has taken a sip of his tea and looks across his cup to the other man.)
JIM: What’s the final problem?
(He smiles across his own cup.)
JIM: I did tell you ... (sing-song but still softly) ... but did you listen?
(He takes another sip of tea and then puts the cup down into the saucer. Putting his hand onto his knee, he starts idly drumming his fingers. Sherlock’s eyes lower to watch the movement.)
JIM (still drumming his fingers): How hard do you find it, having to say “I don’t know”?
(Sherlock puts his cup into its saucer and shrugs.)
SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): I dunno.
JIM: Oh, that’s clever; that’s very clever; awfully clever.
(He chuckles in an upper class tone as Sherlock smiles humourlessly while putting his cup back onto the tray.)
JIM: Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?
SHERLOCK: Told them what?
JIM: Why I broke into all those places and never took anything.
SHERLOCK: No.
JIM: But you understand.
SHERLOCK: Obviously.
JIM: Off you go, then.
(He has carved a piece off his apple and puts it into his mouth with the flat of his penknife.)
SHERLOCK: You want me to tell you what you already know?
JIM: No; I want you to prove that you know it.
SHERLOCK: You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to.
JIM (softly): Good.
SHERLOCK: You’ll never need to take anything ever again.
JIM: Very good. Because ...?
SHERLOCK: Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.
JIM: I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown.
(He smiles in delight at Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do.
JIM: And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... terrorist cells. They all want me.
(He lifts another piece of apple to his mouth with the penknife.)
JIM: Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex.
SHERLOCK: If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?
JIM: I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. “Daddy loves me the best!” Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you’ve got John. I should get myself a live-in one.
SHERLOCK: Why are you doing all of this?
JIM (still thinking about having a live-in ordinary person): It’d be so funny.
SHERLOCK: You don’t want money or power – not really.
(Jim digs the point of his penknife into the apple.)
SHERLOCK: What is it all for?
JIM (sitting forward and speaking softly): I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem.
(He lowers his head.)
JIM: It’s gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall.
(In a cut-away moment, he raises his head and whistles a slowly descending note as he gradually looks down towards the floor.)
JIM: But don’t be scared. Falling’s just like flying except there’s a more permanent destination.
(In the cut-away, his gaze reaches the floor and he makes the sound of something thudding to the ground. Raising his head slowly, he glowers across at Sherlock, who bares his teeth slightly and then stands and buttons his jacket.)
SHERLOCK: Never liked riddles.
(Jim stands as well and straightens his jacket, locking his gaze onto Sherlock’s eyes.)
JIM: Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... owe ... you.
(He continues to gaze at Sherlock for about six seconds, sealing his promise, then slowly turns and walks away. Sherlock doesn’t move as Jim leaves the room, but after a while he moves towards the apple which Jim left on the arm of his chair with the penknife still stuck in it. He picks it up by the knife handle and looks at it. Jim has dug a large circular piece out of the apple, and on the left of the circle he has carved an “I” shape while on the right of the circle is a “U” shape, forming the letters “I O U”. Sherlock’s mouth twitches into the beginning of a smile.)
The next morning the “Daily Express” front page headline screams “MORIARTY WALKS FREE” with the strapline “Shock verdict at Old Bailey trial”. The opening paragraph reads: “The Judge could only look on dumbfounded as the Jury found ‘Jimbo’ Moriarty ‘Not Guilty’. Gasps were heard around the courtroom as the Jury declared their verdict”. “The Guardian” declares “Shock verdict at trial” and the article begins, “In an unbelievable turn of events Moriarty walked free today after putting up no defence at all for what has been described as the Trial of the Century. Star witness Sherlock Holmes was not present for the verdict as in another twist to the case was thrown out of court by the Judge. Questions have been asked in Parliament and the Prime Minister was quoted as saying ‘This is a disgrace, a sign if ever we needed one that broken Britain is still broken...” [and yes, they do open the quote with single speech marks, then close it with double speech marks]. The “Daily Star” goes with “How was he ever acquitted” [but apparently can’t be bothered to put a question mark after it].
Some time later “The Guardian” declares “Moriarty vanishes” while on one of its inside pages is a cartoon caricature of Sherlock holding a crystal ball with the caption underneath reading, “What Next for the Reichenbach Hero?”
TWO MONTHS LATER.
John goes to a NatWest cashpoint machine and inserts his card. Typing in his PIN, he then selects a transaction. After a few seconds he is greeted with the onscreen message:
There is a problem with
your card
Please wait
(John grimaces and a second later a new message appears:
Thank you for
your patience.
A moment later the message adds:
John
John frowns and behind him a black car pulls up to the kerb and stops. John turns and looks at it, then turns back to the ATM, sighing in exasperation. However, he still hasn’t learned his lesson about getting into strange cars and apparently meekly gets in and allows himself to be driven to an elegant white painted building which has a brass plaque outside declaring the venue to be THE DIOGENES CLUB. He goes inside and enters a large room which – back when the building used to be a house – was probably a drawing room. A large marble fireplace surrounds an unlit fire and the walls have heavy wooden panelling and ornate white plaster coving. The room contains five small round tables, each with a single armchair beside it, and four of them are currently occupied by smartly dressed middle aged or elderly gentlemen reading newspapers and taking no notice of each other or of the new arrival. John looks around and then walks over to one of the older men sitting at the far end of the room.)
JOHN: Er, excuse me. Um, I’m looking for Mycroft Holmes.
(The old man’s face becomes appalled but he doesn’t look up.)
JOHN: Would you happen to know if he’s around at all?
(Some of the other inhabitants of the room behind John look round at him but don’t speak.)
JOHN: Can you not hear me?
(The old man looks up at him, huffing indignantly. John holds out a placatory hand to him.)
JOHN: Yes, all right.
(He turns around to the others in the room.)
JOHN: Anyone?
(The others turn their faces away from him.)
JOHN: Anyone at all know where Mycroft Holmes is? I’ve been asked to meet him here.
(The old man lifts his walking stick and pushes the end of it repeatedly onto a button on the nearby wall. A distant bell rings. John looks around in confusion as the gentlemen either ignore him or look at him in annoyance.)
JOHN: No takers? Right. (He raises his voice.) Am I invisible? Can you actually see me?
(Just then two men wearing dress coats walk into the room. John turns to them.)
JOHN: Ah, thanks, gents.
(Behind him, the elderly gentleman flaps his hand frantically at the new arrivals as if to say, ‘Get him out of here!’ The dress coated men, wearing white gloves and soft white overshoes to muffle their footsteps, walk briskly over to John.)
JOHN: I’ve been asked to meet Mycroft Holm...
(He breaks off as the men walk either side of him and seize his arms firmly.)
JOHN: What the ...? Hey!
(As they almost lift him off his feet, one of them puts his other hand over John’s mouth to silence him. His muffled protests continue as they rapidly bundle him out of the room.)
[As a footnote of potential interest, VerityBurns alerted me to the fact that the old gentleman is played by Douglas Wilmer who played the role of Sherlock Holmes in a BBC series in the 1960s. Callie-Ariane transcripts: not only hopefully entertaining and useful but educational as well!]
Shortly afterwards John has been taken to a smaller room and the door has been closed firmly behind him. Mycroft is in the room with him and pours himself a drink from a crystal decanter.
MYCROFT: Tradition, John. Our traditions define us.
JOHN: So total silence is traditional, is it? You can’t even say, “Pass the sugar.”
MYCROFT: Three-quarters of the diplomatic service and half the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley. It’s for the best, believe me.
(He smiles round at John but then his face becomes more grim as he walks towards a pair of armchairs in the middle of the room.)
MYCROFT: They don’t want a repeat of nineteen seventy-two. But we can talk in here.
(John walks to a small table and picks up a copy of “The Sun” which is lying on it. He brandishes it at Mycroft.)
JOHN: You read this stuff?
MYCROFT: Caught my eye.
JOHN (sitting down in one of the armchairs): Mmm-hmm.
MYCROFT: Saturday: they’re doing a big exposé.
(John reads the announcement at the top of the front page. The headline reads: “SHERLOCK: THE SHOCKING TRUTH” with the strapline “Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All”. The article reveals that it is an Exclusive from Kitty Riley and the text reads: “Super-sleuth Sherlock Holmes has today been exposed as a fraud in a revelation that will shock his new found base of adoring fans. // Out-of-work actor Richard Brook revealed exclusively to THE SUN that he was hired by Holmes in an elaborate deception to fool the British public into believing Holmes had above-average ‘detective skills’. // Brook, who has known Holmes for decades and until recently considered him to be a close friend, said he was at first desperate for the money, but later found he had no” [at which point the text just stops].)
JOHN: I’d love to know where she got her information.
MYCROFT: Someone called Brook. Recognise the name?
(John lowers the paper and shakes his head.)
JOHN: School friend, maybe?
(Mycroft laughs in a snide way. Your transcriber wants to slap him really quite hard.)
MYCROFT: Of Sherlock’s? (He chuckles again.) But that’s not why I asked you here.
(He walks to a side table and picks up several folders. Returning to John he gives him one of them. John opens the file and looks at the photograph on the top page.)
JOHN: Who’s that?
MYCROFT: Don’t know him?
JOHN: No.
MYCROFT: Never seen his face before?
JOHN (looking at the photo again): Umm ...
MYCROFT: He’s taken a flat in Baker Street, two doors down from you.
JOHN: Hmm! I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbours.
(He smiles sarcastically up at Mycroft who looks back at him straight-faced.)
MYCROFT: Not sure you’ll want to. (He nods towards the folder.) Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly-trained killer living less than twenty feet from your front door.
JOHN: It’s a great location. Jubilee line’s handy.
MYCROFT: John ...
JOHN: What’s it got to do with me?
MYCROFT (walking over and giving him another of the files): Dyachenko, Ludmila.
(He sits down opposite John, who lets out a long tired groan as he opens the file and looks at the photograph inside before frowning a little.)
JOHN: Um, actually, I think I have seen her.
[Of course you have, John you dog ...]
MYCROFT: Russian killer. She’s taken the flat opposite.
JOHN (now sounding a little nervous): Okay ... I’m sensing a pattern here.
MYCROFT (handing him the rest of the files): In fact, four top international assassins relocate to within spitting distance of two hundred and twenty-one B. Anything you care to share with me?
(Looking at the photographs of the other assassins, John chuckles, then looks up at Mycroft.)
JOHN: I’m moving?!
(Mycroft looks back at him unamused, then narrows his eyes.)
MYCROFT: It’s not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?
JOHN: You think this is Moriarty?
MYCROFT: He promised Sherlock he’d come back.
JOHN: If this was Moriarty, we’d be dead already.
MYCROFT: If not Moriarty, then who?
JOHN: Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him?
(Mycroft looks away and toys with the glass on the table beside him. John rolls his eyes.)
JOHN: Oh God, don’t tell me.
MYCROFT: Too much history between us, John. Old scores; resentments.
JOHN: Nicked all his Smurfs? Broke his Action Man?
(Mycroft glowers at him. John can’t help but laugh, then pulls himself together and puts the files onto the table beside him.)
JOHN (in a whisper): Finished.
(He stands up and turns to leave the room.)
MYCROFT: We both know what’s coming, John.
(John stops and turns back, clearly now struggling to control his anger.)
MYCROFT: Moriarty is obsessed. He’s sworn to destroy his only rival.
JOHN (tightly): So you want me to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help.
MYCROFT: If it’s not too much trouble.
(He directs a smile at John but it quickly fades and his expression becomes more threatening. John holds his gaze, then looks away, nods in a resigned way and turns to go to the door again. Opening it, he looks back at Mycroft once more, who still has the same look on his face, then leaves the room.)
221B. A taxi drops John off opposite the flat. As he crosses the road, he can’t help but be aware of people passing by in the street, wondering if any of them are the assassins keeping an eye on the flat. As John reaches the front door – which is standing wide open – he sees that a brown envelope has been left on the doorstep. There is nothing written on the front but the back has a large old fashioned wax seal on it. He peels open one corner of the envelope and puts his finger in to slide it along the edge and slice the rest of the envelope open. Immediately a lot of brown dust, with some larger chunks of brown something, fall out. As he catches some of the debris and looks at it, a man’s Cockney voice speaks behind him.
MAN: ’Scuse, mate.
JOHN: Oh.
(He steps aside as a heavily tattooed bald-headed man wearing jeans and a black vest carries a stepladder [a yellow one – can we start a new game?] into the hallway. John follows him in, putting the envelope into his pocket as he goes. He trots upstairs and goes into the living room.)
JOHN: Sherlock, something weird ...
(He stops as he sees that Greg and Sally are in the room with Sherlock.)
JOHN: What’s going on?
SHERLOCK: Kidnapping.
(He goes over to the table and sits down and starts to type on the laptop.)
LESTRADE: Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S.
JOHN: He’s in Washington, isn’t he?
LESTRADE: Not him – his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine.
(Sally shows John photographs of the two children.)
LESTRADE: They’re at St Aldate’s.
DONOVAN: Posh boarding place down in Surrey.
LESTRADE (to Sherlock, who is still typing): The school broke up; all the other boarders went home – just a few kids remained, including those two.
DONOVAN: The kids have vanished.
LESTRADE: The ambassador’s asked for you personally.
(Sherlock is already on his feet and heading out of the door with his coat over his arm.)
DONOVAN (sarcastically): The Reichenbach Hero.
(Sherlock keeps going. After a moment Greg follows him out.)
LESTRADE: Isn’t it great to be working with a celebrity(!)
(As John gestures for Sally to precede him out of the room, their actions are being watched by a camera high up on the living room wall near the left-hand front window.)
ST ALDATE’S SCHOOL. Greg’s car drives into the grounds of the boarding school and pulls up outside the front entrance. Two police cars are already there and a woman is standing in front of one of them, leaning against the bonnet wearing a shock blanket around her shoulders and crying while a uniformed female police officer talks reassuringly to her. A man, probably a plain clothed police officer, is talking to her but walks away as Greg, Sally and the boys get out of the car and approach. The woman blows her nose on her handkerchief.
FEMALE POLICE OFFICER (comfortingly): It’s all right.
LESTRADE (quietly to Sherlock): Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress. Go easy.
(He stays back and lets Sherlock walk over to the woman on his own.)
SHERLOCK: Miss Mackenzie, you’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night. (His voice rises angrily.) What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?
(He grabs the blanket and abruptly pulls it from around her shoulders. She gasps in fear as he glares furiously at her.)
SHERLOCK (loudly): Now quickly, tell me!
MISS MACKENZIE (tearfully and cringing in terror): All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!
(Sherlock’s demeanour instantly changes and he smiles reassuringly and gently takes hold of her shoulders.)
SHERLOCK: I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly.
(He looks at the nearby police officers as he turns and walks away.)
SHERLOCK: Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now.
(She sobs in distress and the female police officer hurries over to comfort her. Inside the school, Sherlock leads the others into one of the dormitories.)
JOHN: Six grand a term, you’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?
(Sherlock has already looked in a cupboard beside one of the beds and now drops to his knees and peers under the bed.)
LESTRADE: They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in.
(Sherlock picks up a lacrosse stick lying on the floor and gets to his feet while looking at the stick closely. He briefly wields it as if using it as a weapon but then apparently decides it wasn’t used in that way and drops it to the floor again.)
LESTRADE: The intruder must have been hidden inside some place.
(Sherlock goes over to a wooden trunk and opens the lid. Amongst the other items inside the trunk he finds a large brown envelope with a wax seal on the back which has already been broken as if someone has opened the envelope. Inside is a large hardback book. Checking the envelope carefully first, he then takes the book out and looks at the cover. The book is “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” He looks along the edges of the book and then riffles the pages quickly. Finding nothing of interest, he looks up.)
SHERLOCK: Show me where the brother slept.
(He is taken to another smaller dormitory and looks around, going to stand beside a bed which is facing the door. The door has a frosted glass pane in it. He looks towards the door while gesturing down to the bed.)
SHERLOCK: The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He’d recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door.
LESTRADE: Okay, so ...
SHERLOCK: So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon.
(Leaving the other three inside the room, he goes outside the door and pulls it almost closed, then raises his hand and points his fingers as if they’re a gun, showing the others how it would be seen through the frosted glass. He pushes the door open and comes back into the room.)
SHERLOCK: What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?
(He walks around the bed, looking at the boy’s possessions.)
SHERLOCK: This little boy; this particular little boy ... (he looks at the bedside table) ... who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?
JOHN: He’d leave a sign?
(Sherlock starts sniffing noisily. He picks up a cricket bat leaning against the nearby cupboard and sniffs along both sides of it. Putting the bat down again he squats and sniffs around the bedside table, then reaches under the bed and finds an almost empty glass bottle of linseed oil. He looks up.)
SHERLOCK (sternly): Get Anderson.
Not long afterwards the room has been darkened as much as possible by closing the wooden shutters over the windows. Sherlock shines an ultraviolet light on the wall beside the boy’s bed where the words “HELP US” have been written on the wall, only now visible in the light.
SHERLOCK: Linseed oil.
ANDERSON: Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.
SHERLOCK: Brilliant, Anderson.
ANDERSON: Really?
SHERLOCK: Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot.
(He points downwards, shining the light close to the wooden floorboards.)
SHERLOCK: The floor.
(There are several sets of illuminated footprints of varying sizes leading towards the door. Sherlock follows them slowly.)
JOHN: He made a trail for us!
SHERLOCK: The boy was made to walk ahead of them.
JOHN (looking at the shape of some of the smaller footprints): On, what, tiptoe?
SHERLOCK: Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head.
(He walks slowly out into the corridor, which has also been blacked out, and follows the footsteps. Anderson walks beside him with another ultraviolet light.)
SHERLOCK: The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck.
(A few yards along the corridor the glowing footsteps stop.)
ANDERSON: That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here.
(Sherlock stops. Anderson turns back to him.)
ANDERSON: Tells us nothing after all.
SHERLOCK: You’re right, Anderson – nothing.
(He pauses for a moment, then takes a breath.)
SHERLOCK (quickfire): Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace.
(He reaches to the closest window and tears down the blackout material that had been stuck across it. Daylight floods back into the corridor. Putting the light onto the window sill, he kneels down and takes his wallet of tools and a small lidded plastic Petri dish from his inside pocket. As the police go back towards the bedroom, he puts the dish on the floor, opens the wallet and chuckles contentedly. John squats down beside him.)
JOHN: Having fun?
SHERLOCK: Starting to.
JOHN: Maybe don’t do the smiling.
(Sherlock lifts his head.)
JOHN: Kidnapped children?
(Sherlock lowers his head again and concentrates on scraping some of the dried linseed oil and floor wax loose with a small scalpel and then using tweezers to pick up the loosened pieces and put them into the container.)
LONDON. Sherlock and John are in a taxi.
JOHN: But how did he get past the CCTV? If all the doors were locked ...
SHERLOCK: He walked in when they weren’t locked.
JOHN: But a stranger can’t just walk into a school like that.
SHERLOCK: Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday – end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What’s one more stranger among that lot?
(A flashback shows one of the school children outside the entrance being embraced by her mother. Other adults and children are all around, and one man walks alone up the steps towards the door.)
SHERLOCK: He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide.
ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Molly Hooper walks along a corridor, pulling her coat on. Just as she reaches the fire doors at the end of the corridor, Sherlock and John walk through them.
SHERLOCK: Molly!
MOLLY: Oh, hello. I’m just going out.
SHERLOCK (putting his hands onto her shoulders and turning her back the way she just came): No you’re not.
MOLLY: I’ve got a lunch date.
SHERLOCK (putting a hand on her back to start her walking again): Cancel it. You’re having lunch with me.
(Reaching into his coat pockets, he dramatically produces a bag of Quavers crisps from each pocket.)
MOLLY: What?
SHERLOCK (putting the crisps back into his pockets): Need your help. It’s one of your old boyfriends – we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty!
(Reaching the fire doors at the other end of the corridor, he turns and smiles back at Molly, who has stopped dead a few paces back. John also stops and stares at him.)
JOHN: It’s Moriarty?
SHERLOCK: Course it’s Moriarty.
MOLLY: Er, Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it.
SHERLOCK: Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.
(Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out and brandishes the Quavers at her again, then continues on through the fire door. She stares after him in utter bewilderment.)
Shortly afterwards, wearing her lab coat, she pushes her way through the door into Sherlock’s favourite lab weighed down by the huge pile of books and files she is carrying. As she staggers into the room, Sherlock is sitting at the bench in front of a microscope. John is standing at the other side of the bench.
SHERLOCK: Oil, John.
(He opens the plastic Petri dish and takes out one of the samples with tweezers.)
SHERLOCK: The oil in the kidnapper’s footprint – it’ll lead us to Moriarty.
(He drops the sample into a test tube which has some liquid in the bottom. The fluid begins to fizz. He suctions up some of the liquid and drops it onto a slide.)
SHERLOCK: All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we’re lucky we can see everything that he’s been up to.
(He looks at the slide under the microscope. Time passes and we see brief extracts of the work that he and Molly are doing. She puts on latex gloves.)
SHERLOCK: I need that analysis.
(Molly squeezes some liquid into a glass dish and applies some Litmus paper to it. The paper turns blue.)
MOLLY: Alkaline.
SHERLOCK: Thank you, John.
MOLLY: Molly.
SHERLOCK: Yes.
(She turns away unhappily. Sherlock has found the first component in the mixture of items and makes a note of it:
1. Chalk
He takes another sample and dissolves it. The results reveal another item:
2. Asphalt
Dissolving another sample into a dish:
3. Brick Dust
And another sample dissolved and heated over a Bunsen burner:
4. Vegetation
Later, he has another sample on a slide and is looking at it in the microscope. He quietly murmurs to himself.)
SHERLOCK (softly): I ... owe ... you.
(He turns his head and looks at a computer screen nearby.)
SHERLOCK: Glycerol molecule.
(He sighs heavily as he struggles to identify the item, seeing it in his head as:
5. ?????
SHERLOCK: What are you?
(He looks into the microscope again as Molly stands beside him typing onto a laptop.)
MOLLY: What did you mean, “I owe you”?
(John walks across the lab on the other side of the bench. Sherlock raises his eyes from the microscope and watches him as he crosses the room.)
MOLLY: You said, “I owe you”. You were muttering it while you were working.
SHERLOCK (looking into the ’scope again): Nothing. Mental note.
(Molly looks at him.)
MOLLY: You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead.
(She closes her eyes, embarrassed.)
MOLLY: No, sorry.
SHERLOCK: Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation. It’s really not your area.
(Molly cringes but continues.)
MOLLY: When he was ... dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely – except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.
SHERLOCK (sternly): Molly ...
MOLLY: You look sad ... (she glances towards John) ... when you think he can’t see you.
(Sherlock’s eyes lift from the microscope and drift towards John who is looking through papers on the other side of the lab some distance away, unaware of the conversation. Sherlock turns his head and looks at Molly.)
MOLLY: Are you okay?
(He opens his mouth but she interrupts before he can speak.)
MOLLY: And don’t just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you.
SHERLOCK: You can see me.
MOLLY: I don’t count.
(Sherlock blinks and really looks at her, possibly for the first time since he has known her.)
MOLLY: What I’m trying to say is that, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me.
(She flinches and looks away briefly.)
MOLLY: No, I just mean ... I mean if there’s anything you need ...
(She shakes her head.)
MOLLY: It’s fine.
(She turns away. Sherlock looks shaken.)
SHERLOCK: What-what-what could I need from you?
MOLLY (turning back to him): Nothing. (She shrugs.) I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually.
(She nods nervously but firmly. The side of Sherlock’s mouth twitches as if it doesn’t know how to say the words.)
SHERLOCK (hesitantly): ... Thank you.
(He frowns and turns his head away as if surprised that he has said it. Molly starts to walk towards the door.)
MOLLY: I’m just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?
(He starts to open his mouth but she turns back and beats him to it.)
MOLLY: It’s okay, I know you don’t.
SHERLOCK: Well, actually, maybe I’ll ...
MOLLY: I know you don’t.
(She turns and walks away, leaving the room. He watches her go, then gazes into the distance thoughtfully for a moment before looking back to his microscope.)
(On the other side of the lab, ignorant of the conversation that has just taken place, John is looking through police photographs taken at the school. He finds one of the inside of the wooden trunk which shows the envelope with the wax seal, and another with a close-up of the seal.)
JOHN: Sherlock.
SHERLOCK: Hmm?
JOHN: This envelope that was in her trunk. There’s another one.
(He walks over to where he has put his jacket.)
SHERLOCK: What?
JOHN: On our doorstep. Found it today.
(He gets the envelope out of his pocket and looks at it.)
JOHN: Yes, and look at that.
(He brings the envelope round the bench and gives it to Sherlock.)
JOHN: Look at that. Exactly the same seal.
(Sherlock reaches into the envelope and takes out some of the brown dust which we now see more clearly.)
SHERLOCK: Breadcrumbs.
JOHN: Uh-huh. It was there when I got back.
SHERLOCK: A little trace of breadcrumbs; hardback copy of fairy tales.
(His eyes widen.)
SHERLOCK: Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs.
JOHN: That’s “Hansel and Gretel.” What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?
SHERLOCK: The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it’s all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me ...
(Jim’s voice overlays Sherlock’s as he relates the words.)
SHERLOCK/JIM: All fairytales need a good old-fashioned villain.
[Don’t go back and check – that’s not exactly what Jim said. He said “Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.” Please excuse your transcriber for a moment while she goes and slaps the scriptwriter ...]
(Sherlock puts the envelope down and adjusts his microscope before starting to look into it again.)
SHERLOCK: The fifth substance: it’s part of the tale.
(He looks up again.)
SHERLOCK: The witch’s house.
JOHN: What?
(In repeated cut-aways during the next few lines, the two kidnapped children are kneeling on the floor somewhere, rapidly peeling the wrappers from sweets and eating them.)
SHERLOCK: The glycerol molecule.
(The final element in the sample becomes clear to him:
5. PGPR
SHERLOCK: PGPR!
JOHN: What’s that?
SHERLOCK (leaping to his feet): It’s used in making chocolate.
(He hurries out of the lab as, in the cut-away, the children continue to scoff the sweets on the floor. The camera pulls back to show that they are in what looks like an abandoned factory or warehouse.)
SCOTLAND YARD. Greg hands a sheet of paper to Sherlock as he leads him and John into the department’s main office.
LESTRADE: This fax arrived an hour ago.
(There is a large handwritten note on the paper saying:
HURRY UP
THEY’RE
DYING!
Sherlock hands the note to John.)
LESTRADE: What have you got for us?
SHERLOCK: Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect.
(He hands a piece of paper to Greg, who reads it aloud.)
LESTRADE: Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation ... What the hell is this? Chocolate?
SHERLOCK: I think we’re looking for a disused sweet factory.
LESTRADE: We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?
SHERLOCK: No. No-no-no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk; chalky clay – that’s a far thinner band of geology.
(He calls up a map of London in his head, overlaying it with the names of the towns, then begins zooming in and out of various areas.)
LESTRADE: Brick dust?
SHERLOCK: Building site. Bricks from the nineteen fifties.
LESTRADE (rubbing his face in despair): There’s thousands of building sites in London.
(Sherlock looks exasperated at the distraction.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve got people out looking.
LESTRADE: So have I.
SHERLOCK: Homeless network – faster than the police. (He smiles snidely.) Far more relaxed about taking bribes.
(Sitting at a desk nearby, Anderson looks up and rolls his eyes. Sherlock’s phone trills a text alert, followed by several more alerts. He brandishes his phone triumphantly at Greg as the messages continue to pour in. Smiling smugly, he lifts the phone up high and calls up his mental London map in front of him, flicking his eyes across to the phone to look at each photograph and then transfer it to the map. One of the photos attracts his particular attention, being a close-up shot of some purple flowers.)
SHERLOCK: John.
(He holds the phone out to show him the picture.)
SHERLOCK: Rhododendron ponticum. It matches.
(He goes back to the mental map and scans around it to the only places in London where such a plant grows, then finds the one place that contains the other elements as well.)
SHERLOCK: Addlestone.
LESTRADE: What?
SHERLOCK: There’s a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything.
(He turns and hurries out of the office with John in hot pursuit. Greg turns to his team.)
LESTRADE: Right, come on.
(Sally hesitates.)
LESTRADE: Come on!
(She jumps up and hurries after him.)
ADDLESTONE. Several police cars race to a disused factory and the police officers, together with Sherlock and John, run inside the dark building. Everyone switches on flashlights and Sally coordinates the police as they start to search in all directions.
DONOVAN: You, look over there. Look everywhere. Okay, spread out, please. Spread out.
(Greg leads another team, including Sherlock and John, into another part of the factory. Greg directs his officers.)
LESTRADE (softly): Look in there. Quietly. Quietly.
(As they make their way deeper into the factory, Sherlock finds a large number of empty sweet wrappers scattered on the floor around a candle on a plate. Sherlock touches the wick of the candle.)
SHERLOCK: This was alight moments ago.
(He calls out loudly.)
SHERLOCK: They’re still here.
(The search continues all around.)
SHERLOCK: Sweet wrappers. What’s he been feeding you?
(He picks up one of the wrappers and looks at it more closely.)
SHERLOCK: Hansel and Gretel.
(He holds the wrapper closer to the beam of his flashlight and sniffs the paper before touching the tip of his tongue to it and grimacing at the taste. He looks at the wrapper in startled realisation of what he has just tasted.)
SHERLOCK: Mercury.
LESTRADE: What?
SHERLOCK: The papers: they’re painted with mercury.
(John groans.)
SHERLOCK: Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate ...
JOHN: It was killing them.
SHERLOCK: But it’s not enough to kill them on its own. Taken in large enough quantities, eventually it would kill them.
(The police continue searching the building but Sherlock is now locked onto his thoughts about Moriarty.)
SHERLOCK: He didn’t need to be there for the execution. Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away.
(Nearby, Sally sees something in the light of her torch. She moves closer and sees a little girl sitting on the ground with her brother’s head in her lap. His eyes are closed. The girl looks around at Sally.)
SHERLOCK (softly, to himself): The hungrier they got, the more they ate ... the faster they died.
(He grins.)
SHERLOCK: Neat.
JOHN: Sherlock.
DONOVAN (calling out): Over here!
(Everyone runs in the direction of her voice. Sally and other officers reach down to the children.)
DONOVAN: I’ve got you. Don’t worry.
SCOTLAND YARD. Sherlock is pacing outside an office while John sits nearby. The door to the office opens and Sally and Greg come out.
DONOVAN (sarcastically to Sherlock): Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn ...
(John stands up and walks over to the others. Greg looks seriously at Sherlock.)
LESTRADE: Now, remember, she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old, so anything you can do to ...
SHERLOCK: ... not be myself.
LESTRADE: Yeah. Might be helpful.
(Sherlock looks round to John and, doing everything but roll his eyes, reaches up and unpops the collar of his coat, folding it down flat before leading John and the others into the office. The little girl is sitting at a table looking down into her lap. A female liaison officer is sitting beside her stroking her arm reassuringly.)
SHERLOCK: Claudette, I ...
(He gets no further as the girl lifts her head, takes one look at him and begins to scream in terror.)
SHERLOCK: No-no, I know it’s been hard for you.
(She continues screaming and scrambles to get away while pointing at him.)
SHERLOCK: Claudette, listen to me ...
LESTRADE: Out. Get out!
(Grabbing his arm, he bundles Sherlock out of the room as the girl’s screams continue.)
Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is standing at the window of another office looking out into the night through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Sally stands at the other side of the office watching him thoughtfully.
JOHN: Makes no sense.
LESTRADE: The kid’s traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.
JOHN: So what’s she said?
DONOVAN: Hasn’t uttered another syllable.
JOHN: And the boy?
LESTRADE: No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care.
(In the building opposite Scotland Yard, all the lights in the offices come on. On the second floor, spray paint has been applied to three of the office windows. Sherlock stares at the enormous letters that have been painted:
I O U
Seconds later, the lights on that floor go out again. Behind Sherlock, the others are unaware of what he has just seen because the view was blocked by the blinds.)
LESTRADE: Well, don’t let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people.
(He looks round to Sally and John.)
LESTRADE: Come on.
(He and John leave the room. Sally stays behind as Sherlock turns away from the window and walks towards the door.)
DONOVAN: Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.
SHERLOCK: Thank you.
DONOVAN (pointedly): Unbelievable.
(Sherlock hesitates momentarily, then continues on. She watches him go with a thoughtful expression.)
(Outside shortly afterwards, John waits for Sherlock to join him and then looks down the street.)
JOHN: Ah.
(He raises his hand to hail the approaching taxi. As the boys walk to the edge of the kerb, John looks round to Sherlock.)
JOHN: You okay?
SHERLOCK: Thinking.
(The taxi pulls up at the kerb.)
SHERLOCK: This is my cab. You get the next one.
JOHN: Why?
SHERLOCK: You might talk.
(He gets in and closes the door and the taxi pulls away. John stares after him in disbelief, then sighs.)
Back inside Scotland Yard, Sally is in a large office and has scattered all the police photographs and other evidence over a long table. She stands looking down at everything thoughtfully. Greg walks along the corridor outside and notices her. He stops and looks into the room as Sally mentally plays back earlier moments.
LESTRADE: What the hell is this? Chocolate?
SHERLOCK: I think we’re looking for a disused sweet factory.
(Claudette screams in terror.)
LESTRADE: Get out!
(Now Greg comes into the room and walks over to Sally as Claudette’s screams fade from her mind.)
LESTRADE: Problem?
(She looks around at him, then down at the evidence again.)