Sherlock

(fires) What... (firing) ...are you doing?!

Bored.

No...

Bored!

MRS. HUDSON: I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock.

A nice murder, that'll cheer you up.

That explosion... Gas leak, yes?

MAN: No.

SHERLOCK: No?

SHERLOCK: They're warning us it's going to happen again.

JOHN: What's going to happen again?

Boom!

Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you?

MAN: What are we dealing with?

Something new.

MAN: I don't see... SHERLOCK: You do see, you just don't observe.

All right, all right.

Better get my feelers out for this character.

Pointless, you'll never find him.

But I know a man who can.

Who?

Me.

(thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) [ Door closes, locks ] [ Man shouting indistinctly ] -Just tell me what happened, from the beginning.

-We had been to a bar, nice place, and, uh, I got chatting with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't happy with that, so when we get back to the hotel, we end up having a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?

-[ Sighs ] -She's always getting at me, saying I weren't a real man.

-Wasn't a real man.

-What?

-It's not "weren't," it's "wasn't."

-Oh.

-Go on.

-Well... then I don't know how it happened, but, suddenly, there's a knife in my hands.

And you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives.

He learned us how to cut up a beast.

-Taught.

-What?

-Taught you how to cut up a beast.

-Yeah, well, th-then I done it.

-Did it.

-Did it!

Stabbed her!

Over and over and over, and I looked down, and she weren't... -[ Sighs ] -Wasn't... moving no more.

Anymore.

God help me, I don't know how it happened, but it was an accident, I swear.

Hey, you've got to help me, Mr. Holmes.

Everyone says you're the best.

Without you...

I'll get hung for this.

-No, no, Mr. Berwick, not at all.

Hanged, yes.

[ Two gunshots ] [ Door opens ] [ Sighs ] -What the hell are you doing?!

-Bored.

-What?

-Bored!

-No.

-Bored!

Bored!

Don't know what's got into the criminal classes.

Good job I'm not one of them.

-So you take it out on the wall?

-Ah, the wall had it coming.

-What about that Russian case?

-Belarus?

Open and shut domestic murder.

Not worth my time.

-Oh, shame.

Anything in?

I'm starving.

Oh, f-- [ Clears throat ] It's a head.

A severed head!

-Just tea for me, thanks.

-No, there's a head in the fridge.

-Yes?

-A bloody head!

-Well, where else was I supposed to put it?

-You don't mind, do you?

-Well... -Got it from Bart's morgue.

I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.

I see you've written up the taxi driver case.

-Uh...yes.

-"A study in pink."

Nice.

-Well, you know.

A pink lady, pink case, pink phone -- there was a lot of pink.

Did you like it?

-Um...no.

-Why not?

I thought you'd be flattered.

-Flattered?

"Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds.

What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."

-Now, hang on a minute.

I didn't mean that -- -Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way.

Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister or who's sleeping with who.

-Whether the Earth goes around the sun.

-Oh, God, that again.

It's not important.

-Not im-- It's primary school stuff.

How can you not know that?

-If I ever did, I've deleted it.

-Deleted it?

-Listen.

This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful, really useful.

Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish.

That makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters.

Do you see?

-But it's the solar system!

-Oh, hell!

What does that matter?!

So we go round the sun.

If we went round the moon or round and round the garden, like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference!

All that matters to me is the work.

Without that, my brain rots.

Put that in your blog.

Or, better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.

[ Door opens, closes ] -Where are you going?

-Out.

I need some air.

-Oh, sorry, love!

Sorry.

Hoo-hoo.

Have you two had a little domestic?

[ Door opens ] Ohh, it's a bit nippy out there.

He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.

-Look at that, Mrs. Hudson.

Quiet... calm, peaceful.

Isn't it hateful?

-Oh, I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock, a nice murder.

That'll cheer you up.

-Mm, can't come too soon.

-Hey, what have you done to my bloody wall?

I'm putting this on your rent, young man!

[ Car alarm blares ] [ Sherlock groans ] -Morning.

-Oh.

M-Morning.

-See?

Told you you should have gone with the Lilo.

-No, no, no, it's fine, I slept fine.

It's very kind of you.

-[ Chuckles ] Well, maybe next time, I'll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know.

-Which was discovered by the moldering... -What about the time after that?

-...Some 18 months ago.

Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century.

-So, do you want some breakfast?

-Love some.

-Yeah, well, you better make it yourself, 'cause I'm going to have a shower.

-It fetched over �20 million.

This one is anticipated to do even better.

Back now to our main story.

There's been a massive explosion in central London.

As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there's any suspicion of terrorist involvement.

-Sarah!

-Police have issued an emergency number... -Sarah!

Sorry, I've got to run.

-Other news now... [ Police radio chatter ] Excuse me, can I get through?

Excuse me.

Can I get through?

-Excuse me.

I live over there.

Sherlock!

Sherlock!

-John.

-I saw it on the telly.

Are you okay?

-Me?

What?

Oh, yeah, fine.

Gas leak, apparently.

-I can't.

-Can't?

-Stuff I've got on is just too big.

I can't spare the time.

-Never mind your usual trivia.

This is of national importance.

-How's the diet?

-Fine.

Perhaps you can get through to him, John.

-What?

-I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent.

-If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?

-No, no, no, no, no.

I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time, not with the Korean elections so... Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?

Besides, a case like this, it requires...legwork.

-How's Sarah, John?

How was the Lilo?

-Sofa, Sherlock.

It was the sofa.

-Oh, yes, of course.

-How -- Oh, never mind.

-Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... pals.

What's he like to live with?

Hellish, I imagine.

-I'm never bored.

-Good.

That's good, isn't it?

Andrew West, known as "Westie" to his friends, civil servant.

Found dead on the tracks at Battersea station this morning with his head smashed in.

-Jumped in front of a train?

-Seems the logical assumption.

-But... -But?

-Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident.

-[ Chuckles ] -The MOD is working on a new missile defense system, the Bruce-Partington program.

The plans for it were on a memory stick.

-[ Chuckles ] That wasn't very clever.

-It's not the only copy.

-Oh.

-But it is secret... and missing.

-Top secret?

-Very.

We think West must have taken the memory stick.

We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands.

You've got to find those plans, Sherlock.

Don't make me order you.

-I'd like to see you try.

-Think it over.

Goodbye, John.

Mm.

See you very soon.

-Why'd you lie?

[ Door closes ] You've got nothing on, not a single case.

That's why the wall took a pounding.

Why did you tell your brother you were busy?

-Why shouldn't I?

-Oh.

Nice.

Sibling rivalry.

Now we're getting somewhere.

[ Mobile ringing ] -Sherlock Holmes.

Of course.

How could I refuse?

Lestrade.

I've been summoned.

Coming?

-If you want me to.

-Of course.

I'd be lost without my blogger.

-You like the funny cases, don't you?

The surprising ones.

-Obviously.

-You'll love this.

That explosion... -Gas leak, yes?

-No.

-No?

-No, made to look like one.

-What?

-Hardly anything left of the place, except a strongbox -- a very strong box, and inside of it is this.

-You haven't opened it?

-It's addressed to you, isn't it?

We've X-rayed it.

It's not booby-trapped.

-How reassuring.

Nice stationery.

Bohemian.

-What?

-From the Czech Republic.

No fingerprints?

-No.

-She used a fountain pen.

Parker Duofold, iridium nib.

-She?

-Obviously.

-Obviously.

[ Letter opener clatters ] -But that's -- That's the phone, the pink phone.

-What, from "A Study in Pink"?

-Well, obviously, it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like -- "Study in Pink"?

You read his blog?

-Of course I read his blog.

We all do.

Do you really not know that the Earth goes round the sun?

-[ Donovan snickers ] -It isn't the same phone.

This one's brand new.

Someone's gone to a lot trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership.

-You have one new message.

[ Five beeps ] -Was that it?

-No, that's not it.

[ Cellphone chimes ] -What the hell are we supposed to make of that?

An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips.

-It's a warning.

-A warning?

-Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that.

Five pips.

They're warning us it's going to happen again.

I've seen this place before.

-H-Hang on.

What's going to happen again?

-Boom!

-Mrs. Hudson!

-You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat?

-The door's been opened recently.

-No, can't be.

That's the only key.

I can't get anyone interested in this flat.

It's the damp, I expect.

That's the curse of basements.

I'd a place once when I was first married, black mold all up the wall -- [ Door slams ] Oh, dear me.

-Shoes.

-He's a bomber, remember.

[ Mobile ringing ] -Hello?

-[ Ragged breathing ] [ Woman sobbing ] H-Hello... S-Sexy.

-Who is this?

-I've... sent you... a little puzzle, just to say hi.

[ Sobs ] -Who's talking?

Why are you crying?

-[ Sobs ] Uh, I'm not crying.

I'm typing.

And this... s-stupid bitch... [Sniffles] is reading it out.

[ Sobbing ] -The curtain rises.

-What?

-Nothing.

-No, what did you mean?

-I've been expecting this for some time.

-12 hours t-to solve... my puzzle, Sherlock... or I'm going to be... so... naughty.

[ Sobbing ] -Who do you suppose it was?

-Hmm?

-Woman on the phone, the crying woman.

-Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage.

No lead there.

-For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads.

-You're not going to be much use to her.

-Are they trying to trace it, trace the call?

-Bomber's too smart for that.

[ Mobile beeps ] Pass me my phone.

-Where is it?

-Jacket.

Careful!

-Text from your brother.

-Delete it.

-Delete it?

-Missile plans are out of the country now.

Nothing we can do about it.

-Well, Mycroft thinks there is.

He's texted you eight times.

Must be important.

-Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?

-His what?

-Mycroft never texts if he can talk.

-Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains, end of story.

The only mystery is this -- why is my brother is so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting.

-Try and remember there's a woman who might die.

What for?

There's hospitals full of people dying, doctor.

Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them.

[ Computer beeps ] Ah!

-Any luck?

-Oh, yes!

-Oh, sorry.

I didn't -- -Jim, hi!

Come in, come in!

Jim... this is Sherlock Holmes.

-Ah.

-And, uh...sorry.

-John Watson.

Hi.

-Hi.

So you're Sherlock Holmes.

Molly's told me all about you.

You on one of your cases?

-Jim works in I.T.

upstairs.

That's how we met -- office romance.

-[ Jim chuckles ] -Gay.

-Sorry, what?

-Nothing.

Um, "hey."

-Hi.

[ Clattering ] Sorry.

Sorry!

Well, I'd better be off.

I'll see you at the Fox.

About 6: 00-ish?

-Yeah.

-Bye.

-Bye.

-It was nice to meet you.

-You, too.

[ Door opens ] -What do you mean, "gay"?

We're together.

-And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly.

You've put on three pounds since I last saw you.

-Two and a half.

-Mm, three.

-Sherlock.

-He's not gay!

Why do you have to spoil -- He's not!

-With that level of personal grooming?

-Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?

I put product in my hair.

-You wash your hair, there's a difference.

No, no, tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes.

Then there's his underwear.

-His underwear?

-Visible above the waistline, very visible, very particular brand.

That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here, and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain.

[ Door opens ] -Charming, well done.

-Just saving her time.

Isn't that kinder?

-Kinder?

No, no, Sherlock, that wasn't kind.

-Go on, then.

-Hmm?

-You know what I do.

Off you go.

-[ Chuckles ] No.

-Go on.

-I'm not going to stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and -- -An outside eye, a second opinion, it's very useful to me.

-Yeah, right.

-Really.

Fine.

[Clears throat] They're just a pair of shoe-- trainers.

-Good.

-Um...

They're in good nick.

I'd say they were pretty new, except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while.

Uh, very '80s.

Probably one of those retro designs.

-You're on sparkling form.

What else?

-They're quite big, so a man's.

-But... -But there's traces of a name inside in felt tip, and adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belong to a kid.

-Excellent.

What else?

-Uh... Um, that's it.

-That's it.

-How did I do?

-Well, John, really well.

I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, you know.

The owner loved these, scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored, changed the laces three -- no, four times.

Even so, there are traces of flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema.

Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inner side, which means the owner had weak arches.

British-made, 20 years old.

-20 years?

-They're not retro, they're original.

Limited edition -- two blue stripes, 1989.

-There's still mud on them.

They look new.

-Someone's kept them that way.

Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles.

Analysis shows it's from Sussex with London mud overlaying it.

-How do you know that?

-Pollen -- clear as a map reference to me.

South of the river, too.

So the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex 20 years ago and left them behind.

-So what happened to him?

-Something bad.

He loved those shoes, remember.

He'd never leave them filthy.

Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to.

So a child with big feet gets... Oh.

-What?

-Carl Powers.

-Sorry, who?

-Carl Powers, John.

-What is it?

-It's where I began.

1989, young kid, champion swimmer, came from Brighton for a school sports tournament, drowned in the pool, tragic accident.

You wouldn't remember it.

Why should you?

-But you remember.

-Yes.

-Something fishy about it?

-Nobody thought so -- nobody except me.

I was only a kid myself.

I read about it in the papers.

-You started young, didn't you?

-The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out, it was too late.

There was something wrong somewhere.

I couldn't get it out of my head.

-What?

-His shoes.

-What about them?

-They weren't there.

I made a fuss, I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important.

He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes... [ Bag rustles ] ...until now.

[ Clock ticking ] [ Siren wailing ] -Can I help?

I want to help.

There's only five hours left.

[ Mobile beeps ] It's your brother.

He's texting me now.

How does he know my num-- -Must be a root canal.

-Look, he did say "national importance."

-Hmph!

How quaint.

-What is?

-You are.

Queen and country.

-You can't just ignore it.

-I'm not ignoring it.

Putting my best man onto it right now.

-Right, good.

[Clears throat] -Who's that?

-John, how nice!

I was hoping it wouldn't be long.

How can I help you?

-Thank you.

Um, well, I was wanting to, uh...

Your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans -- the missile plans.

-Did he?

-Yes.

He's investigating now.

He's, uh... investigating away.

Um, I just wondered what else you could tell me about the dead man.

-Uh, 27, a clerk at Vauxhall Cross.

MI6.

He was involved in the Bruce-Partington program in a minor capacity.

Security checks a-okay.

No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies.

Last seen by his fiance 10:30 yesterday evening.

-Lucy, love, I've got to go out.

I got to see someone.

-Westie!

[ Door closes ] -Right.

He was found at Battersea, yes?

So he got on the train?

-No.

-What?

-He had an oyster card... but it hadn't been used.

-Must have bought a ticket.

-Hmm.

There was no ticket on the body.

-Then -- -Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea?

That is the question, the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to.

How is he getting on?

-He -- He's fine.

Oh, and it is going... very well.

He's, um -- you know, he's completely focused on it.

[ Clock ticking ] -Poison.

-What are you going on about?

-Clostridium botulinum!

It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet.

Carl Powers.

-Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?

-Remember the shoelaces?

-Mm.

-The boy suffered from eczema.

It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication.

Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles, and he drowns.

-How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?

-It's virtually undetectable.

Nobody would have been looking for it.

There are still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers, from where he put the cream on his feet.

That's why they had to go.

-So how do we let the bomber know?

-Get his attention, stop the clock.

-The killer kept the shoes all these years?

-Yes.

Meaning... -He's our bomber.

[ Mobile rings ] -[ Sobbing ] Well done, you.

Come and get me.

-Where are you?

Tell us where you are.

[ Sirens wailing ] -She lives in Cornwall.

Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park, and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house, told her to phone you.

She had to read out from this pager.

-And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off.

-Or if you hadn't solved the case.

-Oh.

Elegant.

-Elegant?

-What was the point?

Why would anyone do this?

-Oh.

I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored.

[ Mobile chimes ] -You have one new message.

[ Four beeps ] -Four pips.

-First test passed, it would seem.

Here's the second.

[ Mobile rings ] It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?

-I'll see if it's been reported.

-Freak, it's for you.

-Hello.

-[ Nervously ] It's okay that you've gone to the police.

-Who is this?

Is this you again?

-But don't rely on them.

Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers.

I never liked him.

Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing.

-You've stolen another voice, I presume.

-This is about you and me.

-Who are you?

What's that noise?

[ Horn honks ] -It's the sounds of life, Sherlock.

But don't worry.

I can soon fix that.

You solved my last puzzle in nine hours.

This time, you have eight.

[ Clock ticking ] -No.

Great!

[ Receiver thuds ] We've found it.

-The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford, banker of some kind, city boy, paid in cash.

Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, and he never arrived.

-You're still hanging round him?

-Yeah, well... -Opposites attract, I suppose.

-No, we're not... -You should get yourself a hobby, stamps maybe.

Model trains -- safer.

-Before you ask, yes, it's Monkford's blood.

DNA checks out.

-No body.

-Not yet.

-Get a sample sent to the lab.

-Ugh.

-Mrs. Monkford?

-[ Tearfully ] Yes.

Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen.

-We're not from the police, we're, uh... -[ Tearfully ] Sherlock Holmes, very old friend of your husband's.

We, um... We grew up together.

-Uh, I'm sorry.

Who?

I don't think he ever mentioned you.

-Oh, he must have done.

This is...

This is horrible.

I mean, I-I just can't believe it.

I only saw him the other day.

Same old Ian, not a care in the world.

-Sorry.

My husband has been depressed for months.

Who are you?

-Really strange that he hired a car.

Why would he do that?

It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?

-No, it isn't.

He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all.

-Ah, well... That was Ian.

That was Ian all over.

-No, it wasn't.

-[ Normal voice ] Wasn't it?

Interesting.

-Who was I talking to?

-Why did you lie to her?

-People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you.

Past tense, did you notice?

-Sorry, what?

-I referred to her husband in the past tense.

She joined in.

Bit premature.

They've only just found the car.

-You think she murdered her husband?

-Definitely not, that's not a mistake a murderer would make.

-I see.

No, I don't.

What am I seeing?

-Fishing.

Try fishing.

-Where now?

-Janus Cars.

Just found this in the glove compartment.

[ Clock ticking ] -Can't see how I can help you gentlemen.

-Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday.

-Yeah, lovely motor, Mazda RX-8.

Wouldn't mind one of them myself.

-Is that one?

-No, they're all Jags.

I can see you're not a car man, eh?

-But surely, you can afford one.

A Mazda, I mean.

-Yeah, that's a fair point.

But you know how it is, it's like working in a sweetshop.

Once you start picking out the licorice allsorts, when does it stop?

-You didn't know Mr. Monkford.

-No, he was just a client.

He came in here and hired one of my cars.

I've no idea what happened to him, poor sod.

-Nice holiday, Mr. Ewart?

-Eh?

-You've been away, haven't you?

-Oh, the -- No, it's sunbeds, I'm afraid.

Too busy to get away.

My wife would love it, though, bit of sun.

-Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?

What?- -I noticed one on the way in, and haven't got any change.

I'm gasping.

-Um, oh.

-Hmm.

-No, sorry.

-Oh, well.

Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewart.

You've been very helpful.

Come on, John.

[ Door closes ] -I've got change, if you still want to... -Nicotine patches, remember?

I'm doing well.

-So what was all that about?

-I needed to look inside his wallet.

-Why?

-Mr. Ewart's a liar.

[ Fizzing ] [ Mobile rings ] -Hello.

-The clue is in the name -- Janus Cars.

-Why would you be giving me a clue?

-Why does anyone do anything?

Because I'm bored.

We were made for each other, Sherlock.

-Then talk to me in your own voice.

-Patience.

[ Dial tone ] [ Clock ticking ] -How much blood was on that seat, would you say?

-How much?

Uh, about a pint.

-Not about, exactly a pint.

That was their first mistake.

The blood's Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen.

-Frozen?

-There are clear signs.

I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago, and that's what they spread on the seat.

-Who did?

-Janus Cars.

The clue's in the name.

-The God with two faces?

-Exactly.

They provide a very special service.

If you've got any kind of a problem -- money troubles, bad marriage, whatever -- Janus Cars will help you disappear.

Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble.

Financial, at a guess.

He's a banker.

Couldn't see a way out, but if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat... -So where is he?

-Colombia.

-Colombia?

-Mr. Ewart of Janus Cars had a 20,000 Colombian peso note in his wallet.

Quite a bit of change, too.

He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly.

No one wears a shirt on a sunbed.

That, plus his arm.

-His arm?

-He kept scratching it.

Obviously irritating him and bleeding.

Why?

Because he'd recently had a booster jab.

Hep B, probably -- difficult to tell at that distance.

Conclusion -- he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia.

Mrs. Monkford cashes in the life insurance, and she splits it with Janus Cars.

-Mrs. Monkford?

-Oh, yes.

She's in on it, too.

Go and arrest them, inspector.

That's what you do best.

We need to let our bomber know that the case is solved.

I am on fire!

[ Mobile rings ] [ Mobile clicks ] -He says... you can come and fetch me.

Help.

Help me, please.

[ Siren wailing ] -Feeling better?

-Mm.

We've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started.

Has it occurred to you -- -Probably.

-No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you?

The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid's shoes -- it's all meant for you.

-Yes, I know.

-Is it him, then?

Moriarty?

-Perhaps.

[ Mobile chimes ] [ Three beeps ] -That could be anybody.

-It could be, yeah.

Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed.

-What do you mean?

-Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly.

-Thank you, Tyra!

Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?

[ Mobile rings ] Anyway, speaking of silk purses... -Hello?

-[ Trembling voice ] This one... Is a bit... defective.

Sorry.

She's blind.

This is... a funny one.

I'll give you... 12 hours.

[ Clock ticking ] -Why are you doing this?

-I-I like... to watch you... dance.

[ Gasping ] -[ On TV ] And I see you're back to your bad habits.

-Continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality Connie Prince.

Miss Prince, famous for her makeover programs, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in... [ Door opens ] -Connie Prince, 54.

She had one of those makeover shows on the telly.

Did you see it?

-No.

-Very popular.

She was going places.

-Not anymore.

So, dead two days.

According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden, nasty wound, tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream.

Good night, Vienna.

-I suppose.

-Something's wrong with this picture.

-Eh?

Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it.

Something's wrong.

John?

-Mm.

-The cut on her hand, it's deep.

Would have bled a lot, right?

-Yeah.

-But the wound's clean -- very clean and fresh.

How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?

-Eight, ten days.

The cut was made later.

-After she was dead?

-Must have been.

The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?

-You want to help, right?

-Of course.

-Connie Prince's background -- family history, everything.

Get me data.

-Right.

-There's something else that we haven't thought of.

-Is there?

-Yes.

Why is he doing this, the bomber?

If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it up?

-Good Samaritan.

-Who press-gangs suicide bombers?

-Bad Samaritan.

-I'm -- I'm serious, Sherlock.

Listen, I'm cutting you slack here, I'm trusting you, but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex, and he's just waiting for you to solve the puzzle.

So just tell me, what are we dealing with?

-Something new.

[ Clock ticking ] Connection, connection, connection.

There must be a connection.

Carl Powers, killed 20 years ago.

The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him.

The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic.

The first hostage from Cornwall, the second from London, the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent.

What's he doing, working his way round the world, showing off?

[ Mobile rings ] -You're enjoying this, aren't you?

Joining the...dots.

Three hours.

[ Clock ticking ] Boom... Boom.

[ Sobbing ] [ Dial tone ] [ Clicks phone off ] [ Cat meows ] -We're devastated.

Of course we are.

-Can I get you anything, sir?

-Hmm?

Uh, no.

No, thanks.

-Raoul is my rock.

I don't think I could have managed.

We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me.

[ Meows ] -And to the, uh, public, Mr.

Prince.

-Oh, she was adored.

I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses.

Still, it's a relief, in a way, to know that she's beyond this vale of tears.

-Absolutely.

-Great.

Thank you.

Thanks again.

-It's a real shame.

I liked her.

She taught you how to do your colors.

-Colors?

-You know, what goes best with what.

I should never wear cerise, apparently.

Drains me.

-Who's that?

-Home office.

-Home office?

-Well, home secretary, actually.

Owes me a favor.

-A pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much -- they all do these days.

People can hardly move their faces.

It's silly, isn't it?

[ Giggles ] Did you ever see her show?

-Not until now.

[ Clicks ] -Connie: You look pasty, love.

-Ah, rained every day but one.

-That's her brother.

No love lost there, if you can believe the papers.

-So I gather.

I've just been having a very fruitful chat with people who love this show.

A fan site's indispensable for gossip.

-Don't you think, girls?

-Off, off, off, off, off, off, off!

-It's more common than people think.

The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing.

And if left un...treated... -I don't know what I'm going to do now.

-Right.

-I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely, but it's not the same without her.

-That's why... my paper wanted to get the, um... the full story, straight from the horse's mouth.

You sure it's not too soon?

-No.

-Right.

-You fire away.

[ Cat meows ] [ Mobile rings ] -John.

-Hi.

Look, get over here quickly.

I think I'm onto something.

You'll need to pick up some stuff first.

You got a pen?

-I'll remember.

[ Door closes, glasses clink ] -That'll be him.

-What?

-Ah, Mr.

Prince, isn't it?

-Yes.

-Very good to meet you.

-Yes, thank you.

-So sorry to hear about -- -Yes, yes, very kind.

Shall we, uh... [Clears throat] -You were right, the bacteria got into her another way.

-Oh, yes?

-Yes.

-Right, are we all set?

-Uh, yes.

Shall we, um... -Not too close.

I'm raw from crying.

-[ Cat meows ] -Oh, who's this?

-Sekhmet, named after the Egyptian Goddess.

-How nice.

Was she Connie's?

-Yes, a little present from yours truly.

-Sherlock, light reading?

-Oh, uh...2.8.

-Bloody hell, what do you think you're playing at?

-Sorry.

-You're like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two.

What's going on?

-Actually, I think we've got what we came for, excuse us.

-What?

-Sherlock.

-What?

-We've got deadlines.

-But you've not taken anything!

-[ Laughs ] Yes!

Ooh, yes!

-You think it was the cat.

It wasn't the cat.

-What?

Yes.

Yeah, it is.

It must be.

It's how he got the tetanus into her system.

Its paws stink of disinfectant.

-Lovely idea.

-No, he coated it onto the claws of her cat.

It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her, a scratch is almost inevitable.

She wouldn't -- -I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and clever for the brother.

-[ Chuckles ] He murdered his sister for her money.

-Did he?

-Didn't he?

-Nope.

It was revenge.

-Reven-- Who wanted revenge?

-Raoul, the houseboy.

Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes week in, week out, virtual bullying campaign.

Finally, he had enough, fell out with her badly.

It's all on the web site.

She threatened to disinherit Kenny.

Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle.

-Wait, wait.

Wait a second.

What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?

-Raoul keeps a very clean house.

You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor -- scrubbed within an inch of its life.

You smell of disinfectant now.

No, the cat doesn't come into it.

Raoul's internet records do, though.

I hope we can get a cab from here.

[ Clock ticking ] Raoul de Santos is your killer, Kenny Prince's houseboy.

Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin.

We've been here before.

Carl Powers.

Tut-tut, our bomber's repeated himself.

-So how'd he do it?

-Botox injection.

-Botox?

-Botox is a diluted form of botulinum.

Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections.

My contact at the home office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases.

He's been bulk ordering Botox for months.

Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.

-Are you sure about this?

-I'm sure.

-Alright, my office.

-Hey, Sherlock, how long?

-What?

-How long have you known?

-Well, this one was quite simple.

And, actually, like I said, the bomber repeated himself.

-That was a mistake.

-No, but Sherlock, the hostage, the old woman, she's been there all this time!

-I knew I could save her.

I also knew that the bomber had given us 12 hours.

I solved the case quickly.

That gave me time to get on with other things.

Don't you see?

We're one up on him.

[ Rings ] Hello?

-Help me!

-Tell us where you are.

Address?

-He was so... His voice... -No, no, no.

No, tell me nothing about him, nothing.

-He sounded so soft.

[ Explosion ] [ Dial tone ] -Hello?

-Sherlock?

-What's happened?

-The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing 12 people... -Whole block of flats.

-...is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main.

A spokesman from the utility company... -He certainly gets about.

-Well, obviously, I lost that round.

Although, technically, I did solve the case.

He killed the old lady because she started to describe him.

Just once, he put himself in the firing line.

-What do you mean?

-Well, usually, he must stay above it all.

He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact.

-Mm, what, like the Connie Prince murder, he -- he arranged that?

So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?

-Novel.

-Huh.

[ Camera shutters clicking, reporters shouting ] -Taking his time this time.

-[ Clears throat ] Anything on the Carl Powers case?

-Nothing.

All the living classmates check out spotless, no connection.

-Maybe the killer was older than Carl?

-Thought had occurred.

-So why is he doing this then, playing this game with you?

Do you think he wants to be caught?

-I think he wants to be distracted.

-Oh.

I hope you'll be very happy together.

-Sorry, what?

-There are lives at stake, Sherlock!

Actual human li-- Just so I know, do you care about that at all?

-Will caring about them help save them?

-Nope.

-Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.

-And you find that easy, do you?

-Yes, very.

Is that news to you?

-No, no.

-I've disappointed you.

-That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah.

-Don't make people into heroes, John.

Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.

[ Mobile beeps ] Excellent.

[ Two beeps ] A view of the Thames.

South bank, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.

You check the papers, I'll look online.

Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help.

Not much cop, this caring lark.

[ Siren wailing ] -Archway suicide.

-Ten a penny.

-Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington.

-Ah.

Man found on the train line, Andrew West.

-Nothing!

[ Ringing ] It's me.

Have you found anything on the South bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark bridge?

-Do you reckon this is connected, then, the bomber?

-Must be.

Odd, though, he hasn't been in touch.

-Then we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?

-Yes.

-Any ideas?

-Seven, so far.

-Seven?

-[ Clears throat ] He's dead about 24 hours, maybe a bit longer.

Did he drown?

-Apparently not.

Not enough of the Thames in his lungs -- asphyxiated.

-Yes, I'd agree.

There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth.

More bruises, here and here.

-Fingertips.

-He's late 30s, I'd say, not in the best condition.

-He's been in the river a long while.

The water's destroyed most of the data.

But I'll tell you one thing, that lost Vermeer painting's a fake.

-What?

-We need to identify the corpse, find out about his friends and -- -Wait, wait.

What painting?

What are you on about?

-It's all over the place.

Haven't you seen the posters?

Dutch old master, it was supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago.

Now it's turned up, worth �30 million.

-Okay, so what has that got to do with the stiff?

-Everything.

Have you ever heard of the golem?

-Golem?

-It's a horror story, isn't it?

What are you saying?

-Jewish folk story, a gigantic man made of clay.

It's also the name of an assassin.

Real name, Oskar Dzundza, one of the deadliest assassins in the world.

That is his trademark style.

-So this is a hit?

-Definitely.

The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.

-But what has this got to do with that painting?

I don't see -- -You do see, you just don't observe!

-Yes, alright, alright.

Girls, calm down.

Sherlock, do you want to take us through it?

-What do we know about this corpse?

The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers.

They're pretty formal, maybe he was going out for the night.

The trousers are heavy-duty.

Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap.

They're both too big for him, so some kind of a standard-issue uniform.

Dressed for work then.

What kind of work?

There's a hook on his belt for a walkie talkie.

-Tube driver?

-Security guard?

-More likely.

That'll be borne out by his backside.

-His backside?

-Flabby -- you'd think that he'd led a sedentary life.

Yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise.

So a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around.

Security guard's looking good, and the watch helps, too.

The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.

-Why regular?

Maybe he set his alarm like that the night before.

-No, no, no.

The buttons are stiff, hardly touched.

He set his alarm like that a long time ago.

His routine never varied, but there's something else.

The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely.

There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man works somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution.

I found this inside his trouser pockets.

Sodden by the river, but still recognizably... -What?

Tickets?

-Ticket stubs.

He worked in a museum or gallery.

Did a quick check.

The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing -- Alex Woodbridge.

Tonight, they unveil the rediscovered masterpiece.

Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant?

Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid �30 million.

The pictures are fake.

-Fantastic.

-Meretricious.

-And a happy new year.

-Poor sod.

-I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character.

-Pointless, you'll never find him, but I know a man who can.

-Who?

-Me.

Why hasn't he phoned?

He's broken his pattern.

Why?

Waterloo Bridge.

-Where now, the gallery?

-In a bit.

-The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it?

Why have they got hold of an old master?

-Don't know.

Dangerous to jump to conclusions.

Need data.

Stop.

Can you wait here?

I won't be a moment.

-Sherlock.

-Change?

Any change?

-What for?

-Cup of tea, of course.

-Here you go, 50.

-Thanks.

-What are you doing?

-Investing.

Now we go to the gallery.

Have you got any cash?

No, I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant.

Lestrade will give you the address.

-Okay.

-We'd been sharing about a year, just sharing.

-Mm.

Mm.

May I?

-Yeah.

-Oh.

Sorry.

Stargazer, was he?

-God, yeah.

Mad about it.

It's all he ever did in his spare time.

He was a nice guy, Alex.

I liked him.

He was, uh... never much of a one for Hoovering.

[ Chuckles ] -What about art?

Did he know anything about that?

-It was just a job, you know.

-Mm.

Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?

-No.

We had a break-in, though.

-Hmm?

When?

-Last night.

There was nothing taken.

Oh, there was a message left for Alex on the landline.

-Who was it from?

-Well, I can play it for you, if you like.

I'll get the phone.

-Please.

-Oh, should I speak now?

Alex?

Love, it's Professor Cairns.

Listen, you were right.

You were bloody right.

Give us a call when -- [ Dial tone, beep ] -Professor Cairns?

-No, no idea, sorry.

-Mm.

Can I try and ring back?

-Well, no good.

I mean, I've had other calls since, sympathy ones, you know.

[ Mobile beeps ] -Don't you have something to do?

-Just admiring the view.

-Yes.

Lovely.

Now get back to work.

We open tonight.

-Doesn't it bother you?

-What?

That the painting's a fake.

-What?

-It's a fake, it has to be.

It's the only possible explanation.

You are in charge, aren't you, Ms Wenceslas?

-Who are you?

-Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him.

Was it you?

-Golem?

What the hell are you talking about?

-Are you working for someone else?

Did you fake it for them?

-It's not a fake.

-It is a fake.

I don't know why, but there's something wrong with it, there has to be.

-What the hell are you on about?

You know, I could have you sacked on the spot.

-Not a problem.

-No?

-No, I don't work here, you see.

Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice.

-How did you get in?

-Please.

-I want to know.

-The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight.

-Who are you?

-Sherlock Holmes.

-Am I supposed to be impressed?

-You should be.

Have a nice day.

[ Door creaking open, closed ] -He wouldn't.

He just wouldn't.

-No.

Stranger things have happened.

-Westie wasn't a traitor.

That's a horrible thing to say.

-I'm sorry, but you must understand, that's -- -That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?

-He was young man, about to get married, he had debts.

-Everyone's got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country.

-Can you, um -- can you tell me exactly what happened that night?

-We were having a night in, just watching a DVD.

He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one.

He was quiet.

Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.

-And you have no idea who?

-[ Crying ] -Oh, hi, Liz.

You okay, love?

-Yeah.

-Who's this?

-John Watson, hi.

-This is my brother, Joe.

John's trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.

-You with the police?

-Sort of, yeah.

-Tell them to get off their arses, will you?

It's bloody ridiculous.

-I'll do my best.

[ Clears throat ] Well, er...

Thanks very much for your help.

And, again, I'm very, very sorry.

-He didn't steal those things, Mr. Watson.

I knew Westie.

He was a good man.

He was my good man.

[ Dog barking in background ] -Spare change?

-No.

-Any spare change?

-Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art.

-And?

-And... -Is that it?

No habits, hobbies, personality?

-No, no, hey, give us a chance.

He was an amateur astronomer.

-Hold that cab.

-Spare change, sir?

-Don't mind if I do.

-Can you wait here?

-Fortunately, I haven't been idle.

Come on.

-Beautiful, isn't it?

-I thought you didn't care about things like that.

-Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it.

-Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat, a Professor Cairns.

-This way.

-Nice.

Nice part of town.

Uh, any time you want to explain?

-Homeless network, really is indispensable.

-Homeless network?

-My eyes and ears all over the city.

-Ah, that's clever.

So you scratch their backs, and... -Yes, and then disinfect myself.

-Sherlock!

Come on.

What's he doing, sleeping rough?

-Well, he has a very distinctive look.

He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag much.

-Oh, sh-- -What?

-I wish I... -Don't mention it.

[ Tires squeal ] -No!

No!

No!

No!

[ Tires squeal ] It'll take us weeks to find him again.

-Or not.

I have an idea where he might be going.

-What?

-I told you, someone left Alex Woodbridge a message.

There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book.

Come on.

-Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system, and the largest.

Jupiter is a gas giant.

Planet Earth would fit into it 11 times.

-Yes, we know all that.

[ Film fast-forwards ] -Titan is the largest moon... -Come on, Neptune.

[ Film fast-forwards ] [ Door closes ] Many are actually long dead... -Tom, is that you?

-Exploded into supernovas.

Discovered by Urbain le Verrier in 1846.

-[ Muffled ] Oh, my God!

Composed mainly of hydrogen.

Their light takes so long to reach us... -Golem!

-Many are actually long dead... -[ Golem laughs ] -Exploded into -- [ Body thuds ] [ Film fast-forwarding ] -I can't see him.

I'll go round.

I'll go.

-Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?

[ Dramatic music ] -A star begins as a collapsing ball of material composed mainly of... -Golem!

[ Cocks gun ] Let him go, or I will kill you.

-The fourth planet of the solar system, named after the Roman God of war.

[ Narrator speaking indistinctly ] Long dead.

It is a gas giant... -Aargh!

[ Film fast-forwarding and rewinding ] -...Takes so long to reach us... ...Exploded into supernovas... [ Gunshots ] ...Exploded into supernovas... -It's a fake.

It has to be.

-That painting has been subjected to every test known to science.

-It's a very good fake, then.

You know about this, don't you?

This is you, isn't it?

-Inspector, my time is being wasted.

Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?

[ Mobile rings ] -The painting is a fake.

It's a fake.

That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed.

-[ Ragged breathing ] -Oh, come on, proving it's just a detail.

The painting is a fake.

I've solved it, I've figured it out.

It's a fake, that's the answer, that's why they were killed.

Okay, I'll prove it.

Give me time.

Will you give me time?

-Child's Voice: Ten... [ Clock ticking ] -It's a kid.

Oh, God, it's a kid.

-What did he say?

-"Ten."

-Nine... -It's a countdown.

He's giving me time.

-Jesus!

-The painting is a fake.

Now how can I prove it?

How?!

How?!

-Eight... -This kid will die.

Tell me why the painting is a fake.

Tell me!

-Seven... -Shut up, don't say anything.

It only works if I figure it out.

It must be possible, it must be staring me in the face.

-Six... -Oh, how?

-Woodbridge knew, but how?!

-Five... -It's speeding up!

-Sherlock!

-Oh!

-Four... -In the planetarium, you heard it, too.

Oh, that is brilliant, that is gorgeous!

-Three... -What's brilliant?

What is?

-This is beautiful.

[ Chuckling ] Love this!

-Two... -Sherlock!

-The Van Buren supernova.

[ Ticking stops ] -Please, is somebody there?

Somebody help me!

-There you go.

Go and find out where he Is and pick him up.

Van Buren supernova, so-called.

Exploding star.

Only appeared in the sky in 1858.

-So how could it have been painted in the 1640s?

[ Mobile beeps ] Oh!

Oh!

[ Groans ] Oh, Sher-- [ Mobile beeps ] -You know, it's interesting.

Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Ms Wenceslas.

This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it.

Is that where this leads?

What are we looking at, inspector?

-Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact, at the very least.

The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flat.

-I didn't know anything about that.

All those things.

Please, believe me.

I just wanted my share, the 30 million.

[ Sighs ] I found a little, old man in Argentina.

Genius.

I mean, really.

Brushwork, immaculate, could fool anyone.

-Mm.

-Well, nearly anyone.

But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine.

It was just an idea, a spark which he blew into a flame.

-Who?

-I don't know.

-[ Scoffs ] -It's true!

It took a long time, but eventually, I was put in touch with people, his people.

Well, there was neve, any real contact.

just messages, whispers.

-And did those whispers have a name?

-Moriarty.

[ Sirens wailing ] -So this is where West was found?

-Yeah.

Are you going to be long?

-I might be.

-Are you the police, then?

-Sort of.

-I hate 'em.

-The police?

-No, jumpers.

People who chuck themselves in front of trains.

Selfish bastards.

-Well, that's one way of looking at it.

-I mean it.

It's alright for them.

It's over in a split second, strawberry jam all over the lines.

What about the drivers, eh?

They've got to live with it, haven't they?

-Yeah, speaking of strawberry jam, there's no blood on the line.

Has it been cleaned off?

-No, there wasn't that much.

-You said his head was smashed in.

-It was, but there wasn't much blood.

-Okay.

-Well, I'll leave you to it, then.

Just give us a shout when you're off.

-Right.

Right, so, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere.

Or did he?

There was no ticket on the body.

How did he end up here?

[ Tracks squeak ] [ Shudder echoing ] -The points.

-Yes!

Oh!

-I knew you'd get there eventually.

West wasn't killed here, that's why there was so little blood.

-How long have you been following me?

-Since the start.

You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?

Come on.

Got a bit of burglary to do.

Missile defense plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it.

Despite what people think, we do still have a secret service.

-Yeah, I know, I've met them.

-Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it.

My money's on the latter.

We're here.

-Where?

[ Whispers ] Sherlock!

What if there's someone in?

-There isn't.

[ Lock clicking ] -Jeez.

[ Door closes ] Where are we?

-Oh, sorry, didn't I say?

Joe Harrison's flat.

-Joe... -Brother of West's fiancee.

He stole the memory stick, killed his prospective brother-in-law.

-Then why did he do it?

[ Keys jingling, door opens ] -Let's ask him.

[ Door closes ] -Don't!

Don't.

-He wasn't meant to... God.

What's Lucy gonna say?

Jeez.

-Why did you kill him?

-It was an accident.

-[ Scoffs ] -I swear it was.

-But stealing the plans for the missile defense program wasn't an accident, was it?

-I started dealing drugs.

I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right?

I don't know -- I don't know how it started.

I just got out of my depth.

I owed people thousands, serious people.

Then, at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job.

[ Dance music playing ] I mean, usually, he's so careful.

But that night, after a few pints, he really opened up.

He told me about these missile plans, beyond top secret.

He showed me the memory stick, he waved it in front of me.

You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and whatnot.

But there it was, and I thought... Well, I thought it could be worth a fortune.

It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered.

Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew.

-You stole it, didn't you?

What have you done with it?

-What are you talking about?

-What happened?

-[ Shouts ] [ Crack ] -I was going to call an ambulance, but it was too late.

I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in here.

I just sat in the dark, thinking.

-When a neat, little idea popped into your head.

[ Train brakes squealing ] -[ Straining ] -Carrying Andrew West way away from here.

His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't hit a stretch of track that curved.

-And points.

-Exactly.

-You still have it, then, the memory stick?

-Fetch it for me, if you wouldn't mind.

[ Quietly ] Distraction over.

The game continues.

-Well, maybe that's over, too.

We've heard nothing from the bomber.

-Five pips, remember, John?

It's a countdown.

We've only had four.

[ Shouting, booing on television ] -No, no, no!

Of course he's not the boy's father!

Look at the turnups on his jeans!

[ Sighs ] -Knew it was dangerous.

-Hmm?

-Getting you into crap telly.

-Mm.

Not a patch on Connie Prince.

-Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?

-Yep.

He was over the moon.

Threatened me with a knighthood...again.

-You know, I'm still waiting.

Hmm?

-For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system, and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker.

-It didn't do you any good, did it?

-No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective.

-True.

-I won't be in for tea.

I'm going to Sarah's.

There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge.

-Mm.

-Milk, we need milk.

-I'll get some.

-Really?

-Really.

-And some beans then?

-Mm.

[ Door opens ] [ Door closes ] [ Door closes ] -Brought you a little "getting to know you" present.

That's what it's all been for, isn't it?

All your little puzzles, making me dance, all to distract me from this.

[ Door closes ] -Evening.

This is a turnup, isn't it, Sherlock?

-John?

What the hell?

-Bet you never saw this coming.

What... would you like me to make him say... next?

Gottle O' geer.

Gottle O' geer.

Gottle O' geer.

-Stop it.

-Nice touch, this, the pool where little Carl died.

I stopped him.

I can stop John Watson, too, stop his heart.

-Who are you?

[ Door opens ] -I gave you my number.

I thought you might call.

Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket?

Or are you just pleased to see me?

-Both.

-Jim Moriarty.

Hi!

Jim?

Jim from the hospital?

Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression?

But, then, I suppose, that was rather the point.

Don't be silly.

Someone else is holding the rifle.

I don't like getting my hands dirty.

I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big, bad world.

I'm a specialist, you see, like you.

-Dear Jim, please, will you fix it for me?

To get rid of my lover's nasty sister?

Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?

-Just so.

-Consulting criminal.

Brilliant.

-Isn't it?

No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.

[ Gun cocks ] -I did.

-You've come the closest.

Now you're in my way.

-Thank you.

-Didn't mean it as a compliment.

-Yes, you did.

-Yeah, okay, I did.

But the flirting's over, Sherlock.

[ Singsong ] Daddy's had enough now!

I've shown you what I can do.

I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid, just to get you to come out and play.

So take this as a friendly warning, my dear.

Back off.

Although, I have loved this, this little game of ours.

Playing Jim from I.T., playing gay.

Did you like the little touch with the underwear?

-People have died.

-That's what people do!

[ Echoing ] -I will stop you.

-No, you won't.

-You alright?

-You can talk, Johnny boy.

Go ahead.

-Take it.

-Hmm?

Oh.

That.

The missile plans.

Boring!

I could have got them anywhere.

-Sherlock, run!

-[ Laughs ] Good!

[ Chuckling ] Very good!

-If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.

-Isn't he sweet?

I can see why you like having him around.

But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets.

They're so touchingly loyal.

But oops!

You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson.

Gotcha.

[ Chuckles ] Westwood.

Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?

-Oh, let me guess.

I get killed.

-Kill you?

Uh, no, don't be obvious.

I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, some day.

I don't want to rush it though.

I'm saving it up for something special.

No, no, no, no, no.

If you don't stop prying...

I'll burn you.

I will burn the heart out of you.

-I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.

-But we both know that's not quite true.

Well, I'd better be off.

Well, so nice to have had a proper chat.

-What if I was to shoot you now?

Right now?

-Then you could cherish the look of surpris, on my face.

'cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock.

Really, I would.

And just a teensy bit... isappointed.

And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long.

Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.

-Catch you... later.

-No, you won't!

[ Door closes ] -Alright?

Are you alright?

-Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, I'm fine.

I'm fine.

Sherlock.

Sh-Sherlock!

[ Breathing heavily ] Oh, Christ.

For f-- [ Exhales deeply ] Ah!

Ohh.

Are you okay?

-Me?

Yeah, fine.

I'm fine.

Fine.

That, uh... Thing that you, uh -- that you did, that, um... you offered to do, that was, um... good.

-I'm glad no one saw that.

-Hmm?

-You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool.

People might talk.

-People do little else.

Oh.

-Sorry, boys!

I'm so changeable!

It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.

You can't be allowed to continue.

You just can't.

I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.

-Probably my answer has crossed yours.

Punch me in the face.

Punch you.

Yes, punch me.

In the face-- didn't you hear me?

I always hear "punch me in the face" when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext.

MYCROFT: This is a matter of national importance.

Oh, a power play.

This is getting rather fun, isn't it?

Sherlock.

IRENE: I like detectives.

Brainy's the new sexy.

I've missed something, haven't I?

(fires) SHERLOCK: There's more.

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