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Ariane DeVere
Sherlock, Season 4, episode 1 transcript: The Six Thatchers, part 3 
7th-Jan-2017 04:51 am
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Sherlock, Season 4, episode 1 transcript: The Six Thatchers, part 3



Polite request: If you take extracts from this transcript for use elsewhere, and especially if you repost my own words, it would be kind if you would acknowledge the source and/or give a link back to this transcript. Thanks.

Sherlock, Season 4, episode 1 transcript: The Six Thatchers, part 3

Return to Part 1 / Return to Part 2 / Jump to Part 4

MARY (voiceover): My darling.
(John sits in a chair at home reading a handwritten letter.)
MARY (voiceover): I need to tell you this because you mustn’t hate me for going away.
(The scene wipes to the cabin of an aeroplane. Mary, wearing white slacks, a light striped jacket, a colourful scarf around her head and large round Prada sunglasses, is sitting in an aisle seat chewing a piece of gum. She turns to the man sitting next to her at the window seat and talks to him in a broad New York accent.)
MARY: Pardon me. I can hear a squeaking. Can you hear a squeaking?
(The man has looked up from the book he’s reading. He glances around the cabin briefly.)
PASSENGER (English accent): No.
(He lowers his head to his book.)
MARY: Only I watched a documentary on the Discovery Channel.
(Sighing, the man lifts his head to her.)
MARY: “Why Planes Fail.” Did you see it?
PASSENGER: Can’t say I did.
MARY: Oh, truly terrifying. Swore I would never fly again, yet here I am!
(She chuckles nervously. A female flight attendant walks over to her.)
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Everything okay, madam?
MARY: No! No, no, it’s not, but then what’s the use in complaining? I hear a squeaking. Probably the wing’ll come off, is all.
(The attendant laughs politely.)
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Everything’s fine, I promise you. Just relax.
MARY (sarcastically): Oh, okay, relax. (She slaps her fellow passenger’s arm as the attendant walks away towards the rear of the plane.) She said relax. (She sniggers.)
PASSENGER (politely): Did you have a nice time? In London?
MARY: It was okay, I guess, but did somebody hide the sun? (She takes off her sunglasses.) Did you lose it in the war?
(Laughing, she slaps his arm again. He smiles politely and returns to his book. Mary, chomping on her gum, turns and looks along the aisle behind her.
Back at John’s, he continues to read her letter. An overlay of her writing drifts across the screen)

MARY (voiceover): I gave myself permission to have an ordinary life. I’m not running. I promise you that. I just need to do this in my own way.
[Annoyingly, the handwriting on the letter actually reads, “I’m not running away.”]
(On the plane, Mary clings to one arm of her chair and hunches forward.)

MARY (in her New York accent): Oh God. I’m s... I-I don’t feel so good. Oh my God.
(As she lifts her hand and raises it to her mouth, the man beside her turns round from where he was looking out of the window and reaches up to push the Call button. At the front of the section, two flight attendants look round at the sound of the ‘bing’ and the one who spoke to Mary before comes down the aisle. Mary is breathing heavily and gulping as if she is going to be sick. She glances up as the attendant arrives.)
FLIGHT ATTENDANT (squatting down next to her): Everything okay, madam?
MARY: I think I’m dying. I don’t feel so good.
(She gasps in a few breaths.)
FLIGHT ATTENDANT (comfortingly): You’re all right.
MARY: Oh ... (she reaches out and cup’s the woman’s cheek) ... you’re sweet. (She strokes her cheek.) You have a very kind face. God will smile on you. (She grizzles, then raises her other hand towards her mouth.
At home, John looks away from the letter thoughtfully as Mary’s voiceover continues.)

MARY (voiceover): ... but I don’t want you and Sherlock hanging off my gun arm. I’m sorry, my love.
(At an airport terminal, a flight attendant pushes Mary out of the Arrivals area in a wheelchair. Her dark glasses are back on her face. The camera pans up and we see that Mary is actually the flight attendant, now in the airline’s uniform. Smiling smugly, she continues across the concourse and it’s now clear that the woman in the wheelchair wearing Mary’s clothes is the flight attendant, her eyes closed behind the glasses.)
MARY (voiceover): I know you’ll try to find me, but there is no point.
(In a cut-away shot, three dice tumble across the screen.)
MARY (voiceover): Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes can anticipate the roll of a dice.
(Three numbers appear on the screen over an alphabetical list of place names in an atlas. The numbers are 6, 2 and 3 and the camera zooms in on the atlas to where it reads “Norddal, Norway M47+623 46[presumably the last number is the page number of the atlas]. A map of Norway appears on screen and starts to zoom in.
Mary, dressed for cold weather and wearing a woolly hat, is on a fishing boat at a quayside. The boat has a Norwegian flag on the side of the wheelhouse. She picks up a large canvas bag, swings it over her shoulder and steps out of the boat and walks away.)
[Transcriber’s note: a million thanks to the anonymous commenter who pointed out that the boat from which Mary disembarks is named
“Flekkete Bånd” which deliciously translates to “Speckled Band.” Additionally I am assured that the name of the boat behind it, which I can’t read clearly, translates from Norwegian to “Lion’s Mane.” Sometimes I could hug Mofftiss so hard that their eyes would pop out of their heads.]
MARY (voiceover): I need to move the target far, far away from you and Rosie, and then I’ll come back, my darling. I swear I will.
(Later she has made her way to a more isolated area of shoreline. A coastal watchtower stands nearby and she goes to the stone wall below it. Looking around to check that there’s nobody in the vicinity, she pulls out a loose stone from the wall and reaches into the gap to pull out a brown envelope. Taking out the passport inside it, she opens it. The photo is of Mary but with long brown hair, and the name is Gabrielle Ashdown, born in the USA on 16 April 1975.
Some time later, as an overlaid map drifts across eastern Europe, Mary comes out of a stone cottage dressed in black leathers and wearing a long dark wig that matches the passport photo. She gets onto a motorcycle, pushes the starter button, puts on a black helmet and drives off, riding past what looks like an abandoned factory or warehouse with “RACHWALD KIELBASKI” painted on the side. Graffitied across the wall is the word “SOLIDARNOŚĆ” [the name of the famous Polish trade union, known as ‘Solidarity’ in English].
Later again, while the overlaid map confusingly pans across Liechtenstein [has Gatiss been listening to episodes of ‘Cabin Pressure’?], an SUV drives across a far more arid region, possibly northern Italy. Mary is at the wheel.
The dice roll again and the arrival time of an aeroplane can be seen as 02:30 while the map pans across south eastern Europe. We next see Mary walking along a stone pier which has the Cyrillic word БУГРИНО (English translation ‘Bugrino’) painted on the wall. Her hair is covered with a black floppy beret.
The dice roll again and a camel walks across a desert region while the map pans across Tehran. It’s not clear whether the person riding the camel is actually Mary, though we can assume that it is. Again the dice roll and someone who we again assume is Mary is now on foot, wearing a white head scarf and with a bag over her shoulder, walking across the sand towards a nearby building. The map is now panning across Algeria.
Later, as the map shows Morocco, Mary walks into a covered souk or marketplace wearing dark slacks, a striped shirt and a long white scarf over her dark hair. She has a bag over one shoulder. She moves briskly through the stalls, checking behind herself for any sign of being followed. Making her way into a narrow alleyway she reaches a doorway above which is a sign saying in Arabic and English, “Hotel CECIL.” She goes inside.
She reaches a latticed door and puts her head close to it as if listening for sounds inside. Drawing and cocking a large pistol, she pushes the door open and moves toward the sound of an accented male voice. The room ahead of her is in an Oriental style with orange terracotta walls, stained glass windows covered in latticework, and pointed archways. There is a bed in front of her to her right, and the voice is coming from deeper in the room to the left.)

MALE VOICE (offscreen): Not like this, my friend. You haven’t got a chance, not a chance.
(Holding the gun pointed upwards beside her head with both hands, Mary moves silently forward.)
MALE VOICE (offscreen): I’ve got you where I want you. Give in! Give in! I will destroy you. You’re completely at my mercy.
(Mary grimaces.)
SHERLOCK’s VOICE (offscreen): Mr Baker. Well, that completes the set.
(Her grimace fades and she looks startled.)
MALE VOICE (offscreen, laughing): No it does not.
(Lowering her gun, Mary steps into the room.)
SHERLOCK’s VOICE (offscreen): Well, who else am I missing?
(A young man, maybe in his early teens, is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a low table. It’s his voice we heard offscreen. There are game cards on the table.)
KARIM: Master Bun. It’s not a set without him. How many more times, Mr Sherlock?
(As Mary moves further into the room she sees Sherlock, wearing a dark blue shirt, sitting cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the table, holding some cards in his hands. The two of them are clearly playing the “Happy Families” card game.)
SHERLOCK (humming out an exasperated breath): Maybe it’s because I’m not familiar with the concept. (Nonchalantly, looking at her for a moment) Oh, hi, Mary.
KARIM (giving her only a brief glance before turning back to Sherlock): What concept?
SHERLOCK: Happy families.
(He looks up at Mary.)
SHERLOCK: Nice trip?
MARY: How the f...
SHERLOCK (interrupting): Please, Mary. There is a child present.
(Mary sighs.)
MARY: How did you get in here?!
SHERLOCK: Karim let me in.
(Smiling, Karim waves to her.)
KARIM: Hello.
(She nods to him and pulls her headscarf down onto her shoulders to reveal her long dark bob.)
SHERLOCK: Karim, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?
KARIM: Sure.
SHERLOCK: Thank you.
(Karim stands up and looks at Mary.)
KARIM: Nice to meet you, missus.
(He leaves the room while Mary stares blankly into the distance for a moment before turning her head and directing an insincere smile down to Sherlock.)
MARY (moving to stand at the other side of the table): No, I-I-I mean how did you find me?
SHERLOCK (frowning as if he doesn’t know why she’s surprised): I’m Sherlock Holmes.
MARY: No, really, though, how? Every movement I made was entirely random; every new personality just on the roll of a dice!
SHERLOCK: Mary, no human action is ever truly random. (Quick fire) An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability mapped onto a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual can reduce the number of variables considerably.
(Mary stares at him, bamboozled by his technobabble.)
SHERLOCK (quick fire): I myself know of at least fifty-eight techniques to refine this seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables.
(She nods.)
SHERLOCK: But they’re really difficult, so instead I just ... stuck a tracer on the inside of the memory stick.
(He snorts laughter as her mouth drops a little, then she laughs as well.)
MARY: Oh, you bastard!
(She looks down on his giggling face.)
MARY: You bastard!
SHERLOCK: I know, but your face!
MARY: “The mathematics of probability”?!
SHERLOCK: You believed that.
MARY (throwing up her hands): “Feasible variables”!
SHERLOCK: Yes. I started to run out about then.
(Still grinning, Mary clenches her hands either side of her head in frustration.)
MARY: In the memory stick!
JOHN (walking into the room): Yeah, that was my idea.
(She turns to look at him. He looks back at her straight-faced and her smile slowly drops.)

Night falls outside, and the call to prayer can be heard. In the hotel, Mary has taken off her dark wig to reveal her blonde hair tied back. John is sitting on the corner of the low table while she stands in front of him.
JOHN: AGRA.
MARY: Yes.
JOHN: Mm-hm. You said it was your initials.
(Mary bites her lip.)
MARY: In a way, that was true.
JOHN: In a way?
(He shakes his head and looks away.)
JOHN: So many lies.
MARY: I’m so sorry.
JOHN: I don’t just mean you.
MARY: What?
JOHN: Alex, Gabriel, Ajay ... You’re ‘R.’
(She nods. He looks up at her, a small tight smile on his face.)
JOHN: Rosamund.
MARY (after a slight pause): Rosamund Mary.
(He nods.)
MARY: I always liked ‘Mary.’
JOHN (smiling): Yeah, me too.
(His smile drops and he looks away.)
JOHN: I used to.
(He stands up and walks away a few paces.)
MARY: I ju... I didn’t know what else to do.
JOHN (turning back to her): You could have stayed. You could have talked to me. (His voice becomes more angry.) That’s what couples are supposed to do: work things through.
(She shrugs in agreement.)
MARY: Yes. (She nods.) Yes, of course.
JOHN (walking closer to her): Mary, I may not be a very good man, but I think I’m a bit better than you give me credit for, most of the time.
MARY: All the time. You’re always a good man, John. I’ve never doubted that. You never judge; you never complain. I don’t deserve you. I ...
(She trails off. John looks at her questioningly.)
MARY: All I ever wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that’s all.
(He reaches out and puts his hand on top of her clasped hands. Nearby, Sherlock has been sitting on a chair at the other end of the room throughout their conversation, his hands clasped in his lap and his head lowered. He has his jacket on over his shirt. Now he looks up briefly towards the couple before lowering his head again.)
SHERLOCK: I will keep you safe.
(John takes his hand away again.)
SHERLOCK (standing): But it has to be in London. It’s my city; I know the turf.
(Mary glances towards him briefly then returns her gaze to John, who looks away.)
SHERLOCK: Come home and everything will be all right, I promise you.
(The red dot of a laser appears on the wall behind the Watsons and then shifts onto the side of John’s head. Mary is unsighted and can’t see it but Sherlock yells out urgently.)
SHERLOCK: Get down!
(Instantly Mary grabs John and pulls him downwards. Sherlock leans down, grabs the low table and flips it up onto one side to provide a barrier against the shooter. John goes to his hands and knees while Mary runs for the far side of the room, rummaging in her shoulder bag as she goes. Several shots are fired through the closed latticed door and then the man we now know as Ajay kicks the door open and marches in, his rifle raised in front of him. Mary fires three shots from her pistol and Ajay takes cover around the corner of the doorway to the room. Mary drops to a crouch beside a bureau at the end of the room, Sherlock half kneels between the other side of the bureau and another taller cabinet near the entrance, and John half sits up behind the upturned table.)
AJAY: Hello again.
MARY: Ajay?
AJAY: Oh, you remember me. I’m touched.
MARY: Look, I thought you were dead, believe me, I did.
AJAY: I’ve been looking forward to this for longer than you can imagine.
MARY: I swear to you, I thought you were dead. I thought I was the only one who got out.
(Ajay moves out of the corner, still obscured from Mary’s and Sherlock’s view, and fires a single shot into the upturned table behind which John is crouching with his arms against it to keep it upright. Not looking round, Sherlock stretches out a hand towards Mary and without hesitation she gives him her pistol.)
SHERLOCK: How did you find us?
AJAY: By following you, Sherlock Holmes. I mean, you’re clever – you found her – but I found you, so perhaps not so clever. And now here we are, at last.
(Sherlock looks around and raises his eyes to the light hanging from the ceiling. He stands up, fires at the light and shatters it, then swings the pistol round to aim at Ajay’s position. Ajay drops down to a crouch. He chuckles.)
AJAY: Touché.
JOHN: Listen: whatever you think you know, we can talk about this. We can work it out.
AJAY: She thought I was dead. I might as well have been.
MARY: It was always just the four of us, always, remember?
AJAY: Oh yeah.
MARY: So why d’you want to kill me?
AJAY: D’you know how long they kept me prisoner; what they did to me? They tortured Alex to death. (He breathes out a brief sigh.) I can still hear the sound of his back breaking.
(Brief flashback to the shadow of the long-haired man being flogged.)
AJAY: But you, you – where were you?
MARY: That day at the embassy, I escaped.
AJAY (on an angry breath): Oh, yeah.
MARY: But I lost sight of you too, so you explain: where were you?
AJAY: Oh, I got out ... for a while.
(Brief flashback to him ducking down while pottery and coloured glaze powder explodes around him.)
AJAY: Long enough to hide my memory stick.
(Brief flashback of him shoving the stick into the plaster bust.)
AJAY: I didn’t want that to fall into their hands.
(Brief flashback of the gold-toothed man knocking him out in the pottery workshop.)
AJAY: I was loyal, you see; loyal to my friends. But they took me, tortured me. Not for information.
(New flashback of the gold-toothed man firmly cradling Ajay’s head with one hand while holding up a pair of surgical scissors with the other. Ajay cries out.)
AJAY: Not for anything except fun.
(In flashback, the gold-toothed man grins manically into Ajay’s face while he groans.
In the present John, now on his hands and knees behind the table, drops his head down and then sinks down to press his head against the backs of his hands.)

AJAY: Oh, they thought I’d give in, die, but I didn’t. I lived, and eventually they forgot about me just rotting in a cell somewhere. Six years they kept me there, until one day I saw my chance. Oh, and I-I made them pay. You know, all the time I was there, I just kept picking up things – little whispers, laughter, gossip: how the clever agents had been betrayed.
(John looks across the room in front of him and sees an open bag lying on the floor a short distance away. There’s a pistol in it.)
AJAY: Brought down by you.
MARY: Me?
(A train whistles as it goes past the window, its light briefly illuminating the room. Ajay rises from his hiding place and at the same moment Mary breaks from cover and heads across the room, grabbing the pistol which Sherlock is already holding out to her. Simultaneously John rises to a low crouch and scrambles across to the bag to grab the other gun. As Ajay comes around the corner Mary is already there to meet him and they stop inches away from each other aiming their guns at the other’s head. John drops to his knees behind a stool and braces his arms on top of it, aiming his pistol at Ajay with both hands. Everyone stops moving and Ajay lets out a voiceless gasp at the sight of the woman he despises.)
MARY (calmly): You know I’ll kill you too. You know I will, Ajay.
AJAY (breathing heavily): What, you think I care if I die?
(He lowers one hand from his gun and takes half a step forward. Standing nearby, Sherlock shifts position slightly, his eyes locked on him.)
AJAY: I’ve dreamed of killing you every night for six years ...
(He leans slightly forward so that the end of Mary’s gun is touching his forehead.)
AJAY (savagely): ... of squeezing the life out of your treacherous, lying throat.
MARY: I swear to you, Ajay.
(John briefly rises up a little on his knees, his gun still aimed up at Ajay, then drops back down again, his teeth bared.)
SHERLOCK (calmly, quietly): What did you hear, Ajay? When you were a prisoner, what exactly did you hear?
(John glances across to him as he speaks then looks back towards Ajay and blows out a quiet breath.)
AJAY: What did I hear?
(He opens his mouth to form a word but hesitates for a moment before he manages to say it.)
AJAY: Ammo. Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo. (His voice starts to tremble.) Ammo. (He takes in a shaky breath.) Ammo.
(His gun hand begins to tremble. Mary grimaces slightly, perhaps realising that he is in danger of losing control.)
AJAY (savagely): We were betrayed!
SHERLOCK: And they said it was her?
AJAY (to Mary): You betrayed us!
SHERLOCK (firmly): They said her name?
AJAY: Yeah, they said it was the English woman.
(A Moroccan policeman comes into the room and fires two shots into Ajay’s back. Mary screams as he drops.)
MARY: No! No!
(Dropping her gun, she bends down to him and John hurries to join her. As the policeman stands in the doorway with his gun still raised, Karim walks in carrying a tray containing four silver cups with mint leaves sticking out of them. He stops as John bends down and puts his fingers to Ajay’s neck, and Karim drops the tray which crashes to the floor.)

There’s a brief shot of the Houses of Parliament in London, then we’re in Mycroft’s Diogenes office. Mycroft stands in the corner of the room behind his desk with one elbow on the top of a filing cabinet. He is holding his phone to his ear with the other hand.
SHERLOCK (over phone): The English woman. That’s all he heard. Naturally he assumed it was Mary.
MYCROFT: Couldn’t this wait until you’re back?
SHERLOCK (still in the same room in Morocco, although it seems that Ajay’s body has been removed): No, it’s not over. Ajay said that they’d been betrayed. The hostage takers knew AGRA were coming. There was only a voice on the phone, remember, and a code word.
MYCROFT: Ammo, yes, you said.
SHERLOCK: How’s your Latin, brother dear?
MYCROFT (frowning): My Latin?
SHERLOCK: Amo, amas, amat.
MYCROFT (still frowning as he translates the Latin words): I love, you love, he loves. What ...?
(He stops. Apparently he’s got it.)
SHERLOCK: Not ‘ammo’ as in ‘ammunition’ but ‘amo,’ meaning ...?
(Mycroft raises an eyebrow then starts to straighten up, his face stern.)
MYCROFT: You’d better be right, Sherlock.
(He hangs up. Sherlock does likewise, and the Holmes brothers start to move away.)

PARLIAMENTARY BUILDING. Lady Smallwood walks along a corridor with Vivian the secretary following her holding a folder. They reach a glass door which has a security panel on a stand. Lady Smallwood holds her security pass against it and it beeps and shows a red message reading ACCESS DENIED. She touches the pass to the panel again but it beeps and shows the same message. Looking exasperated, she tries again with the same result. Behind her, Sir Edwin and a uniformed security guard approach.
LADY SMALLWOOD: Bloody thing.
(She turns and sees the new arrivals. She looks at the security guard as he walks to stand between her and the closed door, then turns to Sir Edwin.)
LADY SMALLWOOD: What’s going on?
SIR EDWIN: I’m very sorry, Lady Smallwood. Your security protocols have been temporarily rescinded.
LADY SMALLWOOD: What?!
(The security guard takes one of her arms and puts his other hand against her back and starts to walk her back along the corridor. Vivian follows them.)

On an aeroplane, Sherlock sits in an aisle seat with his eyes closed. The Watsons are in the row in front of him. Despite there being three seats, they are not sitting side by side: Mary is in the aisle seat with her head propped up on one hand and her eyes closed, and John is in the window seat looking towards the window. His own voice sounds in his head.
JOHN’s VOICE: So many lies. I don’t just mean you.
(An image of the woman who smiled at him on the bus appears on the plane’s window. He turns away and looks at his sleeping wife.)

FLASHBACK. On the bus, John glances again towards the red-haired woman and smiles to himself. She also smiles towards him, then looks away, licks her lips and then bites her lower lip. John gets off the bus and looks into the side window, seeing his reflection and the flower tucked behind his ear.
JOHN (quietly, to himself): Oh, sh...
(He takes the flower from his ear and raises his eyes to the heavens as the bus pulls away. He turns, and the woman is standing beside him, smiling.)
WOMAN (Scottish accent): Hello.
JOHN: Ah. Hello.
WOMAN: I like your daisy!
JOHN: Thank you, yeah. It’s not really me, though, I don’t think.
WOMAN: No?
JOHN: No.
WOMAN (fiddling with her hair): Shame.
JOHN: No, it’s too floral for me. I’m more of a knackered-with-weary-old-eyes kind of guy.
WOMAN: Well, I think they’re nice. (She pauses, looking a little awkward, but then presses on.) Nice eyes.
JOHN (laughing): Thank you!
(He briefly rubs his left hand across his nose and turns away for a moment, shaking his head as if in disbelief that this pretty woman is flirting with him.)
WOMAN: Look, look ... I don’t normally do this but, um ...
(She starts to rummage in her handbag.)
JOHN: But you’re gonna.
WOMAN (sounding nervous): Yeah!
(She scribbles onto the piece of paper she’d been holding on the bus. John smiles and steps closer, looking down at the paper.)
JOHN: What’s this?
WOMAN: This is me. (She hands him the paper and backs away, smiling nervously and rubbing the back of her head while keeping her eyes fixed on the paper John’s holding.)
JOHN: Thank you. Cheers.
WOMAN (turning away quickly): Yeah, okay, ’bye! (She hurries off.)
JOHN: ’Bye.
(He stares after her, frowning in mild disbelief, then looks down at the paper and smiles. He turns and walks in the opposite direction but then stops, looking at the paper again and still smiling. He puts down his briefcase and takes his phone from his pocket. Activating it, he sees his screensaver picture of him sitting on the sofa at home with his arm around his wife who is cradling their newborn daughter. He and Mary are smiling at someone off-camera. He looks up, grimacing, and takes a couple of steps to a nearby rubbish bin. He pushes his hand into the gap and almost drops the piece of paper into the bin but then hesitates. He looks up and smiles, then starts to grimace again.
Later, sitting at the kitchen table in his family home, he unfolds the piece of paper and looks at it. The woman has written:


07700 900 552

E xx

John looks at it for a long time, then lifts his head and lets out a silent laugh. He looks down at it again, then picks up his phone, opens up a New Contact and types “E” before adding the phone number and saving it. Your transcriber reaches for the brain bleach. John immediately sends a text message reading simply, “Hey”. He puts the phone down on the table and gets up and walks away. A few moments later the phone chimes and a message appears. It too simply reads, “Hey”.)

Still in flashback and with no indication yet whether this is the same day or is days or even weeks later, the Watsons are lying side by side in bed with their eyes closed.

MARY: No, you’d think we’d have noticed when she was born.
JOHN: Hm? Noticed what?
MARY: The little ‘666’ on her forehead.
(John hums thoughtfully.)
JOHN: That’s ‘The Omen.’
(Mary opens her eyes and looks across to him.)
MARY: So?
JOHN: Well, you said it was like ‘The Exorcist.’ They’re two different things. She can’t be the Devil and the Antichrist.
(Mary sighs and closes her eyes. From the next bedroom, Rosie starts to cry. John opens his eyes and lifts his head slightly and they both look in the direction of the sound.)
MARY: Yeah, can’t she?
(John groans and drops his head back onto the pillow. Mary throws back her side of the duvet and gets up.)
MARY: Coming, darling.
(John pushes the top of the duvet down a little and presses the backs of his hands over his eyes for a moment. Mary heads for the other bedroom.)
MARY: I’m coming.
[Perhaps interestingly, the last time we saw this scene, she said, “Mummy’s coming.”]
(On his bedside table, John’s phone chimes an incoming message. He rolls over and picks up the phone.)
MARY (in a soothing voice offscreen, over the sound of Rosie wailing): Oh, what are you doing?! What are you doing?!
(As she continues chatting to her daughter, John looks at his phone. His eyebrows raise at what he sees, then he frowns. The message reads:

It’s been too long.

John looks across the room towards Rosie’s bedroom as Mary continues to try and soothe the crying baby.)
MARY (offscreen, soothingly): Come on. It’s okay.
(John looks back to his phone and types:

I know. Sorry.

After a few moments, the reply comes back:

Miss you.

John looks across to his bedside table for a moment, presumably looking at his clock, then goes back to the phone and types:

You’re up late.

There’s no reply for a few seconds and John again looks across towards Rosie’s room as she continues to wail. Then a new message comes in:

Or early.

Glancing again towards the other bedroom, John types:

Night owl?

The reply comes back almost immediately:

Vampire

John quirks a grin.)
MARY (offscreen): Oh, you’re not gonna stop crying, are you? I know: shall we go see Daddy?
(Quickly typing and sending

:)

John rolls over and puts the phone face down on the bedside table. The clock on the table shows that it’s five o’clock.)
MARY (offscreen): Let’s go and see Daddy! Daddy’s here. (She walks into the bedroom carrying the baby and kissing her head.) It’s okay, Rosie.
(John throws back the duvet on his side.)
JOHN: I’ll take her.
MARY: Yeah.
JOHN (getting out of bed): Yeah, I may as well get up now.
(He puts one knee on the bed and reaches out for his grizzling daughter.)
MARY (holding Rosie up): Hey, baby, it’s Daddy! (She noisily kisses her cheek a few times.) It’s your daddy!
(Kneeling on the bed, she hands her daughter to John.)
JOHN: Come here, Rose.
MARY: Yeah!
JOHN: Come here, darling. It’s all right.
(He kisses the baby’s cheek. Mary gets back into bed.)
MARY: Ah, thank you.
(The camera focuses in on the phone lying on John’s bedside table. Offscreen, Rosie continues to fret. After a few seconds, John reaches down and picks up the phone before walking away with it.)

DAY TIME. Sitting on the top deck of a bus, John types a new message into his phone:

This isn’t a good idea.
I’m not free.
Things won’t end well.
It was nice to get to know
you a little.

Partway into typing the message he stands up and walks to the top of the stairs, still typing one-handed. Someone rings the bell to alert the driver to stop at the next stop and John walks down the stairs, the message still unsent. Downstairs, when the bus stops and the doors open, he gets off, stops a couple of paces away and adds:

I’m sorry.

Sighing, he sends the message. Grimacing a little, he looks around. The mystery woman is sitting on the bus stop bench smiling at him. John smiles and her own smile widens. John grimaces a bit, baring his teeth, and looks down at his phone and the sent message, then briefly raises his eyebrows and looks across to the woman again.

[Transcriber’s note: For the sake of completeness, I should add that an advertising hoarding on the bus stop shows something which is almost definitely a flag for something in one or both of the future episodes. If you’re avoiding potential spoilers, skip to the next paragraph.
On the hoarding is a photo of a man in his fifties (in real life, the actor is Toby Jones) with a grimace on his face. Beside his head are the words
“HE’S BACK” and at the bottom of the poster, partially obscured by John’s body, are the words
A ROWBANE...
(in big letters) BUSINESS...
SERIES ...
IT’S MURDER IN THE... (The word ‘murder’ is in red letters.)
COMING...

In the present, John stares blankly out of the plane window, lost in thought.

DIOGENES CLUB (presumably). In a room similar to but much smaller than Mycroft’s office – and looking very like the type of room in which Jim Moriarty was interrogated – Lady Smallwood sits at a small table facing Mycroft seated on the other side. A mirror is behind her, reflecting both of them. Mycroft’s hands are clasped in front of him on the table and he is rapidly tapping one finger against the other hand.

LADY SMALLWOOD: This is absolutely ridiculous and you know it. How many more times?
MYCROFT: Six years ago you held the brief for foreign operations, code name “Love.”
LADY SMALLWOOD: And you’re basing all this on a code name? On a whispered voice on the telephone? Come on, Mycroft.
MYCROFT: You were the conduit for AGRA. Every assignment, every detail, they got from you.
LADY SMALLWOOD: It was my job.
MYCROFT (unfolding his hands and sitting back): Then there was the Tbilisi incident. AGRA went in.
LADY SMALLWOOD: Yes.
MYCROFT: And they were betrayed.
LADY SMALLWOOD (firmly): Not by me.
(Mycroft just looks at her. She takes in a breath and sighs it out.)
LADY SMALLWOOD: Mycroft, we’ve known each other a long time. I promise you, I haven’t the foggiest idea what all this is about. You wound up AGRA and all the other freelancers. (Slowly, emphatically) I haven’t done any of the things you’re accusing me of. Not one. (Even more emphatically) Not. One.
(Mycroft looks down at the table for a moment, then turns his head to look to his left. On the other side of a one-way mirror stands Sherlock, watching thoughtfully. Mycroft lowers his gaze and sits forward again, adjusting his jacket.)

THE WATSONS’ HOME. John is standing in the living room and now turns to face Mary who is sitting on the sofa.
JOHN: D’you think she’ll like bedtime stories? I’d like to do those.
MARY (smiling): Yeah?!
JOHN: Yeah, I just make a series of gurgling noises at the moment – although she does seem to enjoy ’em.
(He sits down at the other end of the sofa and picks up a glass of red wine.)
MARY: Well, I’ll have to give that a go!
(He smiles round to her and takes a drink.)
MARY (looking reflective): Got a lot to catch up on.

DAY TIME. Sherlock is walking slowly across Vauxhall Bridge. He stops and turns to face the river, his gaze distant and his eyes rapidly flickering back and forth as various memories come to him:
AJAY: You think you understand. You understand nothing.
(Two Thatcher busts appear before Sherlock’s mind’s eye overlaid with flying plaster dust before they are visually shattered.)
(In the Welsborough house, Sherlock looks across to the Thatcher shrine table. Simultaneously a shattered bust lifts off the floor and reassembles itself before flying up out of sight.)
MYCROFT: Code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love ...
(A hammer smashes down onto the first of Orrie Harker’s Thatcher busts.)
(Mary stands holding Rosie, looking into her phone’s camera as she talks to Sherlock over Skype.)
MARY: You’d be amazed what a receptionist picks up.
(She lowers her voice to a dramatic whisper.)
MARY: They know everything.
(More plaster shatters, and Ajay’s memory stick lies amongst the fragments.)
AJAY: They said it was the English woman.
(More plaster shatters.)
MYCROFT: Don’t minute any of this.
MARY: They know everything.
(Sherlock turns his head to the right, staring across the river. He breaks into a run, heading for the distinctive SIS Building, also known as the headquarters of MI6.)

THE WATSONS’ HOME. Mary and John are still sitting on the sofa, Mary with her feet curled up under her.

MARY: You don’t make it easy, do you?
JOHN: What d’you mean?
MARY (shifting round and putting her feet on the floor): Well, being ... (she clears her throat) ... being so perfect.
(She puts her right elbow on her knee and rests her forehead on the heel of her hand. John looks at her for a moment, then takes a breath and leans forward.)
JOHN: Mary ... I-I need to tell you ...
(Mary’s phone buzzes and chirps a text alert.)
MARY: Hang on.
(Even as she picks up her phone, John’s phone also chirps an alert. Mary’s message reads:

The curtain rises.
The last act.
It’s not over. SH

John’s message reads:

London Aquarium.
Come immediately. SH

MARY: Can you tell me later?
JOHN: Yeah.
MARY: Great.
JOHN: Yeah.
(They both stand up and head towards the front door but then Mary stops and turns around.)
MARY: Well, no, we can’t just go.
JOHN: Rosie.
MARY: Yeah.
JOHN (getting his phone back out of his jeans pocket): Uh, you go.
MARY: No!
JOHN: I’ll, um, come as soon as I’ve found someone. Mrs Hudson.
MARY: Corfu ’til Saturday.
[Oh hell. Mrs Hudson has left Baker Street. England will fall.]
MARY: Molly.
JOHN: Uh, yeah, I’ll try. (He starts typing.)
MARY: Well, we should both stay and wait for her.
JOHN: You know that’s not gonna happen. If there’s more to this case, you’re the one who needs to see it.
MARY: Yeah, okay. You win.
(She heads for the door while John continues texting.)

On to Part 4

Comments 
7th-Jan-2017 05:06 pm (UTC)
Just to say THANK YOU - this will be an enormous help. More later!
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