Sherlock, Season 2, episode 2 transcript: The Hounds of Baskerville, part 3
Transcript by Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan.
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Sherlock, Season 2, episode 2 transcript: The Hounds of Baskerville, part 3
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HENRY’S HOUSE. Henry has sat back down on the sofa and has wrapped the duvet around himself. The television is on nearby but he is dozing and not paying attention to it. He wakes a little and looks out in the dark garden again, his eyes tired and heavy, then he turns to look at the TV. An old black and white film is showing several dogs running around somewhere dark and spooky-looking. Henry quickly changes the channel to a less threatening film that looks as if it’s set in a rural village during the 1940s.
Suddenly the security lights outside the house come on. Henry looks anxiously into the garden but can see nothing moving in the bright lights. A few seconds later the lights fade out again. Henry turns his head away and instantly – unseen by him – something moves quickly across the garden near the back fence. Henry changes the TV channel again and picks the worst possible choice as a wolf snarls straight into the camera while a woman screams in terror offscreen. Recoiling in annoyed frustration, Henry turns off the TV. Instantly the security lights come on again. There still appears to be nothing out there but Henry gets up and walks closer to the glass doors. Just as the lights begin to fade again, a huge shape flicks across the garden at the far end. It moves so fast that it’s impossible to see what it is, except that it appears to be fairly low to the ground. Henry recoils in horror and looks across to a small cabinet on the other side of the room. He hesitates, almost afraid to move, but then runs across and scrabbles in the cabinet before pulling out a old-looking pistol. Panting in terror, he turns and looks out into the dark garden again and then, in a move that has every viewer yelling at the screen, “Never go nearer to the danger, you idiot!” he walks slowly towards the glass doors. Just as he has almost got his nose pressed to the glass the lights blaze again and a massive shape, most definitely looking like the head of a huge dog, slams against the glass on the other side and then immediately vanishes again. Screaming and wailing in panic, Henry stumbles back and aims his pistol at the glass. The lights fade out again. Henry sobs and a couple of seconds later the lights flash on yet again. His eyes rake over the garden but there’s nothing to be seen. The lights fade one more time and by now Henry has sunk to the floor, his hands over his face while he sobs in absolute terror.
CROSS KEYS INN. John is sitting at a table in the pub with Louise Mortimer. They are chatting and laughing.
MORTIMER (giggling): That’s so mean!
(John picks up a half-empty wine bottle from the table.)
JOHN: Um, more wine, Doctor?
MORTIMER: Are you trying to get me drunk, Doctor?
JOHN: The thought never occurred! (He refills her glass.)
MORTIMER: Because a while ago I thought you were chatting me up.
JOHN (refilling his own glass): Ooh! Where did I go wrong?
MORTIMER: When you started asking me about my patients.
JOHN: Well, you see, I am one of Henry’s oldest friends.
MORTIMER: Yeah, and he’s one of my patients, so I can’t talk about him.
MORTIMER: Although he has told me about all his oldest friends. (She looks at him thoughtfully.) Which one are you?
JOHN (hopefully): A new one?
JOHN: Okay, what about his father? He wasn’t one of your patients. Wasn’t he some sort of conspiracy nutter ... (he quickly corrects himself) ... theorist?
MORTIMER: You’re only a nutter if you’re wrong.
JOHN: Mmm. And was he wrong?
MORTIMER: I should think so!
JOHN: But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn’t he? With what they were doing in there ... Couldn’t Henry have gone the same way, started imagining a hound?
(Louise looks at him pointedly.)
MORTIMER: Why d’you think I’m going to talk about this?!
JOHN (laughing in acknowledgement of her seeing through him): Because I think you’re worried about him, and because I’m a doctor too ...
(His face becomes more serious.)
JOHN: ... and because I have another friend who might be having the same problem.
(They lock eyes for a long moment and finally Louise sighs. She has apparently decided to tell him more than she really ought to ... but before she can even begin a hand claps down onto John’s shoulder from behind him. John looks round and sees Bob Frankland grinning down at him.)
FRANKLAND: Doctor Watson!
JOHN (unhappily): Hi.
FRANKLAND (to Louise): Hello. (To John) How’s the investigation going?
JOHN (doing everything but roll his eyes in dismay): Hello.
MORTIMER: What? Investigation?
FRANKLAND: Didn’t you know? Don’t you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes!
JOHN: It’s ...
MORTIMER: Sherlock who?
JOHN: No, it’s ...
FRANKLAND: Private detective! (He claps John on the shoulder again.) This is his PA!
FRANKLAND: Well, live-in PA.
JOHN: This is Doctor Mortimer, Henry’s therapist.
FRANKLAND: Oh, hello. (He shakes hands with her.) Bob Frankland.
(He turns back to John. As he speaks, Louise is already twisting on her chair to take her coat off the back.)
FRANKLAND: Listen, tell Sherlock I’ve been keeping an eye on Stapleton. Any time he wants a little chat ... right?
(Frankland laughs heartily, claps John on the shoulder yet again and then walks away. John looks at Louise and realises that she has got her coat in her hands.)
MORTIMER: Why don’t you buy him a drink? I think he likes you.
(She stands up and leaves. John sighs.)
DAY TIME. THE MOORS. Sherlock is back on the stony outcrop again, staring towards Baskerville. His eyes flick between the complex and Dewer’s Hollow, then he turns and looks back towards Grimpen Village.
HENRY’S HOUSE. Henry goes to the door at the sound of a knock. As soon as he opens it Sherlock surges though, being loudly cheerful.
(He seems about to head for the kitchen but suddenly turns around and clasps Henry by the shoulders.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, how are you feeling?
(Henry looks terrible. Sherlock ducks his head down to get a better look into his face.)
HENRY (exhaustedly): I’m ... I didn’t sleep very well.
SHERLOCK: That’s a shame. Shall I make you some coffee? (He looks up at the ceiling above the door and points.) Oh look, you’ve got damp!
(He grins falsely at him until Henry turns his head to look at the ceiling, then drops the smile and turns and walks away towards the kitchen. Hurrying over to the cupboards, he starts opening and closing each one rapidly. Finally he finds the metal jar that he’s looking for and takes it out, rummaging inside it while he elbows the cupboard door closed. Tucking something from the jar inside his coat, he goes over to the sink and picks up a couple of mugs, taking them over to the central island just as Henry tiredly wanders in.)
HENRY: Listen ... last night.
(Sherlock gives him that horrifying attempt at a friendly smile while he takes the top off the coffee tin.)
HENRY: Why did you say you hadn’t seen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but...
(Sherlock has been dumping spoonfuls of coffee into the mugs without even looking, his eyes locked on Henry’s, and now he slams the coffee tin down onto the surface and steps closer to him, his eyes back to their normal intensity.)
SHERLOCK: Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?
HENRY: Why – what do you mean?
SHERLOCK: It’s odd, isn’t it? Strange choice of words – archaic. It’s why I took the case. “Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.” Why say “hound”?
HENRY: I don’t know! I ...
SHERLOCK: Actually, I’d better skip the coffee.
(He flares out of the kitchen. Henry sighs wearily.)
Later, Sherlock is walking back through the village but stops when he sees John in the church graveyard, sitting on the steps of a war memorial and looking through the notes in his notebook. Sherlock goes through the kissing gate [shut up, my imagination ...] and walks along the path towards John, who looks up as he hears him approach. John’s expression becomes uncomfortable as he tucks his notebook into his pocket. Grimacing briefly, Sherlock stops in front of him, also looking awkward.
SHERLOCK: Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?
JOHN (stepping down): No.
(He starts to walk away.)
SHERLOCK: U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it?
(John keeps walking and Sherlock follows along behind him. He voices the initials as a word.)
(In Sherlock’s mind, he puts full stops in between the letters but still voices it as a word.)
JOHN: Look, forget it. It’s ... I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t.
SHERLOCK: How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?
SHERLOCK: Too bad. Did you get any information?
(John smiles briefly and glances over his shoulder but still keeps walking.)
JOHN: You being funny now?
SHERLOCK: Thought it might break the ice a bit.
JOHN: Funny doesn’t suit you. I’d stick to ice.
(Sherlock looks at John’s retreating back, his face full of pain.)
SHERLOCK: John ...
JOHN: It’s fine.
SHERLOCK: No, wait. What happened last night ... Something happened to me; something I’ve not really experienced before ...
JOHN: Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said.
(Sherlock catches him up, takes hold of his arm and pulls him round to face him.)
SHERLOCK: No-no-no, it was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.
JOHN: You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster.
SHERLOCK: No, I can’t believe that. (He grins bitterly for a moment.) But I did see it, so the question is: how? How?
JOHN: Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you’ve got something to go on, then? Good luck with that.
(He turns and starts to walk away again. Sherlock turns and calls after him.)
SHERLOCK: Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it.
(John stops and turns back to face him.)
SHERLOCK: I don’t have friends.
(He bites his lip briefly.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve just got one.
(John looks away as he takes in that statement for a moment, then he nods briefly and glances back at Sherlock.)
(He turns and walks away again. Sherlock looks down, then instantly raises his head again and his eyes begin to flicker in realisation of something.)
SHERLOCK: John? John!
(He starts to chase after him.)
SHERLOCK: You are amazing! You are fantastic!
JOHN (not stopping): Yes, all right! You don’t have to overdo it.
SHERLOCK (catching up and overtaking him, then walking backwards in front of him): You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.
JOHN: Cheers. ... What?
(Sherlock turns round and walks beside him, taking out his own notebook and starting to write in it.)
SHERLOCK: Some people who aren’t geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others.
JOHN: Hang on – you were saying “Sorry” a minute ago. Don’t spoil it. Go on: what have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?
(Sherlock stops just outside the pub door and turns back to John, showing what he has just written in his notebook:
SHERLOCK (pulling the notebook back and writing in it again): But what if it’s not a word? What if it is individual letters?
(He shows him the page of the notebook again, which now reads:
JOHN: You think it’s an acronym?
SHERLOCK (putting his notebook away): Absolutely no idea but ...
(He turns towards the pub door and trails off when he sees a familiar figure standing inside at the bar. Wearing grey trousers and a grey shirt with a light jacket over the top, heavily suntanned and with sunglasses on, Detective Inspector Lestrade has his hands in his trouser pockets and is looking the absolute epitome of casual drop-dead gorgeousness. Fandom’s underwear simultaneously explodes worldwide
and hello, Inspector, have you come to take down my particulars? Your transcriber sticks her head into a bucket of cold water for a minute and then gets back to work as Sherlock storms into the pub.)
SHERLOCK: What the hell are you doing here?
LESTRADE: Well, nice to see you too(!) I’m on holiday, would you believe?
SHERLOCK: No, I wouldn’t.
LESTRADE (taking off his sunglasses as John walks over to the bar): Hullo, John.
LESTRADE: I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?
SHERLOCK: I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?
LESTRADE: I’ve told you: I’m on holiday.
SHERLOCK: You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just back from your ‘holidays.’
LESTRADE (trying to look nonchalant): Yeah, well I fancied another one.
SHERLOCK: Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?
LESTRADE: No, look ...
SHERLOCK: Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to ... to spy on me incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself Greg?
JOHN: That’s his name.
SHERLOCK (frowning): Is it?
LESTRADE: Yes – if you’d ever bothered to find out. Look, I’m not your handler ... (he turns away to pick up his pint from the bar) ... and I don’t just do what your brother tells me.
JOHN: Actually, you could be just the man we want.
JOHN: Well, I’ve not been idle, Sherlock. (He rummages in his trouser pocket.) I think I might have found something.
(He shows Sherlock the sales invoice from Undershaw Meat Supplies which he stole off the bar while he was checking in.)
JOHN: Here. Didn’t know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.
JOHN (looking at Greg): Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy.
(Sherlock and Greg exchange a look, and John slaps his hand down on the bell on top of the bar.)
Later, in the small Snug next to the bar, Greg is sitting at a table looking through paperwork – presumably previous invoices from Undershaw – while Gary the manager and Billy the chef sit at the other side of the table looking at him anxiously. Nearby, Sherlock has poured a cup of coffee from a filter machine and is stirring it. He ostentatiously taps the drips off the spoon into the cup and then picks it up and carries it over to John, offering it to him.
JOHN: What’s this?
SHERLOCK: Coffee. I made coffee.
JOHN: You never make coffee.
SHERLOCK: I just did. Don’t you want it?
JOHN: You don’t have to keep apologising.
(Sherlock looks away with a hurt expression on his face. John relents and takes the cup and saucer.)
(Sherlock smiles happily. John takes a mouthful and grimaces.)
JOHN: Mm. I don’t take sugar ...
(The hurt expression comes back onto Sherlock’s face as he looks away again. He’s like a puppy whose owner has just told him off for chewing his slippers. John looks at his face and feels that he has no choice but to take a longer drink from the cup.)
LESTRADE: These records go back nearly two months.
(Grimacing at the taste, John puts the cup back into the saucer and looks at Sherlock.)
JOHN: That’s nice. That’s good.
(He turns away to put the drink down while Greg continues interrogating Gary and Billy.)
LESTRADE: Is that when you had the idea, after the TV show went out?
BILLY: It’s me. It was me. (He turns to his partner.) I’m sorry, Gary – I couldn’t help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Cal’s wedding and one thing just led to another ...
(Sherlock grins behind him. Greg is equally disbelieving.)
LESTRADE: Nice try.
GARY: Look, we were just trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know? A great big dog run wild up on the moor – it was heaven-sent. It was like us having our own Loch Ness Monster.
LESTRADE: Where do you keep it?
GARY: There’s an old mineshaft. It’s not too far. It was all right there.
GARY (sighing): We couldn’t control the bloody thing. It was vicious. (He sighs again.) And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and, er ... you know.
JOHN: It’s dead?
GARY: Put down.
BILLY: Yeah. No choice. So it’s over.
GARY: It was just a joke, you know?
LESTRADE: Yeah, hilarious(!)
(He stands up and looks down at them angrily.)
LESTRADE: You’ve nearly driven a man out of his mind.
(He walks out of the room. John follows him. Sherlock watches him go, then peers into John’s coffee cup before following. John follows Greg across the bar and out of the pub.)
JOHN: You know he’s actually pleased you’re here?
(Greg throws him a disbelieving look.)
JOHN: Secretly pleased.
LESTRADE: Is he? That’s nice(!) I suppose he likes having all the same faces back together. Appeals to his ... his ...
(He stops and searches for the right word. John provides an appropriate suggestion.)
JOHN: ... Asperger’s?
(Sherlock comes out of the pub and glowers at John, having heard the last word.)
LESTRADE: So, you believe him about having the dog destroyed?
SHERLOCK: No reason not to.
LESTRADE: Well, hopefully there’s no harm done. Not quite sure what I’d charge him with anyway. I’ll have a word with the local Force.
(He nods to the boys.)
LESTRADE: Right, that’s that, then. Catch you later. (He smiles.) I’m enjoying this! It’s nice to get London out of your lungs!
(John watches him walk away, then turns to Sherlock.)
JOHN: So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?
SHERLOCK: Looks like it.
JOHN: But that wasn’t what you saw. That wasn’t just an ordinary dog.
SHERLOCK: No. (His gaze become distant.) It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John. Its whole body was glowing.
(He shudders, shaking off the memory, then turns and walks towards the car park.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it.
JOHN: How? Can’t pull off the ID trick again.
SHERLOCK: Might not have to.
(He has just taken out his phone and hit a speed dial and now he lifts the phone to his ear.)
SHERLOCK (insincerely into phone): Hello, brother dear. How are you?
BASKERVILLE. After many generic scenes of some of the scientific experiments being conducted at the facility, none of which your humble transcriber can be bothered to type out [buy the DVD and support your favourite production team!], Doctor Stapleton can be seen handling a fluffy white bunny inside a large clear plastic dome. At the entrance gates, the Land Rover approaches and stops. An armed security man goes over to Sherlock’s side while the dog handler and sniffer dog also approach.
SECURITY GUARD: Afternoon, sir. If you could turn the engine off.
(Sherlock hands over his ID pass and switches the car off.)
SECURITY GUARD: Thank you.
(As he goes over to the gate room to swipe the card and other soldiers check the vehicle over from the outside, Sherlock speaks quietly to John.)
SHERLOCK: I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside.
SHERLOCK: Which means you’ll have to start the search for the hound.
SHERLOCK: In the labs; Stapleton’s first.
(The guard brings back the ID card and hands it over.)
SHERLOCK (quietly to John): Could be dangerous.
(John smiles momentarily. The gate slides open and Sherlock starts the car and drives onto the base.)
LATER. MAJOR BARRYMORE’S OFFICE. The major is talking snarkily to Sherlock.
BARRYMORE: Oh, you know I’d love to. I’d love to give you unlimited access to this place. Why not?(!)
SHERLOCK: It’s a simple enough request, Major.
BARRYMORE: I’ve never heard of anything so bizarre.
SHERLOCK: You’re to give me twenty-four hours. It’s what I’ve ... (he pauses momentarily) ... negotiated.
BARRYMORE (sternly): Not a second more. I may have to comply with this order but I don’t have to like it.
(He swings around to his computer on the desk behind him as Sherlock starts to leave the office.)
BARRYMORE: I don’t know what you expect to find here anyway.
SHERLOCK (turning back): Perhaps the truth.
BARRYMORE (looking round again): About what? Oh, I see. The big coat should have told me.
BARRYMORE: You’re one of the conspiracy lot, aren’t you?
(He grins as Sherlock rolls his eyes.)
BARRYMORE: Well, then, go ahead, seek them out: the monsters, the death rays, the aliens.
SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Have you got any of those?
(Now it’s Barrymore’s turn to roll his eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, just wondering.
BARRYMORE (leaning forward secretively): A couple. Crash landed here in the sixties. (Sarcastically) We call them Abbott and Costello.
(He straightens up and turns back to his computer.)
BARRYMORE: Good luck, Mr Holmes.
HENRY’S HOUSE. Henry is in the sitting room holding a framed photograph of himself when he was about five years old standing in between his parents. As he sits clutching the photograph he gazes into the distance with a lost expression on his face but gradually exhaustion begins to claim him and his eyelids start to droop. Eventually his eyes close completely – and immediately the red glowing eyes of the hound flash in his mind. Gasping in horror, Henry opens his eyes again, and then wails in anguish.
HENRY: Oh, God!
(Sobbing, he clutches at his head and then buries his face in his hands and weeps in despair.)
BASKERVILLE. The lift doors open into the first lab that the boys visited but this time only John comes out of the elevator. Walking forward he sees that there are only two scientists in the room and even they are leaving through a side door. One of them turns off the main overhead lights as he goes, which leaves the room lit far more dimly by a few arc lights on stands which are dotted around, and by the screens of some computers. John looks around a little anxiously when he realises how spooky and quiet it is, then he walks towards a door at the far end of the lab, the door which Doctor Frankland came out of on the first occasion that they met him. He has a security pass in his pocket and he takes it out and swipes it through the reader, then pulls the door open and goes inside, having apparently ignored – or been too BAMF to care about – the handwritten notice stuck on the outside which reads:
UNLESS YOU WANT
He walks through the decontamination zone to the door at the far end and taps a finger on the glass window in the door. When nobody replies he pushes the door open and goes into a room which has a glass-walled section on the left hand side. There’s a glass-fronted cage inside the sealed section but there doesn’t appear to be anything inside. In front of him is a desk with equipment, folders, a phone and various other things on it, and above the desk are small plastic tubes coming out of the wall and dials which indicate that these tubes dispense various gases. John opens the door of a small cupboard set into the desk but finds nothing of interest and so continues looking around. On the right hand side of the room are large metal pipes which presumably also carry gases. One of them is leaking slightly.
John peers around a little longer and then comes out of the room and goes back through the decontamination zone and into the lab. Just to his right is a large arc light on a stand. As John turns to his right to close the door behind him, the device lights up and nine bright bulbs shine straight into his eyes. He squinches his eyes shut and turns his head away, grimacing at the pain.
JOHN: Oh, no! Jesus! Ow!
(Opening his eyes a little, he squints and tries to see into the room. All the other lights in the room appear to have come on as well and – with his own vision blanked out by the arc lights – there’s a wall of whiteness all around him. Just then a loud insistent alarm begins to blare into the room. John groans and covers his ears, completely overwhelmed by the bright light, lack of vision and the noise. Grimacing, he starts to make his way across the lab towards the lift, holding his hand up in front of his eyes as the after-image of the arc lights keeps blanking out his vision. Finally reaching the other end of the lab, he pulls out the ID card and swipes it through the reader. It whines and tells him “ACCESS DENIED”. He stares in disbelief and swipes the card again but it whines and gives him the same message. Holding one hand to an ear while the alarm continues to blare, he tries once more.)
JOHN: Come on.
(The same whine and message is repeated. John glares at it in exasperation – and at that moment all the lights go out and the alarm drones into silence. The room is now under emergency lighting only, which is dark red and barely illuminates the area.)
JOHN (under his breath): What the f...?
(He scrabbles in his pocket for his flashlight and switches it on, although its beam isn’t very helpful against the continued after-image of the arc lights which is still affecting his retinas. He calls out.)
(He screws his eyes shut for a moment in a failed attempt to clear the after-images. As he opens his eyes again and peers through the bright dots, a shadow seems to flicker across the room some distance away. John blinks and looks around the room, the after-images still frustrating his ability to see anything clearly. He lowers his head into his hand and rubs his eyes for a few seconds, then raises his head again, realising how ominously quiet it now is in the lab. But that doesn’t last long, because something rattles to his right. He walks forward cautiously, looking a little anxiously at the row of large cages which he now realises are all covered with sheeting which obscures their contents. The rattle sounds again. John walks slowly to the first of the cages, turning once to check behind him, then grabs hold of the sheeting and pulls it back to show that the first cage is empty. Pulling the sheet back down again, he walks to the next cage as something clinks near the lift doors. He swings around to look and shines his torch in that direction but can see nothing. He turns again and grabs the sheet over the second cage, tossing that back. Again the cage is empty, and the door is open. He moves on to the third cage and throws back the sheet. The monkey inside hurls itself at him, screaming as it grabs at the bars. John drops the sheet and stumbles back several paces, breathing heavily. He walks to the final cage and looks at it, then slowly his gaze is pulled down to the bottom of the bars where the sheeting has been pushed back a little. The door of the cage is slightly ajar and the bottom of it has been bent back by something which must be incredibly strong. As John stares at the bent bars in disbelief, a low savage growl sounds behind him. John spins around, his eyes going wide as he shines his flashlight around but he can see nothing. He sees the nearby door to the Cold Lab and walks briskly over to it, taking out his ID card and swiping it. The reader whines its ACCESS DENIED alert.)
JOHN: No, come on, come on.
(He swipes the card again. Again it refuses to open the door. He stares in anguish, then pulls his mobile out of his pocket while shining his light around the room. He hits the speed dial and holds the phone to his ear as it begins to ring out and continues to ring.)
JOHN (under his breath): No, you ... Don’t be ridiculous, pick up.
(Eventually he gives up and switches off the phone.)
JOHN (in a whisper): Oh, dammit!
(Putting the phone back in his pocket he looks across the room determinedly.)
JOHN (softly): Right.
(Trying to shine his torch in all directions at once and making his way cautiously around all the workstations and islands, he hurries as quickly as he can towards the side door through which the scientists left earlier. As he goes, the distinctive sound of claws on floor tiles skitters across the room.)
JOHN (under his breath): Oh sh...
(Ducking low, he hurries to the door and takes out his card again.)
JOHN (in a whisper): Okay ...
(As he reaches towards the card reader, the claws trot across the floor to his right, and then something snarls. John turns and stares, breathing heavily, as there are more sounds nearby – claws on the floor tiles, equipment being pushed aside, and then a deep ominous growl. John shoves the card back into his pocket and then claps his hand over his mouth to dampen his own panicked breathing while the growl rumbles on. As the growl finally falls silent, John makes a break for it and races across the room, running towards the cages and pulling open the door of one of the empty ones before scrambling inside, slamming the door shut and bolting it and then reaching through the bars and pulling the sheet down over the cage. Elsewhere in the lab, the whatever-it-is snarls as John retreats from the door and squats down against the side bars, wrapping his hand around his mouth again and trying not to sob as the creature growls again.
Suddenly John’s phone starts to ring. Gasping, he scrabbles in his pocket to retrieve it. He answers it on the second ring and holds it up towards his mouth. He keeps his voice as soft as he possibly can but even at such a low volume his terror is evident.)
JOHN (softly): It’s here. It’s in here with me.
SHERLOCK (over phone): Where are you?
JOHN (softly): Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out. The big lab: the first lab that we saw.
(He breathes heavily. Outside, the creature growls. John whines loudly in terror and claps his hand over his mouth again.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): John? John?
JOHN (lowering his hand and keeping his voice no more than a whisper): Now, Sherlock. Please.
SHERLOCK (over phone): All right, I’ll find you. Keep talking.
JOHN (softly): I can’t. It’ll hear me.
SHERLOCK (over phone): Keep talking. What are you seeing?
(Throughout the conversation John has been peering through the small gap in the sheeting but the room is so dimly lit that he hasn’t been able to see anything.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): John?
(The creature snarls again.)
JOHN (softly): Yes, I’m here.
SHERLOCK (insistently, over phone): What can you see?
(Getting onto his knees, John crawls closer to the gap in the sheeting, trying to keep his terrified breathing under control.)
JOHN (softly): I don’t know. I don’t know, but I can hear it, though.
(The creature growls loudly.)
JOHN (softly, terrified): Did you hear that?
SHERLOCK (over phone): Stay calm, stay calm. Can you see it?
(John peers into the gloom.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Can you see it?
JOHN (quietly): No. I can...
(He trails off, then slowly straightens up, retreats backwards and sits back against the side bars while his face fills with absolute horror.)
JOHN (in a whisper): I can see it.
(He stares ahead of himself, his eyes full of dread as a shadow begins to move on the other side of the sheeting.)
JOHN (flatly): It’s here.
(The shadow moves closer as the creature growls once more.)
JOHN (flatly): It’s here.
(The shadow moves closer ... and then the sheeting is tugged upwards and the lights come on in the lab at the same moment that Sherlock’s face appears on the other side of the cage, looking down anxiously at John as he pulls open the door and goes inside.)
SHERLOCK (worriedly): Are you all right?
(John’s eyes widen in utter bewilderment as Sherlock bends down to him and puts a hand onto his shoulder.)
SHERLOCK: John ...
JOHN: Jesus Christ ...
(He grabs the bars and pulls himself to his feet, hurrying out of the cage and stuffing his phone away as he turns back to his friend.)
JOHN (still breathless and panic-stricken): It was the hound, Sherlock. It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. It must ...
(He looks around the lab which – now fully illuminated – shows that there’s nowhere that a large monster can be hiding.)
JOHN: It must ...
(His voice becomes high-pitched.)
JOHN: Did ... did ... did you see it? You must have!
(Sherlock holds out a placatory hand towards him.)
SHERLOCK: It’s all right. It’s okay now.
JOHN (high-pitched, frantic and hysterical): NO IT’S NOT! IT’S NOT OKAY! I saw it. I was wrong!
(Sherlock shrugs while John breathes heavily.)
SHERLOCK: Well, let’s not jump to conclusions.
SHERLOCK: What did you see?
JOHN: I told you: I saw the hound.
SHERLOCK: Huge; red eyes?
SHERLOCK: I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged.
SHERLOCK: Can you walk?
JOHN (his voice shaky): ’Course I can walk.
SHERLOCK: Come on, then. It’s time to lay this ghost.
(He turns and heads for the door. Still trying to catch his breath, John looks around the lab again, then stumbles after Sherlock.)
In a small room full of cages, Doctor Stapleton is examing a fluffy white rabbit on a metal table. She looks up when Sherlock comes through the door, followed by John.
STAPLETON: Oh. Back again? What’s on your mind this time?
SHERLOCK: Murder, Doctor Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder.
(He reaches back and turns off the light switch by the door. The limited lighting coming from the window at the end of the room is just enough to show that the rabbit is brightly glowing green. Sherlock turns the lights back on again.)
SHERLOCK: Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?
(He smiles unpleasantly at her. She sighs.)
STAPLETON: Okay. What do you want?
SHERLOCK: Can I borrow your microscope?
LATER. In a larger lab, Sherlock has taken off his coat and is sitting at a bench and gazing into a microscope. Unhappy with what he’s seeing, he turns away from the ’scope and crushes something which looks crystalline into smaller pieces with a little hammer. Time passes and he varies between sitting with his back to the microscope, his hands folded in the prayer position in front of him as he thinks, or gazing into the ’scope, or scribbling chemical formulae onto the desk with different coloured marker pens. Nearby, John sits on a stool with his head propped on his hand, gazing blankly into space. Doctor Stapleton is standing near him.
STAPLETON: Are you sure you’re okay?
(John looks up at her, blinking.)
STAPLETON: You look very peaky.
JOHN: No, I’m all right.
STAPLETON: It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you’re interested.
STAPLETON: In the rabbits.
JOHN: Mmm, right, yes.
STAPLETON (proudly): Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know.
(John looks up at her.)
STAPLETON: Why not? We don’t ask questions like that here. It isn’t done.
(A short distance from them, Sherlock looks increasingly irritated as he picks up another slide and puts it under the microscope.)
STAPLETON: There was a mix-up, anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go.
JOHN (cynically): Your compassion’s overwhelming.
STAPLETON (mockingly): I know. I hate myself sometimes.
JOHN: So, come on then. You can trust me – I’m a doctor. What else have you got hidden away up here?
(Exasperated, Sherlock takes out the slide again. Stapleton sighs.)
STAPLETON: Listen: if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of course they are.
(Sherlock is staring intently at his latest slide, then his eyes slide across to a nearby read-out on a screen.)
JOHN: And cloning?
STAPLETON: Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?
JOHN: Human cloning?
STAPLETON: Why not?
JOHN: What about animals? Not sheep ... big animals.
STAPLETON: Size isn’t a problem, not at all. The only limits are ethics and the law, and both those things can be ... very flexible. But not here – not at Baskerville.
(Furious, Sherlock stands up, snatches the latest slide out from under the ’scope and hurls it against the nearest wall.)
SHERLOCK (livid): It’s not there!
SHERLOCK: Nothing there! Doesn’t make any sense.
STAPLETON: What were you expecting to find?
SHERLOCK (pacing): A drug, of course. There has to be a drug – a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There’s no trace of anything in the sugar.
SHERLOCK: The sugar, yes. It’s a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn’t believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it too but you didn’t, John. You didn’t see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don’t take sugar in your coffee.
JOHN: I see. So ...
SHERLOCK: I took it from Henry’s kitchen – his sugar. (He glares down at the microscope.) It’s perfectly all right.
JOHN: But maybe it’s not a drug.
SHERLOCK: No, it has to be a drug.
(He has sat on the stool with his head buried in his hands. Now he lowers his hands a little but keeps his head bowed and his eyes closed.)
SHERLOCK: But how did it get into our systems. How?
(Slowly he begins to raise his head, still keeping his eyes closed.)
SHERLOCK: There has to be something ...
(The word ‘hound’ keeps drifting across his mind’s eye. He turns his head repeatedly as he tries to follow the words inside his head.)
SHERLOCK: ... something ... ah, something ...
(His eyes open.)
SHERLOCK: ... something buried deep.
(Taking a sharp breath through his nose, he turns and points imperiously at Stapleton.)
SHERLOCK: Get out.
SHERLOCK: Get out. I need to go to my mind palace.
(John sags on his seat with an “Oh, not again” look.)
STAPLETON: Your what?
(Sherlock has already turned his head away again and is staring ahead of himself. John gets off his stool and picks up his jacket.)
JOHN: He’s not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go.
(Sherlock is breathing deeply, focusing his thoughts. Stapleton follows John as he heads for the door.)
STAPLETON: His what?
JOHN: Oh, his mind palace. It’s a memory technique – a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location – it doesn’t have to be a real place – and then you deposit memories there that ... Theoretically, you can never forget anything; all you have to do is find your way back to it.
STAPLETON: So this imaginary location can be anything – a house or a street.
STAPLETON: But he said “palace.” He said it was a palace.
JOHN (looking back towards Sherlock for a moment): Yeah, well, he would, wouldn’t he?
(He leads her out of the room.
Sherlock gazes ahead of himself, his mind turned inwards as he walks through his memories unearthing everything he can recall in connection with the word “Liberty.” I could possibly do much better justice to describing the visual process that we watch, but if you want this transcript printed this side of the London Olympics, I need to get it finished and I may try to come back and improve this section in the future. While Sherlock accesses different examples of the word and finds them unsuitable, he physically flicks them away with his hands and pulls in new variations before brushing those aside. The word “hound” creeps into his mind and drifts across it as he temporarily gives up on “Liberty” and shifts to “In,” adding various letters onto the word to form new ones like “Inn,” “India,” “Ingolstadt” [and ‘Frankenstein’ fans sob] and “Indium atomic number = 49”.
Flicking that line of thought away, he starts calling up images of large dogs, running through various breeds and temporarily being distracted by the image of Elvis Presley starting to sing “Hound Dog.” Irritated, he brushes that aside and tries to pull in all three words – Liberty, In, Hound – simultaneously and suddenly his eyes snap open and he jolts three times as if he’s being repeatedly struck by lightning as the words finally crash into place:
He sinks back on his seat for a moment, then stands up and heads out of the lab.)
NIGHT TIME. THE MOORS. The hound howls and Henry races across the grass, his pistol in one hand, terrified as the hound snarls behind him. Henry runs on, glancing back repeatedly as he hears his pursuer gaining on him. Two red glowing eyes loom out of the darkness each time he looks around, but now he suddenly seems to realise that he has a gun in his hand and he turns and fires towards the eyes.
Glass shatters and Louise Mortimer screams and throws herself out of her chair in the sitting room of Henry’s house and cowers on the floor. Just beside her chair, the mirror on the wall has shattered under the impact of the bullet which Henry just fired into it. Sobbing and cowering, she looks up at Henry as he continues to aim at the mirror, his face blank, but now he comes back to himself and looks at the pistol in horror.
HENRY: Oh my God.
(Louise continues to sob.)
HENRY: Oh my God. Oh my God. I am so ... I am so sorry. I am so sorry.
(He turns and runs from the room.)
On to Part 4