Ariane DeVere (arianedevere) wrote,
Ariane DeVere

Sherlock Transcript: “The Great Game” (part 2)

Sherlock, Season 1, episode 3 transcript: The Great Game, part 2

Transcript by Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan.

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 1, episode 3 transcript: The Great Game, part 2

Return to part 1 / Jump to part 3 / Jump to part 4

Later, the boys are in the back of a taxi.
SHERLOCK: Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident.
(He shows John the front page of a newspaper on his phone.)
SHERLOCK: You wouldn’t remember it. Why should you?
JOHN: But you remember.
JOHN: Something fishy about it?
SHERLOCK: Nobody thought so – nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.
JOHN: Started young, didn’t you?
SHERLOCK: The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn’t get out of my head.
JOHN: What?
SHERLOCK: His shoes.
JOHN: What about them?
SHERLOCK: 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 ...
(He leans down and picks up a bag containing the trainers.)
SHERLOCK: ... until now.

SIX HOURS TO GO. As Sherlock sits in the back of the taxi holding the pink phone and lost in thought, the woman who rang him earlier sits in her car crying in despair.

221B. Sherlock has shut himself in the kitchen and is sitting at the table with the trainers nearby – still in the bag – while he looks through photographs and printouts of newspaper reports of Carl Powers’ death from 1989. In the living room, on the other side of the closed doors, John is pacing back and forth. He stops and slides open one of the doors.

JOHN: Can I help?
(Sherlock doesn’t react to him at all.)
JOHN: I want to help. There’s only five hours left.
(His phone sounds a text alert. He gets the phone from his trouser pocket and looks at the message. It reads:

Any developments?
Mycroft Holmes

JOHN: It’s your brother. He’s texting me now.
(He frowns.)
JOHN: How does he know my number?
SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Must be a root canal.
(Putting his phone away, John comes into the kitchen.)
JOHN: Look, he did say ‘national importance.’
(Sherlock snorts, not looking up from his research.)
SHERLOCK: How quaint.
JOHN: What is?
SHERLOCK: You are. Queen and country.
JOHN (sternly): You can’t just ignore it.
SHERLOCK: I’m not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now.
JOHN: Right. Good.
(He folds his arms and nods in satisfaction, then looks at Sherlock in puzzlement.)
JOHN: Who’s that?

Some time later John, wearing a jacket and tie, is sitting in a chair opposite a desk in a large, rather intimidating office. He looks anxiously at his watch as if he has been waiting there for some time. The door opens and Mycroft walks in, reading a report.
MYCROFT: John. How nice. I was hoping you wouldn’t be long.
(John politely stands up as Mycroft walks towards the desk, still looking at the report.)
MYCROFT: How can I help you?
(He walks straight past John and puts down the report on the desk, imperiously waving a hand in John’s direction to signify that he can sit down again.)
JOHN: Thank you. (He sits.) Um, well, I was wanting to ... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans.
(Mycroft looks over his shoulder and smiles at him.)
MYCROFT: Did he?
JOHN: Yes.
(He smiles back a little nervously as Mycroft turns towards him and leans back against the desk.)
JOHN: He’s investigating now.
(Mycroft put his hand to the right side of his mouth as if he is in pain.)
JOHN: He’s, er, investigating away.
(Lowering his hand again, Mycroft smiles as if he doesn’t believe a word of it.)
JOHN: Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man.
MYCROFT: Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies ...
(Cut-away flashback to Andrew West sitting on a living room sofa with a young blonde woman. She snuggles into his shoulder, unaware that he is looking very worried.)
MYCROFT: Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening.
(In the flashback, Westie is now standing at the window looking out into the night.)
WESTIE: Lucy, love, I’ve gotta go out. I’ve gotta see someone.
(He hurries out of the room. Lucy calls after him.)
LUCY: Westie!
(Brief flashback of Westie’s dead body lying beside the railway track.)
JOHN: Right. He was found at Battersea, yes? So he got on the train.
JOHN: What?
MYCROFT: He had an Oyster card ...
(Grimacing, he raises his hand to his mouth again. John frowns as he begins to realise that Sherlock may have been right about Mycroft having had a root canal filling to one of his teeth.)
MYCROFT: ... but it hadn’t been used.
JOHN: Must have bought a ticket.
MYCROFT (lowering his hand): There was no ticket on the body.
JOHN: Then ...
MYCROFT: 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’s he getting on?
JOHN: He-he’s fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going ... very well. It’s, um, you know – he’s completely focussed on it.
(He grins at Mycroft unconvincingly.)

THREE HOURS TO GO. Darkness has fallen and the woman still sits in the car and sobs.

221B. Sherlock has moved to the side table in the kitchen and is looking into his microscope. Mrs Hudson comes in through the kitchen door with a tray containing a couple of mugs. As she puts them on the kitchen table, Sherlock looks up.

MRS HUDSON: What you going on about?
(Sherlock slams his hands down on the side table.)
SHERLOCK: Clostridium botulinum!
(Mrs Hudson cringes and flees the kitchen. Sherlock looks round at John as he comes in from the living room.)
SHERLOCK: It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!
(John looks at him blankly.)
SHERLOCK: Carl Powers!
JOHN: Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?
(Sherlock stands up and walks over to where he has hung up the laces from the trainers.)
SHERLOCK: Remember the shoelaces?
JOHN: Mmm.
SHERLOCK: 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.
JOHN: What – how-how come the autopsy didn’t pick that up?
SHERLOCK: It’s virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it.
(He has walked around the table to where his computer notebook is lying. The page is open at the Forum of his own website, The Science of Deduction, and he now begins to type into the message box:

FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989).

SHERLOCK (straightening up to point to the laces): But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet.
(He bends down and continues to type:

Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.

He sends the message and straightens up.)
SHERLOCK: That’s why they had to go.
JOHN: So how do we let the bomber know ...
SHERLOCK: Get his attention ...
JOHN: Mm-hm.
SHERLOCK (looking at his watch): ... stop the clock.
JOHN: The killer kept the shoes all these years.
SHERLOCK: Yes. (He looks at John.) Meaning ...
JOHN: He’s our bomber.
(The pink phone rings on the side table. Sherlock hurries over to it and switches on the speaker. In the car park, the woman sobs in anguish as she reads out the latest message from the pager.)
WOMAN: Well done, you. Come and get me.
SHERLOCK (loudly and clearly): Where are you? Tell us where you are.

Some time later the woman stares anxiously out of the car window as members of a bomb disposal team, dressed in protective padded clothing, make their way towards the car.

MORNING. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. The boys are in Lestrade’s office, Sherlock standing at the window which looks into the main office, his hands raised in front of his mouth and his fingers tapping together. John is sitting opposite Lestrade at his desk.

LESTRADE: 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.
(He looks up at Sherlock who is walking towards the desk.)
LESTRADE: Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager.
(He puts the pager onto the desk in front of John, who picks it up to look at it.)
SHERLOCK: And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off.
JOHN: Or if you hadn’t solved the case.
SHERLOCK (walking back to the window and speaking softly, as if to himself): Oh. Elegant.
(John raises his head and sighs in exasperation.)
JOHN: “Elegant”?
LESTRADE: But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?
SHERLOCK: Oh – I can’t be the only person in the world that gets bored.
(He flashes back in his mind to shooting holes in the wall a couple of days ago. Just then the pink phone beeps a message alert. John turns round to him as Sherlock activates the phone.)
VOICE ALERT: You have one new message.
(As Sherlock walks towards Lestrade’s desk, the phone sounds the Greenwich pips again, but this time there are three short pips and one long one.)
JOHN: Four pips.
SHERLOCK: First test passed, it would seem. Here’s the second.
(He shows a new photograph to the others. It’s a close-up of a car with its driver’s door open and the number plate clearly visible. John and Lestrade get up to take a closer look, and outside in the main office a phone rings.)
SHERLOCK: It’s abandoned, wouldn’t you say?
LESTRADE: I’ll see if it’s been reported.
(As he picks up his desk phone, Sergeant Donovan comes to the office holding another phone.)
DONOVAN: Freak, it’s for you.
(Sherlock walks over to the door and takes the phone from her. John sits down again and Sherlock walks out into the general office and raises the phone to his ear.)
(The frightened voice of a young man comes over the phone.)
YOUNG MAN: It’s okay that you’ve gone to the police.
SHERLOCK: Who is this? Is this you again?
YOUNG MAN: But don’t rely on them.
(In Lestrade’s office, John looks round and sits up taller when he sees the look on Sherlock’s face.)
YOUNG MAN: Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers.
(We get a glimpse of the young man standing somewhere in a busy street, reading from a pager.)
YOUNG MAN: I never liked him.
(Sherlock looks round sharply at this. We see that the man is wearing a zipped-up jacket with wires sticking out from the bottom. The man fights his tears as he continues to read.)
YOUNG MAN: Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing.
(John comes out of the office and walks closer to Sherlock, looking at him in concern.)
SHERLOCK (into phone): And you’ve stolen another voice, I presume.
YOUNG MAN: This is about you and me.
(A bus noisily drives past him.)
SHERLOCK: Who are you?
(More traffic goes past.)
SHERLOCK: What’s that noise?
(The man looks down at the pager, still struggling not to weep.)
YOUNG MAN: The sounds of life, Sherlock.
(Finally we get a clear view of where the man is. He is standing on a large traffic island at Piccadilly Circus. Pedestrians are walking past him, taking no notice of a distressed tearful man, as is the wont of Londoners [I’m allowed to criticise – I’m a Londoner myself!])
YOUNG MAN (reading from the pager): But don’t worry ...
(He looks down in tearful horror when he sees a red laser point on his jacket.)
YOUNG MAN: ... I can soon fix that.
(He cries briefly, then continues to read the pager message.)
YOUNG MAN: You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight.
(In the office, Lestrade is talking into the phone.)
LESTRADE: Okay ... Great.
(Hanging up the phone, he heads towards the door.)
LESTRADE: We’ve found it.
(Sherlock’s phone has gone dead. He turns and follows Lestrade.)

Close to the river, the police have arrived at a large open space where the car was found. Forensics officers in protective clothing are working on the car as Lestrade leads Sherlock towards it. John and Sally Donovan are walking along behind them.

LESTRADE (consulting some notes): The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind; City boy. Paid in cash.
(Sherlock looks closely as they pass a woman talking with a female police officer.)
LESTRADE: Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived.
(As Sherlock and Lestrade reach the passenger door of the car, Sally turns to John.)
DONOVAN: You’re still hanging round him.
JOHN: Yeah, well ...
DONOVAN: Opposites attract, I suppose.
JOHN: No, we’re not ...
DONOVAN: You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer.
(She goes to stand beside Lestrade while Sherlock leans into the car to look at the large amount of blood smeared over the island between the two front seats. He opens the glove box.)
LESTRADE: Before you ask, yes, it’s Monkford’s blood. The DNA checks out.
(Sherlock finds a business card in the glove box and takes it out. Closing the lid he straightens up.)
SHERLOCK: No body.
DONOVAN: Not yet.
SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): Get a sample sent to the lab.
(Lestrade nods and Sherlock walks away. Lestrade turns to Donovan and looks at her pointedly. She stares back at him indignantly but he holds the look and she grunts in exasperation and stomps away. Sherlock walks over to the woman who was talking with the police officer.)
SHERLOCK: Mrs Monkford?
(She turns to him tearfully.)
(She looks at him and John, and sighs.)
MRS MONKFORD: Sorry, but I’ve already spoken with two policemen.
JOHN: No, we’re not from the police; we’re ...
(Sherlock holds out his hand to her, his voice suddenly tearful and tremulous.)
SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband’s. We, um ...
(As she shakes his hand, he looks down as if fighting back his tears.)
SHERLOCK: ... we grew up together.
MRS MONKFORD: I’m sorry, who? I don’t think he ever mentioned you.
SHERLOCK (still tearful): Oh, he must have done. This is ... this is horrible, isn’t it?
(John looks away, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep his face neutral.)
SHERLOCK: I mean, I just can’t believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world.
(He smiles tearfully at her.)
MRS MONKFORD: Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?
(By now Sherlock has tears running down his cheeks.)
SHERLOCK: Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?
MRS MONKFORD: No, it isn’t. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that’s all.
SHERLOCK: Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!
MRS MONKFORD: No it wasn’t.
(Instantly Sherlock’s fake persona drops and he looks at her intensely.)
SHERLOCK: Wasn’t it? Interesting.
(He turns and walks away. She glares after him as he heads for the police tape with John following. The female police office goes over to her.)
MRS MONKFORD: Who was I talking to?
JOHN (to Sherlock as they duck under the tape): Why did you lie to her?
SHERLOCK (taking off his gloves to wipe the tears from under his eyes): People don’t like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?
JOHN: Sorry, what?
SHERLOCK: I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature – they’ve only just found the car.
JOHN: You think she murdered her husband?
SHERLOCK: Definitely not. That’s not a mistake a murderer would make.
JOHN: I see. No, I don’t. What am I seeing?
(As they walk past Donovan, she turns and calls out to John.)
DONOVAN: Fishing! Try fishing!
(John turns around and gives her an exasperated nod before following Sherlock again.)
JOHN: Where now?
SHERLOCK: Janus Cars.
(He hands the business card to John.)
SHERLOCK: Just found this in the glove compartment.


JANUS CARS. Sherlock and John are in the office of the car hire company. John sits at the other side of the desk to the owner, taking notes while Sherlock looks out into the forecourt.

EWERT: Can’t see how I can help you gentlemen.
JOHN: Mr Monkford hired the car from you yesterday.
EWERT: Yeah. Lovely motor. Mazda RX-8. Wouldn’t mind one of them myself!
(Sherlock walks over to the other side of the desk so that he’s standing beside Ewert, then points into the forecourt.)
SHERLOCK: Is that one?
(Ewert turns his head to look and Sherlock immediately looks closely at the side of the man’s neck.)
EWERT: No, they’re all Jags. Yeah, I can see you’re not a car man, eh?
(Sherlock straightens up as Ewert looks round and smiles at John.)
SHERLOCK: But, er, surely you can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?
EWERT: Yeah, it’s a fair point. But you know how it is: it’s like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the liquorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?
(He starts scratching near the top of his left arm with his right hand. Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then turns away and heads around the room towards the other side of the desk.)
JOHN: But you didn’t know Mr Monkford?
EWERT: No, he was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod.
(Sherlock has reached the other side of the desk and stops.)
SHERLOCK: Nice holiday, Mr Ewert?
SHERLOCK: You’ve been away, haven’t you?
EWERT: Oh, the-the ... (He gestures towards his tanned face.) No, it’s, er, sunbeds, I’m afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – bit of sun.
SHERLOCK: Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?
EWERT: What?
SHERLOCK: Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven’t got any change.
(He offers Ewert a bank note.)
SHERLOCK: I’m gasping.
EWERT: Um, well ... (He reaches into his trouser pocket and takes out his wallet.) Hmm.
(He opens the wallet and looks inside.)
EWERT: No, sorry.
SHERLOCK: Oh well. Thank you very much for your time, Mr Ewert.
(He turns and heads for the door.)
SHERLOCK: You’ve been very helpful. Come on, John.
(They leave the office and walk across the forecourt.)
JOHN: I-I’ve got change if you still want to, uh ...
SHERLOCK (patting his upper left arm): Nicotine patches, remember? I’m doing well.
JOHN: So what was that all about?
SHERLOCK: I needed to look inside his wallet.
JOHN: Why?
SHERLOCK: Mr Ewert’s a liar.

ST BART’S LAB. Sherlock has a large drop of blood in a shallow glass dish. Putting the dish onto the desk, he reaches into a small bag of equipment, opens a bottle and siphons out some liquid with a small dropper. Bending down to the dish, he squeezes out a drop of liquid onto the blood, which starts to fizz. As Sherlock straightens up, the pink phone rings. The Caller I.D. reads “BLOCKED”. He picks up the phone and answers it.
YOUNG MAN (tearfully reading from the pager): The clue’s in the name. Janus Cars.
SHERLOCK: Why would you be giving me a clue?
YOUNG MAN: Why does anyone do anything? Because I’m bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock.
SHERLOCK (softly): Then talk to me in your own voice.
YOUNG MAN (tearfully): Patience.
(The line goes dead. Sherlock lowers the phone and looks thoughtfully into the distance for a while. Finally he looks down at the fizzing liquid in the dish, then picks up the dish and looks at it more closely. He begins to smile.)


POLICE CAR POUND. Sherlock, John and Lestrade are standing around Monkford’s car.

SHERLOCK: How much blood was on that seat, would you say?
LESTRADE: How much? About a pint.
SHERLOCK: Not ‘about.’ Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood’s definitely Ian Monkford’s but it’s been frozen.
SHERLOCK: 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 seats.
JOHN: Who did?
SHERLOCK: Janus Cars. The clue’s in the name.
JOHN: The god with two faces.
SHERLOCK: Exactly.
JOHN: Mmm.
SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): 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 ...
JOHN: So where is he?
SHERLOCK (closing the car door): Colombia.
LESTRADE: Colombia?!
SHERLOCK: Mr Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet ...
(Flashback to Ewert opening his wallet and Sherlock seeing the foreign note inside.)
SHERLOCK: ... 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.
(Flashback to Sherlock pointing out the window and Ewert turning his head to look while Sherlock sees that his tan finishes at his neck.)
SHERLOCK: No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm.
LESTRADE: His arm?
SHERLOCK: Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding.
(Flashback to a close-up of Ewert scratching his upper arm, and a drop of blood on his shirt sleeve.)
SHERLOCK: 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.
JOHN: M-Mrs Monkford?
SHERLOCK: Oh yes. She’s in on it too.
(Lestrade lowers his head with a look of amazement on his face.)
SHERLOCK: Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That’s what you do best.
(He turns to John.)
SHERLOCK: We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved.
(He turns and leads John away. Lestrade watches them, still reeling at all the information that he has just been given. Sherlock clenches his fists triumphantly at his sides as he goes.)
SHERLOCK: I am on fire!

221B. Sitting at the living room table in their coats – presumably because the heating still can’t be turned on nor the fire lit after the ‘gas leak’ (and because the windows are still broken and boarded up) – Sherlock types a new message onto
The Science of Deduction:

Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.

He sends the message. A few seconds later another ‘blocked’ phone call comes in on the pink phone lying on the table beside the computer. Sherlock switches on the speaker.)
YOUNG MAN (tearfully, over speaker): He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please.
(Shortly afterwards, police officers are running towards the young man from all directions. In 221B, Sherlock looks up at John and smiles. And then they dun sex. *shrugs* Well, you never know.)

MORNING. The boys are sitting opposite each other at a table in a café (not Speedy’s). John is tucking into a cooked breakfast and has a mug of tea in front of him while Sherlock is drumming his fingers impatiently on the table waiting for the pink phone – which is lying on the table – to ring.

SHERLOCK: Feeling better?
JOHN: Mmm. You realise we’ve hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?
(He eats another forkful of food, then looks thoughtful.)
JOHN: Has it occurred to you ...?
SHERLOCK: Probably.
JOHN: 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.
SHERLOCK (smiling slightly): Yes, I know.
JOHN: Is it him, then? Moriarty?
SHERLOCK: Perhaps.
(The pink phone beeps a message alert. Sherlock switches it on and it sounds two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen.)
SHERLOCK: That could be anybody.
JOHN: Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I’ve been more than a little unemployed.
SHERLOCK: How d’you mean?
JOHN: Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly.
(He stands up and walks over to the counter. Smiling at the woman behind the counter, he picks up a remote control and switches on the small television hung on the wall. He changes channels a couple of times until he finds what he wants. The woman from the photograph is on the screen, partway through her make-over show. She is gesturing to someone just offscreen.)
CONNIE: Thank you, Tyra! Doesn’t she look lovely, everybody, now?
(The pink phone rings.)
CONNIE: Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows’ ears ...
(Sherlock picks up the phone and holds it to his ear.)
(An old woman speaks tremulously in a Yorkshire accent.)
OLD WOMAN: This one ... is a bit ... defective. Sorry.
(We see a close-up of the woman, who is wearing an earpiece.)
OLD WOMAN: She’s blind. This is ... a funny one.
(John walks back to the table. At the old woman’s location, the camera pulls out to show that she too is strapped to a bomb. Wearing a warm dressing gown and sitting up in bed she is holding a phone to the ear which doesn’t have the earpiece in and she is staring blankly ahead of herself as she narrates the words being spoken through the earpiece.)
OLD WOMAN: I’ll give you ... twelve hours.
(Sherlock looks at John as he sits down.)
SHERLOCK (into phone): Why are you doing this?
OLD WOMAN: I like ... to watch you ... dance.
(As she finishes speaking, she gasps and sobs in terror. Even though she cannot see it, there is still a laser point from a sniper’s rifle running over her body. Sherlock lowers the phone and shakes his head at John, then drops the phone onto the table as he turns to look at the TV.)
CONNIE (on the TV): ... and I see you’re back to your bad habits.
(As the footage continues, a voiceover replaces her voice and a news headline at the bottom of the screen reads: Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48.)
NEWS READER: ... continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead ...

BART’S MORGUE. Connie Prince’s body has been laid out on a table in the morgue, with a sheet covering her leaving only her head, arms and upper chest bare. Lestrade leads the boys into the room, reading from a file as he goes.
LESTRADE: Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?
LESTRADE: Very popular. She was going places.
SHERLOCK: Not any more. 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.
(He and John look at the deep cut in the webbing between her right thumb and index finger.)
SHERLOCK: Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna.
JOHN: I suppose.
SHERLOCK: Something’s wrong with this picture.
SHERLOCK: Can’t be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn’t be directing us towards it. Something’s wrong.
(He narrows his eyes as he looks down at the body, then bends closer to look along Connie’s right arm as he takes his magnifier from his pocket. There are several scratches on her upper arm which look like claw marks. He moves up to her face and notices some tiny pinpricks on her forehead just above her nose. He looks at them through the magnifier.)
JOHN: Mmm.
SHERLOCK: The cut on her hand: it’s deep; would have bled a lot, right?
JOHN: Yeah.
SHERLOCK: But the wound’s clean – very clean, and fresh.
(He looks up, his eyes flickering while he thinks it through, then straightens up and clicks the magnifier closed.)
SHERLOCK: How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?
JOHN: Eight, ten days.
(Sherlock quirks a one-sided grin and turns to John, waiting for him to put it all together. It doesn’t take him long.)
JOHN: The cut was made later.
LESTRADE: After she was dead?
SHERLOCK: Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman’s system?
(John looks along the body thoughtfully.)
SHERLOCK: You want to help, right?
JOHN: Of course.
SHERLOCK: Connie Prince’s background – family history, everything. Give me data.
JOHN: Right.
(He turns and leaves the room. Sherlock looks down at Connie’s body one more time, then turns and heads towards the door.)
LESTRADE: There’s something else that we haven’t thought of.
SHERLOCK (casually): Is there?
LESTRADE: Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?
(Sherlock stops, keeping his back to the inspector and looking a little anxious.)
LESTRADE: If this woman’s death was suspicious, why point it out?
SHERLOCK (nonchalantly, over his shoulder): Good Samaritan.
(He tries to move away but Lestrade persists.)
LESTRADE: ... who press-gangs suicide bombers?
SHERLOCK: Bad Samaritan.
LESTRADE: 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 is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?
(Sherlock looks away thoughtfully, then smiles with delight.)
SHERLOCK: Something new.

EIGHT HOURS TO GO. The old woman sits quietly in her bed while the sniper – who must really love his job, considering that the woman can’t see what he’s doing – continues to keep his rifle’s laser trained on her.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER. 221B. The wall behind the sofa is covered with paperwork: maps, photographs of Connie Prince – both when she was alive and pictures taken in the morgue – photos of Carl Powers, press cuttings and various sheets of paper with notes scribbled on them. Pieces of string are pinned between some of the exhibits, linking them together. Sherlock is pacing back and forth in front of the sofa while Lestrade stands nearby.

SHERLOCK (under his breath): Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection.
(He stops and gestures towards various spots on the display on the wall as he speaks.)
SHERLOCK: Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber’s iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. 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?
(The pink phone rings. He takes it from his pocket and sees that the Caller I.D. again reads “NUMBER BLOCKED”. He switches on the speaker, and the old woman begins to narrate what’s being said into her earpiece.)
OLD WOMAN: You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Joining the ... dots.
(She sobs.)
OLD WOMAN: Three hours: boom ... boom.
(She cries in terror, then the phone goes dead. Sherlock looks at Lestrade for a moment, then switches off the phone, puts it back in his pocket and raises his hands to his mouth in the prayer position, concentrating on the wall in front of him.)

KENNY PRINCE’S HOUSE. In a beautifully and elegantly decorated house, a hairless cat meows as it wanders about on a sofa in the living room. Kenny Prince, a man in his late fifties who is wearing a very fancy purple shirt which’ll never rival Sherlock’s, comes into the room. Behind him the much younger and far more dishy ‘houseboy’ Raoul stops at the doorway and gestures to John to go in.

KENNY: We’re devastated. Of course we are.
(As John walks into the living room, Kenny reaches the other side of the room and turns back, propping his arm on the mantelpiece. Looking a little uncomfortable, John sits down on the sofa beside the cat.)
RAOUL: Can I get you anything, sir?
JOHN: Er, no. No, thanks.
(Raoul looks across the room to Kenny, who smiles at him. Raoul returns the smile, then turns and leaves the room.)
KENNY: Raoul is my rock. I don’t think I could have managed.
(He looks down sadly.)
KENNY: We didn’t always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me.
(The cat has climbed onto John’s lap and meows loudly in protest when he picks it up and puts it down beside him.)
JOHN: And – and to the public, Mr Prince.
KENNY: Oh, she was adored. I’ve seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses.
(John looks down in frustration as the cat climbs into his lap again.)
KENNY: Still, it’s a relief in a way to know that she’s beyond this vale of tears.
(John is nervously holding the cat while it purrs contentedly on his lap.)
JOHN (awkwardly): Absolutely.

221B. Mrs Hudson has joined Sherlock and Lestrade and is standing between them as they face the paper-covered wall. Sherlock is talking into his own phone.
SHERLOCK: Great. ... Thank you. Thanks again.
(He turns and walks towards the fireplace, still talking into the phone. Mrs Hudson looks sadly at a photo of Connie on the wall.)
MRS HUDSON: It was a real shame. I liked her. She taught you how to do your colours.
(Lestrade – who had turned and was watching Sherlock [well, who wouldn’t?] on the other side of the room – now turns back to Mrs H.)
LESTRADE: Colours?
MRS HUDSON: You know ... (she gestures down at her clothes) ... what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise, apparently. Drains me.
(Sherlock has just finished his conversation and walks back to join the others.)
LESTRADE: Who was that?
SHERLOCK (staring at the wall): Home Office.
[Good grief – he wasn’t after a posh party invite, was he?]
LESTRADE (surprised): Home Office?
SHERLOCK: Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favour.
MRS HUDSON (looking at a photo on the wall of Connie holding an award which presumably she won for her show): She was a pretty girl but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days.
(She looks round at Lestrade.)
MRS HUDSON: People can hardly move their faces. It’s silly, isn’t it?!
(She giggles, and Lestrade smiles politely. She turns to Sherlock.)
MRS HUDSON: Did you ever see her show?
SHERLOCK: Not until now.
(He turns and picks up his computer notebook and opens it. A video starts to play, showing footage of an episode of Connie’s make-over show. She is talking to her brother in the TV studio.)
CONNIE: You look pasty, love!
KENNY: Ah. (He looks at the audience.) Rained every day but one!
MRS HUDSON: That’s the brother. No love lost there, if you can believe the papers.
SHERLOCK: So I gather. I’ve just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show. Fan sites – indispensible for gossip.
CONNIE (gesturing to the clothes which her brother is wearing): There’s really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don’t you think, girls?
(She stands up and claps her hands rhythmically as she begins to chant.)
CONNIE: Off! Off! Off! Off!
(The audience takes up the chant and the clapping. By the third, “Off!” Connie is rhythmically beating her hands quite hard onto Kenny’s back as he drops his jacket to the floor and starts to unbutton his shirt. He grimaces in pain but then turns a false smile towards the audience.)

KENNY PRINCE’S HOUSE. Kenny is still standing by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at a framed photograph of Connie holding her TV award. John is sitting on the sofa looking down at his notebook as he talks.

JOHN: 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. If left un...
(He looks up in surprise when Kenny – who has walked across the room unnoticed – now plonks heavily down onto the sofa beside him and stares at him intensely.)
JOHN: ...treated ...
KENNY: I don’t know what I’m going to do now.
JOHN (a little nervously): Right.
KENNY: I mean, she’s left me this place, which is lovely ...
(John looks around the living room with his eyes narrowed, apparently not agreeing how ‘lovely’ the place might be.)
KENNY: ... but it’s not the same without her.
JOHN (fidgeting as he tries to move further away from Kenny, but unable to do so): Th-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?
JOHN: Right.
KENNY (still staring intensely at him): You fire away.
(The cat meows and trots across the carpet. Watching it, John reaches up to rub the side of his nose. As he pulls his hand away again he suddenly realises something and quickly raises his hand to his nose once more, pretending to rub it while he quietly sniffs at his fingers and looks towards the cat again. He smiles round nervously at Kenny.)

221B. Mrs Hudson has left the room but Sherlock and Lestrade are still standing in front of the wall display. Sherlock’s phone rings and he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, looks quickly at the Caller I.D. and then holds the phone to his ear.

JOHN (over phone): 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?
SHERLOCK: I’ll remember.

Continue to Part 3

Tags: sherlock, sherlock episode transcript, transcript

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