Sherlock, pilot episode transcript: A Study in Pink, part 3
Transcript by Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan.
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Sherlock, pilot episode transcript: A Study in Pink, part 3
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RESTAURANT. Sherlock leads John into a restaurant and sees an empty table at the front by one of the windows. He takes off his coat by the seat which has its back to the window while John sits down in the chair opposite. Outside, the street sign on the other side of the road shows that this is Northumberland Terrace, W1. Sherlock looks round at John.
SHERLOCK: Twenty-two Northumberland Terrace. Keep your eyes on it.
(He sits down.)
JOHN (hanging his cane on the back of his chair): Don’t you wanna keep your eyes on it?
SHERLOCK: I am.
(He nods over John’s shoulder. John turns and sees that a mirror is hanging on the wall behind him, allowing Sherlock to see the road behind him.)
JOHN: But he’s not just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he?
SHERLOCK: No, of course not. But he’ll pass by; might even loiter.
JOHN: Half of London’s passing by.
SHERLOCK: I’ll recognise him.
JOHN: You know who he is?
SHERLOCK: I know what he is.
(The manager and/or owner of the restaurant has spotted them and comes over, clearly pleased to see Sherlock.)
ANGELO (in an Italian accent): Sherlock!
(He leans closer and talks quietly.)
ANGELO: Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free.
(He puts a finger to his lips secretively.)
ANGELO: All on the house, you and your date.
SHERLOCK (to John): Do you want to eat?
JOHN (to Angelo): I’m not his date.
ANGELO (wrapping an arm around Sherlock and hugging both of his shoulders): Ohhh! Ooh, this man!
(He looks around to make sure nobody can hear before looking at John.)
ANGELO: He got me off a murder charge.
SHERLOCK: This is Angelo. Three years ago I successfully proved to Inspector Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, Angelo was in a completely different part of town, car-jacking.
ANGELO (to John): He cleared my name.
SHERLOCK: I cleared it a bit.
ANGELO (releasing Sherlock and straightening up): Anything on the menu, I cook it for you myself.
SHERLOCK: Thank you, Angelo.
ANGELO: If not for you, I’d have gone to prison.
SHERLOCK: You did go to prison.
ANGELO (looking a little awkward before recovering): I’ll get you a candle for the table. (He grins at John.) It’s more romantic, huh?
JOHN (indignantly, as Angelo turns away): I’m not his date!
(Angelo puts two menus down on the table, smiling widely before walking away. Sherlock sets his menu aside, watching the mirror.)
SHERLOCK: You may as well eat. We might be waiting a long time.
JOHN: Hmm. Are you going to?
SHERLOCK: What day is it?
JOHN: It’s Wednesday.
SHERLOCK: I’m okay for a bit.
JOHN: You haven’t eaten today? For God’s sake, you need to eat.
SHERLOCK: No, you need to eat. I need to think. The brain’s what counts. Everything else is transport.
(John frowns at him. Angelo comes back with a red candle in a holder and sets it on the table before lighting it.)
JOHN: You might consider refuelling.
(He looks at the candle in startlement, then sighs in resignation as he looks back at his menu.)
SHERLOCK (absently): Hmm.
JOHN: So – d’you have a girlfriend who feeds you up sometimes?
SHERLOCK: Is that what girlfriends do: feed you up?
JOHN: You don’t have a girlfriend, then?
SHERLOCK (still watching the mirror): It’s not really my area.
(A moment passes before he realises the possible significance of this statement.)
JOHN: Oh. Right. D’you have a boyfriend?
(Sherlock looks at him sharply.)
JOHN: Which is fine, by the way.
SHERLOCK: I know it’s fine.
JOHN: So you don’t have a boyfriend then?
JOHN: Fine. Okay. So, unattached, like me. (He looks down at his menu, apparently rapidly running out of things to say.) Good.
(Sherlock looks at him suspiciously for a moment, appearing to replay John’s statement in his head.)
SHERLOCK: John, you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any kind of ...
JOHN (interrupting): No. No.
(He looks around awkwardly before looking back to Sherlock.)
JOHN: I wasn’t asking you out. No.
(Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then nods.)
JOHN: I’m just saying, it’s all fine. Whatever ... shakes your ... (he looks up in confusion as he searches for the right word) ... boat. I’m gonna shut up now.
SHERLOCK: I think that’s for the best.
(He continues to watch the street behind him through the mirror while John looks at his menu again. John manages to stay shut up for all of about seven seconds.)
JOHN: So ...
(Sherlock briefly closes his eyes in exasperation.)
JOHN: ... you don’t ... do ... anything.
SHERLOCK (slowly, as if trying to get it through John’s skull): Everything else is transport.
Time passes. John is partway through his meal and Sherlock is drumming the fingers of one hand impatiently on the table as he continues watching the mirror. John looks up at him.
JOHN: No sign yet, then?
(Sherlock forces himself to stop drumming.)
SHERLOCK: I suppose it is a long shot. We have to be realistic.
JOHN: You said before you didn’t know who the killer was but you knew what.
SHERLOCK: So do you if you think about it.
(He screws up his eyes in exasperation.)
SHERLOCK: Why don’t people just think?
JOHN: Oh, because we’re stupid.
(He puts a forkful of food in his mouth as he looks at Sherlock. Sherlock bites his lip.)
SHERLOCK: We know the killer drove his victims, but there were no marks of coercion or violence on the bodies. Each one of those five people climbed into a stranger’s car voluntarily. The killer was someone they trusted.
JOHN: But not someone they knew?
SHERLOCK: Five completely different people. They had no friends in common. And another thing: Lauriston Gardens, did you see it? Twitching curtains, little old ladies ... Little old ladies, they’re my favourite. Better than any security cameras. But according to the police, no-one remembers a strange car parked outside an empty house. Not one person remembered.
JOHN: I see what you’re saying.
(Sherlock fidgets expectantly in his seat.)
JOHN: ... No I don’t. What are you saying: that the killer’s got an invisible car?
SHERLOCK: Yes. Yes! Exactly!
JOHN: Then I definitely don’t see what you’re saying.
(Sherlock sighs, then looks intensely at John.)
SHERLOCK: There are cars that pass like ghosts, unseen, unremembered. There are people we trust, always, when we’re alone, when we’re lost, when we’re drunk. We never see their faces, but every day we disappear into their cars and let the trap close around us.
(He turns his head and glances out of the window, then his gaze sharpens as a black cab pulls up on the other side of the road, its light on to indicate that it’s available for hire. Sherlock turns his head and calls out towards the rear of the restaurant.)
SHERLOCK: Angelo, glass of white wine, quickly.
(He looks at John.)
SHERLOCK: I give you the perfect murder weapon of the modern age, the invisible car.
(The cab begins to pull away from the kerb. Sherlock watches it intently in the mirror.)
SHERLOCK: The London cab.
(The cab turns right into the narrow street opposite the restaurant. John looks over Sherlock’s shoulder as the cab stops again a few yards down the road.)
JOHN: There’s been cabs up and down this street all night.
SHERLOCK (nodding towards the mirror): This one’s stopped.
JOHN: He’s looking for a fare.
(They both watch as a woman walks towards the cab and leans down to the left-hand front window to talk to the driver. Angelo walks towards their table carrying a glass of white wine. Out in the street the woman straightens up again and walks away. Sherlock grins.)
JOHN: We don’t know it’s him.
SHERLOCK: We don’t know it isn’t.
(Angelo puts the glass down in front of Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: Thank you.
(He picks up the glass, closes his eyes and throws the wine into his own face. John and Angelo jerk back in surprise. Sherlock picks up a paper napkin and pats the worst of the liquid off his face before putting the napkin down again and reaching for his coat.)
SHERLOCK (to John): Watch. Don’t interfere.
(He looks up at Angelo.)
SHERLOCK: Angelo, headless nun.
ANGELO: Ah, now that was a case!
(He begins to roll up his shirtsleeves as Sherlock puts on his coat.)
ANGELO: Same again?
SHERLOCK: If you wouldn’t mind.
(Instantly Angelo leans forward, seizes Sherlock’s coat and drags him out of his chair.)
ANGELO: Out of my restaurant! Cretino! You’re drunk!
(Sherlock stumbles clumsily across the floor as Angelo bundles him toward the door, continuing to insult him in Italian. At the door, Angelo shoves Sherlock out into the street.)
ANGELO: And stay away!
(Sherlock staggers around on the pavement as if he is drunk and trying to get his balance. He totters to the kerb and almost falls down it before stumbling out into the road, causing a car to slam on its brakes to avoid hitting him. The driver blares his horn as Sherlock holds out his hands apologetically. Back inside the restaurant, Angelo walks over to John’s side and they watch Sherlock reel down the side street towards the taxi.)
JOHN: What’s he doing?
ANGELO: Sherlock’s on the case. Bad news for bad people.
(Holding his fist to his mouth as if stifling a burp – or trying not to vomit – Sherlock continues his drunken walk down the street. Reaching the driver’s window, he raps on the glass with both hands. The driver inside shakes his head.)
SHERLOCK (in a slurred drunken voice): Hey, hey! Come on!
(The cabbie rolls down his window.)
CABBIE: Sorry, mate, off duty.
SHERLOCK: Two two one ... (he stifles a burp) ... B Baker Street.
CABBIE: I’m not on duty, mate. You see the light?
(He points up to the roof where the sign is no longer illuminated.)
SHERLOCK: Jus’ round the corner! It’s Baker Street!
CABBIE: There’s plenty of other cabs round ’ere. Get another cab.
(Sherlock lurches against the side of the taxi as if unable to keep his balance.)
SHERLOCK: Two two one B!
CABBIE: I’m not on duty, an’ I don’t do drunks.
(Sherlock rolls along the side of the taxi until he is facing the rear of the vehicle. Reaching into his coat pocket, he takes out his phone and hits a speed-dial. He holds the phone to his ear and, inside the cab, another phone starts to ring. The cabbie fishes a pink phone from his jacket pocket and cautiously answers it.)
SHERLOCK (intensely into his own phone, all trace of drunkenness gone): How do you make them take the poison?
CABBIE: What? What did ... what did you say?
(Spinning around, Sherlock hurries to the open window and grabs the cabbie’s jacket with both hands.)
SHERLOCK: I said, how do you make them take the poison?
CABBIE (grappling with him): Oi! Who are you?
SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes.
CABBIE: Do a lot of drugs, Sherlock ’olmes?
SHERLOCK: Not in a while.
CABBIE: I ask ’cause you’re very resilient.
(Sherlock frowns in confusion.)
CABBIE: Most people would have passed out by now.
(Sherlock blinks, looks down, then reels away from the cab when he sees a hypodermic needle hanging from the underside of his left upper arm. He cries out, flailing as he tries to reach towards it to take it out. In the restaurant John looks with alarm when he sees Sherlock waving his arms around.)
ANGELO: It’s okay. All part of the plan.
(Sherlock falls against the side of the cab as the drug begins to take effect. The cabbie gets out and reassures nearby passers-by who have stopped to watch what’s going on.)
CABBIE: It’s okay. He’s just had a few.
(He grabs Sherlock, who groans incoherently and tries to wave his arm towards the restaurant.)
CABBIE: Look at the state of ’im!
SHERLOCK (slurring): John!
(In the restaurant, John watches with concern, unable to hear that Sherlock is continuing to call his name while the cabbie opens the back door and starts shoving him inside. Sherlock falls to the floor of the cab. The cabbie looks down at him.)
CABBIE: Trouble is, your friends all think you’re acting.
(Groaning, Sherlock tries to sit up.)
CABBIE: That’s the thing about people.
(He slams the door and walks to the front of the cab, chuckling.)
CABBIE: They’re all stupid.
(Sherlock groans as he makes another attempt to sit up but then slumps back onto the floor unconscious. In the restaurant, John shakes his head.)
JOHN: Something’s gone wrong.
ANGELO: No, no, no. All part of the plan.
(The cab starts to drive away down the street.)
ANGELO: Sherlock always has a plan.
JOHN: Yes, and it’s gone wrong.
(Jumping to his feet, he races out of the restaurant, hurries across the road and then runs down the street after the cab. Angelo shakes his head, obviously thinking that John is over-reacting, then picks up John’s plate and walks away. On the back of John’s chair, his walking cane hangs forgotten.)
Sherlock begins to regain consciousness some time later. He opens his eyes but his vision won’t come into focus at first and he can see nothing more than fuzzy shapes in front of him. He is indoors and slumped in a chair. He blinks, still trying to focus and eventually can just about make out a skull on a mantelpiece and a fire burning in the grate underneath. As he tries to move, the cabbie’s voice comes from nearby.
CABBIE: I ’ope you don’t mind. Well, you gave me your address.
(Sherlock rolls his head and sees the man standing a few feet away.)
CABBIE: You’ve only been out for about ten minutes.
(Sherlock struggles to his feet but can’t keep his balance. He falls forward, grabbing hold of the mantelpiece in the living room of 221B and grunting as he tries to pull himself upright.)
CABBIE: You’re strong. I’m impressed.
(Hauling himself up so that his legs are almost straight, Sherlock rests his head on his hands as he looks blearily at the skull beside him.)
CABBIE: That’s right – you warm yourself up. I made everything nice and cosy for you.
SHERLOCK (weakly): This is my flat.
CABBIE: Course it is, yeah. (He takes a set of keys from his trouser pocket and holds them up.) Found your keys in your jacket. I thought, well, why not? People like to die at ’ome.
(Sherlock turns and tries to stand up straight but immediately loses his balance and crashes to the floor face down.)
CABBIE: Now, now. The drug’s still in your system. (He walks closer and looks down at Sherlock.) You’ll be weak as a kitten for at least an hour.
(He smiles down at him.)
CABBIE: I could do anything I wanted to you right now, Mr ’olmes.
(Groaning, Sherlock continues to struggle to stand.)
CABBIE: Anything at all.
(Whimpering, Sherlock manages to get up onto his knees and elbows.)
CABBIE: But don’t worry. I’m only gonna kill yer.
(Bending down, he grabs Sherlock around the waist and hauls him to his feet before dragging him a few paces across the room and dumping him onto a nearby wooden chair. The chair is in front of a small square wooden table which has another chair on the other side of it. Sherlock slumps forward onto the table but then he manages to sit up and turns and reaches vaguely towards the door behind him. The cabbie walks around the table towards the other chair.)
CABBIE: The whole ’ouse is empty. Even your landlady’s away, so there’s no point in raising your voice. We’re all locked in, nice and snug.
(Sherlock, slumped over the back of the chair, turns his head weakly towards the other man.)
SHERLOCK: Still, bit of a risk, isn’t it? Here?
CABBIE: You call that a risk?
(He reaches into both of his trouser pockets and takes out a small brown bottle from each of them.)
CABBIE: This is a risk.
(Sherlock looks at him blankly. The cabbie puts the identical bottles onto the table in front of him, then unscrews the lid of the right-hand one and tips out one of several small capsules from inside it. Putting it onto the table in front of the bottle, he then picks up the left-hand bottle and takes out another identical capsule and puts it in front of that bottle.)
CABBIE: You wanted to know ’ow I made ’em take the poison.
(He looks down at the capsules and chuckles before looking across to Sherlock.)
CABBIE: You’re gonna love this!
CABBIE: Take a moment.
(Still slumped in his chair, Sherlock sighs tiredly.)
CABBIE: Get yourself together. I want your best game.
(Screwing his eyes up in concentration, Sherlock tries to straighten up.)
SHERLOCK: My ... my best what?
(He leans forward and lays his head down on one hand on the table. The cabbie points at him even though he can’t see.)
CABBIE: I know who you are, Mr ’olmes.
(He starts to wander around the living room.)
CABBIE: The moment you said your name, I knew. Sherlock ’olmes.
(He picks up a magnifying glass from the bureau and lifts it to look through it at Sherlock before continuing around the room looking at various things.)
CABBIE: I’ve been on your website loads of times. You are brilliant.
(Tiredly, Sherlock lifts his head to look at him.)
CABBIE: You are. Proper genius.
(Sherlock’s head slumps down onto his hand again. The cabbie turns and walks back to the table.)
CABBIE: “The Science of Deduction.” Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me, why can’t people think?
(He looks down angrily.)
CABBIE: Don’t it drive you mad? Why can’t people just think?
SHERLOCK (slurred, not lifting his head): Oh, I see. (He points a finger towards the cabbie.) So you’re a proper genius too.
CABBIE (smiling smugly): Don’t look it, do I? Funny little man, drives a cab. But you’ll know better in a minute. Chances are it’ll be the last thing you ever know.
(Sherlock finally gets his head up and glares up at the man.)
SHERLOCK: Who are you?
CABBIE: Nobody. (He looks down at Sherlock.) For now.
(He pulls out the chair and sits down.)
CABBIE: But I won’t die a nobody, now will I?
(Sherlock tiredly leans back in his seat and blows out a long breath through his nose, trying to concentrate. He points to the capsules on the table.)
SHERLOCK: Two pills.
CABBIE: There’s a good pill and a bad pill. You take the good pill, you live; take the bad pill, you die.
SHERLOCK: And you know which is which.
CABBIE: Course I know.
SHERLOCK: But I don’t.
CABBIE: Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the one who chooses.
SHERLOCK: It’s not a game. It’s chance.
CABBIE: I’ve played five times. I’m alive. It’s not chance, Mr ’olmes, it’s chess. It’s a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this is the move.
(With his right hand he slides the right-hand pill across the table towards Sherlock, then pulls his hand back and leaves the pill where it is.)
CABBIE: Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? You can choose either one.
(Sherlock looks at him for a long moment.)
SHERLOCK: That’s what you did, to all of them. You gave them a choice.
CABBIE: You’ve gotta admit: as serial killers go, I’m verging on nice! Anyway, time’s up. Choose.
SHERLOCK: And then?
CABBIE: And then, together, we take our medicine.
(He smiles and licks his lips expectantly.)
CABBIE: Let’s play.
SHERLOCK (leaning forward a little): Play what? It’s a fifty-fifty chance.
CABBIE: You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill?
(Sherlock blinks slowly, his mind clearly still befuddled.)
CABBIE: Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?
SHERLOCK (shaking his head in an attempt to clear it): It’s still chance.
CABBIE: Five people in a row? It’s not chance.
SHERLOCK: It’s luck.
CABBIE: It’s genius. I know ’ow people think. I know ’ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map in my ’ead.
(Sherlock turns his head away, looking exasperated.)
CABBIE: Everyone’s so stupid – even you.
(Sherlock’s gaze sharpens a little as he looks back at the man. He can’t hold his gaze for long, however, and he looks away again.)
CABBIE: Course, maybe God just loves me.
(Sherlock props his head up on his hand and looks at the man again.)
SHERLOCK: Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie.
(Rubbing his fingers across his chin, he drops his hand but is now strong enough to keep his head up. He looks at the cabbie.)
SHERLOCK: How did you choose which ones?
CABBIE: Anyone who didn’t know where they were going, ’cause they were drunk or lost or new in town.
CABBIE: Anyone I could walk through the wrong door.
(Sherlock frowns thoughtfully.)
SHERLOCK: You risked your life five times just to kill strangers.
(He pauses as he finally realises the truth.)
SHERLOCK: You’re dying, aren’t you?
(The cabbie’s eyes flicker but he manages to hold Sherlock’s gaze.)
CABBIE: So are you.
SHERLOCK: You don’t have long, though. Am I right?
(The cabbie smiles.)
(He lifts his right hand and taps the side of his head.)
CABBIE: Right in ’ere.
(Sherlock smiles in satisfaction.)
CABBIE: Any breath could be my last. It’s your only ’ope, Mr ’olmes. Bet on the aneurism.
SHERLOCK: I’m not a betting man.
CABBIE: D’you think I’m bitter?
SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Well, you have just murdered five people.
CABBIE (leaning forward): I’ve outlived five people. That’s the most fun you can ’ave with an aneurism.
(Outside in the street, a vehicle can be heard coming to a halt with a screech of brakes. The flashing lights of a police car come through the window. Sherlock’s gaze flickers briefly to the window but then he turns his attention back to the cabbie.)
SHERLOCK: What if I don’t take either?
CABBIE: Then I choose for you, and I force it down your throat. Right now there’s nothing you could do to stop me.
(Sherlock blinks, aware that he is probably too weak to fend the man off. Just then the landline phone begins to ring.)
CABBIE (ignoring it): Funnily enough, no-one’s ever gone for that option. And I don’t think you will either.
(Sherlock looks across to the phone.)
SHERLOCK: Especially as that’s the police.
CABBIE: I know. (He turns his head to glance over his shoulder at the flashing lights reflecting on the window pane.) I’m not blind.
SHERLOCK (smiling thoughtfully): Good old Doctor Watson. I underestimated him.
(He turns in his chair and prepares to stand up.)
CABBIE: You make the slightest move towards that phone, I’ll kill yer.
SHERLOCK (slowly hauling himself to his feet, then looking down at the cabbie and smiling): Oh, I don’t think so. Not your kind of murder.
CABBIE: You wanna risk it?
(The phone stops ringing. The cabbie nods down to the pills.)
CABBIE: Wouldn’t you rather risk this?
(The phone beeps as it goes to voicemail. Sherlock looks down at the pills thoughtfully.)
CABBIE: Which one do you think? Which one’s the good pill?
(Sherlock blinks, as if he’s trying to drag his eyes away from the pills but is unable to, too tempted by the challenge.)
CABBIE: Come on. I know you’ve got a theory.
(Sherlock raises his gaze and the two men lock eyes. After a few seconds Sherlock looks down to the pills again and raises his hand, his fist clenched above the table for a moment before he extends his arm and points to the pill on the cabbie’s left, the one which wasn’t pushed across the table towards him. The cabbie looks at the pill with interest but his voice gives nothing away as he speaks.)
CABBIE: Oh. Interesting.
(He reaches out and slides the left-hand pill across the table while pulling the right-hand one back towards himself. Releasing the left-hand one, he picks up the other pill and looks at Sherlock.)
CABBIE: So what d’you think? Shall we?
(Still holding his gaze, Sherlock slowly sinks back down onto his chair.)
CABBIE: Really, what do you think? Can you beat me?
(Sherlock blinks several times, then lowers his gaze and picks up the pill in front of him. Both men prop their elbow on the table, holding their pill a few inches from their mouth.)
CABBIE: I bet you get bored, don’t you? A man like you, so clever. I’ll bet you’re not bored now.
(Sherlock’s gaze drops to the pill in his hand and he begins to breathe heavily in anticipation.)
CABBIE: This ... this right now – this is what you live for, innit, not being bored?
(Sherlock continues to breathe heavily, his gaze locked on the pill. Slowly he begins to move the pill closer to his mouth. The cabbie matches the movement with his own pill, his eyes fixed on Sherlock who opens his mouth as the pill gets nearer.
Just as the pill reaches Sherlock’s mouth a gunshot rings out and the window behind the cabbie shatters as a bullet impacts his chest, then goes through his body and smashes into the wall behind Sherlock. As the cabbie slumps forward onto the table, dropping his pill, Sherlock drops his own pill and scrambles back onto his feet in shock. Staring down at the dead man for a moment, he then hurries over to the window as police sirens begin to sound outside. Down in the street another police car screeches to a halt and Inspector Lestrade jumps out of the passenger seat, calling out to the other police officers already gathered.)
LESTRADE: Did anyone see it? Where did it come from? Who is firing? Who is firing?
(Sherlock looks across the road to the buildings opposite. Most of them are in darkness but one room is lit and the sash window is slightly open.)
LESTRADE: Clear the area! Clear the area now!
(Sherlock turns back and looks again at the dead cabbie, then turns and looks across to the open window opposite while pandemonium continues down in the street below.)
LATER. Outside the flat, Lestrade walks towards a nearby ambulance but stops as a police car whoops its siren briefly. He jerks his head to the car and it drives past him, then he continues towards the ambulance where Sherlock is sitting on the back steps drinking a cup of water. He has a red blanket draped around him and a paramedic is just finishing checking his stats with a monitor clipped to the finger of his other hand. Sherlock looks up indignantly at the paramedic as he unclips the monitor.
SHERLOCK: Why have I got this blanket?
(He looks round at Lestrade as the paramedic ignores him and walks away.)
SHERLOCK: They keep putting this blanket on me.
LESTRADE: It’s for shock.
SHERLOCK (putting the cup down): I’m not in shock.
LESTRADE: Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs.
(He sniggers. Sherlock looks away tetchily.)
SHERLOCK: So, the shooter wasn’t one of yours, then.
LESTRADE: God, no. We didn’t have time. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him. Whoever it was, he was gone by the time we got there and we’ve got nothing to go on.
SHERLOCK: Oh, I wouldn’t say that.
(He looks up at Lestrade pointedly.)
LESTRADE: Okay, gimme.
(He reaches inside his coat and takes out a notebook.)
LESTRADE: I’ll write it down this time.
SHERLOCK: The bullet they just dug out of my wall was from a hand gun. A shot clean through the heart over that distance with that kind of a weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hand couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he was acclimatised to violence.
(He stands up.)
SHERLOCK: He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principles. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service, nerves of steel ...
(He trails off when he sees John standing on the kerb a short distance away and watching him. As Sherlock begins to realise the connection, he turns back to Lestrade.)
SHERLOCK: Actually, do you know what? Um, ignore me.
LESTRADE: I’m sorry?
SHERLOCK: Ignore what I just said. It’s the shock talking.
(He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he starts to walk towards John.)
SHERLOCK: Probably need this blanket.
LESTRADE (following him): Where’re you going?
SHERLOCK: I just need to discuss the rent.
LESTRADE: Sherlock ...
(Sherlock stops and turns back to him.)
LESTRADE (tucking his notebook back into his pocket): Were you right?
SHERLOCK: I’m sorry?
LESTRADE: Did you choose the right pill?
SHERLOCK: I dunno. In all the confusion, I lost track. I don’t know which I chose.
(He turns to walk away.)
LESTRADE: Maybe he beat you.
SHERLOCK (turning back to him again and sounding tetchy): Maybe. But he’s dead.
(He walks away. Lestrade sniggers quietly and turns away. Sherlock goes over to John.)
JOHN: Sergeant Donovan’s been explaining everything to me. It’s ... the two pills? Dreadful business. Dreadful.
SHERLOCK: Where is it?
JOHN (trying and utterly failing to look innocent): Where’s what?
SHERLOCK: Don’t. Just don’t. What did you do with the gun?
JOHN: Oh, er, bottom of the Thames.
SHERLOCK: We need to get rid of the powder burns in your finger. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case.
(He looks around to make sure that nobody’s in earshot.)
JOHN: I ran after the cab, called the police, of course, and then I thought, better keep an eye on you.
(Sherlock looks at him closely.)
SHERLOCK: Are you all right?
JOHN: Of course I’m all right.
SHERLOCK: You have just killed a man.
JOHN (looking away thoughtfully): I’ve seen men die before – and good men, friends of mine. Thought I’d never sleep again.
(He meets Sherlock’s eyes, his face calm.)
JOHN: I’ll sleep fine tonight.
(Apparently reassured that John really is okay, Sherlock smiles.)
SHERLOCK (softly): Quite right.
JOHN: You were gonna take the damned pill, weren’t you?
SHERLOCK: Course not. Playing for time.
JOHN: No, you weren’t. It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? Risking your life to prove you’re clever.
SHERLOCK: Why would I do that?
JOHN: ’Cause you’re an idiot.
(Sherlock frowns at him for a moment but then smiles, apparently delighted that he has finally found someone who understands him. John smiles back at him.)
(They turn and start to walk away.)
SHERLOCK: There’s a good Chinese at the end of the road, stays open ’til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.
LESTRADE: Oi! Sherlock!
(Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stops and turns to Lestrade as he walks over.)
LESTRADE: Still got questions for you.
JOHN: Er, Inspector Lestrade, to my certain knowledge, this man hasn’t eaten for several days.
(Sherlock stares at him in surprise.)
JOHN (to Lestrade): Now, if you want him alive for your next case, what he’s gonna do right now is have dinner.
LESTRADE: And who the hell are you?
JOHN (glancing towards Sherlock): I’m his doctor.
SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): And only a fool argues with his doctor.
LESTRADE: Okay, I’ll pull you in tomorrow. Off you go.
JOHN: Thank you.
(The boys turn and walk away, Sherlock smiling proudly at his new friend while John blows out a relieved breath. Sherlock takes the blanket from around his shoulders.)
SHERLOCK: So: ran after a cab. Told you that limp was psychosomatic.
JOHN: I knew it was.
(They reach the police tape strung across the road and Sherlock lifts it so they can walk underneath it.)
SHERLOCK: You did get shot, though.
JOHN: Oh, yeah. In the shoulder.
(Behind them, Lestrade watches them walk away, then looks down to his notebook which he has taken out again. He tears out the page he had been writing on and screws it up. Back at the boys, Mrs Hudson has apparently just arrived home and now angrily hurries over to them.)
MRS HUDSON: Sherlock! What have you done to my house?
SHERLOCK: Nothing wrong with your house, Mrs Hudson, which is more than can be said for the dead serial killer on the first floor.
MRS HUDSON: Dead what?!
SHERLOCK: Good news for London; bad news for your carpet.
(He shoves the blanket into her arms and he and John start to walk away.)
SHERLOCK: Good night, Mrs Hudson.
(She looks down at the blanket, then turns and calls after them.)
MRS HUDSON: I’m not your housekeeper!
(Giggling, John calls over his shoulder.)
JOHN: Night, Mrs Hudson!
(Grinning, the boys continue down the road as Mrs Hudson turns to the police officer manning the tape.)
MRS HUDSON (angrily): I’m going in.
(Back near the ambulance, Donovan walks over to Lestrade.)
LESTRADE: Sergeant Donovan.
LESTRADE (looking towards the departing boys): We need those two in tomorrow.
DONOVAN: What two, sir?
LESTRADE (looking down the road again): Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.
(Hero!shot as our boys turn and smile at each other as they continue down the road. After a while, John takes his hand out of his jacket pocket and reaches down to take Sherlock’s hand.)
What? He does! You look at the footage. He really does!
A full list of episode transcripts, DVD commentary summaries/transcripts, and transcripts of the DVD special features can be found here.
Direct links to episode transcripts:
A Study in Pink (pilot) / A Study in Pink (broadcast) / The Blind Banker / The Great Game
A Scandal in Belgravia / The Hounds of Baskerville / The Reichenbach Fall
Many Happy Returns / The Empty Hearse / The Sign of Three / His Last Vow
The Abominable Bride
The Six Thatchers / The Lying Detective / The Final Problem
Or, to download the Episode Transcripts in Word or PDF, click here.