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HOSPITAL. Sherlock is lying barely conscious in bed, a nasal cannula on his face. His room is filled with vases of flowers. Magnussen walks to the door, opens it and comes in. Sherlock’s eyes roll sideways and he fuzzily sees the man standing in the doorway.
MAGNUSSEN: They’re not all from me.
(Sherlock turns his head slightly towards him as he closes the door. Magnussen points to one of the vases on the bureau.)
MAGNUSSEN: The struggling carnations are from Scotland Yard.
(He looks across to a rose on its own in another vase at the end of Sherlock’s bed.)
MAGNUSSEN: And the single rose is from ...
(He walks closer and looks at the card propped up against the vase.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... ‘W’.
(He sounds intrigued as he looks at the large letter ‘W’ on the card.)
MAGNUSSEN (pointing to more flowers on the other side of the bed): And the black wreath – C Block, Pentonville. I’m not sure the intent was entirely kindly.
(He sits on the chair to the right of Sherlock’s bedside. Looking down, he puts his left hand on Sherlock’s forearm and runs his right hand up and down the back of Sherlock’s hand.)
MAGNUSSEN: Oh, I covet your hands, Mr Holmes; though since you’ve survived, I suppose you get to keep them.
(He moves his left hand to Sherlock’s wrist and lifts it a few inches off the bed.)
MAGNUSSEN: Look at them.
(He takes the pulse oximeter from Sherlock’s finger and puts it onto the bed, then puts the backs of his own fingers under Sherlock’s before running his fingertips over the top.)
MAGNUSSEN: The musician’s hands.
(He moves his hand down to gently hold the end of Sherlock’s fingers.)
MAGNUSSEN: An artist’s.
(He leans forward, opens his mouth slightly and presses it against the back of Sherlock’s hand. After a moment he lifts his head and looks at Sherlock, whose breathing deepens a little while he looks back at the fuzzy image of the man.)
MAGNUSSEN: Or a woman’s?
(Sherlock manages to pull his hand free. Magnussen lets it go and it flops onto the bed. Magnussen rubs his own hands together.)
MAGNUSSEN: Apologies for the dampness of my touch.
(He sits back a little, still looking at Sherlock’s face.)
MAGNUSSEN: You’ll get used to it.
(Sherlock continues to breathe deeply.)
MAGNUSSEN: Having shot you, the woman you know as Mary Watson left without killing me.
(He picks up the pulse oximeter and clips it back onto Sherlock’s middle finger.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... which is odd, because that was the reason she came.
(He stands up, steps closer to the top of the bed and slowly bends down, bringing his mouth very close to Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s breathing deepens even more.)
MAGNUSSEN (softly): I didn’t pass on her identity to the police. Information like that is just too ...
(He runs his nose over the end of Sherlock’s. Again Sherlock’s breathing sharpens.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... malleable to be shared.
(Sherlock stares up at him, his pupils almost pinpricks.)
MAGNUSSEN: Wouldn’t you agree?
(Sherlock’s eyes flicker and begin to close. Magnussen straightens up and leaves the room. Sherlock’s eyes open a little for a moment, and then close.)
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