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Sherlock, Season 4, episode 1 transcript: The Six Thatchers, part 2
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BAKER STREET. On the first floor landing, DI Hopkins is standing outside the closed door of the living room tapping a finger against a folder she is holding. She turns as Greg trots up the stairs holding a brown paper bag.
LESTRADE: Oh, hi, Stella.
LESTRADE: You, uh ... you, um ... (He makes incoherent noises and points to the closed door.)
HOPKINS: Uh, yeah. He’s just got a client, so ...
LESTRADE: R-right, right, right.
(They look around awkwardly for a moment.)
LESTRADE: Uh, so see a lot of each other, do you?
HOPKINS (shrugging): It’s nothing. I mean, it’s nothing serious.
LESTRADE: No, no.
HOPKINS: I just pop round every now and again for a chat.
LESTRADE: Yeah, ’course.
HOPKINS: I mean, he loves a really tricky case.
LESTRADE (laughing): Yeah, he does! (He pauses for a moment, his laugh fading.) So, what you here for?
HOPKINS: Well, uh, Interpol think the Borgia Pearl trail leads back to London, so ...
LESTRADE: The Borgia Pearl. Are they ... they still after that, are they?
HOPKINS: Yeah. So how did, uh, you two first meet?
LESTRADE: Oh, it was a-a case about, um, ten years ago nobody could figure out. There was an old lady found dead in a sauna.
HOPKINS: Oh yeah? How’d she die?
HOPKINS (frowning): What?
LESTRADE: I know! But then I met Sherlock. (His voice gets louder.) It was so simple, the way ...
(Sherlock hurls the door open and glares at them.)
SHERLOCK: Will you two please keep it down?
(He slams the door shut.)
(Inside the living room, Sherlock walks over to his chair, passing a man sitting on the client chair wearing grey trousers and a pale short-sleeved shirt.)
SHERLOCK: Now, you haven’t always been in life insurance, have you? You started out in manual labour.
(He sits down in his chair and raises his hands when the man opens his mouth in surprise.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, don’t bother being astonished. Your right hand’s almost an entire size bigger than your left.
(A close-up of the man’s hands clasped on his lap is overlaid with the words “Glove Size:” and superimposed above his hands are the numbers “10½” over the right hand and “9½” over the other.)
SHERLOCK: Hard manual work does that.
KINGSLEY: I was a carpenter, uh, like me dad.
SHERLOCK: And you’re trying to give up smoking, unsuccessfully, and you once had a Japanese girlfriend that meant a lot to you but now you feel indifferent about.
KINGSLEY (smiling nervously): How the hell ...?
(He looks down into the pocket on his shirt and the several small cylindrical items in it. He smiles across to Sherlock.)
KINGSLEY: Ah. E-cigarettes.
SHERLOCK: Not just that – ten individual e-cigarettes. Now, if you just wanted to smoke indoors, you would have invested in one of those irritating electronic pipe things, but you’re convinced you can give up, so you don’t want to buy a pipe because that means you’re not serious about quitting, so instead you buy individual cigarettes, always sure that each will be your last. Anything to add, John?
(He glances briefly towards John’s chair, then does a startled double-take.)
(Floating at seated head height in John’s chair is a red balloon with a face drawn on it. The eyebrows are tilted enquiringly and the face has an impressed smile. The balloon is held in place by a piece of string wrapped around a book propped up on the seat. A moment later the real John pops his head round the kitchen door.)
JOHN: Er, yeah, yeah, listening.
SHERLOCK (staring wide-eyed at the balloon): What is that?
JOHN (coming into the living room): That is ... me. Well, it’s a me-substitute.
(Sherlock frowns, then glances briefly towards Kingsley.)
SHERLOCK: Don’t be so hard on yourself.
(He chuckles, looking a little shy and awkward and flicking brief glances at John as he continues.)
SHERLOCK: You know I value your little contributions.
JOHN: Yeah? It’s been there since nine this morning.
SHERLOCK: Has it? Where were you?
JOHN: Helping Mrs H with her Sudoku.
KINGSLEY: What about my girlfriend?
KINGSLEY: You said I had an ex.
SHERLOCK: You’ve got a Japanese tattoo in the crook of your elbow in the name ‘Akako.’
(There’s a close-up of the tattoo, which is very faded, and we hear the buzzing sound of a tattoo gun.)
SHERLOCK: It’s obvious you’ve tried to have it removed.
KINGSLEY (looking down at the tattoo): But surely that means I wanna forget her, not that I’m indifferent.
SHERLOCK: If she’d really hurt your feelings, you would have had the word obliterated, but the first attempt wasn’t successful and you haven’t tried again, so it seems you can live with the slightly blurred memory of Akako, hence the indifference.
(Kingsley laughs for a couple of seconds, then holds his hands up.)
KINGSLEY: Sorry. I-I thought you’d done something clever.
(Sherlock’s head turns towards him.)
KINGSLEY: No, no. Ah, but now you’ve explained it, it’s dead simple, innit?
(The side of John’s mouth twitches up into a smile. Sherlock pulls in a long breath, straightening up in his seat as he turns more towards Kingsley, then he breathes out deeply through his nose.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve withheld this information from you until now, Mr Kingsley, but I think it’s time you knew the truth.
KINGSLEY: What d’you mean?
SHERLOCK: Have you ever wondered if your wife was a little bit out of your league?
KINGSLEY: Well ...
SHERLOCK: You thought she was having an affair. I’m afraid it’s far worse than that. Your wife is a spy.
SHERLOCK: That’s right. Her real name is Greta Bengtsdotter. (He goes into quick fire mode.) Swedish by birth and probably the most dangerous spy in the world. She’s been operating deep undercover for the past four years now as your wife for one reason only: to get near the American embassy which is across the road from your flat. Tomorrow the US president will be at the embassy as part of an official state visit. As the president greets members of staff, Greta Bengtsdotter, disguised as a twenty-two stone cleaner, will inject the president in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit. This drug will then render the president entirely susceptible to the will of their new master, none other than James Moriarty.
SHERLOCK (quick fire): Moriarty will then use the president as a pawn to destabilise the United Nations General Assembly which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty, tipping the balance in favour of a first strike policy against Russia. This chain of events will then prove unstoppable, thus precipitating ... (he finally slows down and says the next words slowly and precisely) ... World War Three.
(John chuckles almost silently.)
JOHN: Are you serious?
SHERLOCK: No, of course not. (He stands up and walks towards the door.) His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie.
KINGSLEY: I don’t!
(John quirks a look at him.)
KINGSLEY: Just the bras.
SHERLOCK (opening the door): Get out.
(Kingsley stands up and leaves the room, walking between the waiting inspectors. Sherlock pushes the door shut again.)
JOHN: So. What’s this all about, then?
SHERLOCK: Having fun.
SHERLOCK: While I can.
(There’s a knock on the door and Hopkins opens it and comes in.)
HOPKINS: Uh, Sherlock ...
SHERLOCK (quick fire): Borgia Pearl, boring, go.
(He turns her around and pushes her towards the landing.)
HOPKINS: Uh, but, uh ...
(He pushes the door shut. Immediately Greg opens it and comes in. Sherlock looks exasperated.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, this had better be good.
LESTRADE: Oh, I think you’ll like it.
(From the paper bag he produces a clear plastic bag and holds it up. Inside are shattered pieces of white plaster, and some of the larger pieces show that this was a Thatcher bust. Sherlock takes hold of the bottom of the bag and looks at it closely.)
JOHN: That is the bust, isn’t it? The one that was broken.
LESTRADE: No, it isn’t. It’s another one; different owner, different part of town. You were right! This is a ... this is a thing. Something’s going on.
(Sherlock looks at the bag and for a moment it’s as if half of his face is replaced by a Thatcher bust, which then shatters. Sherlock’s gaze becomes intense.)
LESTRADE: What’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased.
SHERLOCK: I am pleased.
LESTRADE: You don’t look pleased.
SHERLOCK (still looking down at the bag): This is my game face.
(He raises his eyes, a slight smile forming.)
SHERLOCK: And the game is on.
(He turns away.
Shortly afterwards he is sitting at the kitchen table examining pieces of the broken plaster under his microscope. John and Greg stand nearby.)
LESTRADE: Another two have been smashed since the Welsborough one: one belonging to Mr Mohandes Hassan ...
JOHN: Identical busts?
LESTRADE: Yeah; and this one to a Doctor Barnicot in Holborn. Three in total. (He looks at his watch.) God knows who’d wanna do something like this.
JOHN: Yeah, well some people have that complex, don’t they – an idée fixe. (Walking closer to the table he looks pointedly at Sherlock.) They obsess over one thing and they can’t let it go.
SHERLOCK (still looking into the microscope): No, no good. There were other images of Margaret ... (he pauses, then raises his head) ... Margaret?
JOHN (exasperated): You know who she is.
SHERLOCK (continuing his sentence): ... Thatcher present at the first break-in. Why would a monomaniac fixate on just one?
(He picks up another piece of plaster with tweezers and finds it instantly interesting.)
SHERLOCK: Blood. (He puts the plaster under the ’scope and looks at it through the lenses.) Quite a bit of it, too.
(He looks up to Lestrade.)
SHERLOCK: Was there any injury at the crime scene?
LESTRADE: Nah. (He looks at his watch again.)
SHERLOCK (turning his head away): Then our suspect must have cut themselves breaking the bust.
(He uses the tweezers to put the blood-stained piece of plaster into a small plastic bag.)
SHERLOCK: Come on.
LESTRADE: Lambeth? Why?
SHERLOCK: To see Toby.
JOHN: Ah, right. Who?
SHERLOCK: You’ll see.
JOHN: Right. (To Greg) You coming?
SHERLOCK: No. He’s got a lunch date with a brunette forensic officer that he doesn’t want to be late for. (He gets up and starts putting on his jacket.)
LESTRADE: Who told you?
SHERLOCK: The right sleeve of your jacket ... (A close-up shows that there are long human hairs on the sleeve) ... plus the formaldehyde mixed with your cologne ...
(He pulls a disgusted face, while John leans over to put his face nearer to Greg’s jacket, either looking at the sleeve or sniffing at it, or both.)
SHERLOCK: ... and your complete inability to stop looking at your watch. Have a good time.
LESTRADE: I will.
(He heads for the kitchen door onto the landing. Sherlock picks up his phone and types, “Busy?”)
SHERLOCK: Trust me, though, she’s not right for you.
LESTRADE (stopping and turning back): What?
SHERLOCK (loudly): She’s not the one.
LESTRADE: Well, thank you, Mystic Meg(!)
(He leaves. John steps closer to Sherlock.)
JOHN: How’d you work all that out?
SHERLOCK (quietly, still typing): She’s got three children in Rio that he doesn’t know about.
JOHN: Are you just making this up?
(He turns and goes out of the kitchen door, John following.)
JOHN: Who’s Toby?
As Sherlock speaks, we see images of a young overweight man with glasses sitting at a desk on which are several computer screens. As he types, complicated data code streams across the screen in front of him.
SHERLOCK (offscreen): There’s a kid I know, hacker, brilliant hacker, one of the world’s best. He got himself into serious trouble with the Americans a couple of years ago. He hacked into the Pentagon’s security system, and I managed to get him off the charge. Therefore he owes me a favour.
(Sherlock’s gloved hand reaches for the knocker on a black-painted door and he knocks twice and then steps back onto the pavement.)
JOHN: So, how does that help us?
JOHN: Toby the hacker.
SHERLOCK: Toby’s not the hacker.
(The young man opens the door and Sherlock smiles at him.)
SHERLOCK: All right, Craig?
CRAIG (smiling): All right, Sherlock?
SHERLOCK (smiling at something near Craig’s feet): Craig’s got a dog!
(A large bloodhound, with a lead attached to his collar, wanders out onto the pavement.)
JOHN: So I see.
SHERLOCK (laughing with delight as the dog comes to him): Good boy!
(As Craig grins at them, Mary comes to his side from inside the house, carrying Rosie in her arms.)
(John stares at her in surprise.)
JOHN: Mary, what are you ...?
(He holds up his hands as she comes out of the house.)
JOHN: No, we-we agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case.
MARY: No, exactly, so ... (she hands the baby to John) ... don’t wait up. (She looks across to Sherlock.) Hey, Sherlock.
JOHN: But ... Mary, what are you doing here?
SHERLOCK: She’s better at this than you.
SHERLOCK: So I texted her.
JOHN: Hang on. Mary’s better than me?
SHERLOCK: Well, she is a retired super-agent with a terrifying skill set. Of course she’s better.
JOHN: Yeah, okay.
SHERLOCK: Nothing personal.
JOHN: What, so I’m supposed to just go home now, am I?
MARY: Oh, what do you think, Sherlock? Shall we take him with us?
SHERLOCK: John or the dog?
JOHN: Ha-ha, that’s funny.
MARY (to Sherlock): John.
SHERLOCK (mock-thoughtfully): Well ...
MARY: He’s handy and loyal.
JOHN: That’s hilarious.
JOHN (not seriously): Is it too early for a divorce?
MARY: Aww! (Smiling, she points to herself.)
SHERLOCK: Barnicot’s house, then. Anyone up for a trudge?
(He turns and walks away with Toby, who barks enthusiastically.)
SHERLOCK: Keep up. He’s fast.
Some time later, Toby has sat himself down on the pavement near a phone box. Mary stands behind him holding his lead and with her feet either side of his backside. John now has Rosie strapped in front of him in a baby carrier and Sherlock stands next to him with his hands stuffed into the top pockets of his coat. From Mary’s pursed lips, John’s frown as he looks down at the dog and Sherlock’s distant gaze, it seems that they’ve been there for some time. John finally looks up at Sherlock.
JOHN: He’s not moving.
SHERLOCK: He’s thinking.
(Mary idly strokes the top of Toby’s head with her fingers, and Toby whines. John looks down at him again for a moment before lifting his head.)
JOHN: He’s really not moving.
SHERLOCK: Slow but sure, John; not dissimilar to yourself.
(John frowns and looks down at Toby again.)
JOHN: You just like this dog, don’t you?
SHERLOCK: Well, I like you.
MARY (tiredly): He’s still not moving.
(Sherlock looks down at the dog for a few seconds.)
(Mary lets out an exasperated sigh and clears her throat.)
But finally the game is
SHERLOCK: Well? What do you make of it?
MARY: They were looking for something.
SHERLOCK: Yes, but it wasn’t a burglar. They came specifically for that Thatcher bust. Why?
(Reaching the Southwark area of London, they head into Borough Market and walk past the stalls until Toby finally slows down and stops. There’s a large pool of blood on the ground and someone has thrown sawdust over it to soak up some of it. Nearby a door opens and a butcher walks out with a pig’s carcass over his shoulder. Toby looks round as another butcher carries another carcass into the area the other man just left. As a third butcher with yet another carcass walks across the pool of blood, a street sweeper begins to brush the soaked sawdust into a heap ready to clean it up. Toby whines mournfully. Sherlock looks at the bloody sawdust.)
MARY: Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail, where would you go?
JOHN: Like hiding a tree in a forest.
SHERLOCK: Or blood in a butchers’.
(He goes round to the front of the dog and bends down to stroke his head.)
SHERLOCK: Never mind, Toby. Better luck next time, hm?
(He looks around the market.)
SHERLOCK: This is it, though. This is the one. (He stands up.) I can feel it.
JOHN: Not Moriarty?
SHERLOCK: It has to be him. It’s too bizarre; it’s too baroque. (He continues to look around the area, his face alight with excitement.) It’s designed to beguile me, tease me, lure me in. At last – a noose for me to put my neck into.
(He walks away. John and Mary exchange a concerned look.)
Elsewhere, someone smashes a hammer into another white plaster bust of Thatcher and then brings the hammer down again to break the bits into smaller pieces before rummaging through the fragments. A second identical bust stands beside the shattered one, and the intruder lifts it and then slams it down onto the table to break it.
MARY AND JOHN’S BEDROOM. The Watsons are lying side by side in bed with their eyes closed. Initially they are reflected in a mirror on the wall and it’s only when the view switches to the ‘real’ image that we perhaps notice that they are lying on opposite sides to the sides they occupied when we’ve seen them in bed before. They speak quietly and tiredly.
MARY: You should have seen the state of the front room. It was like ‘The Exorcist.’
JOHN: Hm! Was Rosie’s head spinning round?
MARY: No. Just the projectile vomiting.
(He shifts slightly in the bed.)
MARY: Hm! No, you’d think we’d have noticed when she was born.
JOHN: Hm? Noticed what?
MARY: The little ‘666’ on her forehead.
(John hums thoughtfully.)
JOHN: That’s ‘The Omen.’
(Mary opens her eyes and looks across to him.)
JOHN: Well, you said it was like ‘The Exorcist.’ They’re two different things. She can’t be the Devil and the Antichrist.
(Mary sighs and closes her eyes. From the next bedroom, Rosie starts to cry. John opens his eyes and lifts his head slightly and they both look in the direction of the sound.)
MARY: Yeah, can’t she?
(John groans and drops his head back onto the pillow. Mary throws back her side of the duvet and gets up.)
MARY: Coming, darling.
(John pushes the top of the duvet down a little and presses the backs of his hands over his eyes for a moment. Mary heads for the other bedroom.)
MARY: Mummy’s coming.
(On his bedside table, John’s phone buzzes an incoming message. He rolls over and picks up the phone.)
MARY (in a soothing voice offscreen, over the sound of Rosie wailing): Oh, what are you doing?! What are you doing?! Come here!
(As she continues chatting to her daughter, John looks at his phone. His eyebrows raise at what he sees, then he frowns.)
CRAIG’S HOUSE. Craig is sitting at his computer typing while Sherlock stands behind him.
CRAIG: Have you heard of that thing, in Germany?
SHERLOCK: You’re going to have to be more specific, Craig.
CRAIG: ‘Ostalgie.’ People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren’t they?
SHERLOCK: Mm. (He narrows his eyes momentarily.)
CRAIG: According to this, there’s quite a market for Cold War memorabilia – Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin. (He smiles.) Time’s a great leveller, innit? Thatcher’s like – I dunno – Napoleon now.
SHERLOCK (quick fire as he steps closer and leans down to Craig): Yes, fascinating, irrelevant. Where exactly did they come from?
CRAIG: I’ve got into the records of the suppliers – Gelder & Co. Seems they’re from Georgia.
SHERLOCK: Where exactly?
CRAIG: Uh, Tbilisi. Batch of six.
(Sherlock straightens up, looking thoughtful.)
CRAIG: One to Welsborough; one to Hassan; one to Doctor Barnicot. Two to Miss Orrie Harker ...
(Sherlock’s phone rings and he reaches into his coat to get it.)
CRAIG: ... one to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading.
(Sherlock answers his phone and starts speaking immediately.)
SHERLOCK: Lestrade, another one?
LESTRADE (over phone, sounding tired): Yeah.
SHERLOCK: Harker or Sandeford?
(Outdoors somewhere, Greg looks skywards as if wondering which magic pixie whispered those names into Sherlock’s ears. Behind him is a crime scene tape and two forensics technicians in white body coversuits, along with a couple of police officers in neon yellow coats.)
LESTRADE: Harker. And it’s murder this time.
SHERLOCK: Hm, that perks things up a bit.
(He turns to leave. Not long afterwards he is in the back of a taxi. He types “BLACK PEARL MYSTERY” into his phone and gets various snippets of information:
Legendary gem stolen from ...
Interpol launches investigation following the legendary Black Pearl ...
... Borgias from a secure vault in Georgia.
He types “INTERPOL” and more information comes up:
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
Sources at Interpol have admitted they have no new suspects in the case of the missing Black Pearl of the ...
... IN GEORGIA
NO NEW SUSPECT IN THE BLACK PEARL CASE
ORRIE HARKER’S BACK GARDEN. Greg and Sherlock walk across the garden to where Miss Harker’s body is lying face down on the grass. The forensic investigators are taking photographs.
LESTRADE: Defensive wounds on her face and hands. Throat cut – sharp blade.
SHERLOCK: The same thing inside the house? The bust?
LESTRADE: Two of them this time.
SHERLOCK: Interesting. That batch of statues was made in Tbilisi several years ago – limited edition of six.
LESTRADE: And now someone’s wandering about destroying ’em all. Makes no sense. What’s the point?
SHERLOCK: No, they’re not destroying them. That’s not what’s happening.
LESTRADE: Yes it is.
SHERLOCK: Well, it is what’s happening, but it’s not the point. I’ve been slow; far too slow.
LESTRADE: Well, I’m still being slow over here, so if you wouldn’t mind ...
SHERLOCK: Slow but lucky; very lucky. And since they smashed both busts, our luck might just hold. Jack Sandeford of Reading is where I’m going next. Congratulations, by the way.
LESTRADE: I’m sorry?
SHERLOCK: Well, you’re about to solve a big one.
(He turns and walks away.)
LESTRADE: Yeah, until John publishes his blog.
SHERLOCK (over his shoulder): Yeah. ’Til then, basically.
SANDEFORD HOME. EARLY EVENING. Inside one of the rooms in an expensive looking house, a small table holds a photo of a man holding up a trophy and smiling happily at the camera. In front of the photograph is a different trophy with a carving of a man with a golf club over his shoulder in full back swing and an over-large bag of golf clubs beside him. Next to the trophy is a white plaster bust of Thatcher.
A man wearing a dressing gown and with a towel over one arm walks past the table and goes to the other side of the room which has a floor-to-ceiling window looking through into an indoor swimming pool lit in dark blue light. A little girl is in the pool, swimming. The man goes through the open door into the pool room and calls out to the girl.
SANDEFORD: That’s enough now, love.
(He walks over to where there’s a small jacuzzi set into the corner of the main pool. On either side of the jacuzzi, two silver towers, about four feet high and a couple of feet wide, are fountaining clear sheets of water into the main pool. Sandeford leans down and passes his hand over a photoelectric sensor and the water stops.)
SANDEFORD: Daddy has things to do, I’m afraid.
(The girl has swum to the ladder at the side of the pool and starts to climb it. He walks over to meet her.)
SANDEFORD: And you need to get to bed! Come on!
(She gets out of the water and he wraps the towel around her. They walk out of the pool room and Sandeford closes the door, swiping his hand over another sensor on the wall. The lights in that room go out, leaving the lights on in the pool room. They walk away and, in the pool room, Sherlock walks into view and stands at the window watching them leave. After a moment, he walks out of view again.
A clock on the screen shows the time as 19:00. Time passes – your transcriber can’t be bothered to record each time change – and then, some time after 22:00 someone comes into the room adjoining the pool room, carrying a large bag. The person walks across to the Thatcher bust, picks it up and starts to stuff it into the bag but then the lights come on.
Sherlock – who has taken off his coat – walks across the room behind the intruder, who has the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head and is wearing a balaclava helmet over his face.)
SHERLOCK: Wouldn’t it be much simpler to take out your grievances at the polling station?
(The intruder whips out a pistol and spins around towards Sherlock, who instantly slaps the gun out of his hand. The man swings the bag up and towards Sherlock’s head but he grabs it and throws it out of reach before punching the man in the face. Your transcriber notices for the first time that Sherlock is wearing the Purple Shirt of Sex™ and frets for its safety.
The man returns the punch and they fight on for some time, trading blows and kicks. The man hurls a bar stool at Sherlock but he shimmies out of the way and then surges in and grapples with the man, who headbutts him and then grabs the back of his head and slams his forehead down onto a breadboard on the bar. Sherlock springs back up and punches the man again, then grabs his balaclava and pulls it off. The man stumbles back and we recognise that this is the man who was having nightmares in his small bedroom earlier in the episode.)
SHERLOCK: You were on the run; nowhere to hide your precious cargo.
(He kicks the man’s knee. The man kicks back at him but Sherlock backs out of reach. They circle each other. Sherlock has blood running from his nose.)
SHERLOCK: You find yourself in a workshop. Plaster busts of The Iron Lady drying. It’s clever, very clever. But now you’ve met me, and you’re not so clever, are you?
THE INTRUDER: Who are you?
SHERLOCK: My name is Sherlock Holmes.
(The man looks at him murderously.)
THE INTRUDER: Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.
(Roaring in rage, he throws himself at Sherlock and their impetus sends them crashing through the glass window and straight into the pool. They struggle, fighting underwater for a while. The intruder screams out in fury and they surface, the man with his hands around Sherlock’s throat before they plunge underwater again. Your transcriber wishes she had the time, enthusiasm and energy to transcribe the fight split second by split second but hopes you’ll forgive her not going into that much detail. They continue to struggle and eventually the man drags Sherlock across to the jacuzzi, hauls him half over the top and shoves his head down into the water, holding him down. One of their hands flails across a nearby sensor and water begins to bubble through the pool. Sherlock finally manages to get his head up and out of the water and he flails towards the sensor, eventually slamming his hand down onto it. The towers either side of the jacuzzi begin to pour out sheets of water. Sherlock jerks backwards, pushing the man away, and turns to face him, backhanding him and then moving around him to wrap one arm around his neck. As the man repeatedly cries out while he struggles to get free, Sherlock puts his other hand over the man’s head and pulls it back while bundling him towards one of the fountains and then shoving his face under the flow. The man gags and chokes as the water pours into his mouth.
After a while Sherlock shoves him aside and makes for the side of the pool. The man cries out in rage and chases after him, climbing out and following him, but Sherlock scrambles into the adjoining kitchen and grabs the plaster bust from the bag on the floor. As the man runs towards him, Sherlock swings the bust round and slams it across his face, sending him crashing to the floor. He lands close to his own pistol lying nearby but for the moment he doesn’t notice it.)
SHERLOCK: You’re out of time. Tell me about your boss, Moriarty.
THE INTRUDER (looking up at him): Who?
SHERLOCK (holding up the bust threateningly): I know it’s him. It must be him.
THE INTRUDER: You think you understand. You understand nothing.
SHERLOCK: Well, before the police come in and spoil things, why don’t we just enjoy the moment?
(He holds up the bust.)
SHERLOCK: Let me present Interpol’s number one case. Too tough for them; too boring for me.
(He raises the bust high above his head. The man rolls over onto his side and covers his head with his arm. Sherlock hurls the bust down onto the floor and it smashes to pieces.)
SHERLOCK: The Black Pearl of the Borgias.
(Looking smug, he lowers his gaze to the shattered plaster. But there’s no pearl lying in the fragments. Instead, Sherlock’s eyes fill with shock and disbelief as he looks down at a large silver memory stick. Written on the side of it in dark ink are the letters
SHERLOCK (slowly sinking to his knees, his eyes locked on the memory stick): It’s not possible. How could she ...?
(He reaches out to pick it up.
In flashback, we see John rolling the memory stick in his fingers in front of the fireplace at the Holmes’ cottage.
In flashback, Mary puts the stick onto the table beside John’s chair in 221B’s living room.
MARY: Everything about who I was is on there.
JOHN (at the Holmes cottage): The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future are my privilege.
He turns and drops the memory stick onto the burning fire.
In the present, while Sherlock continues to stare in confusion, the intruder has finally seen his pistol nearby and now reaches for it and picks it up.)
SHERLOCK: I don’t understand.
(The man turns towards Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: She ... she destroyed it.
THE INTRUDER: “She.”
(He gets up onto his knees, his face anguished and his eyes full of tears, and raises the gun to point it at Sherlock.)
THE INTRUDER: You know her.
(Sherlock frowns and slowly raises his head to look at him.)
THE INTRUDER: You do, don’t you? You know the bitch. She betrayed me; betrayed us all.
(Approaching police sirens can be heard.)
SHERLOCK: Mary. This is about Mary.
THE INTRUDER: Is that what she’s calling herself now, eh?
(The police cars have stopped, and now Greg’s voice can be heard over a loudhailer.)
LESTRADE (offscreen, over loudhailer): Armed police! You’re surrounded!
(The intruder glances in the direction of the sound but then looks back to Sherlock.)
THE INTRUDER: Give it to me.
(He slowly gets to his feet. Sherlock does likewise.)
THE INTRUDER (screaming at him): Give it to me!
LESTRADE (offscreen, over loudhailer): Come out slowly. I wanna see your hands above your head.
(The man turns his head and yells out.)
THE INTRUDER: Nobody shoots me! Anyone shoots, I kill this man!
LESTRADE (offscreen, over loudhailer): Lay down your weapon. Do it now!
THE INTRUDER (loudly, starting to back away in the direction of the door): I’m leaving this place. If no-one follows me, no-one dies.
LESTRADE (offscreen, over loudhailer): Lay down your weapon!
THE INTRUDER: You’re policemen. I’m a professional.
(He looks at Sherlock and speaks more quietly.)
THE INTRUDER: Tell her she’s a dead woman. She’s a dead woman walking.
SHERLOCK (holding his gaze): She’s my friend, and she’s under my protection. Who are you?
THE INTRUDER (his voice shaking with rage): I’m the man ... who’s gonna kill your friend. Who’s Sherlock Holmes?
SHERLOCK: Not a policeman.
(The man shifts his aim and fires at the sensor beside the door to the pool room. It explodes and all the lights go out except a couple of uplighters at the far end of the pool. A high-pitched alarm begins to sound and a white alarm light strobes in the pool room. The man turns and runs for the door. Sherlock watches him go for a moment, then looks down at the memory stick in his hand.)
TBILISI, GEORGIA. SIX YEARS AGO (as shown onscreen). The camera pans down over a huge room with an enormously high ceiling. Ornate lights hang from the ceiling. Two large pedestals either side of the middle of the room have large bronze lions on them. The room is a mess with items scattered about haphazardly. There are several people sitting at the foot of each of the pedestals, wrapped in blankets. Other people are sitting on the floor underneath the massive windows. One of the windows has a Georgian flag on a flagpole propped up against the window frame. A few armed men in military uniform are prowling around the room watching the others.
In between the pedestals is a large table and a man and woman sit in chairs at one end. They too have blankets wrapped around them. A chess set is on the table. The woman looks up at an approaching soldier.
AMBASSADOR: What do you think? Mate in two?
(The soldier aims his rifle at the couple.)
SOLDIER (in Georgian): I will shoot you.
(The ambassador cringes away from the gun and her husband speaks quietly to her.)
HUSBAND: Don’t antagonise them, darling.
(The soldier walks away.)
AMBASSADOR: Oh, what else is there to do? Chess palls after three months.
(She makes a move on the chess board. The soldiers talk amongst themselves nearby.)
AMBASSADOR: Everything palls.
HUSBAND: They’ll send someone soon.
AMBASSADOR: “They”? Who are “they”? Seems to me we’ve put an awful lot of faith in “they.” Well, I’ve got something “they” would dearly love if only we could get out of here.
(She looks at her husband smugly.)
AMBASSADOR: I’ve got Ammo.
(At that moment glass shatters above them. The Georgian soldiers shout out and everyone dives for cover as two black-clad operatives with balaclavas over their faces rappel down into the room on ropes, firing as they go. At the same time two more operatives kick their way through a door which had been held closed with an axe through the handles and begin to pick off the soldiers with accurate single shots from their rifles. With all the soldiers apparently terminated, the operatives move through the room checking in all directions.
The screen splits into four, each section containing one of the operatives. Above each of their heads appears a letter. Left to right, the letters read:
The two operatives on the left change places, their letters following them. Now the order of letters reads:
The ambassador kneels up from where she had taken cover under the table. The operative labelled ‘R.’ holds out a hand towards her and speaks in a very recognisable female voice.)
MARY: Madam Ambassador.
(She takes the woman’s hand and pulls her to her feet.)
AMBASSADOR: What took you so long?
MARY: Can’t get the staff.
(She firmly pushes the ambassador towards the door. One of the other operatives yells at the other hostages.)
OPERATIVE: Everyone out! Now!
(The hostages begin to get to their feet and head for the door. Shortly afterwards, the AGRA team are leading the hostages through the building. They reach a junction and the team checks in all directions. One of them shouts, “To your left!” and the hostages turn that way. The team moves on but Georgian soldiers suddenly come into view in front of them and the one in the lead fires upwards, blowing out all the lights in the already-dark corridor. The hostages scream and duck, and AGRA turn and realise that there are armed civilians behind them. AGRA pause, weighing their options as they calculate how many people they are up against, and then another Georgian soldier steps into view with his hand on the neck of a female hostage and his pistol pointed at her head. As he grins and chuckles, revealing a set of gold teeth, one of the AGRA team, wearing a silver A.G.R.A memory stick round his neck on a chain, pulls up his balaclava to reveal his face. It’s the intruder we saw in the previous scene.)
THAT MAN: What now? What do we do?
(Mary pulls up her own balaclava and takes one more look at the armed men surrounding them.)
MARY: We die.
(She pulls the pin from a device and hurls the object to the floor in front of her and turns her face away as a massive white light explodes in front of them. The hostages scream as gunfire begins.)
The light of the explosion fades away and we’re in the living room in Baker Street. Sherlock is standing in front of his chair holding the memory stick by one end and repeatedly tapping it against the fingers of his other hand while he frowns in concentration. He has a dark bruise under his left eye. The door opens and Greg comes in. Sherlock turns to look at him.
(Greg shakes his head.)
LESTRADE: He can’t have got far. We’ll have him in a bit.
SHERLOCK: I very much doubt it.
(He takes out his phone and starts to type on it.)
SHERLOCK (turning and heading for the door while still typing): Because I think he used to work with Mary.
In his crummy little room, the intruder is sitting on the floor holding an open bottle in one hand, and to the right of him on the floor is an open laptop. He has googled “Sherlock Holmes” and is looking at the various images that have come up. He clicks on some of them and then finds one of John, Mary and Sherlock outside the church on the Watsons’ wedding day. He zooms in on Sherlock, then pans across to Mary’s smiling face. Putting down the bottle, he picks up the laptop and puts it into his lap, staring at the photo and breathing heavily. He closes his eyes, grimaces, and now he’s in flashback.
Wearing his black camo gear but without the balaclava, he runs across the floor of a pottery workshop and braces himself momentarily against one of the racks in the middle of the floor. Soldiers shout in Russian somewhere nearby, one of them yelling, “I tell you, bitch, I will shoot!” A man, maybe a potter, maybe a guard, is sitting at a side bench and the operative runs across towards him. The man gets up and the operative fights with him. A gunshot explodes some nearby pottery on one of the central racks, and the operative takes down his opponent as a soldier comes in and starts firing. By now the operative has a pistol but he has no chance to use it because there are now at least two soldiers firing at him and pottery and coloured glaze powder are exploding into the air all around him. Using the cover of the flying dust, the operative turns and runs to the far end of the workshop and sees six identical white plaster busts of Margaret Thatcher on the table. Pulling his memory stick’s chain over his head, he stuffs the chain and stick into the open base of one of the busts. As the soldiers make their way cautiously forward, he stands the bust up [thus ensuring that the memory stick will fall out when someone picks up the bust, what the hell?]. He turns to run but the gold-toothed man is behind him and smashes him to the floor.
Some time later the operative is tied to a chair. The gold-toothed soldier shoves his head up to reveal his bleeding mouth and then punches him hard in the stomach twice. As the operative slumps and wheezes, the man walks around behind him.
GOLD TEETH MAN: Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.
(The operative looks around at the bare walls. He seems to be in a small warehouse or maybe a storage lock-up. There’s another man standing at a table behind him but he’s not aware of him yet. A doorway some feet away in front of him leads to another room and there’s some movement in there. The gold-toothed man wraps his arm around the operative’s neck from behind and starts to strangle him.)
GOLD TEETH MAN: Ammo. Ammo. Ammo-o-o-o-o.
(The operative’s vision goes black and he slumps in his chair almost unconscious as the man releases him. The other man walks across and pulls his head up to look at his face.)
GUARD (in heavily-accented English): He passed out again. (He releases the operative’s head and steps back.) It’s no fun when they pass out. We’ll come back later.
(He starts to walk away and his colleague follows but then turns back.)
GOLD TEETH MAN (also in heavily-accented English): What would he do if he knew, huh? About the English woman?
GUARD: What would you do to a traitor? Maybe we’ll tell him one day. If he lives that long.
(They chuckle. Blood dribbles from the operative’s mouth. A few moments later he lifts his head. The torturers have gone into the next room and – in a shadow on the wall – the operative can see that someone has been hung from the ceiling by their wrists and is being repeatedly punched or flogged. The victim has long straggly hair. The operative’s head goes down briefly but then he raises it and looks up to the ceiling. It’s as if his chair is falling backwards but instead of landing on hard concrete, he falls back onto the carpet in his bedsit. Staring blankly upwards, he raises his bottle to his lips and drinks. The perspective changes and he’s still lying on his back on the floor, although his face isn’t as badly beaten as it was in the past.)
[Transcriber’s note: one of my beta team flailed over the fact that the unseen person being flogged was tall and thin and had long floppy hair. When she pointed it out to me I joined in with the flailing, remembering someone else of that description who got himself beaten in a foreign country. Additionally, during later footage of the same embassy firefight we see glimpses of both of the other team members, and each of them has short hair.
All right, so the above event happened six years ago but still ... *wibbles*]
NIGHT TIME. Rain is pouring down and there’s lightning and thunder. Somebody wearing a raincoat with the hood pulled up over their head walks along a path towards a church, lighting the way with a flashlight. The person makes their way to a small wooden door with NO ENTRY stencilled on it in red. Graffiti just under the message reads “GwJ.” Near the bottom of the door, someone has spray-painted a white circle with an “i” inside it. The person pushes open the door and goes inside, closing the door again. Walking into a small vault, they find that it has been set up as a home-from-home: there’s a tatty sofa and a couple of hard plastic chairs, and a couple of desks, one of which has an open laptop and anglepoise lamp on it. A few other lights are dotted around the room but it’s still quite dark in there. The person pushes back the hood of their coat and we realise that it’s Mary.
SHERLOCK (barely visible at the end of the vault): I am an idiot. I know nothing.
MARY (cheerily, putting her torch into her coat pocket): Well, I’ve been telling you that for ages! That was quite a text you sent me. (She smiles at him and looks around the vault.) What’s going on, Sherlock?
SHERLOCK: I was so convinced it was Moriarty, I couldn’t see what was right under my nose.
(Mary’s smile fades and she looks at him worriedly.)
SHERLOCK: I expected a pearl.
(He looks down to the memory stick he’s holding. Mary stares in shock and then walks quickly towards him.)
MARY: Oh my God. That’s a ...
SHERLOCK: Yes, it’s an AGRA memory stick like you gave John, except this one belongs to someone else. Who?
MARY (her eyes still locked on the stick): I don’t know. We-we all had one, but the others w... (She gestures at the device.) Well, haven’t you even looked at it yet?
SHERLOCK: I glanced at it, but I’d prefer to hear it from you.
SHERLOCK: Because I’ll know the truth when I hear it.
MARY (almost silently as she turns away in exasperation): Oh, Sherlock.
(She walks a few paces away from him and then turns back to face him.)
MARY: There were four of us. Agents.
SHERLOCK: Not just agents.
MARY: Polite term. Alex; Gabriel; me; and Ajay.
(She points to the device.)
MARY: There was absolute trust between us. The memory sticks guaranteed it. We all had one, each containing aliases, our background, everything. We could never be betrayed because we had everything we needed to destroy the other.
SHERLOCK: Who employed you?
MARY: Anyone who paid well. I mean, we were at the top of our game for years, and then it all ended. There was a coup in Georgia. The British embassy in Tbilisi was taken over; lots of hostages. We got the call to go in, get them out. There was a change of plan, a last-minute adjustment.
SHERLOCK: Who from?
MARY: I don’t know. Just another voice on the phone, and a code word, “Ammo.”
MARY: Like ‘ammunition.’ We went in, but then something went wrong. Something went really wrong.
(Flashback. In the corridors of the British embassy, Mary pulls the pin from a device and hurls the object to the floor. A bright white light explodes in front of her and her colleague. Previously we may have thought it was a grenade but it’s now clear that it’s a flash grenade. As the hostages scream and cower, the Georgian forces open fire. One of the AGRA team drops a smoke bomb as they return fire. Chaos reigns as the firefight continues and one of the other two AGRA men spins and falls, apparently shot. Mary starts to move forward. A Georgian soldier grabs the fourth AGRA man round the neck and drags him away.)
MARY (in the present): That was six years ago. Feels like forever. I was the only one that made it out.
(Sherlock walks across to the table and picks up the laptop, putting the memory stick into the drive.)
SHERLOCK: I met someone tonight: the same someone who’s looking for the sixth Thatcher.
(He puts the laptop down on the other table, types on it and steps away as various photographs come up on the screen. Two of them seem to be surveillance photos, while the third is a photo ID badge of a journalist called Eshan Mohindra. All three pictures are of the man with whom Sherlock fought earlier. As Mary walks towards the laptop, a new photo comes up of the man. It and the previous two surveillance photos are marked “AGRA - 3203 - 42673.”)
MARY: Oh my God. That’s Ajay. That’s him. What, he’s alive?
SHERLOCK: Yeah, very much so. (He touches his hand to the bruise under his eye.)
MARY (staring at the image in surprised delight): I don’t believe it! This is amazing! I thought I was the only one. I thought I was the only one who got out.
(She turns to Sherlock.)
MARY: Where is he? I need to see him now!
SHERLOCK (holding out a hand to slow her down): Before you gave it to John, did you keep your memory stick safe?
MARY: Yeah, of course. It was our insurance. Above all, they mustn’t fall into enemy hands.
SHERLOCK: So Ajay survived as well, and now he’s looking for the memory stick he managed to hide with all of AGRA’s old aliases on it. But why?
MARY: I don’t know!
SHERLOCK: Tbilisi was six years ago. Where’s he been?
(She looks down, thinking, then shakes her head, making a helpless sound. Sherlock pauses for a moment, then pulls in a breath.)
SHERLOCK: Mary, I’m sorry to tell you this, but he wants you dead.
(Mary laughs in disbelief.)
MARY (glancing at Ajay’s image on the laptop): Sorry, no, no, ’cause we-we were family.
SHERLOCK (softly): Families fall out. The memory stick is the easiest way to track you down. You’re the only other survivor. It must be you that he wants, and he’s already killed looking for the Thatcher bust.
MARY (looking at the laptop screen): Well, he’s just trying to find me. He survived. That’s all that matters!
SHERLOCK: I heard it from his own mouth. “Tell her she’s a dead woman walking.”
MARY: Why would he want to kill me?
SHERLOCK: He said you betrayed him.
MARY: Oh, no, no, that’s insane.
(She looks at the computer again, bewildered.)
SHERLOCK: Well, it’s what he believes.
(Mary lets out a long breath and sinks onto a chair.)
MARY: I suppose I was always afraid this might happen; that something in my past would come back to haunt me one day.
(Sherlock puts his hand to his bruised ribs and turns away from her.)
SHERLOCK: Yes, well he’s a very tangible ghost.
MARY: God, I just wanted a bit of peace, and I really thought I had it.
SHERLOCK (turning back and leaning down to her): No. Mary, you do. I made a vow, remember?
(She stares up at him.)
SHERLOCK: To look after the three of you.
(She smiles slightly.)
MARY: Sherlock the dragon slayer.
SHERLOCK (firmly): Stay close to me and I will keep you safe from him. I promise you.
(She looks thoughtful for a moment, then stands up.)
MARY: There’s something I think you should read.
(He looks at the piece of paper she’s holding out with her gloved hand.)
SHERLOCK: What is it?
MARY: I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this.
(She puts the paper into his bare hand and watches him as he unfolds it, holding it in both hands. Immediately his vision starts to go fuzzy.)
SHERLOCK: What are you ...?
(He lifts the paper to his nose and sniffs deeply. [Oh, way to go, genius!] He gasps and starts to wobble.)
SHERLOCK (in a whisper): Mary.
(Mary supports him as he totters and falls onto the chair behind him.)
MARY (softly): There you go.
SHERLOCK: Oh, no.
MARY: It’s all right. It’s for the best, believe me.
SHERLOCK (weakly): No.
(While he struggles to stay conscious, Mary goes to the laptop and removes the memory stick. Pulling her hood up over her head, she hurries to the doorway, her voice faint and echoing.)
MARY: You just look after them ’til I get back. I’m sorry.
(Sherlock sighs out a breath, his eyes starting to close.)
MARY (her voice distant and echoing): I’m so sorry.
(She turns and looks back at him briefly before disappearing from view. Sherlock’s vision whites out.
Inside his head, the distant sound of a young child singing can be heard. A child (who we assume at this point is male) – only fuzzily visible and with his back to us – is wearing red trousers rolled up to the knees, a yellow jumper or jacket, a dark blue pirate’s hat on his head and yellow plimsolls or shoes, and he’s carrying a yellow plastic sword as he skips away through the shallows on a beach. Nearby a wet Irish setter, with a purple bandana tied around his neck, watches the boy. Then someone wearing a pair of red wellington boots can be seen running along the pebble beach. The perspective changes and, while the child’s voice continues to sing, we see the pirate boy trotting away from us alongside a stream followed by the other boy who is wearing red wellingtons, blue jeans and a checked shirt. The memory whites out.
[Transcriber’s note: a later episode confirms the lyrics of the song, which are:
I that am lost / Oh, who will find me / Deep down below /The old beech tree?]
Sherlock regains consciousness in the vault. Grimacing and groaning, he looks across to the laptop and sees that the memory stick has gone. Wide-eyed, he turns the laptop for a clearer view, then grimaces again, gasps and hauls himself to his feet. He stumbles outside and looks around. The rain has stopped, although a flash of lightning briefly lights the sky. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he groans and hurries away.)
MYCROFT’S DIOGENES OFFICE. Mycroft, sitting with his feet up on the desk, frowns.
MYCROFT: Agra? A city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India. It is three hundred and seventy-eight kilometres west of the state capital, Lucknow ...
SHERLOCK (sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk): What are you, Wikipedia?
MYCROFT (smiling): Yes.
[He is, you know. He was quoting the Wikipedia entry verbatim.]
SHERLOCK: AGRA is an acronym.
MYCROFT: Oh, good. I love an acronym. All the best secret societies have them.
SHERLOCK: Team of agents, the best. But you know all that.
MYCROFT: Of course I do. Go on.
SHERLOCK: One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team.
MYCROFT: Indeed? Well, that’s news to me.
SHERLOCK (a little disbelievingly): Is it?
(Mycroft lowers his head and smiles at him in a sort of ‘believe it if you like’ way.)
SHERLOCK: He’s already killed looking for that memory stick. AGRA always worked for the highest bidder. I thought that might include you.
MYCROFT (frowning): Me?
SHERLOCK: Well, I mean the British government or whatever government you’re currently propping up.
MYCROFT: AGRA were very reliable; then came the Tbilisi incident. They were sent in to free the hostages but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that. We stopped using freelancers.
SHERLOCK: Your initiative?
MYCROFT: My initiative. Freelancers are too woolly; too messy. I don’t like loose ends – not on my watch.
(Sherlock leans forward and pulls a notepad across the desk towards himself.)
SHERLOCK: There was something else; a detail, a code word.
(He writes “AMMO” on the notepad, then turns it round to face his brother. The overlaid text on the screen flips to show the letters in reverse: “OMMA.” Mycroft frowns at the notepad.)
SHERLOCK: It’s all I’ve got.
MYCROFT: Little enough.
SHERLOCK: Could you do some digging, as a favour?
MYCROFT (smiling): You don’t have many favours left.
SHERLOCK (flatly): Then I’m calling them all in.
MYCROFT: And if you can find who’s after her and neutralise them, what then? You think you can go on saving her forever?
SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Of course.
MYCROFT: Is that sentiment talking?
SHERLOCK: No. It’s me.
MYCROFT: Difficult to tell the difference these days.
SHERLOCK: Told you: I made a promise, a vow.
MYCROFT (taking his feet off the desk): All right. I’ll see what I can do. (He leans forward and clasps his fingers together.) But remember this, brother mine: agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way.
SHERLOCK (slowly, determinedly): Not on my watch.
On to Part 3.