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Sherlock, Season 4, episode 2 transcript: The Lying Detective, part 2
Return to Part 1 / Jump to Part 3 / Jump to Part 4
Sherlock is walking along the streets, perhaps making his way home. His own words echo in his head.
SHERLOCK’s VOICE (echoing): You said your life turned on one word. A name can’t be one word.
(He walks past some houses which have basement flats. He walks to the street-level railings of one of those houses and looks over them, flashing back to the last time he stood at the door of a basement flat, when he visited John’s home and was met at the front door by Molly holding Rosie in her arms.)
MOLLY’s VOICE (echoing): ... if you were to come round asking after him, that he’d rather have anyone but you.
(In flashback, Molly stands outside the porch looking at him. She pauses for a moment.)
(In the present, Sherlock turns away.)
FAITH’s VOICE (echoing): You’re not what I expected.
SHERLOCK’s VOICE (echoing): What ... what am I?
FAITH’s VOICE (echoing): Nicer.
SHERLOCK’s VOICE: Than who?
(In flashback, Faith sits on the bench looking at him.)
FAITH (her voice echoing): Anyone.
MARY’s VOICE (echoing): Don’t think anyone else is going to save him, because there isn’t anyone.
(On the DVD recording which she sent to Sherlock, she shakes her head.)
FAITH’s VOICE (echoing): Anyone.
MOLLY’s VOICE (echoing): Anyone.
FAITH’s VOICE (echoing): Anyone.
MOLLY’s VOICE (echoing): Anyone.
MARY’s VOICE (echoing as she shakes her head on the DVD): Anyone.
(Sherlock spins around and stares intensely down the road.)
SMITH (in close-up): I have a situation ...
(His eyes wide, Sherlock starts to walk down the road.)
SMITH (offscreen) ... that needs to be managed.
(Further along the narrow street, it’s as if the oval table from Smith’s glass-walled room has appeared in the middle of the road. Smith’s six guests are sitting either side of it with the drip stands beside them and Smith sits at the far end. The street scenery around the table is fuzzy and out of focus. As Sherlock slowly walks towards the table, Smith smiles and stands up and walks towards him.)
SMITH (his voice echoing): There’s only one way that I can solve it.
FAITH: And what’s that?
(Smith has now passed the table and continues to walk towards Sherlock.)
SMITH: I need to kill someone.
FAITH (offscreen): Who?
(Smith chuckles silently.)
SHERLOCK: Of course!
(Smith continues to laugh, putting the back of one hand up to his mouth.)
SHERLOCK: He doesn’t want to kill one person; he wants to kill anyone. (He stares at Smith, his eyes wide.) He’s a serial killer!
SMITH (his hand lowered again): Anyone.
SHERLOCK: He could be.
SHERLOCK: Why not? Why shouldn’t he be?
(He starts to smile, then his smile drops and he looks confused. Smith and the table instantly disappear and a man walks past in front of Sherlock, looking at him disapprovingly. Offscreen a man’s voice angrily yells, “Move!” and, from an overhead shot, we see that Sherlock is standing in the middle of a very narrow stretch of road. Cars have come to a halt in front of him, behind him, and from a side turning to his right, some of them honking their horns. The driver of the car in front of him has his door open and calls out to him in irritation.)
DRIVER: Hey, you! What’s the matter with you?
SMITH’s VOICE (echoing): Anyone!
(As Smith’s voice continues to echoingly repeat the word, Sherlock’s vision homes in on the driver, who has got out of his car and is leaning an arm on the open door while looking at him in half-irritation, half-concern.)
DRIVER: Do you know where you are? Are you drunk?
(The driver has been replaced by Bill, who is looking at him sternly.)
SHERLOCK: What are you doing here?
WIGGINS (now standing in front of the fireplace in 221B’s living room): What were you doing in the middle of a bloody street?
SHERLOCK (still in the middle of the bloody street): You should be at Baker Street.
(His head twitches and he stumbles slightly.)
WIGGINS (in the living room): I am. So are you.
(In the street, the scenery around Sherlock goes very out of focus as he lowers his head a little and blinks rapidly. Behind him, a large backdrop ripples down to cover the view. The backdrop is the far wallpaper of the living room with a two-dimensional image of the sofa at the bottom. The backdrop thumps down into place and straightens out while Sherlock raises his head and stares around in front of him.)
WIGGINS (in the real living room): They found your address; they brought you here.
(Confused, Sherlock turns and looks around the room.)
WIGGINS: You’ve ’ad too much ...
(Sherlock turns back to him, wide-eyed and bewildered.)
WIGGINS: ... an’ that’s me sayin’ this.
(Flailing in panic, Sherlock stumbles backwards and up onto the now solid sofa. His back ought to crash into the wall but instead he lands flat on his back on the rug some distance in front of the sofa.
In a brief cut-away, Smith is on TV looking bored as the audience applauds behind him. He gestures towards the camera.)
(He smacks his hand down onto the big red button on the table in front of him.
In 221 Sherlock struggles to turn over onto his side. Then, without transition he’s back on his feet, possibly standing on the sofa, and he turns and stares around the room wide-eyed.
Brief cut-away of Smith in his tracksuit during a fun run, holding up his index fingers and thumbs to the crowd as he forms the letter ‘W’ with them. [Presumably in this context he intends it to mean ‘winner’ rather than certain other options.]
WIGGINS’ VOICE (distantly, offscreen): Sherlock.
Sherlock rolls onto his back again on the rug.
In a cut-away of a TV show, Smith stands inside the door of a shop, looking out through the glass. A female assistant stands at a cash register deeper in the shop. Smith reaches up to a sign on the door and turns it around so that from outside it reads “Sorry We’re CLOSED”. In the bottom left-hand corner of the screen are the words “BUSYNESS KILLER” except the ‘Y’ is actually a pair of scissors. The word KILLER is in red. Presumably this is the name of a TV show in which he is appearing/starring.
In 221B Sherlock elevates off the rug without using his hands or feet. Bill stares in shock. By the door to the landing, Sherlock begins walking up the wall. Floating impossibly sideways, he clumsily steps over a lot of magazines piled up against the wall, then puts his feet together and turns towards Bill.
Back out in the narrow street, Smith smiles ecstatically.)
SMITH (in a whisper): Anyone.
MOLLY’s VOICE (offscreen, echoing): Anyone.
SHERLOCK (now standing upright on the floor in front of the sofa): They’re always poor ...
(And he’s horizontally walking up the wall again.)
SHERLOCK (back in front of the sofa): ... and lonely, and strange.
(Brief cut-away of Smith in a tuxedo, laughing and pointing in a TV studio or theatre while the audience laughs and applauds.)
SHERLOCK (intensely, in front of the sofa): But those are only the ones we catch.
(Brief cut-away of Smith in a brown jacket and white shirt, holding his hands up in mock-surrender and laughing while the offscreen audience also laugh.)
WIGGINS (in 221B): Who do we catch?
SHERLOCK: Serial killers.
(Brief cut-away of Smith, still in the previous TV studio, laughing and pointing to something in front of him while the offscreen audience also laugh and whoop.
Sherlock is back on the wall, standing horizontally above the frosted glass window. He spins on the spot, his coat flaring out around him.)
SHERLOCK (back on the floor in front of the sofa): What if you were rich and ...
(He squeezes his eyes shut.
Very brief cut-away of Smith in his tuxedo in a studio or theatre, smiling and clapping his hands together.)
SHERLOCK: ... powerful and necessary.
(Cut-away of Smith standing outdoors, probably at Buckingham Palace, holding up and proudly pointing to his new OBE [more details of the Order of the British Empire here].
Again horizontal on the wall, Sherlock steps unsteadily downward, putting one foot on the arm of the chair beside the sofa.)
SMITH (offscreen, echoing): Anyone.
(In the narrow street Smith puts the back of one hand to his mouth as he giggles.
Horizontally, Sherlock reaches across to put his hands on the wall behind the sofa.)
SHERLOCK (upright in front of the sofa, and gasping): What if ...
(Bill stares disbelievingly. Sherlock is now horizontally halfway up the wall behind the sofa, his arms spread wide to steady himself as he carefully steps sideways/upwards along the part of the wall which juts out a little into the room.)
SHERLOCK (intensely, upright in front of the sofa): ... you had the compulsion to kill, and money? What then?
(Brief cut-away – presumably imaginary – of Smith standing in front of the sofa in 221B’s living room. Wearing a blue shirt and tie, he folds his arms and smiles.
Sherlock, standing on the right arm of the sofa (as you look at it) and tilted towards the sofa at an impossible angle, topples forward and crashes down onto the sofa. Bill watches him go with a look of shock. Sherlock’s eyes close as his body settles onto the cushions.
The camera pans down and an overhead shot of a road rises into the bottom half of the screen. Painted on the road in white paint are the words “THREE WEEKS LATER”. A few moments later a red car speeds over the words, and a police car follows, its siren wailing.
We switch to a view from the red car as “Ode to Joy” blares out of its speakers. Then from an outside perspective the car rapidly overtakes another one and heads towards a roundabout, entering the roundabout without slowing. The car skids around the roundabout, almost sideways at one point, while up above a helicopter follows the chase. The car speeds off down another road and we get a brief view from inside the car and the driver’s left hand gripping the steering wheel while the helicopter can be seen through the windscreen soaring overhead. The car heads for another roundabout, now pursued by two police cars. The red car turns left and is followed by the first police car but the second one goes straight on, presumably taking a short cut to intercept the chase further on. The red car skids around a right turn into a residential road. As the second police car approaches from in front, the driver throws the car into a spectacular U-turn and crashes into several black plastic rubbish bins outside the houses. One of the bins flies into the air and then crashes to the ground. As the vehicles come to a halt and the helicopter hovers overhead, John opens the front door of his therapist’s house, walks out and looks at the car and then squints up at the chopper.
THERAPIST (standing in the doorway behind him): Well, now ...
(John lowers his gaze to the car and licks his lips.)
THERAPIST: ... won’t you introduce me?
(The driver opens the door and the music gets louder. Initially the person is out of focus and we can’t see who it is but then the angle changes and it’s Mrs Hudson, sighing with relief. She closes the door and turns to John, smiling and sighing out another breath as she walks towards him. John opens his mouth but before he can speak a male police officer storms over from the car that had been behind the Aston at the end of the chase.)
POLICE OFFICER: Right, you there. Stop right where you are.
MRS HUDSON: Huh? What? (She stops momentarily, looking at the officer, then turns and continues towards the front door, holding out a hand towards John.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, John ...
JOHN (taking a step towards her): Mrs Hudson ...
POLICE OFFICER: Do you have any idea what speed you were going at?
(She stops and walks towards him.)
MRS HUDSON: Well, of course not. I was on the phone.
(She looks down.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh ... (she holds out a mobile phone to him) ... it’s for you, by the way.
POLICE OFFICER (automatically taking it): For me?
MRS HUDSON (turning and heading for the house): It’s the government.
POLICE OFFICER: The what?!
(He raises the phone to his ear.)
JOHN (offscreen): What’s going on? What’s wrong?
POLICE OFFICER (into phone): Hello?
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over phone): My name is Mycroft Holmes and I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Office.
(Simultaneously John continues talking to Mrs H offscreen.)
JOHN: Look at the state of you! Mrs H, what have you been doing?!
(Apparently the police officer recognises Mycroft’s name, because he takes off his cap even though Mycroft obviously can’t see it.
Outside the front door Mrs H is pointing vaguely up to the helicopter.)
JOHN: What’s happened?
MRS HUDSON (lowering her hand): It’s Sherlock! (Breaking down in tears, she pulls John into a hug.) You’ve no idea what I’ve been through!
FLASHBACK. 221 BAKER STREET. As the “Le nozze di Figaro” overture plays in the background, Mrs Hudson creeps slowly and nervously up the stairs towards the first floor, clinging anxiously to the bannisters. From the flat come various and random angry cries from Sherlock and the crashing noises of objects being flung around. A moment later Bill pelts down the stairs towards her.
SHERLOCK (offscreen, from the flat): Wait!
(Mrs H whimpers and cringes against the bannisters as Bill races past her.)
WIGGINS: I’m out of ’ere.
(He reaches the half-landing and points back up the stairs.)
WIGGINS: ’e’s lost it.
SHERLOCK (angrily, from inside the flat): Where is it?!
WIGGINS (pausing momentarily to yell in Mrs H’s ear): ’e’s totally gone!
(She cringes and backs a step down while Bill heads off down the stairs, and upstairs Sherlock lets out a triumphant cry.
In the flat Sherlock charges from the kitchen into the living room, wielding a long-muzzled pistol in his right hand. Wearing a dark blue dressing gown over his black shirt and trousers, he still has a few days’ of beard growth and his hair is greasy. He looks manic as he runs across the living room.)
SHERLOCK (shouting loudly and dramatically throughout the rest of the scene): “Once more unto the breach, dear friends ...
(He spins round in the middle of the room, pumping the pistol towards the ceiling.)
SHERLOCK: “... once more!
(All around the room there are countless photographs of Culverton Smith. They’re stuck on the walls, they’re scattered over every surface, and Sherlock has apparently taken lessons from Phillip Anderson on how to display evidence and has strung pieces of string across the room to which he has attached even more photos of Smith with clothes pegs. On the stairs, Mrs Hudson continues her slow nervous climb. We see through the open kitchen door, which has a large knife stuck in it. A book flies across the kitchen, flung from the direction of the living room.)
SHERLOCK: “Or close the wall up ...
(He leaps onto the sofa.)
SHERLOCK: “... with our English dead!
(Lots more photographs of Smith are randomly stuck on the wall behind the sofa. Sherlock turns around and heads back across the room.)
SHERLOCK: “... set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide.
(He turns and dramatically kicks the living room door closed.)
SHERLOCK (storming across towards the fireplace): “Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit ...
(He snatches down a photo of Smith which was taped to the mirror.)
SHERLOCK: “... to his full height!
(Screwing up the photo, he looks down at it for a moment, then raises his head and brandishes both hands either side of his head.)
SHERLOCK (now yelling at the top of his voice, his face full of rage): “On, on, you noblest English ...
(He hurls the photo across the room.)
SHERLOCK: “... whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
(Outside, Mrs Hudson nervously reaches the landing and looks towards the kitchen door. In the living room Sherlock points the pistol towards the wall behind the sofa, taking the gun in both hands.)
SHERLOCK: “And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture!
(Mrs H walks slowly towards the closed living room door. Inside, Sherlock heads into the kitchen.)
SHERLOCK: “... which I doubt not, for there is none of you so mean and base ...
(He gestures dramatically with both hands, his gaze manic.)
SHERLOCK: “... that hath not noble lustre in your eyes!
(Cautiously Mrs H opens the door and peers around it. Pinned to the back of the door is a printout of a newspaper or magazine article headed CULVERTON HIT-LIST with a large photo of Smith underneath. A piece of string has also been attached to the door and it leads towards the sofa wall with more pictures pegged to it. The string brushes against the top of Mrs Hudson’s forehead and she ducks under it and cranes her head around the edge of the door in the direction of the kitchen, where Sherlock is still ranting and alternately pacing or twirling on the spot.)
SHERLOCK: “I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start!
(Stepping into the living room he aims the pistol towards the sofa wall and fires, narrowly missing Mrs Hudson who ducks back and pulls the door closed. Sherlock fires four more times in quick succession, blowing holes in various photos of Smith.
The music ends. Sherlock glares towards the wall.)
SHERLOCK (intensely): “The game’s afoot.”
[The speech that he was quoting comes from William Shakespeare’s Henry V, Act 3, Scene 1.]
(Sherlock breathes heavily as Mrs Hudson slowly pushes the door open again and peers round it.)
SHERLOCK (calmly): Oh, hello.
(He sniffs and blinks hard.)
SHERLOCK: Can I have a cup of tea?
(He turns and walks back into the kitchen.)
In the present, John is walking along the hall in his therapist’s house. Mrs Hudson closes the front door and follows him.
JOHN: Did you call the police?
MRS HUDSON (crossly): Of course I didn’t call the police. I’m not a civilian!
FLASHBACK. In the chaos that is 221B’s living room, Sherlock is back in the room. He tears at some of the photographs near the door, then turns towards the windows, putting both hands to his head in frustration. He still has the pistol in one hand.
MRS HUDSON: These pictures ...
(She’s in the kitchen. She has pushed back the plastic tent from around the sink and is pouring tea from a teapot into a cup and saucer on the work surface.)
MRS HUDSON: ... they’re that man on the telly, aren’t they?
(Sherlock is frenetically turning back and forth but lowers his hands and turns to look at her.)
SHERLOCK: What pictures?
MRS HUDSON (nervously): They’re everywhere.
(She puts down the teapot and picks up the cup and saucer. Sherlock dramatically gestures around the room with both hands.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, these pictures! (He gestures towards the fireplace with the pistol.) Oh, you can see them too. (For a second, he points the gun directly at her.) That’s good.
(He turns away, focusing in on a few of the many photographs. Screwing his eyes closed for a moment, he spins around, still zooming in on individual pictures and then onto a white padded envelope stabbed into the mantelpiece at one corner. The address label is typed and in large red letters underneath is printed Private and Personal. An out of focus sticker on the top of the envelope suggests that it was sent by Special Delivery. Pulling in a shaky breath and putting one clenched hand to his cheek, he turns away and continues looking at the photographs around the room.)
THERAPIST (offscreen): Culverton Smith.
In the present, John’s therapist has her laptop open on the side table in the back room. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she bends down to the computer and runs her finger over the pad.
THERAPIST: This, I think, is relevant from this morning.
(She has done a search for the man in question and the results page is on the screen. At the right of the screen are photographs of Smith, and underneath are links to a couple of books he has written. One is called ‘How to Make a Killing’ and the other ‘Business Killer’. On the left of the screen, the top item on the results list – headed Latest News – is headlined, in speech marks, ‘“He’s a serial killer!”’ and underneath it says, ‘Net detective blasts Culverton Smith on Twitter’ and then ‘Defamatory remake goes viral on Twitter’. [Oh, joy. The production team still haven’t learned how to proofread.] The article underneath is headed ‘Culverton Smith | UK News’ and underneath it reads, ‘Culverton Smith wins year long legal battle with media outlet ‘News24’, gaining an undisclosed sum for defamation of character over the infamous ‘crooked tooth...’ There are several other articles under that one but your transcriber hasn’t got the energy to copy them out. Buy the DVD to see them!)
THERAPIST: He’s publicly accused Mr Smith of being a serial killer.
(She clicks on the top article and it jumps to a report on Speculator Online which shows side-by-side photos of Sherlock, wearing his deerstalker and looking towards the camera, and a smiling Smith. The two photos are divided by a jagged white line that looks like lightning striking. The main headline again reads, in quotes, “He’s a serial killer!” and the straplines read:
Net detective blasts Culverton Smith on Twitter
• Defamatory remark goes viral on social networking site
[Oh, they get it right that time!]
• Media tycoon yet to comment
Under the photographs the left-hand side of the caption can’t be seen but it ends ‘Culverton Smith blasted by Sherlock Holmes’.)
JOHN (leaning down to the laptop beside the therapist): Christ! Sherlock on Twitter. He really has lost it.
MRS HUDSON (crossly): Don’t you dare make jokes. Don’t you dare. I was terrified!
Back in the flashback at 221B, Sherlock has his back to the kitchen and gestures dramatically either side of his head, the pistol still in one hand.
SHERLOCK (frantically, through gritted teeth): Cup of tea!
(He spins around and rolls his eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, for goodness’ sakes.
(In the kitchen Mrs Hudson is clutching the cup and saucer in both shaking hands as she stares at Sherlock in terror and slowly backs away.)
SHERLOCK (walking briskly towards her): What’s the matter with you?
(She whimpers. He storms closer to her, staring manically down at the tea and again gesturing with both hands.)
SHERLOCK (loudly, sarcastically): Are you having an earthquake?!
(Time slows down and in ultra-slow motion the cup and saucer start to fall from Mrs Hudson’s hand.)
In the present, Mrs Hudson looks at John pleadingly.
MRS HUDSON: You need to see him, John. You need to help him!
JOHN (shaking his head): Nope.
MRS HUDSON (frantically): He needs you!
JOHN (angrily): Somebody else. (He turns away from her.) Not me. Not now.
(As he turns, he sees Mary standing just outside the door of the room. Leaning casually against the wall, she is looking at him with a sort of ‘Really, John?’ look on her face.)
MRS HUDSON (storming over to him): Now you just listen to me for once in your stupid life. I know Mary’s dead and I know your heart is broken, but if Sherlock Holmes dies too, who will you have then?
(He opens his mouth but she keeps talking, pointing an angry finger at him.)
MRS HUDSON: Because I tell you something, John Watson. You will not have me.
(She storms out of the door, passing invisi-Mary, and heads for the front door. John turns to watch her go and Mary tilts her head towards Mrs H, urging him to follow. After a moment he does what he’s told and stomps off into the hall. Mary smiles and watches him go.
Outside, Mrs Hudson has folded her arms on top of the Aston’s roof and has lowered her head onto them and is crying. The police cars and helicopter have gone. John comes out of the house, closes the door and slowly walks towards her while she sobs noisily. He stops behind her for a long moment, blows out a long breath and steps closer.)
JOHN: Have you spoken to Mycroft, Molly, uh, anyone?
MRS HUDSON (tearfully): They don’t matter. You do. (She straightens up and turns to face him.) Would you just see him? Please, John. Or just take a look at him as a doctor? I know you’d change your mind if you did.
(John tries to shake his head but then pauses for a second.)
JOHN: Yeah, look, okay, maybe, if I get a chance.
MRS HUDSON (hopefully): D’you promise? (She beams at him.)
JOHN: I’ll try, if I’m in the area.
MRS HUDSON (turning puppy dog eyes on him): Promise me?
JOHN: I promise.
MRS HUDSON: Thank you!
(She instantly turns and walks to the rear of the car. John frowns. She opens the boot of the car and lifts it up. Inside the boot Sherlock looks up at her anxiously. John walks to the rear of the car and looks into the boot with no expression on his face.)
MRS HUDSON (turning to him): Well? On you go.
(In the boot Sherlock squints against the daylight. His wrists are handcuffed together in front of him.)
MRS HUDSON (to John): Examine him!
(John throws her a quick glance and then looks into the boot again where Sherlock, his legs bent up in front of him, lifts his head and peers out.)
In flashback in 221B’s kitchen, the teacup and saucer are dropping in ultra-slow motion from Mrs Hudson’s hands. Instinctively – and also in ultra-slow motion – Sherlock reaches forward to drop his pistol onto the kitchen table and then his hand continues its downward motion as he bends his knees and gets his hand under the falling saucer. He catches it and the tea splashes noisily in the cup as its fall is halted. Before he can start to straighten up again, Mrs Hudson reaches across to the table and picks up the gun by its muzzle with her right hand, pulling it towards her and reaching for the other end with her left. Sherlock starts to come up again, some of the tea splashing out of the cup and falling towards the floor. As his knees straighten and his hand shakes, rattling the cup in the saucer, Mrs H turns and points the gun at him, cocking it. He jumps at the sight and stares at it, his hand still trembling.
MRS HUDSON: Right, then, mister. Now I need your handcuffs. I happen to know there’s a pair in the salad drawer. (She shrugs.) I’ve borrowed them before.
(He looks at her in startled indignation.)
MRS HUDSON (crossly): Oh, get over yourself. You’re not my first smackhead, Sherlock Holmes.
In the present, John opens the front door of the therapist’s house and stands aside while Sherlock, rubbing one of his wrists from where the handcuffs have been removed, stumbles inside.
SHERLOCK: The woman’s out of control. I asked for a cup of tea!
(He stops partway down the hall and picks up a glass vase of flowers from a shelf, takes out the flowers and heads further down the hall. John turns to Mrs H as she walks in.)
JOHN: How did you get him in the boot?
MRS HUDSON: The boys from the café.
SHERLOCK (angrily, turning back): They dropped me. Twice.
(He turns around again and heads for the kitchen, drinking some of the water from the vase.)
MRS HUDSON: And d’you know why they dropped you, dear?
(Sherlock dumps the flowers onto the breakfast bar.)
MRS HUDSON: Because they know you.
(Sherlock takes another drink from the vase, grimaces and then gestures towards the therapist standing in the consultation room with a phone to her ear.)
SHERLOCK: Who’s this one? (He points at her while looking at John.) Is this a new person? I’m against new people.
THERAPIST (into phone): Excuse me for a moment.
(She lowers the phone. Sherlock, now holding the vase in both hands, takes another long drink from it.)
JOHN: She’s my therapist.
SHERLOCK: Awesome! (He walks towards her.) D’you do block bookings?
(In the hall, John points out of the open front door to the Aston.)
JOHN: Whose car is that?
MRS HUDSON: That’s my car.
JOHN: How can that be your car?!
MRS HUDSON (high-pitched with exasperation): Oh, for God’s sake! I’m the widow of a drug dealer, I own property in central London ...
(In the consultation room, Sherlock stands with his back to the chair in which John was sitting earlier, looks round at it and drops heavily onto it, grimacing.)
MRS HUDSON: ... and for the last bloody time, John, I’m not your housekeeper.
(She walks back to the front door to close it. The therapist holds out the phone to John.)
THERAPIST: I’m so sorry. I answered your phone. You were busy. I think you’ll want to take it.
(John takes it and holds it to his ear as he walks back into the hall.)
JOHN (into phone): Uh, yes, hello?
(Elsewhere, Culverton Smith is sitting at a table while a make-up artist brushes flesh-coloured powder onto his forehead.)
SMITH (into his mobile phone): Is this Doctor John Watson?
JOHN: Yeah. Who’s this?
SMITH (dismissing the make-up artist with a smack on her hand): Culverton Smith. You’ve probably heard of me.
JOHN (looking towards the open laptop which still shows the article he was looking at earlier): Uh, well, yes.
(Sherlock holds up the vase, which is now almost empty.)
SHERLOCK: Get me a fresh glass of water, please. This one’s filthy.
SMITH: I mean, I’m aware of this morning’s developments.
(Sighing, Sherlock leans forward and holds out the vase to the approaching therapist, who takes it.)
JOHN (into phone): Yes. I’m sure he was being ... hilarious. Sorry, did you say all still meeting?
[No, he didn’t. Was this a bad edit?]
SMITH (over phone): You, me and Mr Holmes. I’ve sent a car; should be outside. Mr Holmes gave me an address.
JOHN: Well, he couldn’t have given you this one. It’s ...
(The doorbell rings. John turns and walks to the front door and opens it.)
MAN STANDING OUTSIDE: When you’re ready.
(Frowning, John looks to the kerb where a black stretch limousine is parked in front of the Aston Martin. He looks at the man again and gives him a tiny nod. The man turns away and John closes the door, grimacing. He lifts the phone to his ear and heads down the hall.)
JOHN: When did Sherlock give you this address?
SMITH: Two weeks ago.
JOHN (tightly): Two weeks?
SMITH: Yes. Two weeks.
(John lowers the phone and switches it off. Smith takes his phone from his ear and looks at it as it beeps three times. John, now in the kitchen, looks at Mrs Hudson who is cleaning up at the sink.)
JOHN: How did you know where to find me?
MRS HUDSON: Oh, Sherlock told me. He’s not so difficult when you’ve got a gun on him.
(John turns, hesitates for a moment, then walks into the consulting room. Sherlock is slumped back in the chair with his eyes closed, and the therapist is just putting a glass of water onto the nearby table.)
JOHN (loudly): How did you know?
(Sherlock jerks awake.)
JOHN (loudly): How? On Monday I decided to get a new therapist. Tuesday afternoon, I chose her.
(He points to the therapist who is just sitting down in her chair. Sherlock leans one elbow on the arm of his chair and supports his head with his fingers.)
JOHN: Wednesday morning I booked today’s session. Now, today is Friday. So two weeks ago – two weeks before you were abducted at gunpoint and brought here against your will ...
(Sherlock frowns and rolls his jaw, looking as if he’s finding it hard to keep up.)
JOHN (angrily): ... over a week before I even thought of coming here, you knew exactly where you’d need to be picked up for lunch?
SHERLOCK (looking towards the ceiling): Really? I correctly anticipated the responses of people I know well to scenarios I devised? Can’t everyone do that?
MRS HUDSON: How?
SHERLOCK (pointing in the direction of her car): Except the boot. The boot was mean.
JOHN (to Mrs H): Never mind how. He’s dying to tell us that. (He turns to Sherlock.) I want to know why.
SHERLOCK: Because Mrs Hudson’s right. I’m burning up.
(John straightens up, putting his hands on his hips.)
SHERLOCK: I’m at the bottom of a pit and I’m still falling and ... (he shakes his head and clenches his eyes closed) ... I’m never climbing out.
(Mrs Hudson turns away sadly and goes back to the kitchen.)
SHERLOCK (standing up): I need you to know, John – I need you to see that up here ... (he gestures to his temples with both hands) ... I’ve still got it, so when I tell you that this ... (he walks to the side table to point to the open laptop) ... is the most dangerous, the most despicable human being that I have ever encountered; when I tell you that this-this monster must be ended, please remember where you’re standing, because ... you’re standing exactly where I said you would be two weeks ago.
(Grimacing in pain, he slumps into a chair beside the table.)
SHERLOCK (more quietly): I’m a mess; I’m in hell; but I am not wrong, not about him.
(He points to Smith’s photo on the laptop.)
JOHN: So what has all this got to do with me?
(Folding his arms, he smiles humourlessly at Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK (savagely, still looking at the photo): That creature, that rotting thing, is a living breathing coagulation of human evil, and if the only thing I ever do in this world is drive him out of it, then my life will not have been wasted.
(He takes a breath, staring up at John who tilts his head to one side.)
SHERLOCK: Look at me. Can’t do it, not now. Not alone.
(He looks away and swallows, his eyes slightly tearful. John sighs slightly, then unfolds his arms and holds out his right hand towards Sherlock, pulling in a sharp breath through his nose. Sherlock stands up, also sighing a little, and takes his hand. Instantly John clasps Sherlock’s arm with his other hand and turns it over. Sherlock rolls his eyes as John pushes up the sleeves of his dressing gown and shirt to reveal all the dark marks on the underside of his arm where he’s been injecting himself.)
JOHN (releasing his arm): Yeah, well, they’re real enough, I suppose.
SHERLOCK (turning away): Why would I be faking?
JOHN (loudly): Because you’re a liar.
(Sherlock turns back to him.)
JOHN: You lie all the time. It’s like your mission.
SHERLOCK (holding out his hands either side): I have been many things, John, but when have I ever been a malingerer?
JOHN (yelling): You pretended to be dead for two years!
SHERLOCK (after a momentary hesitation): ... Apart from that?
JOHN (more quietly): Listen, before I do anything, I need to know what state you’re in.
SHERLOCK: Well, you’re a doctor. Examine me. (He sits down on the chair again.)
JOHN: No, I need a second opinion.
SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh, John, calm down. When have you ever managed two opinions? You’d fall over.
JOHN: I need the one person who – unlike me – learned to see through your bullshit long ago.
SHERLOCK: Who’s that, then? I’m sure I would have noticed.
JOHN: The last person you’d think of.
(Sherlock looks up at him silently.)
JOHN: I want you to be examined by Molly Hooper.
(Sherlock looks down, biting his lip.)
JOHN: D’you hear me? I said Molly Hooper.
SHERLOCK (cringing a little): You’re really not gonna like this.
JOHN: Like what?
(The doorbell rings. John looks towards the sound, then heaves in a frustrated breath and scowls down at Sherlock.
A few moments later he opens the door to Molly who is standing outside wearing her white lab coat over her clothes. He looks at her in exasperation.)
MOLLY: Um, hel-hello. Is, uh ... I’m sorry, Sh-Sherlock asked me to come.
(An ambulance is parked in the driveway of the house opposite. A paramedic is opening the rear doors.)
JOHN: What, two weeks ago?
MOLLY: Yeah. About two weeks.
(John nods in resignation. Sherlock stumbles out into the hall.)
SHERLOCK: If you’d like to know how I predict the future ...
JOHN (angrily interrupting as he turns to him): I don’t care how.
SHERLOCK (holding up his hands as he continues forward): Okay. Fully equipped ambulance; Molly can examine me on the way. It’ll save time. (He stops on the doorstep.) Ready to go, Molly?
MOLLY: Oh, well ...
SHERLOCK: Just tell me when to cough.
(He smiles falsely at her and walks out the door.)
SHERLOCK: Hope you remembered my coat.
(He’s gone. She looks at John.)
MOLLY: I... Sorry. I didn’t know that you were gonna be here.
(Glancing briefly towards the nearby limousine, Sherlock walks round the front of the Aston and almost falls off the kerb before heading for the ambulance.)
MOLLY (to John): Absolutely no idea what’s going on.
JOHN: Sherlock’s using again.
(Her slight smile fades. Behind her, Sherlock climbs into the back of the ambulance.)
MOLLY: Oh God. But, um, a-are you sure?
(Mrs Hudson has come along the hall and stops just behind John.)
JOHN: No. It’s Sherlock. Of course I’m not sure. (He glares towards the ambulance then speaks more quietly to Molly.) Just check him out.
(Nodding, she turns and heads across the road.)
MRS HUDSON (quietly to John, standing at his side): Is Molly the right person to be doing medicals? She’s more used to dead people. It’s bound to lower your standards.
JOHN (looking across the road): I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more.
(She gently laughs sympathetically.)
JOHN: Mrs Hudson. As ever, you are amazing.
MRS HUDSON (chuckling): No! (She leans closer to him.) You’re going to have to buck up a bit, John.
(He turns to look at her.)
MRS HUDSON: You know that, don’t you? The game is on!
JOHN (looking away): I’ll do my best.
(She puts an arm around him.)
MRS HUDSON: Anything you need, any time, just ask. Anything at all!
(He smiles at her.)
JOHN: Thank you.
(Patting his arm, she steps back. He pulls in a breath, then steps out of the door. He has only taken a few paces when he slows down, half-turns towards her and points towards her Aston before walking back to her.)
JOHN: Sometimes, can I borrow your car?
(She thinks about it for a split second then shakes her head.)
MRS HUDSON: No.
(She turns away.)
(He turns and walks forward again, then stops and looks towards the limo, flexing his left hand. He starts to walk along the road, passing the open door of the ambulance which briefly obscures our view of him and when he comes into view again, Mary is walking beside him.)
MARY: He knew you’d get a new therapist after I died because you’d need to change everything. That’s just what you’re like.
(John steps off the pavement, passing a bush on the other side of the road which again momentarily obscures our view of him, and when he reappears Mary has gone. He walks to the left rear door of the limo which a man is holding open for him. John nods to him.)
(He gets into the back seat. Mary is already sitting on the other side, one leg curled under her. The man closes the door.)
MARY: You keep your weekends for Rosie, so you needed to see someone during working hours.
(Cut-away of John typing into a search engine – surfsearching.co.uk – “Psychiatrist my location”.)
MARY: Because you’re an idiot, you don’t want anyone at the surgery knowing you’re in therapy, so that restricts you to lunchtime sessions with someone reasonably close.
(John looks round at her.
Cut-away of the homepage of Dr. Marcus Chambers, Phd, Consultant Psychiatrist. John’s face comes into focus reflected in the screen as Mary continues speaking. He folds his hands in front of him and rubs his thumb against the other hand while he looks at the screen.)
MARY (offscreen): You found four men and one woman, and you are done with the world being explained to you by a man.
(In the limo, she laughs briefly.)
MARY: Who isn’t?!
(John looks at her.)
MARY: So all he needed to do was find the first available lunchtime appointment with a female therapist within cycling distance of your surgery.
(While she speaks, John turns his head away and rubs his nose briefly.)
MARY: My God, he knows you.
(The ambulance drives past the limo.)
JOHN: No he doesn’t.
MARY (smiling): I’m in your head, John. You’re disagreeing with yourself.
DRIVER: You ready, sir?
(John is alone on the back seat. He turns and looks at the blank space, speaking a little angrily.)
JOHN: Yes, I am.
(He turns to look into the rear-view mirror where the driver is watching him in the mirror through sunglasses. The man turns his head away.)
MARY (back sitting beside him): He is the cleverest man in the world, but he’s not a monster.
JOHN (looking at her): Yeah, he is.
MARY: Yeah, okay, all right, he is. (She mock-shudders.) Urgh!
MARY (softly): But he’s our monster.
(John turns away again.)
In a TV studio, Smith smiles into the camera.
SMITH (in a loud whisper): I’m a killer.
(Outside the building, a large billboard is being carried away by a couple of people. The image shows someone – presumably a man but the picture only shows him from the neck down – wearing a suit and tie and holding up a large sharp knife covered with blood. To the right of the person, text reads:
[in bright red]
Along the bottom of the poster it reads:
ON MARCH 8, THE SECRET WILL BE UNLEASHED
As the billboard is carried away, behind it the limousine turns into the forecourt.
Inside the studio Smith, wearing a grey suit and white shirt, has turned his head to the left to smile into another camera.)
SMITH: You know I’m a killer.
(Outside, the limo drives past two people in alien make-up and clothes. They watch the car go past. Each of them has a cigarette in their hands and the woman is also holding her phone.
Inside, Smith straightens up and turns to the camera in front of him.)
SMITH: But did you know I’m a s...
(To his right, the bulb in a large light on a stand explodes. Just starting to hold up a bowl and spoon, Smith flinches.)
DIRECTOR (offscreen): Cut there. What was that? Was that a light?
(Smith is standing behind a breakfast bar. To his left on the table is a tall jug of orange juice, a glass of orange juice and an orange sliced into two. Beside them are two boxes of breakfast cereal. The cereal is called “GNASH” and a blue triangle in the top left corner of the boxes announces that this is “New!” A large picture behind Smith shows an overhead shot of a bowl of cereal with a spoon in it. Smith puts his own spoon into the bowl and puts the bowl onto the table, pointing to the exploded light.)
SMITH: Oh, was that me? Er, was I too good, huh?
(The camera crew laugh. His assistant Cornelia walks to his side and speaks into his ear.)
CORNELIA: He’s here.
(Outside, the limo comes to a halt in a car park and a man walks over and opens the rear right-hand door. John has already slid across to that side and he gets out. The ambulance is parked nearby with its back doors open and he walks over to where Molly is sitting on the back step slightly hunched over and with her hands clasped in her lap. Sherlock is lying on the stretcher inside but now stands up.)
JOHN (to Molly): Well? How is he?
SHERLOCK: Basically fine.
(He takes off his dressing gown and reaches down to pick up his coat which is lying on the stretcher.)
MOLLY: I’ve seen healthier people on the slab.
SHERLOCK: Yeah but, to be fair, you work with murder victims. They tend to be quite young.
(He puts on his coat.)
MOLLY: Not funny.
SHERLOCK: Little bit funny.
MOLLY (her voice getting tearful as she speaks): If you keep taking what you’re taking at the rate you’re taking it, you’ve got weeks.
(Sherlock comes to the doorway and holds onto the poles either side.)
SHERLOCK: Exactly, weeks. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
(He steps down to the ground, then totters on the spot.)
MOLLY (standing up): For Christ’s sake, Sherlock, it’s not a game!
SHERLOCK (turning to her): I’m worried about you, Molly. You seem very stressed.
MOLLY: I’m stressed; you’re dying.
SHERLOCK: Yeah, well, I’m ahead, then. Stress can ruin every day of your life.
(She turns away from him, closing her eyes against her tears.)
SHERLOCK: Dying can only ruin one.
JOHN (stepping closer to him with his hands behind his back): So this is real? You’ve really lost it. You’re actually out of control.
SHERLOCK: When have I ever been that?
JOHN: Since the day I met you.
SHERLOCK: Oh, clever boy. I’ve missed you fumbling ’round the place.
JOHN (to Molly): I thought this was some kind of ...
JOHN (turning to him): ... trick.
SHERLOCK: ’Course it’s not a trick. It’s a plan.
SMITH (offscreen): Mr Holmes!
(John looks past Sherlock’s shoulder to where the voice came from. Smith is coming out of the doors of a building marked VILLAGE STUDIOS. Cornelia is behind him and a man walks alongside filming him as more people come out of the doors behind them.)
SHERLOCK (quick fire, not turning round): Thirty feet and closing: the most significant undetected serial killer in British criminal history.
(Smiling, Smith walks towards them followed by his entourage.)
SHERLOCK (to John): Help me bring him down.
JOHN: What ... what plan?
SHERLOCK: I’m not telling you.
JOHN: Why not?
SHERLOCK: Because you won’t like it.
SMITH: Mr Holmes!
(Sherlock turns to face him. Smith stops a few feet away. A cameraman and another man hurry around behind our boys so that they can film Smith from the front.)
SMITH: I don’t do handshakes. (He starts to walk towards Sherlock again.) It’ll have to be a hug.
SHERLOCK: I know.
(Reporters holding notebooks gather around them. Chuckling, Smith reaches out and hugs him. Sherlock leans down into the man’s embrace. Resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, Smith pats his back.)
SMITH: Oh, Sherlock.
(Over his shoulder, Sherlock frowns.)
SMITH: Oh, Sherlock! (Releasing him, he steps back.) What can I say? Thanks to you ... (he turns to his entourage) ... we’re, uh, we’re everywhere!
MALE REPORTER: Mr Holmes, how did Culverton talk you into this?
SMITH: Well, he-he’s a detective. (He fakes a startled look.) Maybe I just confessed!
(The reporters and Smith laugh. He looks at Sherlock and beckons him towards the building.)
SMITH: Come on.
(Starting to follow him, Sherlock turns and throws a significant, perhaps pleading, look to John, who follows him. Molly watches them go, looking worried.)
SMITH (walking along): Now, it’s a ... it’s a new kind of breakfast cereal.
MALE REPORTER: Mr Holmes, can you put on the hat?
JOHN: Yeah, he doesn’t really wear the hat.
SMITH: Kids will be getting two of their five-a-day before they’ve even left home!
[Details of the five-a-day campaign here.]
(He leads the crowd into the building and stops to take a notebook from a woman and sign his name in it. Cornelia walks alongside John.)
CORNELIA: Sherlock’s been amazing for us.
(Handing the notebook back to the woman as she smiles, Smith continues onwards with the others.)
SMITH (to the reporters): Breakfast has got to be cool.
CORNELIA (to John): We’re beyond viral.
SMITH: And you know what makes it cool when you’re a kid?
JOHN (to Cornelia): What, sorry? Beyond what?
Not long afterwards, Smith is behind the breakfast bar, smiling to one of the cameras.
DIRECTOR (offscreen): Set; and action!
SMITH: I’m a killer.
(Sherlock stands several feet away with his hands in his pockets, watching him. John has turned to one side with his back to Sherlock, watching the filming on one of the nearby TV screens.)
SMITH: You know I’m a killer.
(He smiles into the camera, then turns to the one on his right and looks into that.)
SMITH: But did you know ...
(He turns back to the front camera, picks up the bowl and holds it up.)
SMITH: ... I’m a cereal killer?!
(To his right, behind the repaired light on its stand, is a large poster advertising the new breakfast cereal. On it, Smith is smiling into the camera and the words “I’m a CEREAL KILLER!” are to the left of his head.
Sherlock chuckles slightly, his gaze intense. Smith takes a large mouthful of cereal and chews on it.)
SMITH (making an appreciative noise): Mm!
(He straightens up and gestures towards the director.)
DIRECTOR (offscreen): And cut there. Thank you.
(Smith puts down the bowl, claps his hands together a couple of times and gestures to a young woman who hurries over to him. She is wearing a headset and carrying a black plastic bin with a white bin liner inside. Smith leans down to the bin and spits the cereal into it. Spitting, he straightens and looks at the woman.)
SMITH: We should bag that up, sell it. (He spits a last bit of cereal into the bin.) Make money for that on eBay.
(She chuckles nervously. He looks up at her again and nods towards the bin.)
SMITH (quietly): I could make more if you like. Any time you like.
(Her smile becomes rather fixed and she turns and walks away. He straightens up and grimly watches her go.
John has turned to Sherlock.)
JOHN: Has it occurred to you – anywhere in your drug-addled brain – that you’ve just been played?
SHERLOCK: Oh, yes.
JOHN: For an ad campaign.
SHERLOCK: Brilliant, isn’t it?
(Sherlock stares towards Smith.)
SHERLOCK: Safest place to hide.
(At the table, Smith is picking a bit of cereal from his teeth while a wardrobe mistress adjusts his shirt and a make-up artist strokes a brush through her tin of powder.)
SHERLOCK: Plain sight.
CORNELIA (walking towards him): Mr Holmes? Culverton wants to know if you’re okay going straight to the hospital.
CORNELIA: Culverton’s doing a visit. The kids would love to meet you both. I think he sort of promised.
SHERLOCK: Oh, okay.
(He walks away. John looks at him, startled. Cornelia gestures to John.)
CORNELIA: If you’d just like to come this way.
(They walk away. Smith watches them go, his face serious.)
Shortly afterwards, John gets into the right-hand side of the limousine. Sherlock is already sitting on the other side, typing on a phone.
JOHN (closing the door and settling down on the seat): So ... what are we doing here? What’s the point?
SHERLOCK (still typing, not looking up): I needed a hug.
(Smith comes to John’s side of the car and knocks on the window. John presses the button to lower it. Smith bends down and looks in.)
SMITH: What do you think, Mr Holmes? ‘Cereal’ killer.
SHERLOCK (still typing): It’s funny ’cause it’s true!
SMITH: See you at the hospital.
(He straightens up and starts to walk away.)
SHERLOCK (turning and calling to him): Oh, you can have this back now.
(Smith stops. The sound of a message being sent from the phone can be heard, and Sherlock lowers it to his lap and tries to look nonchalant while John frowns round at him. Smith turns and walks back to the window.)
SMITH: Have what back?
SHERLOCK (reaching across John and holding out the phone with a tight smile): Thanks for the hug.
(Frowning, Smith takes the phone.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, I sent and deleted a text. You might get a reply but I doubt it.
(He settles back into his seat. Smiling, Smith tucks his phone into his inside jacket pocket.)
SMITH: It’s password protected.
SHERLOCK (scornfully): Please!
SMITH: We’re going to have endless fun, Mr Holmes, aren’t we?
SHERLOCK: Oh no. No, not endless.
(Smiling, Smith walks away. Sherlock looks at him grimly for a moment, then turns away. John glances towards him as Sherlock sighs silently, hugging himself.)
JOHN: Need another hit, do you?
SHERLOCK: I can wait until the hospital.
(John turns his head away, shaking it slightly, and closes the window. Sherlock lays his head back and closes his eyes.)
SAINT CAEDWALLA’S HOSPITAL. [St. Caedwalla is the patron saint of serial killers; or, more specifically, of repentant serial killers.] John stands in a corridor with a blue-uniformed female nurse. Near them is the plaque beside which Smith stood when he opened The Culverton Smith Wing. To the right of the plaque is a large photo of Smith just about to cut the ribbon, and to the right of that is another photograph, or possibly a painting, of him smiling. The nurse looks at John.
NURSE CORNISH: You involved much?
NURSE CORNISH: Um, with Mr Holmes – Sherlock and all his cases?
JOHN: Uh, yeah. I’m John Watson.
NURSE CORNISH (looking as if that means nothing to her): Okay.
JOHN: Doctor Watson.
NURSE CORNISH: I love his blog, don’t you?
JOHN: His blog?
NURSE CORNISH: Oh, don’t you read it?
JOHN: You mean my blog.
(Sherlock comes out of the nearby toilets.)
SHERLOCK: Say what you like about addiction; the day is full of highlights.
NURSE CORNISH (smiling at him): Oh, Mr Holmes. You feeling better?
NURSE CORNISH: I was just saying I love your blog.
SHERLOCK: Great. I ...
JOHN (interrupting): It’s my blog.
SHERLOCK: It is. He writes the blog.
NURSE CORNISH (to John): It’s yours?
NURSE CORNISH: You write Sherlock’s blog?
(Sherlock briefly closes his eyes and then widens them, blowing out a long breath.)
NURSE CORNISH: It’s ... gone downhill a little bit, hasn’t it?
(John smiles tightly at her.)
NURSE CORNISH (turning round): Oh, it’s this way, then.
(Sherlock blows out another breath and he and John follow her.)
On to Part 3