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Text on screen:
So far on SHERLOCK
2010
Sherlock unzips the body bag in A Study in Pink.
SHERLOCK (at the door to the Barts lab): The names Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker
Street.
(He click-winks at John.)
SHERLOCK: Afternoon!
(He leaves the lab.)
MIKE STAMFORD (to John): Yeah. Hes always like that.
Brief shot of Sherlock in his security mans uniform at the Hickman Gallery in The Great Game.
Sherlock flogs the dead body in ASIP.
MOLLY: Bad day, was it?
In the warehouse in ASIP.
MYCROFT: Since yesterday youve moved in with him ...
(Theres a brief shot of the door to 221B closing.)
MYCROFT: ... and now youre solving crimes together.
In the hallway of 221B in ASIP, Sherlock kisses Mrs Hudsons cheek.
MRS HUDSON: Look at you, all happy. Its not decent.
SHERLOCK: Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!
Brief shot of the Houses of Parliament exploding in The Empty Hearse [which is out of context when so far
this is meant to be a summary of the Season 1 episodes].
221Bs living room in TGG.
SHERLOCK: Dont make people into heroes, John. Heroes dont exist and if they did, I wouldnt be one of
them.
At the pool in TGG, John opens his jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to him.
JIM (to Sherlock): Ill burn the heart out of you.
2012
In Irene Adlers living room in A Scandal in Belgravia, a naked Irene clamps her teeth onto Sherlocks fake
vicars dog-collar just as John comes in with a bowl of water and a linen napkin.
JOHN: Right, this should do it.
(He stares in shock at the sight that greets him.)
In the sitting room in Buckingham Palace in ASIB, John glances at a besheeted Sherlock.
JOHN: Are you wearing any pants?
SHERLOCK: No.
JOHN: Okay.
(They both crack up laughing.)
In Irenes bedroom, she flogs a drugged Sherlock, then strokes her riding crop over his face.
IRENE: This is how I want you to remember me: the woman who beat you.
In Dewers Hollow in The Hounds of Baskerville, Sherlock looks at Henry Knight.
SHERLOCK: But there never was any monster.
(The hound howls and everyone turns their flashlights to the sight at the top of the Hollow.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
On Barts rooftop in The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock walks across the roof towards Jim.
JIM: Here we are at last.
(He shoots himself in the mouth. Sherlock cries out in shock and leaps back.)
Later, Sherlock is talking over the phone from the rooftop to John on the ground.)
SHERLOCK: Goodbye, John.
JOHN (crying out): SHERLOCK!
(Sherlock spreads his arms and starts to topple forward.
John runs towards the place where Sherlock landed.)
2014
In the underground car park in The Empty Hearse.
SHERLOCK (voiceover): Those things will kill you.
(Greg Lestrade takes the lighter away from his unlit cigarette.)
LESTRADE: Ooh, you bastard!
vendor.)
WATSON: Here.
(The cab stops.)
WATSON: Hows The Blue Carbuncle doing?
NEWS VENDOR: Very popular, Doctor Watson. Is there gonna be a proper murder next time?
WATSON: Ill have a word with the criminal classes.
NEWS VENDOR: If you wouldnt mind.
(He points towards the figure sitting next to Watson.)
NEWS VENDOR: Is that im? Is e in there?
(Holmes, mostly obscured from the vendors view, apparently kicks Watson, who grunts.)
WATSON: No. No, no, not at all. (He tips a finger to his hat.) Ah, good day to you.
CABBIE (to his horse, shaking the reins at it): Walk on.
(The cab sets off again. The news vendor calls after it.)
NEWS VENDOR: Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes!
CLOSE-UP OF THE BAKER STREET. W. sign on the wall of a building. As the camera pans down to show the
street, the cab pulls up outside the front door of 221B. Next door is a canopy over a shop showing that this
isSPEEDWELLS Restaurant and Tea Rooms. The door to 221B opens and Mrs Hudson comes out as Holmes
and Watson get out of the cab, Holmes holding a pipe.
MRS HUDSON: Mr Holmes, I do wish youd let me know when youre planning to come home.
(The houseboy, Billy [who bears a striking resemblance to Archie from The Sign of Three] hurries out of
the house towards Watson, who is unloading bags from the cab.)
HOLMES: I hardly knew myself, Mrs Hudson. Thats the trouble with dismembered country squires theyre
notoriously difficult to schedule.
(He clamps the pipe between his teeth and turns back to pay the cabbie.)
BILLY (to Watson, looking at the bags): Whats in there?
WATSON: Never mind.
HOLMES (to the cabbie): Thank you.
(Billy takes some of the bags and starts to take them inside.)
BILLY (over his shoulder): Did you catch a murderer, Mr Holmes?
HOLMES: Caught the murderer; still looking for the legs. Think well call it a draw.
(He goes inside. Mrs Hudson, on the doorstep, turns to Watson.)
MRS HUDSON: And I notice youve published another of your stories, Doctor Watson.
WATSON: Yes. Did you enjoy it?
MRS HUDSON (after only a seconds thought): No.
(She turns and goes inside. Watson follows her.)
WATSON: Oh?
MRS HUDSON: I never enjoy them.
WATSON (pushing the door closed behind him): Why not?
(In the hallway Holmes has taken off his coat and hat and hangs them on a hook near the front door, then
walks further into the hall.)
MRS HUDSON: Well, I never say anything, do I? According to you, I just show people up the stairs and serve
you breakfasts.
WATSON (hanging up his own coat and hat): Well, within the narrative, that is broadly speaking your
function.
MRS HUDSON: My what?!
HOLMES: Dont feel singled out, Mrs Hudson. Im hardly in the dog one.
WATSON (indignantly): The dog one?!
MRS HUDSON: Im your landlady, not a plot device.
WATSON (to Holmes, who is heading up the stairs): Do you mean The Hound of the Baskervilles?!
MRS HUDSON (upset): And you make the room so drab and dingy.
WATSON (tetchily): Oh, blame it on the illustrator. Hes out of control. Ive had to grow this moustache just
so peoplell recognise me.
(He follows his colleague up the stairs.)
WATSON (voiceover): Over the many years it has been my privilege to record the exploits of my remarkable
friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, it has sometimes been difficult to choose which of his many cases to set before
my readers.
(While he has been narrating, Holmes has gone up the stairs into the first floor sitting room. Glancing briefly
towards the fire, he walks across the room to the right-hand window and pulls back the closed curtains,
revealing a stags head hung on the wall between the two windows. The mounted head has a full set of
antlers, upon which an ear trumpet hangs.)
WATSON (voiceover): Some are still too sensitive to recount ...
(As Holmes walks across the room to the left-hand window, a knife can be seen stabbed into some letters on
the mantelpiece.)
WATSON (voiceover): ... whilst others are too recent in the minds of the public.
(On the wall opposite the fireplace is a framed copy of the painting All is Vanity by Charles Allen Gilbert,
painted in 1892. [Click here to see the picture])
WATSON (voiceover): But in all our many adventures together, no case pushed my friend to such mental and
physical extremes as that of The Abominable Bride.
(During his narration, Watson has brought one of the bags upstairs, taken it to the room behind the sitting
room and put it on the table. Letting the bag go, he flexes the fingers of his left hand, then turns towards
the living room where Holmes is pushing open the curtains of the left window. As more light floods into the
room, a figure is revealed standing in front of the fire. Dressed in black mourning clothes and with a black
veil over the face, the figure, apparently a woman, stands with her hands clasped in front of her waist.)
WATSON (walking into the room): Good Lord!
HOLMES (loudly, walking past the figure to the door): Mrs Hudson, there is a woman in my sitting room! Is it
intentional?
MRS HUDSON (from downstairs): Shes a client! Said you were out; insisted on waiting.
(Holmes grimaces. Watson picks up a chair near the table and turns to put it down in front of the woman.)
WATSON: Would you, er, care to sit down?
(The woman doesnt move or respond to him.)
HOLMES (calling down the stairs): Didnt you ask her what she wanted?
MRS HUDSON (from downstairs): You ask her!
HOLMES: Well, why didnt you ask her?
MRS HUDSON (tetchily): How could I, what with me not talking and everything?
(Holmes rolls his eyes and sighs. He turns and walks back into the sitting room.)
HOLMES: Oh, for Gods sake. (Quietly, to Watson) Give her some lines. Shes perfectly capable of starving
us.
(He walks towards the woman and smiles at her.)
HOLMES: Good afternoon. Im Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend and colleague, Doctor Watson. You may
speak freely in front of him, as he rarely understands a word.
WATSON: Holmes.
HOLMES (to the woman): However, before you do, allow me to make some trifling observations.
(He walks closer to her and circles around her while she continues to stand there impassively.)
HOLMES: You have an impish sense of humour which currently youre deploying to ease a degree of personal
anguish.
(He moves towards Watson and circles around him, still addressing the silent woman.)
HOLMES: You have recently married a man of a seemingly kindly disposition who has now abandoned you for
an unsavoury companion of dubious morals. You have come to this agency as a last resort in the hope that
reconciliation may still be possible.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes!
HOLMES: All of this is, of course, perfectly evident from your perfume.
WATSON: Her perfume?
HOLMES: Yes, her perfume, which brings insight to me and disaster to you.
WATSON: How so?
HOLMES (stepping towards the woman): Because I recognised it and you did not.
(He undoes the womans veil and pulls it clear of her face. As he walks away from her, Watson instantly
recognises her.)
WATSON: Mary!
MRS WATSON (smiling): John.
WATSON: Why, in Gods name, are you pretending to be a client?
MRS WATSON: Because I could think of no other way to see my husband, Husband.
Not long afterwards, Holmes has taken off his jacket and put on a camel coloured dressing gown over his
clothes. Holding his violin and standing facing the right-hand window, he is playing a tune which we
recognise as his wedding waltz. Mary still stands near the fireplace and Watson is pacing nearby but now
turns back to his wife and speaks angrily to her.
WATSON: It was an affair of international intrigue.
MRS WATSON: It was a murdered country squire.
WATSON: Nevertheless, matters were pressing.
MRS WATSON: I dont mind you going, my darling. I mind you leaving me behind!
WATSON: But what could you do?!
MRS WATSON: Oh, what do you do except wander round, taking notes, looking surprised ...
(Holmes stops playing and angrily lowers his violin.)
HOLMES: Enough!
(The others fall silent and look at him. He doesnt turn round.)
HOLMES (softly): The stage is set, and the curtain rises. We are ready to begin.
MRS WATSON: Begin what?
HOLMES: Sometimes, to solve a case, one must first solve another.
WATSON: Oh, you have a case, then, a new one?
HOLMES (softly): An old one. Very old. I shall have to go deep.
WATSON: Deep? Into what?
HOLMES (softly): Myself.
(He gazes out of the window for a moment longer, then turns and calls over his shoulder.)
HOLMES: Lestrade! Do stop loitering by the door and come in.
(The door to the sitting room opens and Inspector Lestrade comes in, breathing heavily and looking
anxious.)
LESTRADE: How did you know it was me?
HOLMES: (going across to his chair and sitting down): The regulation tread is unmistakeable; lighter than
Jones, heavier than Gregson.
LESTRADE (stuttering): I-I-I just came up. Mrs Hudson didnt seem to be talking.
(Rolling his eyes, Holmes reaches towards a Turkish slipper on the table beside his chair and takes out some
tobacco to fill his pipe.)
HOLMES: I fear shes branched into literary criticism by means of satire. It is a distressing trend in the
modern landlady. What brings you here in your off-duty hours?
(Lestrade glances to his right, then looks back at Holmes.)
LESTRADE: Howd you know Im off-duty?
HOLMES: Well, since your arrival youve addressed over forty percent of your remarks to my decanter. (He
points to a whisky decanter on a table to his left.) Watson, give the inspector what he so clearly wants.
(Watson walks across the room while Lestrade takes off his hat. Watson picks up the decanter and pours a
drink.)
HOLMES: Really, Lestrade. (He walks back across the room to sit in his chair.) A woman blows her own
brains out in public and you need help identifying the guilty party. I fear Scotland Yard has reached a new
low.
LESTRADE: Thats not why Im here.
HOLMES: I surmise.
WATSON: What was her name, the bride?
(Brief shot of the woman lying on the carpet in the room where she shot herself, the pistol still in her hand.)
LESTRADE: Emelia Ricoletti. Yesterday was her wedding anniversary. The police, of course, were called, and
her body taken to the morgue. (He drinks from his glass.)
HOLMES: Standard procedure. Why are you telling us what may be presumed?
LESTRADE: Because of what happened next.
(In Limehouse, a pretty Chinese woman smiles at an English man who is sitting in a carriage. A Chinese man
stands beside her. Nearby, another Chinese man stands outside what can be presumed to be an opium den.)
LESTRADE (voiceover): Limehouse, just a few hours later.
(An English man in a smart dress suit comes out of the den and starts to walk down the street. He stops and
looks a little way down the road to where the sitting room of 221B seems to have appeared in the street.
Lestrade looks towards the man.)
LESTRADE: Thomas Ricoletti, Emelia Ricolettis husband.
HOLMES: Presumably on his way to the morgue to identify her remains.
(Lestrade takes another drink, then nods.)
LESTRADE: As it turned out, he was saved the trip.
(In the street, a hansom cab approaches and a horse whinnies. Ricoletti turns around to look. The door of
the cab opens and a woman starts to get out. At this moment all we can see is her boot and her white
wedding dress covering her leg.)
BRIDE (singing): Do not forget me ...
(Ricoletti stares in horror as the Bride is revealed, her face covered and obscured by the head dress veil.
She is holding a shotgun which she now aims at him as she continues to sing.)
BRIDE: Do not forget me ...
(Ricoletti raises his hands in terrified submission. The Bride slowly walks towards him.)
BRIDE: Remember the maid ...
RICOLETTI: Who are you?
BRIDE: The maid of the mill.
RICOLETTI (talking over her): Why are you doing this? Just tell me who you are!
BRIDE: You recognise our song, my dear? I sang it at our wedding.
(Ricoletti stares in horror as the Bride lifts her veil with one hand. Her lipstick is even more smeared than
before, and there are powder burns around the middle of her lips.)
RICOLETTI: Emelia?! (He stutters.) Youre dead. You cant be here. You died.
BRIDE (smiling at him): Am I not beautiful, Thomas? As beautiful as the day you married me?
(Behind her, a young police constable runs towards the scene but stops a few paces away.)
PC RANCE (nervously): What the hells all this about?
(The Bride turns her head towards him. The back of her head is covered with blood.)
BRIDE: What does it look like, my handsome friend?
(She turns her head towards her husband again.)
BRIDE: Its a shotgun wedding.
(Cocking the shotgun twice in rapid succession, she fires at him twice. She smiles as he stares at her for a
moment, his own blood spattered over his face, then drops to the ground. His head lands on the carpet of
the sitting room in 221B. Holmes looks impassively at the mans body.)
HOLMES: Til death us do part. Twice, in this case.
(He smiles at Lestrade. In the street, the Bride has pulled her veil back over her face and now turns in the
direction of the hansom cab. The back of her head can be seen more clearly and it looks as if the rear of her
skull has been blown off. PC Rance gasps as she walks past the cab and continues on into the fog and
disappears from view. Rance blows his police whistle and then runs off after her.)
WATSON: Extraordinary.
MRS WATSON: Impossible!
HOLMES (standing): Superb! Suicide as street theatre; murder by corpse. Lestrade, youre spoiling us.
Watson, your hat and coat.
(He walks towards the door.)
WATSON (also standing): Where are we going?
HOLMES (standing just outside the sitting room): To the morgue. Theres not a moment to lose ...
(He takes off his dressing gown and puts on his jacket.)
HOLMES: ... which one can so rarely say of a morgue.
MRS WATSON: And am I just to sit here?
WATSON: Not at all, my dear. (He leans down and chucks her under the chin.) Well be hungry later!
(He turns to Holmes.)
WATSON: Holmes, just one thing? (He looks down at his own clothes.) Tweeds, in a morgue?
HOLMES: Needs must when the devil drives, Watson.
(They both hurry down the stairs. Lestrade looks at Mary as he starts to follow them.)
LESTRADE: Maam.
MRS WATSON (standing up): Im part of a campaign, you know.
LESTRADE (turning back to her): Oh yeah? Campaign?
MRS WATSON: Votes for Women.
LESTRADE: And are you are you for or against?
MRS WATSON (sternly pointing to the stairs): Get out.
(Looking bewildered, Lestrade turns and leaves. Mary sits down in Watsons chair, props her head on her
hand and stares into the fire, sighing in exasperation. Mrs Hudson comes to the open door and knocks on it.)
MRS HUDSON: Ooh-ooh!
WATSON: But she cant have been in two places at the same time, can she?
HOLMES (straightening up): No, Watson. One place is strictly the limit for the recently deceased.
(Watson clicks his fingers and points to his friend.)
WATSON: Holmes, could it have been twins?
HOLMES: No.
WATSON: Why not?
HOLMES: Because its never twins.
LESTRADE: Emelia was not a twin, nor did she have any sisters. She had one older brother who died four
years ago.
(Watson isnt yet prepared to let go of the idea and shakes his head, humming.)
WATSON: Maybe it was a secret twin.
(Holmes looks at him as if staggered by his idiocy.)
HOLMES: A what?
WATSON (precisely): A secret twin?
(Holmes continues to look at him as if he cant believe what hes hearing.)
WATSON: Hmm? You know? A twin that nobody knows about? This whole thing could have been planned.
HOLMES: Since the moment of conception? How breathtakingly prescient of her! It is never twins, Watson.
WATSON: Then whats your theory?
HOLMES (turning to look at Lestrade): More to the point, whats your problem?
(Lestrade lifts his eyes from the corpse and looks at him.)
LESTRADE: I-I dont understand. What ...
HOLMES: Why were you so frightened? Nothing so far has justified your assault on my decanter, and why
have you allowed a dead woman to be placed under arrest?
HOOPER: Ah. That would be the other feature of interest.
(Hooper lifts the right hand of the corpse, showing her index finger. Holmes and Watson bend down for a
closer look.)
WATSON: Ah. A smear of blood on her finger. That could have happened any number of ways.
HOOPER: Indeed.
(Lowering the hand, Hooper looks sternly at Holmes.)
HOOPER: Theres one other thing. It wasnt there earlier.
(Holmes straightens up. Lestrade points to a nearby wall.)
LESTRADE: And neither was that.
(He walks towards the wall and picks up a lantern to illuminate it more clearly. Watson walks around the
table and he and Holmes go over to the wall. In the light from the lantern, a single word can be seen painted
on the wall, apparently in blood:
YOU
Theres a brief flashback to the Bride standing on the balcony, pointing her pistols into the street and crying
out, You! or You? three times to various men.)
WATSON: Holmes!
HOLMES (softly, staring at the word on the wall): Gun in the mouth; a bullet through the brain; back of the
head blown clean off. How could he survive?
(Confused, Watson looks around the mortuary and then turns back to Holmes.)
WATSON: She, you mean.
HOLMES (his eyes still fixed on the wall): Im sorry?
WATSON: Not he, she.
HOLMES (absently): Yes, yes, of course.
(He stares at the wall for another moment, apparently lost in thought, then jumps and comes back to
himself.)
HOLMES (more normally, turning to the others): Well, thank you all for a fascinating case. (He looks at
Lestrade.) Ill send you a telegram when Ive solved it. Watson?
(He walks away and leaves the room. Watson, however, turns back to Hooper and points down at the body.)
WATSON: Er, the gunshot wound was obviously the cause of death, but there are clear indicators of
consumption. Might be worth a post mortem. We need all the information we can get.
(He turns and starts to walk away.)
HOOPER: Oh, isnt he observant now that Daddys gone?
(Watson stops. Hooper quietly smirks. After a moment, Watson turns back and walks closer to the table
again.)
WATSON (quietly): I am observant in some ways, just as Holmes is quite blind in others.
HOOPER (sarcastically): Really?
WATSON (quietly): Yes. Really. (He looks at Hooper pointedly.) Amazing what one has to do to get ahead in
a mans world.
(Hooper stares at him. Watson doffs his hat to him her, then puts it back on his head. He glances across to
Anderson, then turns and walks away. Hooper swallows a little nervously and watches him go.)
ANDERSON: Whats he saying that for?
HOOPER (sternly): Get back to work.
HANSOM CAB. Watson looks across to his friend.
WATSON: Well, Holmes? Surely you must have some theory.
HOLMES: Not yet. These are deep waters, Watson. Deep waters. (He looks out of the window.) And I shall
have to go deeper still.
Headlines from various newspaper reports drift across the screen:
STATEMENT FROM CAB DRIVER
HOLMES: Yes, youre right. Im changing my bet to three years, four months and eleven days.
WATSON: A bet?!
HOLMES: I understand your disapproval, Watson, but if hes feeling competitive it is perfectly within his
power to die early.
MYCROFT HOLMES: Thats a risk youll have to take.
WATSON: Youre gambling with your own life?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Why not? Its so much more exciting than gambling with others.
HOLMES (nodding to an item on one of the nearby tables): Three years flat if you eat that plum pudding.
MYCROFT HOLMES: Done!
(Licking his lips, he reaches over to the table, picks up the large stodgy pudding on a plate, opens his mouth
wide and lifts the pudding towards it. The camera follows the pudding into his mouth.)
A little later Holmes and Watson are sitting side by side on chairs opposite Mycroft. There is a small table
beside Watson on which is a coffee pot, a cream or milk jug and a bowl of sugar, together with a cup and
saucer with white coffee in it. Holmes is holding another cup and saucer and has just taken a drink from his
black coffee.
MYCROFT HOLMES: I expected to see you a few days ago about the Manor House case. I thought you might
be a little out of your depth there.
HOLMES (putting down his cup and saucer on a table beside him): No. I solved it.
MYCROFT HOLMES: It was Adams, of course.
HOLMES: Yes, it was Adams.
MYCROFT HOLMES (to Watson): Murderous jealousy. Hed written a paper for the Royal Astronomical Society
on the obliquity of the ecliptic, and then read another that seemed to surpass it.
HOLMES: I know. I read it.
MYCROFT HOLMES: Did you understand it?
HOLMES (looking sideways to Watson): Yes, of course I understood it. It was perfectly simple.
MYCROFT HOLMES: No did you understand the murderous jealousy? It is no easy thing for a great mind to
contemplate a still greater one.
(Holmes sighs but then smiles slightly at his brother.)
HOLMES: Did you summon me here just to humiliate me?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Yes.
(Holmes stands up, his face angry. Mycroft chuckles a little.)
MYCROFT HOLMES: Of course not, but it is by far the greater pleasure.
HOLMES: Then would you mind explaining exactly why you did summon ...
MYCROFT HOLMES (talking over him): Our way of life is under threat from an invisible enemy, one that
hovers at our elbow on a daily basis. These enemies are everywhere, undetected and unstoppable.
(Watson leans forward.)
WATSON: Socialists?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Not socialists, Doctor, no.
WATSON: Anarchists?
MYCROFT HOLMES: No.
WATSON: The French? The suffragists?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Is there any large body of people youre not concerned about?
HOLMES: Doctor Watson is endlessly vigilant. (He looks at his brother.) Elaborate.
MYCROFT HOLMES: No. Investigate. This is a conjecture of mine and I need you to confirm it. Im sending
you a case.
(Watson frowns thoughtfully and now has another idea.)
WATSON: The Scots.
HOLMES: Scots?!
MYCROFT HOLMES: Are you aware of recent theories concerning what is known as paranoia?
WATSON: Ooh, sounds Serbian.
(Holmes rolls his eyes.)
MYCROFT HOLMES (to Holmes): A woman will call on you Lady Carmichael. I want you to take her case.
WATSON: But these enemies: how are we to defeat them if you wont tell us about them?
MYCROFT HOLMES: We dont defeat them. We must certainly lose to them.
WATSON: Why?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Because they are right, and we are wrong.
HOLMES: Lady Carmichaels case what is it?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Oh, rest assured, it has features of interest.
HOLMES: I never really say that.
WATSON: You really do.
HOLMES (to Mycroft): And youve solved it already, I assume?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Only in my head. I need you for the, er ... (he grimaces) ... legwork.
WATSON: Why not just tell us your solution?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Where would be the sport in that? Will you do it, Sherlock? I can promise you a superior
distraction.
HOLMES: On one condition. Have another plum pudding.
MYCROFT HOLMES: Theres one on the way.
HOLMES (buttoning his dress coat and starting to walk away): Two years, eleven months and four days.
(Mycroft chuckles.)
MYCROFT HOLMES: Its getting exciting now!
(Watson realises that Holmes is leaving and stands up to follow him.)
MYCROFT HOLMES: Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
(He waggles his fingers at Watson as he leaves. From another door, Wilder wheels in a trolley with a silver
cover over the large plate.)
MYCROFT HOLMES: Thank you, Wilder.
[Transcriber's note: At this point, one of my betas made some positively filthy suggestions about what
Watson had been doing in that lower position. Im so proud of her. ;-) ]
HOLMES: Get down, Watson, for heavens sake!
WATSON (quickly sitting down): Sorry. Cramp.
(Grimacing, he rubs his leg.)
WATSON: Is the, er, lamp still burning?
HOLMES (looking across to one of the few windows of the house which are still lit): Yes.
(Almost immediately, the lamp in that room goes out.)
HOLMES: There goes Sir Eustace.
(He looks across to another lighted window, which goes dark a moment later.)
HOLMES: And Lady Carmichael. The house sleeps.
(Watson shakes his head, apparently bored, then draws in a deep breath.)
WATSON: Mmm, good God, this is the longest night of my life.
HOLMES: Have patience, Watson.
(Watson takes out his pocket watch and looks at it.)
WATSON: Only midnight.
(He puts the watch away.)
WATSON: You know, its rare for us to sit together like this.
HOLMES: I should hope so. Its murder on the knees.
(He smiles. Watson returns the smile.)
WATSON: Hmm. Two old friends, just talking, chewing the fat ...
(He looks at Holmes.)
WATSON: ... man to man.
(Holmes looks somewhat startled, then looks towards the house whilst fidgeting slightly.)
WATSON: Shes a remarkable woman.
HOLMES: Who?
WATSON: Lady Carmichael.
HOLMES: The fair sex is your department, Watson. Ill take your word for it.
WATSON: No, you liked her. A woman of rare perception.
HOLMES: And admirably high arches. I noticed them as soon as she stepped into the room.
WATSON: Huh. Shes far too good for him.
HOLMES: You think so?
WATSON: No, you think so. I could tell.
HOLMES: On the contrary, I have no view on the matter.
WATSON: Yes you have.
HOLMES (after a momentary pause): Marriage is not a subject upon which I dwell.
WATSON: Well, why not?
HOLMES: Whats the matter with you this evening?
WATSON (pointing): That watch that youre wearing: theres a photograph inside it. I glimpsed it once ...
(Cutaway shot of the photograph inside the lid of the pocket watch. We all recognise it.)
WATSON: I believe it is of Irene Adler.
HOLMES (a little angrily): You didnt glimpse it. You waited til I had fallen asleep and looked at it.
WATSON: Yes, I did.
HOLMES: You seriously thought I wouldnt notice?
WATSON: Irene Adler.
HOLMES: Formidable opponent; a remarkable adventure.
WATSON: A very nice photograph.
HOLMES: Why are you talking like this?
WATSON: Why are you so determined to be alone?
HOLMES: Are you quite well, Watson?
WATSON: Is it such a curious question?
HOLMES: From a Viennese alienist, no; from a retired Army surgeon, most certainly.
WATSON: Holmes, against absolutely no opposition whatsoever, I am your closest friend.
HOLMES: I concede it.
WATSON: I am currently attempting to have a perfectly normal conversation with you.
HOLMES (precisely): Please dont.
WATSON (equally precisely): Why do you need to be alone?
HOLMES: If you are referring to romantic entanglement, Watson which I rather fear you are as I have
often explained before, all emotion is abhorrent to me. It is the grit in a sensitive instrument ...
(Watson joins in with what he says next.)
HOLMES and WATSON (almost simultaneously): ... the crack in the lens.
WATSON: Yes.
HOLMES: Well, there you are, you see? Ive said it all before.
WATSON: No, I wrote all that. Youre quoting yourself from The Strand Magazine.
HOLMES: Well, exactly.
WATSON: No, those are my words, not yours! That is the version of you that I present to the public: the
brain without a heart; the calculating machine. I write all of that, Holmes, and the readers lap it up, but I do
not believe it.
HOLMES: Well, Ive a good mind to write to your editor.
WATSON: You are a living, breathing man. Youve lived a life; you have a past.
HOLMES: A what?!
WATSON: Well, you must have had ...
HOLMES: Had what?
(Watson pauses a little awkwardly, then points at his friend.)
WATSON: You know.
HOLMES: No.
(Watson swallows.)
WATSON: Experiences.
HOLMES (angrily): Pass me your revolver. I have a sudden need to use it.
WATSON: Damn it, Holmes, you are flesh and blood. You have feelings. You have ... you must have ...
impulses.
(Holmes closes his eyes in exasperation.)
HOLMES (through his teeth): Dear Lord. I have never been so impatient to be attacked by a murderous
ghost.
WATSON: As your friend as someone who ... worries about you what made you like this?
(Holmes has opened his eyes and looks at his friend almost sympathetically.)
HOLMES: Oh, Watson. Nothing made me.
(From somewhere to his left, scrabbling claws can be heard together with a sound of a dog whimpering
anxiously, or as if it is in pain. Holmes turns his head in the direction of the sound.)
HOLMES: I made me.
(The scrabbling and whimpering continues. Holmes frowns in confusion.)
HOLMES: Redbeard?
WATSON: Good God!
(Holmes turns his head to look at him. Watson is staring towards the house. Holmes follows his gaze.
Through a dark archway at the house, the illuminated veiled figure of the Bride floats slightly above the
ground.)
WATSON: What are we to do?
(The Bride raises her right hand as if encouraging her watchers to approach.)
HOLMES (nonchalantly): Why dont we have a chat?
(He jumps up. Watson frowns, but then follows and they run across the garden towards the house.)
HOLMES (calling out as he runs along the front of the house): Mrs Ricoletti, I believe.
(He and Watson stop outside the front door, a few yards away from the ghostly image. The Bride lowers her
hand. Still floating above the ground in front of a nearby doorway, her other hand has its fingers splayed
threateningly.)
HOLMES: Pleasant night for the time of year, is it not?
(Watson seizes Holmes arm as if to hold him back.)
WATSON: It cannot be true, Holmes. It cannot!
(The Bride floats backwards towards the door, holding out her hands towards the men as if in invitation.)
HOLMES: No, it cant.
(The Bride begins to fade from view. At the same moment, a man screams inside the house. Holmes and
Watson turn their heads towards the sound. Somewhere, a large pane of glass can be heard smashing.
Holmes and then Watson turn back towards the doorway but the Bride has vanished. Holmes runs to the
front door and tries to open it.)
WATSON: Is it locked?
HOLMES (coming back out of the porch): As per instructions.
WATSON: That was a window breaking, wasnt it?
HOLMES: Theres only one broken window we need concern ourselves with.
(They run to the nearest window beside the front door and Holmes jabs his elbow through the glass, then
breaks out the rest of the glass with his gloved hand. He and then Watson climb inside, and Holmes strikes a
match to light a lantern.)
HOLMES: Stay in here, Watson.
WATSON: What? No!
HOLMES: All the doors and windows to the house are locked. This is their only way out. I need you here.
(Picking up the lantern, he hurries away.)
WATSON: But the sound was so close, it had to be from this side of the house.
HOLMES: Stay here!
(He runs into the house. Watson looks anxiously at the window behind him. Holmes runs for the stairs just
as a woman cries out in horror upstairs. As she continues to shriek, he reaches the landing and looks
around, shining the light from his lantern around the nearby carpet. Two maids run up another set of stairs
towards him, and Holmes heads off along the landing. Turning a corner, he finds Lady Carmichael standing
there in her night dress. On the carpet in front of her is a pool of blood. Holmes looks up at Lady Carmichael
as her maids hurry towards her. She stares savagely at him.)
LADY CARMICHAEL: You promised to keep him safe. You promised!
(The maids take hold of her arms.)
LADY CARMICHAEL: You ...
(Holmes stares wide-eyed at her as she begins to sob. He turns away.)
LADY CARMICHAEL: You promised!
(Holmes makes his way along the landing, following a trail of fresh drops of blood.
Downstairs, in the hall on the other side of a narrow corridor leading to Watsons position, the floor creaks.
He takes out his revolver, holds it up with the barrel pointing towards the ceiling, and cocks it. In the hall,
the floor creaks again. Lowering his gun to his side, Watson slowly walks forward across the broken glass on
the floor and enters the hallway. He stops.)
WATSON: Youre human, I know that. You must be.
(Its dark in the hallway. He puts his revolver onto a table beside him, on which is a candle and a box of
matches. He picks up the latter.)
WATSON: Little use, us standing here in the dark.
(He strikes a match and picks up the candle to light it.)
WATSON: After all, this is the nineteenth century.
(On the floors above, Holmes runs up another flight of stairs and into the eaves of the house. He shines his
lantern to the left and then to the right, and immediately sees a man lying on the floor on his side. There is
something sticking out of the mans chest. Holmes walks forward and bends down to the man, his face full of
dread. He gently rolls him onto his back and reveals Sir Eustace. A large ornately-handled dagger is in his
chest, and Eustaces eyes are fixed and horrified. Behind him, a woman screams as she catches sight of the
body.
Downstairs, a breeze blows out the candle which Watson is holding. His eyes widen and he breathes heavily.
He looks down to strike another match and he re-lights the candle, blows out the match and then picks up
his revolver again and turns towards the hall. As he peers into the darkness, he is unaware that behind him
stands the Bride. She slowly drifts towards him.)
BRIDE (whispering harshly in the same rhythm as the song): Do not forget me.
(Watsons eyes widen. The Bride comes to a stop just a pace or two behind him.)
BRIDE (in the same harsh whisper): Do not forget me.
(His face full of terror, Watson turns around. Instantly the Bride lifts both her arms high and displays her
bloodstained fingers, the nails long and pointed, as if they are claws. Dropping the candle, Watson turns and
runs into the hall, turning around to run backwards as he looks for the Bride, just as Holmes races down the
stairs. They bump into each other.)
HOLMES: Watson!
WATSON (pointing to the hallway): Shes there! Shes down there!
HOLMES: Dont tell me you abandoned your post.
WATSON: What? Holmes, shes there! (He points with his revolver.) I saw her!
(Aiming his lantern ahead of him, Holmes runs into the hallway. Watson chases after him. Holmes arrives at
the broken window and angrily turns back to Watson.)
HOLMES: Empty, thanks to you! Our bird is flown.
WATSON: No! No, Holmes, it wasnt what you think. I saw her the ghost.
HOLMES (furiously): THERE ARE NO GHOSTS!
(He glares at Watson for a moment, then calms down.)
WATSON: What happened? Where is Sir Eustace?
HOLMES: Dead.
Some time later, a police photographer takes the cap off the lens of his camera and takes a photograph of
Sir Eustaces body, still lying where it was found, with the dagger still stuck in his chest. Holmes, Watson and
Lestrade are standing at the top of the nearby stairs.
LESTRADE: You really mustnt blame yourself, you know.
(Holmes pulls in a long breath through his nose.)
HOLMES: No, youre quite right.
WATSON: Im glad youre seeing sense.
HOLMES: Watson is equally culpable. Between us, weve managed to botch this whole case. I gave an
undertaking to protect that man; now hes lying there with a dagger in his breast.
WATSON (walking towards the body and squatting down to it): In fact, you gave an undertaking to
investigate his murder.
HOLMES (angrily): In the confident expectation I would not have to.
LESTRADE: Anything you can tell us, Doctor?
WATSON: Well, hes been stabbed with considerable force.
LESTRADE: Its a man, then.
WATSON: Possibly.
LESTRADE: A very keen blade, so it could conceivably have been a woman.
WATSON (angrily standing up and walking back to the other two): In theory, yes, but we know who it was. I
saw her.
HOLMES: Watson.
WATSON (loudly): I saw the ghost with my own eyes.
HOLMES (angrily): You saw nothing. You saw what you were supposed to see.
WATSON: You said yourself: I have no imagination.
HOLMES: Then use your brain, such as it is, to eliminate the impossible which in this case is the ghost
and observe what remains which in this case is a solution so blindingly obvious, even Lestrade could work
it out.
LESTRADE: Thank you(!)
HOLMES (angrily, to Watson): Forget spectres from the otherworld. (More calmly) There is only one suspect
with motive and opportunity. They might as well have left a note.
LESTRADE: They did leave a note.
HOLMES (to Watson): And then theres the matter of the other broken window.
LESTRADE: What other broken window?
HOLMES: Precisely. There isnt one. The only broken window in this establishment is the one that Watson and
I entered through, yet prior to that we distinctly heard the sound of What did you just say?
LESTRADE: Sorry?
HOLMES: About a note. What did you just say?
LESTRADE: I said the murderer did leave a note.
HOLMES: No they didnt.
LESTRADE: Theres a message tied to the dagger. You must have seen it!
HOLMES (walking towards the body): Theres no message.
LESTRADE: Yes!
HOLMES: There was no message when I found the body.
(He stops and looks down at Sir Eustaces corpse. Looped around the hilt of the dagger is a piece of string,
to which is attached a luggage label. He squats down, picks up the label and looks at the underside. His eyes
widen and he lowers the label back down onto Sir Eustaces chest. Staring into the distance in disbelief, he
slowly stands up.)
WATSON: Holmes?
(He walks closer as Holmes slowly backs away, then turns and walks slowly towards the stairs.)
WATSON: What is it?
(Not answering, Holmes heads down the stairs. Watson walks over to the body, squats down and lifts the
luggage label and looks at the underside. Written in large letters is:
MISS ME?
Watson raises his head and frowns. On the stairs, Holmes seems to float down them as he stares ahead of
himself in shock and bewilderment.)
[And Im sorry, but as a fan of The Surprising Adventures of Sir Digby Chicken Caesar from Mitchell and
Webb, that particular footage had me cracking up laughing and loudly singing The Devils Galop, which
completely ruined the mood for me. Apparently nobody involved with Sherlock has ever seen that series or
they would never have filmed the moment in that way.]
THE STRANGERS ROOM OF THE DIOGENES CLUB.
MYCROFT HOLMES: Do you?
(Holmes has been facing away from his brother but now turns to look at him.)
HOLMES: Do I what?
(Mycroft holds up the bloodstained luggage label with its MISS ME? message.)
HOLMES (breathing out a long h at the beginning of the first word): How did you get that? (He points to the
label.) I left it at the crime scene.
MYCROFT HOLMES (putting down the label on the table beside him and then folding his hands over his huge
stomach): Crime scene? Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions? Do you miss him?
HOLMES: Moriarty is dead.
MYCROFT HOLMES: And yet.
(Holmes has turned away from Mycroft again.)
HOLMES: His body was never recovered.
MYCROFT HOLMES: To be expected when one pushes a maths professor over a waterfall. Pure reason toppled
by sheer melodrama: your life in a nutshell.
HOLMES (turning to face him): Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions?
(He turns again and stops at the sight of a painting on the side wall. It is Turners Falls of the Reichenbach.
[Click here for image.] For a moment its as if he can see the water pouring over the top of the falls and
plummeting into the drop. He blows out a breath and then sniffs harshly before turning to his brother.)
HOLMES: Have you put on weight?
MYCROFT HOLMES: You saw me only yesterday. Does that seem possible?
HOLMES (slowly walking past his chair while looking at him): No.
MYCROFT HOLMES (holding out his hands): Yet here I am, increased. What does that tell the foremost
criminal investigator in England?
HOLMES (a little indignantly): In England?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Youre in deep, Sherlock, deeper than you ever intended to be. Have you made a list?
HOLMES: Of what?
MYCROFT HOLMES: Everything. We will need a list.
(Taking a breath, Holmes takes a piece of paper from his pocket and holds it up.)
MYCROFT HOLMES: Good boy.
(Holmes walks towards his brother, who reaches for the paper, but Holmes lifts it away, screws it up and
puts it back into his pocket.)
HOLMES: No. I havent finished yet.
MYCROFT HOLMES: Moriarty may beg to differ.
(Holmes sighs sharply.)
HOLMES: Hes trying to distract me, to derail me.
(He places his hands palms together under his chin.)
MYCROFT HOLMES: Yes. Hes the crack in the lens, the fly in the ointment ... the virus in the data.
(Lowering his hands, Holmes turns round and looks sharply at him.)
HOLMES: I have to finish this.
MYCROFT HOLMES: If Moriarty has risen from the Reichenbach cauldron, he will seek you out.
HOLMES: Ill be waiting.
(He walks away and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Mycrofts face becomes sad.)
MYCROFT HOLMES (softly): Yes. (He looks across to the painting.) Im very much afraid you will.
221B SITTING ROOM. Holmes, wearing a blue dressing gown over his clothes, is sitting cross-legged in the
middle of the floor facing the fireplace. The backs of his hands rest on his knees and he is touching the index
finger of each hand to the thumb as if in a yoga pose for meditation. His eyes are closed. Newspapers lie on
the floor all around him. In the corner behind his chair smoke is rising from what I presume is an incense
burner.
In the same place but inside his Mind Palace, he opens his eyes and torn-out cuttings from newspaper
articles start to float past him in mid-air. He reaches out and grabs random cuttings as they pass, looking at
the text on them. Some of them read:
THE DEATH OF EUSTACE CARMICHAEL
STATEMENT FROM CAB DRIVER
IT WAS MRS RICOLETTI
ALARMING DISCOVERY IN ISLINGTON
ANOTHER BRIDE OUTRAGE
VISCOUNT HUMMERSKNOT DEAD
(The bloodstained back of her head can be clearly seen by the police officer.)
HOLMES (voiceover): ... and with a little skilled make-up and you have nothing less than the wrath of a
vengeful ghost.
(Emelia walks away into the fog and disappears from view. Further down the street, she stops on top of a
manhole cover and stomps the heel of her boot against it twice. In the drain underneath, an accomplice
pushes the manhole cover up and across onto the road, where Emelia has taken a step back and is waiting.
Shortly afterwards, PC Rance runs towards where he last saw her and stops ... on top of the now-closed
cover.)
HOLMES (voiceover): There was only one thing left to do.
(Emelia, still in the wedding dress, is lying on a bed while someone offscreen points a pistol at her mouth.)
EMELIA: Swiftly now. No tears.
(She settles her head on the pillow and opens her mouth. As the scene fades out, the gun is fired.)
HOLMES (pacing along the chapel): All that remained was to substitute the real Mrs Ricoletti for the corpse in
the morgue.
(Brief flashback to Emelias covered body, chained to the table in the morgue.)
HOLMES (voiceover): This time, should anyone attempt to identify her ...
(The sheet is pulled back from Emelias face.)
HOLMES (in the crypt): ... it would be positively, absolutely her.
MRS WATSON: But why would she do that die to prove a point?
HOLMES: Every great cause has martyrs; every war has suicide missions and make no mistake, this is war.
One half of the human race at war with the other.
(He walks back along the crypt, looking at the robed figures on either side.)
HOLMES: The invisible army hovering at our elbow, attending to our homes, raising our children, ignored,
patronised, disregarded, not allowed so much as a vote.
(Almost as one, the robed figures reach up and begin to remove their conical hats. As they pull them off
their heads, each one is revealed to be a woman.)
HOLMES: ... but an army nonetheless, ready to rise up in the best of causes, to put right an injustice as old
as humanity itself. So, you see, Watson, Mycroft was right. This is a war we must lose.
(He turns away from Watson but turns back again as he speaks.)
WATSON: She was dying.
HOLMES: Who was?
WATSON: Emelia Ricoletti. There were clear signs of consumption. I doubt she was long for this world.
HOLMES: So she decided to make her death count. She was already familiar with the secret societies of
America and was able to draw on their methods of fear and intimidation to publicly very publicly confront
Sir Eustace Carmichael with the sins of his past.
FEMALE VOICE (offscreen): He knew her out in the States.
(The voice is familiar to us. Weve heard it earlier in the episode, although back then it was deeper. Holmes
turns towards the sound.)
FEMALE VOICE (offscreen): Promised her everything ...
(The owner of the voice comes into view. It is, as we expected, Hooper, now with no moustache and with her
hair in a more normal style for a woman.)
HOOPER: ... marriage, position and then he had his way with her and threw her over, left her abandoned
and penniless.
HOLMES: Hooper!
(Flashforward to Molly Hooper slapping Sherlocks face in the lab at Barts after she had tested him for drug
abuse in His Last Vow. She slaps him again, and again.
Flashback to Doctor Hooper in her male guise standing at the side of the morgue table on which Emelia
lies.)
HOOPER (softly, in the crypt): Holmes.
WATSON: For the record, Holmes, she didnt have me fooled.
(Holmes turns and stares at him. Watson smiles in a rather satisfied way. Then his gaze shifts and he stares
in surprise as one of the women leans into view and waves cheekily at him. It is his maid.
Flashback to his dining room where she last addressed him:
JANE: Why do you never mention me, sir?
(In the crypt, Jane finishes her wave and steps back. Watson looks a little awkward as Holmes smirks.
Another woman steps forward. Again she is very recognisable to us, and her Irish accent confirms it.)
JANINE: Emelia thought that shed found happiness with Ricoletti, but he was a brute too.
(Holmes has turned to look at her as she spoke and his eyes have widened.
Fast flashforward through brief clips of Sherlocks time with Janine at the wedding, and in 221B later, ending
with them kissing, her leaving the room, and Sherlocks smile dropping once she can no longer see his face.)
[Transcribers note: in the cast list for this episode, she is credited as Janine Donlevy. People with sharp
eyes noticed that in His Last Vow her newspaper interviews about her relationship with Sherlock named her
as Janine Hawkins. It may be that this Victorian version is or was married.]
JANINE (in the crypt): Emelia Ricoletti was our friend. You have no idea how that bastard treated her.
(Holmes is still staring at her as if confused.)
WATSON: But ... the Bride, Holmes. We saw her.
HOLMES (turning to him): Yes, Watson, we did. But the sound of breaking glass? Not a window.
(Watson frowns enquiringly.)
HOLMES: Just an old theatrical trick.
(Flashback to Holmes and Watson outside the Carmichael house. Watson seizes Holmes arm.)
WATSON: It cannot be true, Holmes! It cannot!
HOLMES: No, it cant.
HOLMES (voiceover): Its called Peppers Ghost.
[Click here for further information, and diagrams similar to the one which is shown on the screen during
Holmes explanation.]
(As the flashback continues and Holmes and Watson turn at the sound of a mans scream from inside the
house, we see a closer view of the Bride floating backwards, and this time we can see that theres a large
pane of glass between the Bride and the men.)
HOLMES (voiceover): A simple reflection, in glass, of a living breathing person.
(The Bride is actually several feet away, out of sight from the men, and as she now runs off, two women
dressed in black hurry forward ready to carry away the pane of glass, propped up on a stand.)
HOLMES (voiceover): Their only mistake was breaking the glass when they removed it.
(The women go to either side of the pane and take hold of its sides. As they lift it, it shatters and they flinch
away from the flying shards.)
HOLMES (slowly pacing along the crypt): Look around you. This room is full of Brides. Once she had
risen, anyone could be her.
(The various headlines about murders by the Bride float across the screen.)
HOLMES: The avenging ghost a legend to strike terror into the heart of any man with malicious intent; a
spectre to stalk those unpunished brutes whose reckoning is long overdue.
(Flashback to the Carmichael maze. Lady Carmichael and Sir Eustace stare in horror as the Bride floats
closer to them. Sir Eustaces eyes roll up into his head and he faints.)
HOLMES (voiceover): A league of furies awakened.
(Elsewhere in the maze after she has made her escape, the Bride lifts her veil to reveal Janine, her face
white and her lips red and smeared. She smiles with satisfaction.)
HOLMES (voiceover): The women I ... we have lied to, betrayed ...
(Inside the Carmichael house, Watson turns wide-eyed to see the Bride standing behind him.)
HOLMES (voiceover): ... the women we have ignored ...
(The Bride raises her hands like claws, and Watson turns and runs.)
HOLMES (voiceover): ... and disparaged.
(Watson runs into the hall. Behind him, Hooper, dressed in the Brides outfit, climbs out of the broken
window.)
HOLMES (in the crypt): Once the idea exists, it cannot be killed.
(His gaze sharpens a little.)
HOLMES: This is the work of a single-minded person, someone who knew first-hand about Sir Eustaces
mental cruelty. A dark secret, kept from all but her closest friends ...
(Behind him, someone wearing the Brides wedding dress and with the veil over their face walks into view.)
HOLMES: ... including Emelia Ricoletti ...
(The Bride slowly walks closer to him, footsteps sounding on the floor.)
HOLMES: ... the woman her husband wronged all those years before. If one disregards the ghost,
there is only one suspect.
(He turns towards the person he has heard approaching, unsurprised by the sight of the veiled figure.)
HOLMES: Isnt that right, Lady Carmichael?
(The Bride stops close to him.)
HOLMES: One small detail doesnt quite make sense to me, however. Why engage me to prevent a murder
you intended to commit?
(The Bride doesnt respond.)
HOLMES: Hmm?
(The Bride huffs out a laugh but its not coming from any womans mouth.)
MORIARTYs VOICE (from underneath the veil, in a deliberately poor impersonation of Holmes): It doesnt
quite make sense; this doesnt quite make sense. (In his own voice) Of course it doesnt make sense.
(Holmes blinks a couple of times.)
MORIARTYs VOICE: Its not real.
(He snores as if bored.)
MORIARTYs VOICE: Oh, Sherlock.
(He takes hold of the veil and flips it back onto his head, holding it there so as to reveal his face. There is
dried blood in the middle of his upper and lower lips from where he shot himself in the mouth. Holmes
gasps.)
MORIARTY: Peekaboo.
(He rolls his jaw as if it hurts. Holmes stares in shock.)
HOLMES: No. No, not you. It cant be you.
MORIARTY: I mean, come on, be serious. Costumes, the gong. Speaking as a criminal mastermind, we dont
really have gongs, or special outfits.
(Holmes, looking faint, closes his eyes. Behind his closed eyes, its as if a faint image of Watson is shining a
penlight into his eyes. The voice which speaks in his head, however, sounds a little more like modern John
than Victorian Watson.)
JOHN/WATSON: What the hell is going on?
(Holmes opens his eyes again and peers at Moriarty in continuing disbelief.)
MORIARTY: Is this silly enough for you yet? Gothic enough? Mad enough, even for you? It doesnt make
sense, Sherlock, because its not real. (In a whisper) None of it.
(Behind his eyes, Holmes can again see Watson looking closely at him, and again he hears the voice.)
JOHN/WATSON: Whats he talking about?
MORIARTY (in a whisper): This is all in your mind.
(Holmes clamps his eyes shut again.)
JOHNs VOICE: Sherlock.
(The penlight shines into Holmes closed eyes.)
WATSONs VOICE: Holmes!
MORIARTY (in a whisper): Youre dreaming.
(Holmes, his eyes wide again, opens his mouth and gasps out a long breath.)
MARY: Is he dreaming?
(Sherlocks vision clears. Mary is sitting a short distance away, and John is leaning over him and shining a
penlight into his right eye. Mycroft is sitting at Sherlocks bedside. Theyre no longer in the plane and
Sherlock is lying fully clothed on a bed, presumably in a hospital.)
MYCROFT (somewhat sarcastically): And there he is. Thought wed lost you for a moment. May I just check:
is this what you mean by controlled usage?
(In the background, a woman in a white hospital uniform walks past.)
SHERLOCK (a little blearily): Mrs Emelia Ricoletti. I need to know where she was buried.
MYCROFT: What, a hundred and twenty years ago?!
SHERLOCK (struggling to sit up, while John tries to push him back down): Yes.
MYCROFT: That would take weeks to find, if those records even exist. Even with my resources ...
MARY (looking down at Sherlocks phone): Got it.
Some time later, John and Mary get out of a police car and follow Sherlock, who has just taken a spade from
the boot of another police car. Sherlock is now wearing his Coat and scarf and he leads them into a
cemetery. Mycroft and Greg Lestrade follow them and there are several uniformed police officers in
attendance.
JOHN: I dont get it. How is this relevant?
SHERLOCK: I need to know I was right, then Ill be sure.
MARY: You mean how Moriarty did it?
SHERLOCK: Yes.
JOHN: But none of that really happened. It was in your head.
SHERLOCK: My investigation was the fantasy. The crime happened exactly as I explained.
MARY: The stone was erected by a group of her friends.
MYCROFT: I dont know what you think youll find here.
SHERLOCK: I need to try!
(They walk past the rear of the gravestone theyre looking for. On the front is carved:
EMELIA RICOLETTI
BELOVED SISTER
FAITHFUL BEYOND DEATH
DIED DECEMBER 18 1894
AGED 26
Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is standing beside Emelias grave holding the spade. The others are standing on
the path at the foot of the grave and some of the police officers are nearby, one of them also holding a
spade.
SHERLOCK: Mrs Ricoletti was buried here, but what happened to the other one, the corpse they substituted
for her after the so-called suicide?
JOHN: Theyd move it. Of course they would.
SHERLOCK: But where?
JOHN: Well, not here!
SHERLOCK: But that ... thats exactly what they must have done. The conspirators had someone on the
inside. They found a body just like Molly Hooper found a body for me when I ...
(John throws him a dark look and Mary raises her eyes to the heavens. Sherlock stops abruptly.)
SHERLOCK (looking down): Yeah, well, we dont need to go into all that again, do we?
(He shifts his grip on the spade, ready to start digging.)
JOHN: Youre not seriously gonna do this?
SHERLOCK: Its why we came here! I need to know.
(He bends forward to the grave.)
JOHN (turning away): Spoken like an addict.
SHERLOCK (straightening up to look at him): This is important to me!
JOHN (turning back): No this is you needing a fix.
SHERLOCK: John ...
JOHN: Moriartys back. We have a case! We have a real-life problem right now.
SHERLOCK: Getting to that! Its next on the list! Just let me do this.
(Again he bends to the grave.)
JOHN (loudly): No, everyone always lets you do whatever you want. Thats how you got in this state.
SHERLOCK (straightening up again): John, please ...
JOHN (angrily): Im not playing this time, Sherlock, not any more.
(He steps back, flexing his left hand, then speaks more calmly.)
JOHN: When youre ready to go to work, give me a call.
(He takes Marys arm.)
JOHN: Im taking Mary home.
MARY (instantly): Youre what?
JOHN (instantly): Marys taking me home.
MARY: Better.
(They walk away. Mycroft walks over to where they were standing.)
MYCROFT: Hes right, you know.
SHERLOCK (loudly): So what if hes right? Hes always right. Its boring.
(He pauses, looking down, for a moment.)
SHERLOCK (more quietly): Will you help me?
(He looks across to Greg and then to Mycroft. The two of them exchange a look[, Mystradians go crazy with
delight] and then Mycroft shrugs and gestures down to the grave.)
MYCROFT: Cherchez la femme.
(Sherlock raises the spade and plunges it into the earth.)
HOURS LATER. Its night time and portable lights have been set up to illuminate the area. Sherlock, down to
just shirt and trousers, is almost neck deep in the grave as he shovels out the latest spadeful of earth. Next
to him Greg, also in shirtsleeves, is also digging. Both of them are wearing thick gloves. Mycroft stands next
to the grave, shining a flashlight down into the hole. Sherlock and Greg shovel out a few more loads and
then, when Sherlock plunges the spade down again, its met with a hollow thump. He slowly straightens up,
realising that they have reached the coffin.
Some time later Greg groans in pain as he and Sherlock, now out of the grave, bend down to lower the coffin
to the ground at its foot. Greg uses a crowbar to lever up one end of the coffin lid and then hands it to
Sherlock to lever up the other end. They then lift off the lid and set it down beside the coffin, inside which
illuminated by Mycrofts torch is a very rotted almost skeletal corpse with worms wriggling in the eye
sockets of the skull. Surrounding the corpse are the rotted remains of a wedding dress. Greg stays back and
Sherlock, leaning over the coffin, puts the back of his hand to his nose and mouth, presumably appalled by
the smell.
SHERLOCK: Urgh!
(Mycroft directs the light from his torch into the coffin. Kneeling down beside the coffin and breathing
heavily, Sherlock starts to rummage around and under the corpse, searching for a second body. There
clearly isnt one.)
MYCROFT: Oh dear. The cupboard is bare.
(Sherlock rises up on his knees and stares into the grave.)
SHERLOCK: They must have buried it underneath. They must have buried it underneath the coffin.
(Standing up and leaping over the coffin, he jumps down into the grave and starts grabbing handfuls of
earth, tossing them over the side of the hole. The other two walk to the edge of the grave and look down at
him, then straighten up and exchange another look. Greg sighs and they look down into the grave again as
Sherlock pants heavily while he continues throwing out handfuls of earth.)
LESTRADE: Bad luck, Sherlock.
(Sherlock continues frantically scrabbling in the grave.)
LESTRADE: Maybe they got rid of the body in another way.
MYCROFT: More than likely. At any rate, it was a very long time ago. We do have slightly more pressing
matters to hand, little brother. Moriarty, back from the dead?
(Sherlock is still frenetically pawing handfuls of earth together, but stops when a harsh female voice begins
to whisper.)
VOICE (rhythmically, as if reciting lyrics to a song): Do not forget me.
(He raises his head and turns. Up above, both Greg and Mycroft turn and look towards the coffin, clearly
hearing the voice as well.)
VOICE (harshly whispering): Do not forget me.
(Mycroft shines his torch into the coffin. Gregs jaw drops, and Mycroft stares in disbelief as the corpses
skeletal right hand begins to lift from where it was resting on the bodys chest. It slowly straightens out. As
Sherlock frowns at the sound of creaking bones, the coffin seems to shake and the corpses head begins to
lift up. A womans furious scream can be heard, and Sherlocks eyes widen as the skeleton plunges into the
grave on top of him. It flattens him to the floor ...
... and Holmes starts violently and wakes up to find himself lying on his side on a narrow rocky ledge. Water
is pouring over him as if it is raining heavily.)
HOLMES (sounding exasperated as he props himself up onto one elbow): Oh, I see. Still not awake, am I?
(He shifts position and turns to look along the ledge. Behind him, beyond the end of the ledge a few feet
away, a massive waterfall plunges over the side of the mountain. A few yards in the other direction,
Professor Moriarty stands looking at him. In the distance, a full moon lights up the night sky. Holmes
grimaces and pulls down the visor of his deerstalker hat, trying to keep the water out of his eyes.)
MORIARTY: Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep.
(Holmes stumbles to his feet.)
MORIARTY: Congratulations. Youll be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace.
(Holmes has been looking towards the waterfall but now turns to face him.)
HOLMES (gesturing behind him): The settings a shade melodramatic, dont you think?
MORIARTY: For you and me? (He looks up at the spray splashing over him.) Not at all.
HOLMES: What are you?
MORIARTY: You know what I am. Im Moriarty. (In a slightly sarcastic voice) The Napoleon of crime.
HOLMES (firmly): Moriartys dead.
MORIARTY: Not in your mind. (He shakes his head.) Ill never be dead there. You once called your brain a
hard drive. (He starts to walk forward.) Well, say hello to the virus. This is how we end, you and I. Always
here, always together.
(Holmes starts to walk slowly towards his nemesis, who has now stopped.)
HOLMES: You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty. I admire it.
(Moriarty smiles a little.)
HOLMES: I concede it may be even be the equal of my own.
(Moriartys smile widens.)
MORIARTY: Im touched. Im honoured.
HOLMES: But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice ...
(Moriartys smile has dropped.)
HOLMES: ... youre going in the water ...
(He pauses for a moment.)
HOLMES: ... short-arse.
(Moriarty hisses and lashes out, jabbing his fingers into Holmes throat, who chokes and stumbles back, his
deerstalker falling off as he clutches at his throat. Moriarty surges forward and grabs Holmes ears, shoving
him against the rock wall. Holmes roughly pushes him away, then as Moriarty straightens up, Holmes
punches him in the face. As he breathes heavily, Moriarty turns back to face him.)
MORIARTY (loudly): Oh, you think youre so big and strong, Sherlock! Not with me!
(He punches Holmes in the face. The impact spins Holmes around and sends him falling to the ground.
Getting up again, Holmes turns back and swings another punch but Moriarty blocks it and seizes his arm and
shoves him hard, sending him falling to the ground on his front, his head almost over the drop at the end of
the ledge. Breathing heavily, Holmes struggles to turn over onto his back. As he finally makes it, Moriarty
walks forward to stand over him.)
MORIARTY (yelling): I am your WEAKNESS!
(Crying out with rage, he kicks Holmes in the head, flattening him to the rock floor.)
MORIARTY (yelling): I keep you DOWN!
(He kicks Holmes in the side, making him grunt with pain. Moriarty drops to his knees and leans forward,
yelling into his enemys face.)
MORIARTY: Every time you STUMBLE, every time you FAIL, when youre WEAK ...
(Holmes is grimacing under the verbal onslaught. Moriarty punches him in the chest as he stands up.)
MORIARTY: I ... AM ... (he bends and punches his chest again) ... THERE!
(He drops to his knees as Holmes tries to sit up. He seizes Holmes coat while Holmes flails uselessly at him.)
MORIARTY: No. Dont try to fight it. LIE BACK AND LOSE!
(He straightens up, hauling Holmes to his feet. They struggle for a moment but Moriarty has the upper hand
and shoves Holmes sideways, clinging to his arm with one hand and grasping the side of his head with the
other and bending him over the side of the ledge.)
MORIARTY (harshly, loudly): Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesnt it? At the end, its
always just you ... (he screams the next words manically into Holmes face) ... AND ME!
(Behind them, a very familiar male voice clears its throat. Moriarty looks round and a few feet away Watson,
smiling slightly, lifts his revolver with the muzzle pointed skywards and cocks it before pointing it forward.)
WATSON: Professor, if you wouldnt mind stepping away from my friend. I do believe he finds your attention
a shade annoying.
(Holmes, a slight smile on his face, lifts his hands away from Moriarty, who releases him with a frustrated
look.)
MORIARTY: Thats not fair. Theres two of you!
WATSON: Theres always two of us. Dont you read The Strand?
(He tosses Holmes deerstalker towards his friend, who catches it and sniffs nonchalantly as he puts it on.
Watson gestures with his revolver.)
WATSON: On your knees, Professor.
(Looking both bewildered and exasperated, Moriarty drops to his knees at the side of the ledge, facing the
drop.)
WATSON: Hands behind your head.
(Looking up briefly at Holmes, Moriarty does as instructed.)
HOLMES: Thank you, John.
WATSON: Since when do you call me John?
HOLMES: Youd be surprised. (He smiles.)
WATSON: No I wouldnt. (He smiles back briefly, then looks down towards Moriarty.) Time you woke up,
Sherlock.
(He raises his gaze to Holmes again, who had been looking away but now turns to look at him.)
WATSON: Im a storyteller. I know when Im in one.
HOLMES: Of course. Of course you do, John. (He smiles again.)
WATSON: So whats he like? The other me, in the other place?
HOLMES: Smarter than he looks.
WATSON: Pretty damned smart, then.
HOLMES (smiling): Pretty damned smart.
(As they smile at each other, Moriarty makes a disgusted noise.)
MORIARTY: Urgh. Why dont you two just elope, for Gods sake?
WATSON: Impertinent!
HOLMES: Offensive.
WATSON: Actually ... (he lowers his revolver) ... would you mind?
HOLMES: Not at all.
(Watson walks forward to stand behind Moriarty, then lifts his right foot and firmly kicks him in the back,
sending him forward over the edge. Moriarty screams as he falls. Watson steps forward and he and Holmes
look down into the abyss below them. As Moriartys scream ends, Watson straightens up and looks at his
friend.)
WATSON: It was my turn.
HOLMES: Quite so.
WATSON: So, how do you plan to wake up?
HOLMES (looking around the area for a moment): Ohhh, I should think like this.
(He steps onto the rim of the ledge.)
WATSON: Are you sure?
(Holmes turns to look at him.)
HOLMES: Between you and me, John, I always survive a fall.
WATSON: But how?
HOLMES (facing forward again): Elementary, my dear Watson.
(Taking off his deerstalker, he tosses it into the abyss and then, bending his knees slightly, he leaps forward,
spreading his arms wide, and plunges into the void. Falling horizontally and facing downwards with his arms
still outspread, he starts to smile. He flies ever downwards, his smile widening and becoming a happy grin as
he falls.)
Sitting in the plane parked on the airfields tarmac, Sherlock jerks awake and opens his eyes. They are a
little glassy and the pupils are rather dilated. Someones hand is leaning on the headrest beside his head. He
looks around in confusion for a moment, then his eyes settle on something specific. He smiles.
SHERLOCK: Miss me?
(Its John who is leaning over him and to whom he addressed the question. Mary is in front of Sherlocks
seat, bending forward and looking worriedly at him. Mycroft is in the middle of the aisle a few paces behind
her.)