In the National Antiquities Museum, an ancient Chinese clay tea set has been arranged on a tray. Oriental flute music is playing gently. A young Chinese woman, Soo Lin Yao, takes a large pinch of tea leaves from a bowl and sprinkles them into a teapot before pouring water on top of them. A group of children and a few adults are watching her demonstration.

SOO LIN: The great artisans say the more the teapot is used, the more beautiful it becomes.

(She has deliberately overfilled the pot so that when she picks up the lid and gently presses it down into place, water spills out over the sides of the pot. Now she picks up a small jug and pours more liquid over the top of the pot.)

SOO LIN: The pot is seasoned by repeatedly pouring tea over the surface. The deposit left on the clay creates this beautiful patina over time.

(She holds up the wet teapot to show her audience how the pot is shining.)

SOO LIN: For some pots, the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago.

Some time later, the visitors have left and Soo Lin is gently drying and dusting off the tea set with a brush.

TANNOY ANNOUNCEMENT: This museum will be closing in ten minutes.

(A young English male employee, Andy Galbraith, walks over. He stands behind her and watches as she carefully packs the tea set into a box.)

Andy (in a joking tone): Four hundred years old, and they’re lettin’ you use it to make yourself a brew!

SOO LIN (not turning around): Some things aren’t supposed to sit behind glass. They’re made to be touched; to be handled.

(She turns and looks at him. Andy – who clearly has a massive crush on her – looks back at her all doe-eyed. She turns back to the box and frowns.)

SOO LIN: These pots need attention. (She holds up a dry-looking pot with no shine on it.) The clay is cracking.

ANDY: Well, I can’t see how a tiny splash of tea’s gonna help.

(He grins nervously.)

SOO LIN: Sometimes you have to look hard at something to see its value.

(She puts the teapot down as Andy steels himself to say something. Just as he opens his mouth she lifts up another pot to show him.)

SOO LIN: See? This one shines a little brighter.

(Andy braces himself.)

ANDY: I don’t suppose ... um, I mean, I don’t suppose that you ... you wanna have a drink? (He grimaces.) Not tea, obviously. Um, in a pub, with me, tonight ... umm.

(Soo Lin puts the pot down, still not looking at him.)

SOO LIN: You wouldn’t like me all that much.

ANDY: Couldn’t I maybe decide that for myself?

(She hesitates, but then briefly glances towards him.)

SOO LIN: I can’t. I’m sorry. Please stop asking.

(She closes the box.)

A little later, the main entrance doors to the museum are closed for the night and most of the lights are turned off. Down in the basement archive, Soo Lin is in one of the stacks, presumably putting her equipment away. There’s a noise nearby.

SOO LIN (calling out): Is that Security?

(There’s no response, and after an anxious pause she walks out of the stacks and looks around.)

SOO LIN: Hello?

(To her right, a tall and narrow object is covered with a white sheet which billows in a breeze. She nervously walks closer to the object, then hesitantly takes hold of the sheet and pulls it down. Whatever she sees underneath makes her face fill with horror and fear.)

Opening titles.

SUPERMARKET. John Watson is standing at one of two self-service checkouts, scanning items from his basket. A short queue has formed behind him. John scans another item.

AUTOMATED VOICE: Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again.

221B BAKER STREET. In the living room of the flat, Sherlock Holmes is under attack from a heavily robed figure, his face and head almost completely shrouded in a variety of scarves. As the attacker slashes at him with a curved sword, Sherlock backs up carefully and ducks this way and that to avoid the blows. The man backs Sherlock up as far as the sofa and takes another swing at him. Ducking under the sword, Sherlock drops onto the sofa in a sitting position. The attacker lifts his sword above his head with both hands and Sherlock raises a leg, kicking hard at the man’s chest and shoving him backwards. As the man stumbles back across the room, Sherlock gets to his feet and takes an all-important moment to straighten his jacket before charging across the room towards the man.

In the supermarket, John holds a lettuce in a plastic bag and moves it slowly across the scanner in an attempt to get it to read the barcode.

AUTOMATED VOICE: Item not scanned. Please try again.

(John straightens up, staring at the device in exasperation.)

JOHN: D’you think you could keep your voice down?

In the flat, the attacker has his sword held horizontally in both hands and is pushing Sherlock backwards into the kitchen. With a tight grip on the man’s wrists, Sherlock falls back onto the kitchen table and the man follows him down, trying to press the edge of the blade into Sherlock’s throat. Grimacing with the effort, Sherlock pushes the man’s right wrist upwards to keep the blade from cutting him. The point of the sword begins to dig into the table to Sherlock’s right. Sherlock raises his left leg and knees the man in the side several times and, as this begins to weaken the man’s grip, Sherlock forces himself upwards again. The sword tip gouges a long slash across the top of the table.

In the supermarket, John has at last got everything scanned and has inserted his credit or debit card into the chip-and-PIN machine. He types in his PIN and waits.

AUTOMATED VOICE: Card not authorised. Please use an alternative method of payment.

JOHN: Yes, all right! I’ve got it!

AUTOMATED VOICE: Card not authorised. Please use an alternative method of payment.

(The man in the queue behind him has already picked up his own basket in expectation of getting to the scanner soon. John reaches towards his back pocket but apparently realises that he has no other way of paying.)

JOHN: Got nothing.

(He points at the machine.)

JOHN: Right, keep it. Keep that.

(As the man behind him looks on in surprise, John angrily walks away, abandoning his shopping and quite possibly his card as well.)

In the flat, Sherlock is on his feet again and the fight has moved back into the living room. The attacker takes another swing at Sherlock who ducks underneath the sword and then quickly straightens up, pointing directly over the man’s shoulder.

SHERLOCK: Look!

(The man has already half turned in that direction with the swing of his sword and is also perhaps momentary distracted by their reflections in the mirror over the fireplace behind him. Sherlock takes advantage and swings a powerful uppercut to the man’s chin, and the man drops unconscious into Sherlock’s armchair. Sherlock straightens up and immediately checks his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs and then dusting himself down. He looks down at the man with disdain, as if indignant that he messed his suit up.)

Some time later Sherlock is sitting in his armchair calmly reading a book. There is no sign of the attacker. John walks up the stairs and into the living room, stopping just inside the room and looking around as if he suspects that something has happened in his absence, but he can’t tell what.

SHERLOCK (not looking up): You took your time.

JOHN: Yeah, I didn’t get the shopping.

SHERLOCK (looking over the top of his book indignantly): What? Why not?

JOHN (tetchily): Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine.

SHERLOCK (lowering his book a little): You ... you had a row with a machine?

[It won’t be the last time that John argues with a ‘machine’, Sherlock baby, but let’s not go there right now ...]

JOHN: Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?

(Sherlock holds back his amused smile and nods towards the kitchen.)

SHERLOCK: Take my card.

(John walks towards the kitchen where Sherlock’s wallet is lying on the table, but before he gets there he turns back to his flatmate indignantly.)

JOHN: You could always go yourself, you know. You’ve been sitting there all morning. You’ve not even moved since I left.

(Sherlock briefly flashes back in his mind to the fight as he ducks under a swing from the attacker’s sword. [And oh my goodness can you see how the blade cuts right into The Coat hanging on the back of the door?! *cries*] He tries to look nonchalant as he turns the page of his book while John picks up the wallet from the table and rummages through it for a suitable payment card.)

JOHN: And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?

SHERLOCK: Not interested.

(Using a piece of paper as a bookmark he shuts the book with a loud snap, and only then realises that the attacker’s sword is still lying underneath his chair in plain view. He quickly slams a foot down onto the end and slides his foot and the sword further back to get the weapon out of sight.)

SHERLOCK (firmly): I sent them a message.

(Flashback to his uppercut that ended the fight.)

(John has now found a card he can use, but pauses to bend over to look more closely at the new long narrow gouge in the top of the table. He sighs and runs his finger along the cut, rubbing at it in case it’s just a mark that can be removed.)

JOHN (in an exasperated whisper): Ugh, Holmes.

(Looking across to his flatmate, he tuts pointedly. Sherlock shakes his head innocently. John turns and leaves the room, trotting down the stairs as Sherlock smirks.)

Later, John staggers up the stairs carrying several bags of shopping.

JOHN (sarcastically): Don’t worry about me. I can manage.

(Sherlock, who is now sitting at the dining table with his hands folded in front of his mouth as he looks at a laptop screen, barely glances across to John, who sighs heavily as he carries the bags into the kitchen and dumps them onto the table. Sherlock is engrossed in reading an e-mail from someone called Sebastian Wilkes. The full e-mail isn’t shown but what text can be seen reveals that Sherlock and Sebastian haven’t seen each other for a long time. Sebastian has heard that Sherlock is now a consultant – or a consulting detective – and tells him that “There’s been an ‘incident’ at the bank” which he hopes that Sherlock may be able to sort out. He asks him to drop by and says that he’ll be relying on Sherlock’s discretion. John turns around from the kitchen table and frowns as he realises which piece of equipment Sherlock is looking at.)

JOHN: Is that my computer?

SHERLOCK (starting to type): Of course.

JOHN: What?!

SHERLOCK: Mine was in the bedroom.

[“The bedroom”. He said “the bedroom”, not “my bedroom”. Just sayin’. *whistles innocently*]

JOHN: What, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up?

(Sherlock doesn’t reply.)

JOHN (indignantly): It’s password protected!

SHERLOCK (still typing): In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. (He glances up at John.) Not exactly Fort Knox.

JOHN (annoyed): Right, thank you.

(He reaches over and slams the lid down as Sherlock pulls his fingers out of the way just in time. John then takes the laptop across the room and puts it down on the floor beside his armchair as he sits down. Sherlock clasps his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth as he props his elbows on the table and looks thoughtful. John picks up a small pile of letters from the table beside his chair and frowns.)

JOHN: Oh.

(He flicks through the letters, at least one of which appears to be a red bill which needs urgent paying. He shakes his head in resignation.)

JOHN: Need to get a job.

SHERLOCK: Oh, dull.

(He seems to be lost in thought. John puts the letters back onto the table and looks across at his friend for a moment, but then glances at the bills again and awkwardly sits forward.)

JOHN: Listen, um ... if you’d be able to lend me some ...

(He stops as he realises that Sherlock appears to be a world of his own.)

JOHN: Sherlock, are you listening?

SHERLOCK (without looking round): I need to go to the bank.

(He gets up and heads towards the stairs, taking his coat from the hook on the door as he goes [so thankfully it was undamaged by that nasty man who was so carelessly flashing his sword around. *pets the indestructible Coat*]. John frowns, then jumps up and hurries to join him.)

TOWER 42, OLD BROAD STREET. Sherlock leads John through revolving glass doors which lead into Shad Sanderson Bank. John stares at the impressive foyer as he follows his friend.

JOHN: Yes, when you said we were going to the bank ...

(He gets onto an escalator behind Sherlock as the detective observes everything around him, especially the security systems which have to have cards swiped across electronic readers in order to open glass barrier gates. The boys reach the top of the escalator and Sherlock walks over to the reception desk and addresses one of the receptionists.)

SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes.

A little later the boys have been shown into Sebastian Wilkes’ office and now he walks in and grins at Sherlock.

SEBASTIAN: Sherlock Holmes.

SHERLOCK: Sebastian.

(They shake hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock’s hand in both of his own.)

SEBASTIAN: Howdy, buddy. How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?

(Sherlock looks back at him with only marginally disguised dislike. Sebastian turns to look at John.)

SHERLOCK: This is my friend, John Watson.

SEBASTIAN (latching on to the emphasised word): Friend?

JOHN: Colleague.

SEBASTIAN: Right.

(They shake hands, Sebastian looking at John curiously.)

SEBASTIAN: Right.

(He throws a brief look at Sherlock as if saying, ‘Didn’t think you had a friend!’ Grinning unpleasantly, he scratches his neck momentarily and Sherlock’s gaze falls on his wristwatch. As Sebastian turns away, John purses his lips as if he has taken an instant dislike to the man; either that or he’s regretting correcting Sherlock.)

SEBASTIAN: Well, grab a pew. D’you need anything? Coffee, water?

(Sherlock shakes his head.)

JOHN: No.

SEBASTIAN: No? (To his secretary) We’re all sorted here, thanks.

(As the secretary leaves the room, Sebastian sits down at his desk and the other two sit side by side opposite him.)

SHERLOCK: So, you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot.

SEBASTIAN: Well, some.

SHERLOCK: Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?

(John frowns in confusion but Sebastian just laughs and points at Sherlock.)

SEBASTIAN: Right. You’re doing that thing.

(He looks at John.)

SEBASTIAN: We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do.

SHERLOCK (quietly): It’s not a trick.

SEBASTIAN (to John): He could look at you and tell you your whole life story.

JOHN: Yes, I’ve seen him do it.

SEBASTIAN: Put the wind up everybody. We hated him.

(Sherlock turns his head away and looks down, his face momentarily filling with pain. To this day your transcriber cannot understand how Benedict didn’t win a BAFTA for that stupendous moment of acting alone.)

SEBASTIAN: You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night.

SHERLOCK (quietly): I simply observed.

SEBASTIAN: Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you’re quite right. How could you tell?

(Sherlock opens his mouth but Sebastian continues speaking.)

SEBASTIAN (smugly): You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan.

(John smiles.)

SHERLOCK: No, I ...

SEBASTIAN (talking over him): Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!

(Sherlock simply looks back at him for a moment before speaking.)

SHERLOCK: I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.

(John frowns round at him, confused by such an ‘ordinary’ explanation. Sebastian laughs humourlessly and Sherlock smiles back at him with an equal lack of humour. Sebastian claps his hands together, then becomes more serious.)

SEBASTIAN: I’m glad you could make it over. We’ve had a break-in.

(He leads them across the trading floor towards another door.)

SEBASTIAN: Sir William’s office – the bank’s former Chairman. The room’s been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night.

JOHN: What did they steal?

SEBASTIAN: Nothing. Just left a little message.

(He holds his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. Hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk is a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit – presumably the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone has sprayed what looks like a graffiti ‘tag’ in yellow paint. The tag looks vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it is an almost horizontal straight line. And across the eyes of the portrait another almost horizontal straight line has been sprayed. Perhaps because of the texture of the paper or perhaps because the ‘artist’ oversprayed the line, the yellow paint has run trails down the painting. Sebastian leads the way towards the desk and then steps aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moves to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looks at Sherlock expectantly as the detective stares in fixed concentration at the graffiti.)

(Later they’re back in Sebastian’s office and he is showing the boys the security footage of the office from the previous night.)

SEBASTIAN: Sixty seconds apart.

(He flicks back and forth between the still taken at 23:34:01 which shows the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and a minute earlier – 23:33:01 – when the wall and portrait were still clean.)

SEBASTIAN: So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute.

SHERLOCK: How many ways into that office?

SEBASTIAN: Well, that’s where this gets really interesting.

Back in the reception area, Sebastian shows them a screen on a computer which has a layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door has a light against it showing its security status.

SEBASTIAN: Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet.

SHERLOCK: That door didn’t open last night.

SEBASTIAN: There’s a hole in our security. Find it and we’ll pay you – five figures.

(He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and takes out a cheque.)

SEBASTIAN: This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there’s a bigger one on its way.

SHERLOCK: I don’t need an incentive, Sebastian.

(He walks away. John watches him go, then turns to Sebastian.)

JOHN: He’s, uh, he’s kidding you, obviously.

(He holds his hand out.)

JOHN: Sh-shall I look after that for him?

(Sebastian hands him the cheque.)

JOHN: Thanks.

(He looks at the figure on the cheque and shakes his head in disbelief that that’s only the advance.)

Sherlock has returned to Sir William’s office and is taking photographs of the graffiti on his mobile phone. Once he has taken several pictures he turns around, the symbols still floating in front of his mind’s eye. He looks to his right where the floor-to-ceiling windows show an impressive view of the nearby Swiss Re Tower, better known as ‘The Gherkin’. Frowning and looking away in thought for a moment, he then walks over to the windows and pulls up the blinds which are covering what is revealed to be a door onto a small balcony. Opening the door he goes out onto the balcony and looks at the spectacular view over London before looking down at the very long drop to the ground hundreds of feet below. Viewers who’ve seen Season 2 whimper quietly. Sherlock looks along the balcony and bites his lip thoughtfully before heading back inside.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is dancing. On the trading floor he has ducked down behind a desk and now rises slowly upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William’s office. He then ducks sideways and hurries across the floor, to the bemusement of a Random Sexy Extra and other traders. Sherlock continues to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He dances across the floor again and twirls around a column [please note how our super-strong Sherlock knocks it sideways!] before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor. Stopping in that doorway, he wiggles about, his eyes still fixed on Sir William’s office, then turns and goes into the office and heads to the other side of the desk. Standing directly behind the chair of whoever works in that room, he sees that he has a clear view of the top of the painting and the new yellow slash across the portrait’s eyes. He dances sideways across the room before coming back to his previous position, confirming that this is the only place on the trading floor where the damaged portrait can be seen. Looking around the room for some identification, he eventually goes to the door where two signs are attached to the outside, one showing that this is the office of the Hong Kong Desk Head, and the sign above it giving the name of that person – Edward Van Coon. He slides the top sign out of its holder and heads off.

Not long afterwards, Sherlock is leading John back towards the escalators.

JOHN: Two trips around the world this month. You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him.

(Sherlock smiles but doesn’t respond.)

JOHN: How did you know?

SHERLOCK: Did you see his watch?

(Brief flashback to Sherlock looking at Sebastian’s wrist as he scratched his neck.)

JOHN: His watch?

SHERLOCK: The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn’t alter it.

JOHN: Within a month? How’d you get that part?

SHERLOCK: New Breitling.

(Flashback close-up on the watch showing its brand name: Breitling Chronometre Crosswind.)

SHERLOCK: Only came out this February.

JOHN: Okay. So d’you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?

SHERLOCK: Got everything I need to know already, thanks.

JOHN: Hmm?

SHERLOCK: That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and ...

(He deliberately trails off, allowing John to finish the sentence.)

JOHN: ... they’ll lead us to the person who sent it.

SHERLOCK: Obvious.

JOHN: Well, there’s three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?

SHERLOCK: Pillars.

JOHN: What?

SHERLOCK: Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot.

JOHN: Does it?

(Sherlock continues talking as he and John go through the revolving doors and out onto the street.)

SHERLOCK: Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight.

(He holds up the name card to show John.)

SHERLOCK: Not many Van Coons in the phonebook.

(He spots what he immediately needs and calls out loudly.)

SHERLOCK: Taxi!

After a taxi ride, they are outside a block of flats and Sherlock presses the door buzzer marked ‘Van Coon’. Releasing it, he looks into the security camera above the buzzers, waits a couple of seconds, then presses the buzzer again. There’s no response.

JOHN: So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?

(Sherlock has looked at the number of buzzers on the wall and steps back to look up the front of the building, presumably calculating the layout of the flats inside. He comes back to the wall and looks at John triumphantly.)

SHERLOCK: Just moved in.

JOHN: What?

SHERLOCK: The floor above. New label.

(He points to another buzzer which has a handwritten label saying, ‘Wintle’.)

JOHN: Could have just replaced it.

(Sherlock presses that buzzer, then looks at John again.)

SHERLOCK: No-one ever does that.

(A woman’s voice comes over the intercom.)

MS WINTLE: Hello?

(Sherlock turns to the camera and smiles, putting on a ‘I’m just a normal harmless human being’ voice.)

SHERLOCK: Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don’t think we’ve met.

(He grins prettily into the camera.)

MS WINTLE: No, well, uh, I’ve just moved in.

(Sherlock turns to throw a brief ‘told you so’ glance at John, then turns back to the camera.)

SHERLOCK: Actually, I’ve just locked my keys in my flat.

(He grimaces and bites his lip plaintively.)

MS WINTLE: D’you want me to buzz you in?

SHERLOCK: Yeah. And can I use your balcony?

MS WINTLE: What?

Not long afterwards, Sherlock has flirted his way into the lucky Ms Wintle’s flat and is standing on her balcony. He looks over it to the ground several floors below, and once again Season 2 viewers stifle a sob. Luckily for him, the top floor which he is on has balconies which only run halfway across the front of the flat whereas the floor below has full-width balconies. He climbs over the side of Ms Wintle’s balcony and drops down onto the one outside Van Coon’s flat. Taking another look over the edge [bloody well stop doing that, Sherlock!], he turns and reaches for the handle of the door and finds that it is unlocked, which is a jolly good thing or he’d still be sitting there now waiting for Lestrade to turn up with many many colleagues who would want to take photographs of him stranded out there. He goes inside and walks across the very elegantly decorated living room. This is clearly the apartment of a wealthy man, with white leather furniture, shiny black tables and minimal clutter. He looks at everything as he goes through the room, and glances at a pile of books on a table. He walks through the kitchen, looking at the work surface before opening the fridge to reveal that it’s full of nothing other than bottles of champagne. The front door to the flat buzzes.

JOHN (from the other side of the door): Sherlock.

(Sherlock moves into the hall.)

JOHN (from outside): Sherlock, are you okay?

(Sherlock opens the door to the small bathroom and glances inside at the few items on the shelf opposite. He shuts the door and walks to a larger door which is closed. He tries it and finds that it’s locked.)

JOHN (from outside): Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in.

(Sherlock turns side-on and shoulder-charges the door and it bursts open. He walks inside and finds a man in a suit and overcoat lying on his back on the bed, dead. There is a pistol on the floor, and the man has a small bullet hole in his right temple.)

Later, the police have been called and a photographer is taking pictures of Van Coon’s body lying on the bed. A forensics officer is dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror, and distant voices suggest that other forensics officers are elsewhere in the flat. Sherlock has taken his coat off and is in the bedroom putting on a pair of latex gloves. John stands beside him.

JOHN: D’you think he’d lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys.

SHERLOCK: We don’t know that it was suicide.

JOHN: Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony.

(Sherlock has squatted down by a suitcase on the floor near the bed and has opened the lid and is looking at the contents.)

SHERLOCK: Been away three days, judging by the laundry.

(He sees that there’s a deep indentation in the clothing inside the case, then straightens up and looks at John.)

SHERLOCK: Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it.

JOHN: Thanks – I’ll take your word for it.

SHERLOCK: Problem?

JOHN: Yeah, I’m not desperate to root around some bloke’s dirty underwear.

SHERLOCK (walking to the foot of the bed): Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?

JOHN: What, some sort of code?

SHERLOCK: Obviously.

(Having looked closely at Van Coon’s legs – or possibly his shoes – he moves up and carefully opens the man’s jacket to look at his inside pockets.)

SHERLOCK: Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?

JOHN: Well, maybe he wasn’t answering.

SHERLOCK: Oh good. You follow.

JOHN: No.

(Sherlock throws him a look before moving on to examine Van Coon’s hands.)

SHERLOCK: What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?

(John frowns in confusion.)

SHERLOCK: What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?

JOHN: Bills.

(Sherlock gently prises Van Coon’s mouth open and pulls out a small black origami flower from inside. Air hisses out from the dead man’s lungs.)

SHERLOCK: Yes. He was being threatened.

MAN’s VOICE (outside the bedroom): Bag this up, will you ...

JOHN (looking closely at the paper flower as Sherlock lifts an evidence bag to put the flower into it): Not by the gas board.

MAN’s VOICE: ... and see if you can get prints off this glass.

(The man – a plain clothed police officer who looks so young to your ancient transcriber that she feels he really ought to be in his own bedroom doing his school homework – walks into the bedroom. Sherlock turns and walks towards him.)

SHERLOCK: Ah, Sergeant. We haven’t met.

(He offers his hand to shake. The young man puts his hands on his hips.)

MAN: Yeah, I know who you are; and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any of the evidence.

(Lowering his hand, Sherlock gives the evidence bag to the officer and turns his best stroppy look on him.)

SHERLOCK: I’ve phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?

MAN: He’s busy. I’m in charge. And it’s not Sergeant; it’s Detective Inspector. Dimmock.

(Sherlock looks at him in surprise [See? He agrees with me that this boy is far too young to even be in the police, let alone have advanced to D.I. rank], then turns and shares his surprised look with John. Dimmock walks out of the room. The boys follow him into the living room and he hands the bag to one of the forensics team.)

DIMMOCK: We’re obviously looking at a suicide.

JOHN: That does seem the only explanation of all the facts.

(Sherlock takes his gloves off and turns back to him.)

SHERLOCK: Wrong. It’s one possible explanation of some of the facts.

(He turns to Dimmock.)

SHERLOCK: You’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.

DIMMOCK: Like?

SHERLOCK: The wound was on the right side of his head.

DIMMOCK: And?

SHERLOCK: Van Coon was left-handed.

(He goes into an elaborate mime as he demonstrates his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand.)

SHERLOCK: Requires quite a bit of contortion.

DIMMOCK: Left-handed?

SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Oh, I’m amazed you didn’t notice. All you have to do is look around this flat.

(He points to the table beside the sofa.)

SHERLOCK: Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left ...

(Close-up of a double socket on the wall with a plug only in the left-hand socket.)

SHERLOCK: Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D’you want me to go on?

JOHN (tiredly): No, I think you’ve covered it.

SHERLOCK: Oh, I might as well; I’m almost at the bottom of the list.

(John nods as if to say, ‘Yeah, I thought you might.’)

SHERLOCK (pointing towards the kitchen): There’s a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left.

(He turns to Dimmock with an impatient look on his face.)

SHERLOCK: It’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head.

[Says the man whose flatmate is left-handed but shoots with his right hand ...]

SHERLOCK: Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts.

DIMMOCK: But the gun: why ...

SHERLOCK (interrupting): He was waiting for the killer. He’d been threatened.

(He walks away and starts to put on his scarf, coat and gloves.)

DIMMOCK: What?

JOHN: Today at the bank. Sort of a warning.

SHERLOCK: He fired a shot when his attacker came in.

DIMMOCK: And the bullet?

SHERLOCK: Went through the open window.

DIMMOCK: Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!

SHERLOCK: Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn’t fired from his gun. I guarantee it.

DIMMOCK: But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?

SHERLOCK (condescendingly, as he dramatically slams his hand into his glove): Good! You’re finally asking the right questions.

(He turns and flounces out. John looks round at Dimmock and then points apologetically towards the departing drama queen before following him.)

RESTAURANT. Sebastian is having lunch with some clients or work colleagues.

SEBASTIAN (laughing): ... and he’s left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!

(Sherlock and John walk over to the table.)

SHERLOCK: It was a threat. That’s what the graffiti meant.

SEBASTIAN: I’m kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?

SHERLOCK: I don’t think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed.

SEBASTIAN: What?

JOHN: Van Coon. The police are at his flat.

SEBASTIAN (shocked): Killed?

SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Sorry to interfere with everyone’s digestion. Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o’clock at Scotland Yard suit?

(Sebastian puts his glass of water down and nervously runs his finger inside his shirt collar.)

Shortly afterwards, Sebastian and the boys have relocated to the toilets in the restaurant. Sebastian is washing his hands.

SEBASTIAN: Harrow; Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so ...

JOHN: ... you gave him the Hong Kong accounts.

SEBASTIAN (drying his hands on a towel): Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had.

JOHN: Who’d wanna kill him?

SEBASTIAN: We all make enemies.

JOHN: You don’t all end up with a bullet through your temple.

(Sebastian’s phone beeps a text alert.)

SEBASTIAN: Not usually. ’Scuse me.

(He gets his phone out and looks at the message.)

SEBASTIAN: It’s my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently they’re telling him it was a suicide.

SHERLOCK: Well, they’ve got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered.

SEBASTIAN: Well, I’m afraid they don’t see it like that.

SHERLOCK (sternly): Seb.

SEBASTIAN: ... and neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don’t get side-tracked.

(He walks away. John waits until he has left the room, then turns to Sherlock.)

JOHN: I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards(!)

EARL’S COURT. NIGHT TIME. An overweight bald man in his early forties is running frantically down the street, a hard backed book clasped in one hand. He looks repeatedly behind him as he runs. Reaching his front door, he whimpers as he fumbles with his door keys and finally gets the door open. Running upstairs, he unlocks the door to his flat and hurries inside, slamming the door and pushing a bolt across. He scurries up the flight of stairs leading to the main flat, throwing his book onto a pile of other books strewn all the way up the stairs, and runs into his living room. He stops in the middle of the room and then turns around, his face covered with sweat and his face full of terror at the sight which greets him.

[Transcriber’s note: those who’ve read the early draft script of this episode which was released online some time ago may know that it was intended that the frenetic drumbeat which we hear as the man turns around was actually meant to be heard by the man. In this finished version of the episode I don’t think that’s clear, and certainly I assumed until I read the draft script that it was simply dramatic backing music. Also, unless the killer was carrying a drum around with him, or had a boombox strapped to his back, I’m not sure how it could have happened anyway ...]

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. The museum’s Director walks across to Andy, who is sitting at a table cleaning an ancient pot.

DIRECTOR: I need you to get over to Crispians.

(She shows him a catalogue.)

DIRECTOR: Two Ming vases up for auction – Chenghua. Will you appraise them?

ANDY: Er, er, Soo Lin should go. She’s the expert.

DIRECTOR: Soo Lin has resigned her job. I need you.

(She walks away. Andy turns and looks sadly at Soo Lin’s table behind him.)

Later, he is standing outside the front door to Soo Lin’s flat. Her doorbell has a handwritten name tag above it, showing her name – Soo Lin Yao – with a flower drawn in place of the dot over the ‘i’ and a couple of other flowers in the right hand corners. Andy presses the doorbell, then steps back and looks up to the first floor windows of the flat which is above a shop called The Lucky Cat. The shop and flat are clearly located in London’s Chinatown. When nobody answers his ring, he rummages in his pockets, takes out an envelope and pen and scribbles a note on the envelope before bending down to the letterbox and pushing it through. He walks away.

In a doctor’s surgery, Doctor Sarah Sawyer is reading John’s printed Curriculum Vitae. She looks up at John sitting opposite her.

SARAH: Just locum work.

JOHN: No, that’s fine.

SARAH: You’re, um ... well, you’re a bit over-qualified.

JOHN (smiling): Er, I could always do with the money.

SARAH: Well, we’ve got two away on holiday this week, and one’s just left to have a baby. Might be a bit mundane for you.

JOHN: Er, no; mundane is good sometimes. Mundane works.

SARAH (softly): It says here you were a soldier.

JOHN: And a doctor.

(He smiles at her again. Sarah looks down. She clearly fancies him and will therefore have to be killed as soon as possible.)

SARAH: Anything else you can do?

JOHN: I learned the clarinet at school.

SARAH: Oh! (She laughs.) Well, I look forward to it!

(John laughs. She smiles flirtatiously at him and will therefore have to be killed as soon as possible. Did I mention that already?)

221B. Sherlock has printed out the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William’s portrait and has stuck them around the mirror above the fireplace. He is sitting on one of the dining chairs with his back to the dining table. He has his fingers steepled under his chin and is staring at the photos as various symbols in different languages flash in front of his mind’s eye. John walks in from the landing and drops his jacket onto his chair.

SHERLOCK (without looking round): I said, “Could you pass me a pen?”

(John looks around the living room as if expecting that Sherlock is talking to someone else.)

JOHN: What? When?

SHERLOCK: ’Bout an hour ago.

(John sighs.)

JOHN: Didn’t notice I’d gone out, then.

(He picks up a pen from the table beside his chair and, without even looking at Sherlock, tosses the pen in his direction. Sherlock lifts his left hand and catches it without looking away from the photographs on the wall. John walks over to the mirror to look more closely at the photos.)

JOHN: Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery.

SHERLOCK: How was it?

JOHN (absently): It’s great. She’s great.

SHERLOCK: Who?

JOHN (looking round to him): The job.

SHERLOCK: “She”?

JOHN: ... It.

(Sherlock looks at him suspiciously for a moment, clearly agreeing with me that ‘she’ will have to be killed as soon as possible, then jerks his head to his right.)

SHERLOCK: Here, have a look.

JOHN: Hmm?

(He walks over to the table and looks at the web page on the open computer. The lead article on the ‘Online News’ page is headlined, “Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police”. Next to it is a photograph of the bald man, and the article reads:An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl’s Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in...)

JOHN: The intruder who can walk through walls.

SHERLOCK: Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon.

JOHN (straightening up and looking at his flatmate): God. You think ...

SHERLOCK: He’s killed another one.

NEW SCOTLAND YARD. D.I. Dimmock sits at his desk and folds his arms in exasperation as Sherlock stands on the other side of the desk and types onto a laptop.

SHERLOCK: Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat ...

(He turns the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page which John was looking at earlier.)

SHERLOCK: ... doors locked from the inside.

JOHN: You’ve gotta admit, it’s similar.

(Dimmock scowls at the computer.)

JOHN: Both men killed by someone who can ... (he hesitates momentarily as if unable to believe what he’s about to say, but perseveres onwards) ... walk through solid walls.

SHERLOCK: Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?

(Dimmock squirms, not meeting his eyes. Sherlock looks up, exasperated, and sighs pointedly.)

SHERLOCK: You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?

DIMMOCK (nodding): Mmm.

SHERLOCK: And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?

DIMMOCK (reluctantly): No.

SHERLOCK: No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel.

(Dimmock looks back at him silently. Sherlock leans forward over the desk and speaks quietly but intensely into his face.)

SHERLOCK: I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry. (Louder, nodding towards the picture of Lukis on the computer) Five minutes in his flat.

LUKIS’ FLAT. Sherlock ducks under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs inside the door of the flat. He goes upstairs, followed by Dimmock and John. Looking around at everything as he goes, he walks into the living room. There’s an open empty suitcase on the floor. Nearby on the carpet is a black origami flower, similar to the one that Sherlock pulled from Van Coon’s mouth. There are books everywhere on the desk and on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. Several open newspapers are also lying on the floor. He walks over to the kitchen area and looks through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. Pushing the net curtain back for a better look, he smirks.)

SHERLOCK: Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they’re impregnable.

(He walks into the middle of the room again.)

SHERLOCK: They don’t reckon for one second that there’s another way in.

(He turns back towards the stairs and sees a skylight above the landing.)

DIMMOCK: I don’t understand.

SHERLOCK (going out onto the landing): You’re dealing with a killer who can climb.

(He hops up on something – maybe a step stool or a box – to get closer to the skylight which is high up on the angled roof.)

DIMMOCK: What are you doing?

SHERLOCK: He clings to the walls like an insect.

(He unhooks the latch and pushes the window upwards.)

SHERLOCK (softly): That’s how he got in.

DIMMOCK: What?!

SHERLOCK: Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight.

DIMMOCK: You’re not serious! Like Spiderman?(!)

SHERLOCK: He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon.

DIMMOCK (laughing in disbelief): Oh, ho-hold on!

SHERLOCK: And of course that’s how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace.

(He steps down onto the landing and looks around again.)

SHERLOCK: We have to find out what connects these two men.

(His eyes fall on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase. Jumping down a few stairs he picks up one particular book which has fallen open at its front page which shows that it has been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Slamming the book shut, he takes it with him as he heads off down the stairs.)

After a taxi journey during which they go right past the end of the road that your humble transcriber works in [why didn’t they drop in for coffee?], Sherlock and John are once again on an escalator, this time inside West Kensington Library. Sherlock finds his way to the aisle where Lukis’ book came from.

SHERLOCK: Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died.

(Checking the reference number stuck to the bottom of the book’s spine, he goes to the correct place along the shelves and starts pulling out books and examining them. John, probably just for something to do, pulls out some books on a nearby shelf on the other side of the aisle and immediately gets lucky.)

JOHN: Sherlock.

(Sherlock turns and sees John staring into the gap left by the books he removed. Stepping over to him, he kisses John’s ear [he does, if you freeze-frame it just right!] and then reaches to the shelf and pulls out so many books with one hand that your transcriber faints at the very thought of how wide that man’s hand span is. Pulling out another huge handful of books with his other hand, he reveals that spray painted on the back of the shelf are the same two symbols that were sprayed across Sir William Shad’s office.)

221B. Photographs of the shelf have been added to the earlier photos stuck around the mirror in the living room. The boys are standing at the fireplace looking at the pictures.

SHERLOCK: So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in.

(Flashback of a terrified Eddie Van Coon turning the key in the inside lock of his front door and fastening the safety chain before hurrying towards his bedroom.)

SHERLOCK: Hours later, he dies.

JOHN: The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it’ll be seen; Lukis goes home.

SHERLOCK: Late that night, he dies too.

JOHN (softly): Why did they die, Sherlock?

(Sherlock runs his fingers over the line painted across Sir William’s face.)

SHERLOCK: Only the cipher can tell us.

(He thoughtfully taps his finger against the photo as his expression sharpens. Apparently he has had an idea.)

TRAFALGAR SQUARE. The boys are walking through the centre of the square, heading towards the National Gallery.

SHERLOCK: The world’s run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment.

JOHN: Yes, okay, but ...

SHERLOCK: ... but it’s all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It’s an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won’t unravel it.

JOHN: Where are we headed?

SHERLOCK: I need to ask some advice.

JOHN: What?! Sorry?!

(Sherlock throws him a black look as John smiles in disbelief.)

SHERLOCK: You heard me perfectly. I’m not saying it again.

JOHN: You need advice?

SHERLOCK: On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert.

(He leads John towards the entrance to the National Gallery ...

... and straight around it to the rear of the building where a young man has spray-stencilled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image has a pig’s snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag is at the man’s feet and he is holding spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans he has sprayed his tag, “RAZ”, below the image and he is now adding the finishing touches to his ‘artwork’. He continues spraying, unperturbed, as Sherlock and John approach.)

RAZ: Part of a new exhibition.

SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): Interesting.

RAZ: I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy.

(He chuckles.)

JOHN: Catchy(!)

RAZ (still spraying): I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner.

(He looks round to Sherlock.)

RAZ: Can we do this while I’m workin’?

(Sherlock has taken his phone from his coat pocket and now holds it out towards Raz, who turns around and tosses one of the spray cans at John. John instinctively catches it, and looks at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment. Raz takes Sherlock’s phone and scrolls through the photographs of the yellow ciphers from Sir William’s office and the library.)

SHERLOCK: Know the author?

RAZ: Recognise the paint. It’s like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.

SHERLOCK: What about the symbols: d’you recognise them?

RAZ (squinting at the pictures): Not even sure it’s a proper language.

SHERLOCK: Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them.

RAZ: What, and this is all you’ve got to go on? It’s hardly much, now, is it?

SHERLOCK: Are you gonna help us or not?

RAZ: I’ll ask around.

SHERLOCK: Somebody must know something about it.

VOICE (offscreen): Oi!

(The three of them look round and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards them. Sherlock instantly grabs his phone from Raz and runs off in the opposite direction while Raz drops his spray can, kicks his bag towards John and also scarpers. John, the blithering idiot, meekly turns towards the officers.)

COMMUNITY OFFICER: What the hell do you think you’re doing? This gallery is a listed public building.

JOHN: No, no, wait, wait. It’s not me who painted that.

(He holds up the spray can.)

JOHN: I was just holding this for ...

(He turns and seems to realise for the first time that he has been abandoned. He sighs quietly. The officer kicks open the bag to reveal more spray cans inside, then looks at John pointedly.)

COMMUNITY OFFICER: Bit of an enthusiast, are we?

(John looks blankly at him and then stares at the graffiti on the door, apparently wondering how he’s going to explain his way out of this.)

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. Andy is pestering the museum’s Director about Soo Lin’s abrupt departure.

ANDY: She was right in the middle of an important piece of restoration. Why would she suddenly resign?

DIRECTOR: Family problems. She said so in her letter.

ANDY: But she doesn’t have a family. She came to this country on her own.

DIRECTOR: Andy ...

ANDY: Look, those teapots, those ceramics: they’ve become her obsession. She’s been working on restoring them for weeks. I-I can’t believe that she would just abandon them.

(The Director looks at him pointedly.)

DIRECTOR: Perhaps she was getting a bit of unwanted attention.

(She walks away. Andy looks round awkwardly at other colleagues in the room who have been listening in but who now abruptly turn away again.)

221B. Sherlock is standing at the fireplace again. The mirror is now almost completely covered because he has added several sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them. He has his head lowered and is consulting a book. A slamming door announces John’s return to the flat but since John immediately walks into the living room, I can only assume that he slammed the kitchen door shut as he walked past it – presumably the only way he can think of to signify that not only is he home but he is Mad As Hell.

SHERLOCK (without turning round or looking up): You’ve been a while.

(John walks a few more paces into the room, his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched. He stops, blinking as he fights to hold onto his anger, then turns to Sherlock.)

JOHN (tightly): Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don’t really like to be hurried, do they?

(He starts pacing, an angry half-smile half-grimace on his face.)

JOHN: Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I’ve gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday.

SHERLOCK (absently, having clearly not heard a word): What?

JOHN (angrily): Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. (He puts on a rough London accent.) They’re givin’ me an ASBO!

SHERLOCK (still not paying any attention): Good. Fine.

JOHN (tightly): You wanna tell your little pal he’s welcome to go and own up any time.

SHERLOCK (slamming his book shut): This symbol: I still can’t place it.

(Turning and putting the book down, he walks over to John who has just started to take his jacket off, and pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders.)

SHERLOCK: No, I need you to go to the police station ...

JOHN (indignantly, as Sherlock turns him around and steers him towards the door): Oy, oy, oy!

SHERLOCK: ... ask about the journalist.

JOHN (exasperated): Oh, Jesus!

SHERLOCK (grabbing his own coat from the back of the door): His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements.

(They go downstairs and out onto the street.)

SHERLOCK: Gonna go and see Van Coon’s P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they’ll coincide.

(He walks off down the street. John sees a taxi coming around the corner and hails it. As it pulls over to the kerb he sees an Oriental-looking woman with dark hair and wearing dark sunglasses standing on the other side of the road and taking a photograph. Her camera is aimed in his direction. He bends to the taxi driver’s window.)

JOHN: Scotland Yard.

TAXI DRIVER: Right.

(John gets into the back of the taxi and glances round to the other side of the road as he sits down. There’s no sign of the woman.)

SHAD SANDERSON BANK. Sherlock is in Van Coon’s office standing beside his personal assistant, Amanda, who is looking at an online calendar.

AMANDA: Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team.

SHERLOCK: Can you print me up a copy?

AMANDA: Sure.

SHERLOCK: What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?

AMANDA (looking at the screen): Sorry. Bit of a gap.

(The calendar shows no entries for Monday the 22nd. Sherlock looks away, frustrated. [Or maybe, like me, he has just realised that Eddie flew home on Friday and left all his dirty undies in his suitcase until Monday. Eww.] Amanda also realises something.)

AMANDA: I have all his receipts.

NEW SCOTLAND YARD. Dimmock is standing at a desk and rummaging through a box of Brian Lukis’ possessions. John stands at the other side.

DIMMOCK: Your friend ...

JOHN: Listen: whatever you say, I’m behind you one hundred percent.

DIMMOCK: ... he’s an arrogant sod.

JOHN: Well, that was mild! People say a lot worse than that.

(Dimmock hands him a diary.)

DIMMOCK: This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The journalist’s diary?

(John takes the diary and flicks through it, opening it at a page which has been bookmarked with a boarding pass to Dalian DLC [Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport] to London LHR [London Heathrow Airport] on Zhuang Airlines.)

SHAD SANDERSON BANK. Amanda has spread out Van Coon’s receipts on her desk.

SHERLOCK: What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?

AMANDA: Um, no. That’s not a word I’d use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag.

(Sherlock kneels down on the floor to give himself easier access to the receipts. As he is taking his gloves off he sees a pump-action bottle of luxury hand lotion at the back of the desk.)

SHERLOCK: Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn’t he?

(Fiddling nervously with a pin in her hair, Amanda looks at him in surprise. Sherlock shuffles through the paperwork and picks up a receipt from a licensed taxi. Dated 22 March 2010 and timed at 10:35, the receipt is for £18.50. He hands it up to Amanda.)

SHERLOCK: Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty.

AMANDA: That would get him to the office.

SHERLOCK: Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as ...

AMANDA: The West End. I remember him saying.

(Sherlock has now found a London Underground ticket with the same date on it and issued at “Picadilly” [which is mis-spelled]. He hands that up to Amanda.)

SHERLOCK: Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly.

AMANDA: So he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?

SHERLOCK (still going through the receipts): Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn’t want to lug a package up the escalator.

AMANDA: Delivering?

SHERLOCK: To somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Dropped the package, delivered it and then ...

(He finds another receipt and stands up as he looks at it. It’s from the Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano.)

SHERLOCK: ... stopped on his way. He got peckish.

LONDON STREETS. Some time later Sherlock has found the espresso bar and is talking to himself out loud as he walks past it.

SHERLOCK: So you bought your lunch from here en route to the station, but where were you headed from? Where did the taxi drop you ...?

(He has been spinning around as he walks and now bumps into someone approaching from behind who is also distracted and not looking where he’s going. It’s John, who is engrossed in looking down at Lukis’ diary. Sherlock grunts as they collide. John looks surprised to see him there.)

JOHN: Right.

SHERLOCK (quick fire): Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I’ve managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information ...

JOHN: Sherlock ...

SHERLOCK: … credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here.

JOHN: Sherlock ...

SHERLOCK: Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don’t know where, but ...

JOHN (pointing to the other side of the road): That shop over there.

(Sherlock looks at the shop, then looks back to John, frowning.)

SHERLOCK: How can you tell?

JOHN: Lukis’ diary. (He shows Sherlock the entry.) He was here too. He wrote down the address.

(He turns and heads towards the shop.)

SHERLOCK: Oh.

(He follows after his friend.)

CHINATOWN. The boys walk into a touristy shop which consists largely of decorative cats which are sitting up on their hind legs with one front paw raised. Some of the paws are waving back and forth. John greets the female Chinese shop keeper politely.

JOHN: Hello.

(They look around at all the items on display. The shop keeper lifts one of the cats from the desk.)

SHOP KEEPER: You want lucky cat?

JOHN: No, thanks. No.

(Sherlock looks round at him and smirks.)

SHOP KEEPER: Ten pound. Ten pound!

JOHN: No.

(He smiles awkwardly.)

SHOP KEEPER: I think your wife, she will like!

JOHN: No, thank you.

(He walks over to one of the tables which has small ceramic painted handle-less cups on it. Sherlock is examining a rack displaying clay statues. John picks up one of the cups and turns it over to look at the price tag. His hand begins to tremble as he sees the Chinese symbol stuck on the underside. It’s the same sort-of upside down eight with a line above it which was painted beside Sir William’s portrait and on the library shelf.)

JOHN: Sherlock.

(Sherlock, who has picked up one of the statues, puts it back on the shelf and comes over to him.)

JOHN: The label there.

SHERLOCK: Yes, I see it.

JOHN: Exactly the same as the cipher.

(Clearing his throat awkwardly, he puts the cup back. Sherlock lifts his head as it all starts to make sense to him.)

Shortly afterwards they have left the shop and are walking down the street.

SHERLOCK: It’s an ancient number system! Hangzhou.

(The symbols from that system are flashing in his mind’s eye as he walks.)

SHERLOCK: These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library.

(He walks over to a greengrocer’s which has some of its wares on display outside the shop. The various boxes have handwritten signs on them giving the names of the vegetables in both Chinese and English, and underneath is the cost of that particular item in both Hangzhou and English. He picks up various signs, checking the symbols.)

SHERLOCK: Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect.

(John has spotted a sign with the upside down eight and slash above it and its English equivalent beneath.)

JOHN: It’s a fifteen! What we thought was the artist’s tag – it’s a number fifteen.

SHERLOCK: And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well.

(He shows John a price tag which has the almost-horizontal line at the top, and “£1” written underneath.)

SHERLOCK (grinning triumphantly): The Chinese number one, John.

JOHN: We’ve found it!

(Sherlock turns and walks away. As John smiles and turns to follow him, he sees the same woman who was taking a photograph outside 221 standing nearby. Still wearing her dark sunglasses, she again has her camera raised and pointed towards him as she takes a picture. Someone walks across her, obscuring his view of her for a moment, and by the time the person has passed, she has vanished. John frowns, then follows after his friend.)

Shortly afterwards, they’re staking out the tourist shop, which we now see is The Lucky Cat, the shop which Andy Galbraith was standing near when he tried Soo Lin’s doorbell. Sitting at a table in the window of the restaurant opposite the shop, Sherlock is writing the two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents onto a paper napkin. John sits opposite him, also writing notes.

JOHN: Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?

SHERLOCK: It’s not what they saw; it’s what they both brought back in those suitcases.

JOHN: And you don’t mean duty free.

(A waitress brings over a plate of food and puts it down in front of John.)

JOHN: Thank you.

SHERLOCK: Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market.

JOHN: Lost five million ...

SHERLOCK: ... made it back in a week.

JOHN: Mmm.

SHERLOCK: That’s how he made such easy money.

JOHN: He was a smuggler. Mmm.

(He takes a mouthful of food.)

SHERLOCK: A guy like him – it would have been perfect.

(Cutaway flashback of Van Coon paying a taxi driver just outside the Lucky Cat and then carrying his case towards the shop.)

SHERLOCK: Business man ...

JOHN: Mmm-hmm.

SHERLOCK: ... making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same ...

(Cutaway flashback of Lukis carrying his suitcase into the Lucky Cat and lifting it onto the desk.)

SHERLOCK: ... a journalist writing about China.

JOHN: Mmm.

SHERLOCK: Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off.

JOHN: But why did they die? I mean, it doesn’t make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they’d finished the job?

(Sherlock sits back thoughtfully for a few seconds, then smiles as he realises the answer.)

SHERLOCK: What if one of them was light-fingered?

JOHN: How d’you mean?

SHERLOCK: Stole something; something from the hoard.

JOHN: And the killer doesn’t know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right.

(Sherlock looks out of the window towards the shop, then looks up to the windows above it. Looking down to the ground floor level again, his gaze sharpens.)

SHERLOCK: Remind me ...

(He focuses on a Yellow Pages phone directory sealed in a plastic wrapper which has been left outside the door to the flat beside the Lucky Cat.)

SHERLOCK: ... when was the last time that it rained?

(Without waiting for a reply, he stands up and leaves the restaurant. John, who has probably managed only two mouthfuls of his meal, sits back in exasperation but then dutifully gets up and follows.)

Over the road, Sherlock bends down to the Yellow Pages. The plastic wrapper still has drops of water on it, and the top of it has broken open a little. Sherlock runs his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory.

SHERLOCK: It’s been here since Monday.

(He straightens up and presses Soo Lin’s doorbell. He only waits a couple of seconds, then looks to his right and heads off in that direction. There’s an alleyway beside the flat and the boys walk down the alley.)

SHERLOCK: No-one’s been in that flat for at least three days.

JOHN: Could’ve gone on holiday.

SHERLOCK: D’you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?

(He has reached the rear of the building and looks up to see a cantilevered metal fire escape above his head. Taking a short run at it, he jumps up and grabs the end, pulling it down towards him until it touches the ground, then runs up the steps towards the open window of the flat. As he reaches the top, the ladder swings back to the horizontal position behind him.)

JOHN: Sherlock!

(Realising that he’s far too much of a short-arse to be able to pull the ladder down again, he turns and runs back along the alley to the front of the building.)

(Sherlock climbs in through the window into the kitchen, then cries out in muffled alarm as he almost knocks a vase of flowers off the table beside the window. Catching it before it hits the floor, he looks down and sees a wet patch on the rug in the precise place where the vase would have hit if it had reached the floor. Straightening up, he calls out of the open window, unaware that John is no longer there.)

SHERLOCK: Someone else has been here.

(Putting the vase back onto the table, he looks around, talking too quietly for John to hear even if he was still nearby.)

SHERLOCK: Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did.

(He looks round the kitchen, then bends down to the washing machine and opens it. Taking out an item of Soo Lin’s unmentionables, he sniffs it and grimaces. Downstairs, John rings on the doorbell. Sherlock puts the item back into the washing machine and pushes the door closed, then reaches for a tea towel hanging up nearby.)

JOHN (from outside): D’you think maybe you could let me in this time?

(Sherlock feels the tea towel, apparently finds that it’s dry, and moves onwards. Downstairs, John bends down to the letterbox, pushes it open and calls through the gap.)

JOHN: Can you not keep doing this, please?

(Sherlock has taken a pint of milk from the fridge and has taken off the lid and now sniffs the contents. Putting the bottle back into the fridge, he calls out.)

SHERLOCK: I’m not the first.

(With the everyday noise of the street all around him, John can’t hear what he’s saying. He bends down and puts his ear to the letterbox which he’s still holding open.)

JOHN: What?

SHERLOCK (louder): Somebody’s been in here before me!

JOHN: What are you saying?

(Sherlock has taken his pocket magnifier from his coat and looks down to where a foot has rucked up the rug, leaving an impression of the intruder’s shoe.)

SHERLOCK (not as loudly): Size eight feet.

(He pushes through the beaded curtain between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, still examining the rug.)

SHERLOCK (now talking more to himself than to John): Small, but ... athletic.

(He straightens up, looking thoughtful. Outside, John lets go of the letterbox and straightens up, sighing in exasperation.)

JOHN: I’m wasting my breath.

(He walks a couple of paces away from the door, glaring around in annoyance, then turns back and rings the doorbell again. Inside, Sherlock has picked up a framed photograph of two young Chinese children – a boy and a girl. A fresh handprint is on the glass where someone has pressed their fingers against the image of the girl. Sherlock is holding his magnifier over the fingerprints as he gently runs his gloved fingers along them to gauge the size.)

SHERLOCK (softly): Small, strong hands.

(Closing the magnifier, he puts the photograph down again.)

SHERLOCK: Our acrobat.

(He frowns, looking round.)

SHERLOCK: But why didn’t he close the window when he left ...?

(He stops as he realises the truth and rolls his eyes at himself.)

SHERLOCK: Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He’s still here.

(He looks around the room and sees an ornately decorated free-standing folding screen shielding the bed. Putting his magnifier into his pocket, he walks carefully towards it and then grabs the edge of the screen and pulls it back. Two stuffed toys stare back at him in startled terror from the bedside table. Before he has a chance to apologise to them, someone quickly wraps a long white silk scarf around his neck from behind and bundles him to the floor on his back, strangling him. Sherlock grabs at the scarf, trying to relieve the pressure on his neck but the assailant – dressed all in black – continues to throttle him. Downstairs, John bends to the letterbox and flips it open again.)

JOHN: Any time you want to include me.

SHERLOCK (faintly, as he struggles against his attacker): John! John!

(Downstairs, John has straightened up again and shakes his head in frustration.)

JOHN (pacing in irritation): “No, I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with ...”

(He storms back to the letterbox, flips it open and shouts through it.)

JOHN: “... my MASSIVE INTELLECT!”

(He drops the letterbox again. Upstairs, Sherlock is starting to lose consciousness. As his struggles become weaker and his hands fall clear of the scarf, the attacker releases his grip. Downstairs, John rings angrily on the doorbell again. Upstairs, as Sherlock lies still on the floor, his eyes half closed, the assailant shoves something into Sherlock’s coat pocket, then gets up and runs off. Sherlock chokes and coughs, tugging the scarf from around his neck and rolling onto his front before getting up onto his hands and knees. As the attacker disappears through the beaded curtain into the kitchen, Sherlock groans and pulls his own scarf loose, gasping as he gets his breath back. Downstairs, John looks at his watch in irritation and shakes his head, apparently considering just leaving. Upstairs, breathing a little better, Sherlock sits up on his heels, rummages in his coat pocket and pulls out a black origami paper flower. He looks at it for a moment, then stumbles to his feet, wobbling for a moment before pulling himself together and heading for the stairs.)

(A few moments later he opens the front door downstairs. John makes an exasperated sound and glares at him. When Sherlock speaks, his voice is croaky.)

SHERLOCK: The, uh, milk’s gone off and the washing’s starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago.

JOHN: Somebody?

SHERLOCK (nodding, his voice still rough): Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her.

(He looks down and bends to pick something off the floor.)

JOHN: But how, exactly?

(Sherlock picks up a folded envelope. On the back of it is written:

SOO LIN

Please ring me

tell me you’re

OK

Andy

(He unfolds the envelope and looks at the front of it. Printed in the bottom right hand corner is:

NATIONAL

ANTIQUITIES

MUSEUM

SHERLOCK (croakily): Maybe we could start with this.

(He walks out, closing the door behind him, and heads off down the road, John following him.)

JOHN: You’ve gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?

SHERLOCK (coughing): I’m fine.

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. Sherlock is pacing around a display area as he interviews Andy.

SHERLOCK: When was the last time that you saw her?

ANDY: Three days ago, um, here at the museum.

(Sherlock focuses briefly on a glass case showing some of the clay teapots. Most of them are dull but one is shiny.)

ANDY: This morning they told me she’d resigned just like that.

(Sherlock looks at another case containing some jade figurines, and then at a piece of artwork.)

ANDY: Just left her work unfinished.

SHERLOCK (turning to him): What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?

Andy has brought the boys to the basement archive, and now turns the lights on as he leads them in.

ANDY: She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here.

(He leads them to the open stack and starts turning a handle at the end to widen the gap. John goes to stand behind him and looks into the stack but Sherlock has noticed something more interesting in the shadows further along the room. He walks closer to it. On a stand is a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman ... and yellow paint has been spray painted across the front of it. An almost horizontal straight line goes across the eyes, and over the body has been sprayed the open upside down eight with the almost horizontal line above it. Andy and John turn and see what he has found.)

[And nobody ever comments on the fact that this graffiti spells out ‘1’ and ‘15’ rather than ‘15’ and ‘1’ like the other two bits of graffiti ...]

Outside the museum, night has fallen as Sherlock and John come out.

SHERLOCK: We have to get to Soo Lin Yao.

JOHN: If she’s still alive.

RAZ: Sherlock!

(The boys turn as Raz runs over to join them.)

JOHN: Oh, look who it is.

RAZ (to Sherlock): Found something you’ll like.

(He trots off and Sherlock immediately follows. John heads off after them a little more slowly.)

Shortly afterwards the three of them are walking across Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the south side of the river.

JOHN: Tuesday morning, all you’ve gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours.

SHERLOCK: Forget about your court date.

(They continue onwards, unaware that the Chinese woman with the dark sunglasses is watching them.)

SOUTH BANK SKATE PARK. Raz leads the other two across the under-croft. A boy has just done some kind of clever jump on his pushbike.

GIRL: Dude, that was rad!

SHERLOCK: If you wanna hide a tree in the middle of a forest, this is the best place to do it, wouldn’t you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message.

(Raz points to a particular area on the heavily-graffitied walls.)

RAZ: There. I spotted it earlier.

(Amongst all the other paint there are slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. Some of them are already partially painted over by other artists’ tags and pictures.)

SHERLOCK: They have been in here. (To Raz) And that’s the exact same paint?

RAZ: Yeah.

SHERLOCK: John, if we’re going to decipher this code, we’re gonna need to look for more evidence.

The two of them split up and begin searching. Sherlock walks along the end of a railway line and finds an abandoned spray can on the tracks. Squatting down to pick it up, he puts the end of his flashlight into his mouth and runs a thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle, then sniffs the nozzle [anything for a quick fix, eh, Sherlock?!].

John walks through an underpass, looking closely at the graffiti and posters on the walls as he goes.

Sherlock is now walking past a wall which has many posters glued to it. One of the posters attracts his attention and he tears off the bottom corner of it and takes it with him as he continues onwards.

John is now out on the railway lines. His flashlight picks out splashes of yellow paint on the sleepers and on the rails, then he raises his light to a brick wall, possibly the wall of a maintenance shed, which is about fifteen feet wide. He steps back, his mouth open in surprise as he begins to realise that the entire wall is covered with large yellow Chinese symbols.

Later he has finally tracked down Sherlock who is currently looking at the side of a parked rail freight container.

JOHN (trotting towards him): Answer your phone! I’ve been calling you! I’ve found it.

(He turns around again and the two of them run off into the night side by side, Sherlock’s coat billowing behind him. Your transcriber struggles to resist the urge to sing the Batman theme tune.)

Back at the wall, John leads Sherlock towards it, but his mouth drops open in surprise again, but this time for a different reason. The entire wall is now blank.

JOHN: It’s been painted over!

(Sherlock shines his flashlight around the area as John continues to stare at the wall in disbelief.)

JOHN: I don’t understand. It-it was here ... (he stumbles backwards) ... ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti!

SHERLOCK: Somebody doesn’t want me to see it.

(He turns and grabs the sides of John’s head in both hands.)

JOHN: Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing ...?

SHERLOCK: Shh, John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.

JOHN: No, what? Why? Why?

(Sherlock lowers his hands to hold John by the upper arms.)

JOHN: What are you doing?!

[Protesting too much is what you’re doing, John, honey. Just KISS HIM!]

(Sherlock starts to slowly spin them around on the spot, staring intently into John’s eyes.)

SHERLOCK: I need you to maximise your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?

JOHN: Yeah.

SHERLOCK: Can you remember it?

JOHN: Yes, definitely.

SHERLOCK: Can you remember the pattern?

JOHN: Yes!

SHERLOCK: How much can you remember it?

JOHN: Well, don’t worry ...

SHERLOCK (still spinning them): Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate.

JOHN: Yeah, well, don’t worry – I remember all of it.

SHERLOCK (disbelievingly): Really?

JOHN: Yeah, well at least I would ... (he pulls himself free) ... if I can get to my pockets!

(He rummages in his jacket pocket.)

JOHN: I took a photograph.

(He takes out his phone and pulls up a flash photo he has taken of the wall which shows all the symbols clearly. He gives the phone to Sherlock, who takes it and looks embarrassed as John sighs and turns away.)

[And would someone like to explain to me why the baddies bothered painting the wall? If they saw John find the wall, they must have seen him take the photo, so why paint over the symbols? Anyway, onwards ...]

221B. The photograph has been blown up into small sections and then printed out and all the pictures are stuck on the mirror. The numerical value of each symbol has been written against it. Sherlock is standing at the fireplace looking at the pictures closely and has spotted a pattern.

SHERLOCK: Always in pairs, John.

(John is sitting at the dining table with his back to the fireplace and his head propped in his hands. Sherlock’s voice wakes him up. He blinks and turns his head, squinting round at his friend.)

JOHN: Hmm?

SHERLOCK: Numbers come with partners.

JOHN (gazing around the flat blankly): God, I need to sleep.

SHERLOCK: Why did he paint it so near the tracks?

JOHN (tiredly): No idea.

SHERLOCK: Thousands of people pass by there every day.

JOHN (propping his head in his hand again): Just twenty minutes.

SHERLOCK (realising something): Of course.

(He’s looking at a photo of the full wall, and now smiles triumphantly.)

SHERLOCK: Of course! He wants information. He’s trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back.

(He runs his finger over the symbols.)

SHERLOCK: Somewhere here in the code.

(He pulls three photographs off the wall and turns towards the door.)

SHERLOCK: We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao.

JOHN: Oh, good(!)

(Tiredly, he gets up to follow.)

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. The boys are back with Andy in the same display room they met him in earlier.

SHERLOCK: Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals.

JOHN: Soo Lin Yao’s in danger. Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well.

ANDY: Look, I’ve tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don’t know where she’s gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away.

(Sherlock has turned his head away in exasperation, but now his gaze focuses on the nearby glass case displaying the teapots.)

JOHN: What are you looking at?

SHERLOCK (pointing at the case as he walks towards it): Tell me more about those teapots.

ANDY: Th-the pots were her obsession. Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to just keep making tea in them.

(Sherlock bends down to look more closely at the shelf.)

SHERLOCK: Yesterday, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two.

Later, elsewhere in the museum, fingers reach through the gaps in a large grating at the bottom of a wall and carefully push the grating outwards. Moments after that, a shadow moves across the dimly lit display room, and a hand reaches into the glass case to take out one of the not-shiny teapots. The shadow moves away again. Not long afterwards, Soo Lin is in an almost-dark restoration room, pouring tea into the teapot on the desk in front of her. She picks up the lid and carefully strokes it around the rim as, behind her, a very recognisable curly-headed silhouette appears on the other side of a window in the door. Unaware of this, she picks up the teapot and pours some of the liquid into a pair of cups. Pouring more of the tea into the tray on which the cups are standing, she swills the teapot around to cover the outside with the drips. A figure steps up beside her.

SHERLOCK: Fancy a biscuit with that?

(Before he finishes the sentence she gasps in fright and turns towards him, the teapot dropping from her terrified fingers. Sherlock reacts instantly and bends his knees to reach down and catch the teapot before it hits the floor. He looks up at her.)

SHERLOCK: Centuries old. Don’t wanna break that.

(He slowly straightens up and hands the teapot back to her. As she takes it, he reaches out and flicks a switch on the desk, turning on the lights underneath the surface. He smiles slightly at her.)

SHERLOCK: Hello.