|
[Your transcriber slumps sideways and falls off her chair, exhausted at having just typed the most intense and complicated seven minutes of footage that she has ever attempted. She lies on the floor giggling contentedly to herself for a few minutes, then wearily hauls herself back onto her chair and continues.]
HOSPITAL. DAYTIME. Mary – now dressed more normally – hurries through the entrance and across the foyer. She runs up a flight of stairs to where John is waiting for her on the landing.
JOHN: Mary.
(He walks to meet her at the top of the stairs.)
MARY: Hey.
JOHN (his voice full of relief): He’s only bloody woken up! He’s pulled through.
MARY (smiling): Really?! Seriously?
JOHN: Oh, you, Mrs Watson ... (he points at her, trying to look stern) ... you’re in big trouble.
(Mary frowns at him, looking confused.)
MARY: Really? Why?
JOHN: His first word when he woke up?
(She shakes her head.)
JOHN: “Mary”!
(She giggles and he joins in with her laughter. They hug each other tightly.)
MARY: Ahh!
(Over John’s shoulder, her face becomes serious.)
APPLEDORE. Magnussen walks downstairs from the entrance hall, goes past the kitchen, into the glass-walled study and heads towards the wooden doors. He goes down the spiral staircase and through the library, his fingers raised and flickering towards the shelves.
HOSPITAL ROOM. A drip hangs on a stand beside Sherlock’s bed where he lies with a nasal cannula on his face. A rotary fan is on the cabinet beside his bed and the shadow of its rotating blades flickers across his face.
MARY (softly, offscreen): You don’t tell him.
(Sherlock opens his eyes with difficulty.)
MARY (gently, sing-song): Sherlock?
(He looks up to where he can see Mary standing beside his bed. His vision of her is blurry.)
MARY: You don’t tell John.
At the rear of the Appledore archive, Magnussen is looking at a folder which has one or two photographs of Mary paperclipped to the inside.
MAGNUSSEN (softly): Bad girl.
(He smiles down at the file.)
MAGNUSSEN (in an admiring tone): Bad, bad girl.
(His smile widens.)
In Sherlock’s hospital room Mary leans down to him, her image still fuzzy.
MARY (in an intense whisper): Look at me – and tell me you’re not gonna tell him.
(Sherlock’s vision becomes even more blurry and his eyes close.)
DAYS LATER (presumably). DAYTIME. The top of Sherlock’s bed has been raised a little, and now he opens his eyes and lifts his head from the pillow with a tired sigh at the sound of rustling newspapers. He no longer has the nasal cannula. In front of him someone is holding up the front page of a newspaper to show him. The headline of the Daily Express reads, “SHAG-A-LOT HOLMES” and the strapline says, “Sherlock is as red blooded as they come, claims fiancé” [with only one ‘e’]. Whoever is holding the paper puts it down to reveal the front page of another newspaper – the Daily Mirror – which has a red strapline at the top reading, “EXCLUSIVE – SHERLOCK HOLMES KISS AND TELL” and a main headline saying, “7 TIMES A NIGHT IN BAKER STREET”. The person holding the paper – who we now see is wearing red nail varnish – lowers that paper and shows an inside page of one of the broadsheets. A large photograph of Janine smiling into the camera while wearing a deerstalker hat has an inset photo of Sherlock, and the headline reads, “He made me wear the hat.”
JANINE: I’m buying a cottage.
(Sitting on one side of the bed near Sherlock’s feet, she slaps the last newspaper down and smiles at him.)
JANINE: I made a lot of money out of you, mister.
(Sherlock lifts up one of the papers and looks at it.)
JANINE: Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profits.
SHERLOCK (tiredly): You didn’t give these stories to Magnussen, did you?
JANINE: God, no – one of his rivals. He was spittin’!
(Sherlock grunts and smiles a little.)
JANINE (looking angrily at him): Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard.
(Sherlock presses the button on a remote on the bed and the top of his bed rises, pushing him into more of a sitting position.)
SHERLOCK: And you – as it turns out – are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore.
JANINE (cheerfully): So we’re good, then!
SHERLOCK: Yeah, of course. (He smiles.) Where’s the cottage?
JANINE: Sussex Downs.
SHERLOCK: Hmm, nice.
JANINE: It’s gorgeous. There’s beehives, but I’m getting rid of those.
(Sherlock tries to push himself higher on the bed but then gasps with pain.)
JANINE: Aw, hurts, does it? Probably wanna restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps.
SHERLOCK: How much more revenge are you gonna need?
(Grimacing, he reaches across to a machine beside his bed and pushes a button to release a dose of morphine into the drip in his arm. The read-out shows the machine giving him almost the maximum dosage.)
JANINE: Just the occasional top-up.
(She looks round the room.)
JANINE: Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs to you!
SHERLOCK: Not good for working.
JANINE: You won’t be working for a while, Sherl.
(Sherlock sighs softly and his eyes close a little.)
JANINE (softly): You lied to me. You lied and lied.
SHERLOCK: I exploited the fact of our connection.
JANINE: When?!
SHERLOCK: Hmm?
JANINE: Just once would have been nice.
SHERLOCK: Oh. (He looks a little shifty-eyed.) I was waiting until we got married.
JANINE: That was never gonna happen!
(He looks away. She sighs and stands up.)
JANINE: Got to go.
(She walks over and kisses him on the forehead, then gently wipes her lipstick from his skin with her thumb.)
JANINE: I’m not supposed to keep you talking.
(She reaches down to pick up her handbag.)
JANINE (straightening up): And also I have an interview with The One Show and I haven’t made it up yet.
(Sherlock looks up to the ceiling with a soft sigh. She walks to the door and then turns back.)
JANINE: Just one thing.
(He looks across to her.)
JANINE: You shouldn’t have lied to me. I know what kind of man you are ... but we could have been friends.
(Smiling at him, she turns and takes hold of the door handle, then looks back at him.)
JANINE: I’ll give your love to John and Mary.
(She goes out, closing the door behind her. Sherlock looks towards the door thoughtfully, then looks upwards for a moment. He turns towards the morphine dispenser and, grunting in pain, pushes the button to lower the dosage. The read-out shows the level dropping back to a lower level. He releases the button with a tired sigh. He closes his eyes ...
... and opens them in the wooden door-lined corridor of his Mind Palace. Standing up and fully dressed, including his coat, he stares intensely ahead of himself.)
MARY (offscreen): You don’t tell him.
(He looks along the corridor and Mary is standing a few yards away, facing him. She is wearing the clothes she had on when he first met her in the restaurant and her hair is styled the same way as it was then.)
MARY: You don’t tell John.
(Sherlock starts to walk towards her and the word “Liar” appears above her right shoulder.)
SHERLOCK (slowly): So ...
(He continues towards her, and many words, all saying “Liar” swirl around her. She looks at him, apparently unperturbed, as he circles around her.)
SHERLOCK: ... Mary Watson. Who are you?
(He completes his circle around her and turns to face her again, the words still swirling around. He looks at her for a moment, then turns and walks away, the words following him down the corridor.)
SHERLOCK (whispering): Mary Watson.
(He stops, and the words fade out and vanish. He turns to face her ...
... and in Magnussen’s flat Mary’s black-gloved hand pulls the trigger on the pistol and the shell flies out of the top in slow motion.
In his hospital bed, his fingers steepled together on his chest and his eyes closed, Sherlock lowers his hands as the sound of the gunshot echoes in his ears. He sighs, raises his head and tiredly opens his eyes.)
EVENING, possibly the same day. John is leading Greg Lestrade up the stairs of the hospital.
JOHN: Dunno how much sense you’ll get out of him. He’s drugged up, so he’s pretty much babbling.
(As they reach the top of the stairs and walk along the landing, he looks down at the sound of a beep and realises that Greg is doing something on his phone.)
JOHN: Oh, they won’t let you use that in here, you know.
LESTRADE: No, I’m not gonna use the phone. I just wanna take a video.
(He and John grin at each other and Greg chuckles.
Shortly afterwards John opens the door to Sherlock’s room and they go inside. The bed is empty. John looks round the room, and his face fills with shock when he realises that the window blind has been pulled up and the window is open.)
JOHN: Oh, Jesus.
(He and Greg stare at the window, then John sighs and the two men exchange a look.)
Mary, perhaps at home, is on the phone.
MARY (into phone): So where would he go?
JOHN (on the phone to her from the hospital): Oh, Christ knows. Try finding Sherlock in London.
(Mary lowers her phone and hangs up.)
John and Greg are on their way out of the hospital.
LESTRADE: He’s got three known bolt holes ...
(They walk away from the hospital, Greg holding his phone to his ear.)
LESTRADE: Parliament Hill, Camden Lock and Dagmar Court.
MYCROFT: Five known bolt holes.
(He is sitting at his desk in his office at The Diogenes Club, looking down at a satellite map on his computer. The page is headed “UGLY DUCKLING”. A note in the top right corner of the map reads, “TARGET LOCATED. TRACKING ...” and a point on the map is highlighted. As the tracker appears to be somewhere around Warsaw in Poland, Mycroft is apparently multi-tasking. Greg is standing at the other side of the table.)
MYCROFT: There’s the blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens and the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery.
(He looks up at Greg and dismissively waves him away. [Mystrade fans pout with annoyance.])
Molly is sitting in a canteen wearing her lab coat and holding a cardboard coffee cup. Some sandwiches part-wrapped in tin foil, together with a tangerine, are on the table beside her. She looks up at whoever she’s speaking to. We can’t see this person because we are looking through their eyes.
MOLLY: Just the spare bedroom. ... (Awkwardly) Well ... my bedroom. We agreed he needs the space.
(She nods, looking embarrassed, and takes a drink from her cup.)
There’s a brief shot of Big Ben chiming two minutes past nine [don’t ask ...].
MRS HUDSON: Behind the clock face of Big Ben.
(We’re now in 221. John is sitting on the stairs with a notebook and pen in his hand and Mrs H stands in the hall nearby.)
JOHN: I think he was probably joking.
MRS HUDSON: No! I don’t think so!
ANDERSON: Leinster Gardens. That’s his number one bolt hole. It’s top-top secret.
(He is standing with Benji in what looks like a car park or garage area, and he is addressing his comments to Mary who stands in front of them.)
BENJI (tilting her head towards Anderson but looking at Mary): He only knows about it ’cause he stalked him one night.
ANDERSON: Followed!
BENJI: Followed, yeah.
221B. John is in the living room, pacing, and Greg and Mrs Hudson are in the kitchen.
JOHN: He knew who shot him.
(The other two turn to face him as he stops walking and looks at them. He points to his lower chest.)
JOHN: The bullet wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was.
LESTRADE (walking closer): So why not tell us?
(John turns around towards the window, blowing out a thoughtful breath.)
LESTRADE: Because he’s tracking them down himself.
JOHN (turning back to him): Or protecting them.
LESTRADE: Protecting the shooter? Why?
JOHN: Well, protecting someone, then. But why would he care? He’s Sherlock. Who would he bother protecting?
(He sits down in his armchair, then looks down at it and frowns. Looking thoughtful, he pats the arms.)
LESTRADE: Call me if you hear anything. Don’t hold out on me, John.
(John is still looking puzzled over the reappearance of his chair.)
LESTRADE: Call me, okay?
JOHN (distractedly, glancing round at him): Yeah. Yeah, right.
(Greg looks round to Mrs Hudson.)
LESTRADE: Good night, then.
MRS HUDSON: Oh ...
(She walks over towards the living room door as Greg leaves. John strokes the arms of his chair with his thumbs, frowning down.)
MRS HUDSON (to Greg): ’Bye, then.
(She turns back to John and looks at him worriedly.)
MRS HUDSON: John? Need a cuppa.
(She walks into the kitchen and John shifts in his chair so that he can half-turn towards her.)
JOHN: Mrs Hudson ... (he clears his throat) ... wh-why does Sherlock think that I’ll be moving back in here?
MRS HUDSON: Oh, yes, he’s put your chair back again, hasn’t he?
JOHN: Huh. (He sits back in the chair again, still looking at it thoughtfully.)
MRS HUDSON: That’s nice!
(She has picked up the kettle and now walks closer to him.)
MRS HUDSON: Looks much better.
(John’s gaze falls on the small table to the right of his chair. There are two books on it and in front of them is an ornate glass bottle, shaped like a crescent moon. He frowns at it.)
MRS HUDSON: John, what’s wrong? Tell me.
(John’s gaze is now fixed on the bottle.)
MRS HUDSON: John?
(John looks away from the bottle, turning his head towards the window. A phone starts to buzz repeatedly.)
MRS HUDSON: That’s your phone, isn’t it?
(She walks across the room to pick up the phone from the dining table. She looks at the screen and turns back.)
MRS HUDSON: It’s Sherlock, John. It’s Sherlock.
(She holds out the phone to him but John is still gazing towards the window. He turns his head to look at the bottle again.)
MRS HUDSON: John! You have to answer it!
(But John can’t tear his eyes away from the bottle, and we now see that it is a bottle of perfume. The name of the perfume is Claire de la Lune.)
The distinctive crescent moon shape of the perfume bottle dissolves into a view of the real Moon, half full in the night sky. Mary is walking along a road towards Leinster Gardens. It is an expensive-looking area, with a long terrace of four-storey white-plastered Edwardian buildings lining the road. A homeless person is squatting with his back to the wall at the corner of the road. He has the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, a blanket wrapped around him, and a white plastic tub is on the ground in front of him.
HOMELESS MAN (hoarsely, as Mary walks past): Spare any change, love?
MARY (not stopping): No.
HOMELESS MAN (hoarsely): Oh, come on, love. Don’t be like all the rest.
(She stops, turning back to him, then takes a handful of loose change from her coat pocket, bends down and drops the coins into the tub. Before she can fully straighten up or withdraw her hand, he takes hold of her wrist and looks up at her. It’s Bill Wiggins.)
BILL (in his normal voice): Rule One of looking for Sherlock ’olmes ...
(He puts a phone and a headset into her hand.)
BILL: ... ’e finds you.
(He stands, picking up his tub.)
MARY: You’re working for Sherlock now.
BILL: Keeps me off the streets, dunnit?
MARY: Well ... no.
(She shrugs at him. The phone in her hand starts to ring. As she puts the headset into her ear, Bill turns and walks away. She answers the phone.)
MARY (walking along the road): Where are you?
SHERLOCK (over phone): Can’t you see me?
MARY: Well, what am I looking for?
SHERLOCK (over phone): The lie – the lie of Leinster Gardens – hidden in plain sight.
(Stepping a few feet into the road so that she can get a better view of the tall houses, she continues along the road while looking at the house fronts. There is nobody else in the street and no cars are driving along it.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I think you are, it’ll take you less than a minute.
(She continues to walk slowly along the road.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): The houses, Mary. Look at the houses.
MARY: How did you know I’d come here?
SHERLOCK (over phone): I knew you’d talk to the people no one else would bother with.
MARY (laughing briefly): I thought I was being clever.
SHERLOCK (over phone): You’re always clever, Mary. I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find.
(She slows down, looking at a couple of adjoining houses in the middle of the terrace.)
MARY (her voice sounding impressed): Ohh.
(She stops and turns to face the two houses which have caught her attention. Although there is no light shining from any of the windows, unlike the others on either side, the houses otherwise look similar to the rest of the terrace.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Thirty seconds.
MARY: What am I looking at?
SHERLOCK (over phone): No door knobs, no letter box ...
(She looks towards the two front doors to confirm this, then raises her eyes to the windows in which the glass is opaque.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): ... painted windows. Twenty-three and twenty-four Leinster Gardens ...
(He pauses and sighs gently.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): ... the empty houses.
(The camera rises up towards the rooftops of the buildings.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains.
(The camera lifts over the top of the houses and reveals that behind their front walls there is nothing else of the buildings. The houses on either side are complete but these two have only the front wall remaining, and underneath the houses runs a train line along which a Tube train now passes by.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Only the very front section of the house remains. It’s just a façade. (He draws in a breath.) Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade.
(At that moment a picture is projected onto the front of the two houses. Three storeys high, stretching from the first floor to the third, it is a photograph of Mary. The picture, obviously taken on her wedding day, is a head shot only and shows her wearing her headdress with the white veil surrounding her head as she smiles happily at the camera. Mary turns and looks behind her, trying to see where the picture is being projected from.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Sorry. I never could resist a touch of drama.
(She turns back and looks at her image on the houses.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Do come in. It’s a little cramped.
MARY (starting to walk towards the houses): Do you own this place?
SHERLOCK (over phone): Mmm. I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal.
(One of the two adjacent front doors is slightly ajar and there is light behind it. She walks towards that door.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Nearly cost me my kidneys, but fortunately I had a ... (he draws in a breath) ... straight flush.
(Mary pushes the door open and looks inside. On the wall inside the door is an empty socket for a large electric plug and beside it is a fuse box.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Quite a gambler, that woman.
(Mary walks inside. All that remains of the house is a long narrow corridor running along the front of the house. She looks back behind her for a moment and then focuses on the corridor. It is lit at her end, and at the other end a bright light shines towards her, obscuring her view of the far end, but she can just about see a shape sitting on a chair in the shadows under the light. She stares at the shape and draws in a breath.)
MARY: What do you want, Sherlock?
(We switch to the other end of the corridor, looking towards Mary over the shoulder of the figure sitting there and facing her. Water trickles from the ceiling beside it. We can also see the thin clear tube of a medical drip hanging beside the figure.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where – five years ago – you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity.
(She starts walking slowly along the corridor.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): That’s why you don’t have ‘friends’ from before that date.
FLASHBACK to Sherlock standing in the living room of 221B looking at his wedding plans on the wall behind the sofa.
SHERLOCK (turning to where Mary is sitting at the dining table): Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin.
MARY (smiling): Ah, orphan’s lot. Friends – that’s all I have.
In the present, Mary continues to walk slowly along the corridor.
SHERLOCK (over phone): It’s an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognise a skip-code on sight ...
FLASHBACK to Mary on the first floor landing at 221, showing Sherlock the text message she has received.
MARY: At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it’s not. It’s a skip-code.
(Sherlock looks closely at her.)
In the present, Mary is still walking towards the seated figure she can now see a little better as it sits on the chair at the end of the corridor, although the face is still obscured in shadow. The medical drip is on a stand behind the chair and the recognisable shape of the morphine dispenser can be seen attached to the stand.
SHERLOCK (over phone): ... have extraordinarily retentive memories ...
FLASHBACK to the wedding venue as Sherlock stands partway up the staircase with the tips of his fingers against his temples and his eyes screwed closed.
JOHN: How can you not remember which room? You remember everything.
SHERLOCK (irritably): I have to delete something!
(Mary runs around the corner and pelts up the stairs in between them, holding her skirt up with one hand to stop herself tripping over it.)
MARY: Two oh seven.
In the present, Mary has stopped about halfway along the corridor.
MARY: You were very slow.
SHERLOCK (over phone): How good a shot are you?
(She reaches inside her coat, pulls out her pistol and cocks it, holding it down by her side.)
MARY: How badly do you want to find out?
SHERLOCK (over phone): If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that.
(She nods her agreement, still looking towards the shadowed figure at the end of the corridor. She can see one side of the popped coat collar protruding out of the shadows.)
SHERLOCK (over phone): I want to know how good you are. (Softly, encouragingly) Go on. Show me. The doctor’s wife must be a little bit bored by now.
(Shifting her pistol in her grip, Mary looks down and reaches into her shoulder bag and takes out a fifty pence coin. Balancing it on her thumb and forefinger, she looks up to gauge the height of the ceiling, then flicks the coin high into the air, raises the gun and fires at it. The ejected shell pings off the wall in front of her and she turns and lowers her head to avoid the coin as it falls down to the floor. She turns to look at the shadowed figure.
Behind her a shadow appears on the wall as someone walks through the open front door. The shadow is instantly recognisable as Sherlock’s with its curly hair and popped collar, and now he lowers his phone from his ear and switches it off as he walks towards her.)
SHERLOCK: May I see?
(Mary peers towards the shadowy figure sitting at the end of the corridor, then lowers her head and turns to Sherlock, laughing quietly.)
MARY: It’s a dummy.
(She takes the headset from her ear.)
MARY: I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick.
(She walks a few paces forward, puts her foot against the coin and sends it sliding across the floor towards him. Sherlock puts his foot onto it to stop it. He looks at her as she continues her slow walk towards him, then bends down and picks up the coin. When he straightens up and speaks, his voice is tight with pain.)
SHERLOCK: And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot.
(He looks like hell as he holds the coin up to show the hole shot in it. He is shaky on his feet and he is sweating. He breathes heavily as he continues talking.)
SHERLOCK: Enough to hospitalise me; not enough to kill me. That wasn’t a miss.
(He smiles slightly.)
SHERLOCK: That was surgery.
(Mary meets his gaze for a moment, then lowers her eyes.)
SHERLOCK: I’ll take the case.
MARY (looking at him again): What case?
SHERLOCK: Yours. (A little angrily) Why didn’t you come to me in the first place?
MARY: Because John can’t ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever – and, Sherlock, I will never let that happen.
(He turns as if to walk away. She takes a step towards him.)
MARY: Please ...
(He turns back to her.)
MARY: ... understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening.
SHERLOCK (turning away): Sorry.
(He walks to the fuse box and puts his hand onto one of the switches before looking back towards her.)
SHERLOCK: Not that obvious a trick.
(He flicks the switch and all the lights come on along the corridor. Mary’s face fills with dread as if she has realised the truth. Lowering her eyes and letting out a breath, she turns to look along the corridor to where the figure at the end can now be seen clearly. She gasps. Her husband is sitting on the chair, looking back at her with no expression in his eyes. His hair is ruffled to make it look bigger and he is wearing a black jacket with the collar popped. Slowly he stands up and begins to stroke his hair back down.)
SHERLOCK (softly): Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly.
(John takes hold of his coat and pulls it wide, shaking the collar down before settling it back onto his shoulders. Mary lets out an anguished sigh as he slowly starts to walk towards her and then stops several feet away. The scene slowly fades to black.)
A church choir can be heard singing the Christmas carol, “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”. From the quality of the sound, it appears that the music is coming from a radio. Outside a red-walled cottage, Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s father comes out of the door wearing grey trousers, a white checked shirt, a bright red bowtie, and a grey cardigan. He goes over to a nearby pile of small wooden logs and picks up two of them before going back inside. Mycroft’s voice can be heard. It has a rather despairing tone to it.
MYCROFT (offscreen): Oh, dear God, it’s only two o’clock. It’s been Christmas Day for at least a week now.
(We switch to a view through a window of the cottage and can see the kitchen. Mycroft – wearing a shirt and tie and a sleeveless waistcoat – is sitting at the side of a large table in the middle of the kitchen rubbing one hand wearily over his brow. Christmas lights – wrapped around green foliage – are strung along the bottom of the window we are looking through and another set of lights is wrapped over the curtain rail above a window on the opposite side of the kitchen. The latter lights then progress to where they drape over the top of a picture on the wall beside the window and then dangle down haphazardly towards the floor. On the kitchen table is some crockery, including a large plate with red paper serviettes and some cutlery on it, another plate with mince pies on it, and various other items. From just offscreen, someone drops some more Christmas crackers onto a pile of them in a wooden basket on the table. Sherlock, wearing his usual dark suit and a very dark grey shirt, is sitting in an armchair near the table.)
MYCROFT (in the same despairing tone): How can it only be two o’clock? I’m in agony.
(Sherlock is looking at the front page of The Guardian which bears the headline “Lord Smallwood suicide” and the straplines “Shamed peer takes own life” and “63-year-old dies following letters scandal”. Mrs Holmes’ voice speaks offscreen.)
MRS HOLMES: Mikey, is this your laptop?
(Standing at the end of the table, she points down to a silver-grey laptop on the table, half-obscured by a chopping board on top of it which has several whole peeled potatoes and the peelings on it.)
MYCROFT: On which depends the security of the free world, yes ... (he smiles rather sarcastically up at her) ... and you’ve got potatoes on it.
(Sherlock glances over towards them.)
MRS HOLMES (to Mycroft): Well, you shouldn’t leave it lying around if it’s so important.
(She reaches to pick up the basket of crackers but puts it down again as Mycroft speaks while gesturing around the kitchen.)
MYCROFT: Why are we doing this? We never do this.
(Looking a little exasperated, his mother leans on the table.)
MRS HOLMES: We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy.
(Mycroft looks up at her with an extremely insincere smile.)
MYCROFT: Am I happy too? I haven’t checked.
MRS HOLMES (picking up the basket): Behave, Mike.
MYCROFT: ‘Mycroft’ is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end.
(Bill Wiggins walks over and holds out a glass of punch with pieces of fruit floating in it.)
BILL: Mrs Holmes?
(She looks round and takes the glass from him.)
MRS HOLMES: Oh! Thank you, dear.
(She looks up at him.)
MRS HOLMES: Not absolutely sure why you’re here.
(She drinks from the glass.)
SHERLOCK: I invited him.
BILL: I’m his protégé, Mrs ’olmes. When ’e dies, I get all his stuff, an’ ’is job.
(She looks at him, a little startled.)
SHERLOCK (precisely, still reading the paper): No.
BILL: Oh. Well, I help out a bit.
SHERLOCK: Closer.
(Mycroft and Mrs Holmes look up at Bill.)
BILL: If ’e does get murdered or something ...
(Mycroft and his mother look appalled.)
SHERLOCK (still looking at his newspaper): Probably stop talking now.
BILL: Okay.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): Lovely when you bring your friends round(!)
MRS HOLMES (putting her glass down): Stop it, you. Somebody’s put a bullet in my boy ... (she walks towards Sherlock with the basket of crackers but then turns back to look at Mycroft) ... and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous.
(She apparently sees something on a nearby work surface.)
MRS HOLMES: Ah. This was for Mary. (She walks away with whatever it is.) I’ll be back in a minute.
(Sherlock, who had folded his hands in front of his mouth, now lowers his left hand and looks at his watch. A mental image of a stopwatch appears above his hand, starting a countdown from 7 minutes and 37 seconds. He refolds his hands.)
In the sitting room of the cottage, which also has random Christmas decorations around it, Mr Holmes goes across to the open door of the wood-burning fireplace and puts the two pieces of wood into the lit fire. Mrs Holmes comes in.
MRS HOLMES: Ah, Mary.
(Carrying a mug, she takes it across to where Mary is sitting in an armchair facing the fire. She has a blanket over her stomach and legs and is flicking through the pages of a book.)
MRS HOLMES: There you are.
(She hands the mug to Mary, who smiles as she takes it and drinks from it.)
MRS HOLMES: Cup of tea. Now, if Father starts making little humming noises, just give him a little poke. That usually does it.
(Mary giggles and Mrs Holmes chuckles. Mr Holmes has straightened up from the fire, dusting off his hands, and has turned to face them while putting his hands in his pockets. He has a pair of glasses on a chain around his neck. It seems that he has taken up his wife’s suggestion of wearing them on a chain – “like Larry Grayson.” He smiles at Mary as Mrs Holmes turns to look at him. Mary holds up the book to show the front cover. The book is called “The Dynamics of Combustion” and its author is M. L. Holmes.)
MARY (to Mrs Holmes): Did you write this?
MRS HOLMES: Oh, that silly old thing. You mustn’t read that. Mathematics must seem terribly fatuous now!
(She turns to her husband, who is now gazing into space and humming quietly to himself.)
MRS HOLMES (walking towards him): Now, no humming, you!
(She pats his backside affectionately. Mary, taking another drink of her tea, smiles fondly at her as she leaves the room and closes the door. Mr Holmes smiles at Mary.)
MR HOLMES: Complete flake, my wife, but happens to be a genius.
MARY: She was a mathematician?
MR HOLMES: Gave it all up for children.
(Mary smiles and sips from her mug again.)
MR HOLMES: I could never bear to argue with her. I’m something of a moron myself. But she’s ... (he glances away briefly, then looks back to Mary and leans closer to her, smiling) ... unbelievably hot!
MARY (giggling): Oh my God. You’re the sane one, aren’t you?!
MR HOLMES (raising his eyebrows at her): Aren’t you?!
(Smiling, she lowers her eyes and then drinks again. The door to the sitting room opens and John comes in, glancing briefly at Mary and then looking across to Mr Holmes, who turns to look back at him.)
JOHN: Oh.
(Looking nervous, Mary looks down at her book and flips it open to a random page.)
JOHN: Sorry. I-I just, er ...
(Mary keeps her head down, flicking through the book’s pages. John glances towards her again.)
MR HOLMES: Oh. Er-er, do you two need a moment?
(He starts to walk towards the door, looking at John.)
JOHN: If you don’t mind.
(Mr Holmes stops and looks towards Mary, who briefly raises her head and gives it a tiny shake before looking down again.)
MR HOLMES (continuing towards the door): No, of course not. I’ll-I’ll go and see if I can help with ... something or another.
(He goes out, closing the door behind him. John watches him go, then runs his hand under his nose and turns towards Mary. She looks down at her book for a few more moments, then raises her head and briefly watches as he slowly walks across the room to stand in front of the fire, facing her. Again she glances briefly towards him before turning her attention back to the book on her lap.
Outside the closed door, Sherlock has walked over and has taken his coat from the pegs on the wall nearby. Standing at the door, his father looks at him and points back towards the sitting room.)
MR HOLMES: Those two. They all right?
SHERLOCK (putting his coat on): Well, you know – they’ve had their ups and downs.
(He glances towards the door, then goes through another nearby door.)
After a moment of dark screen, we are back in the narrow corridor in the house in Leinster Gardens. No time seems to have passed since we were last there, and Mary and John are still standing facing each other several feet apart. Now Sherlock turns away behind Mary.
SHERLOCK (quietly): Baker Street. Now.
(He walks away but Mary continues to stare at her husband, her face anguished. After a moment John walks forward, his eyes fixed on her and his teeth slightly bared. He keeps going and walks past her. She draws in a sharp breath, apparently fighting off tears.)
Later, John opens the door of the living room at 221B and walks in, sighing quietly. Mary follows him more slowly up the stairs, with Sherlock behind her. John takes off his jacket and drops it onto the dining table. Mrs Hudson is in the kitchen but now hurries towards him worriedly.
MRS HUDSON: John.
(Mary walks through the door, Sherlock following slowly with his head lowered and bracing himself on the bannister.)
MRS HUDSON: Mary!
(Mary gives her a small smile and walks towards the fireplace while John stands by the dining table with his hands on his hips. Sherlock hobbles to the doorway and stops there, bracing himself with one hand on the edge of the open door.)
MRS HUDSON (looking shocked): Oh, Sherlock! Oh, good gracious, you look terrible.
SHERLOCK: Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I’ve run out.
MRS HUDSON: I don’t have any morphine!
SHERLOCK (angrily): Then what exactly is the point of you?
(She presses her lips together for a moment, then looks round at everyone.)
MRS HUDSON: What is going on?
JOHN: Bloody good question.
SHERLOCK (looking at John): The Watsons are about to have a domestic, and fairly quickly, I hope, because we’ve got work to do.
JOHN: Oh, I have a better question.
(He paces towards Mary, looking angrily into her face.)
JOHN: Is everyone I’ve ever met a psychopath?
(At the door, Sherlock’s eyes lift upwards as if he’s thinking.)
SHERLOCK (after a moment): Yes.
(Mary gives a tiny nod of agreement, pursing her lips.)
SHERLOCK: Good that we’ve settled that. Anyway, we ...
JOHN (turning towards him furiously): SHUT UP!
(Mrs Hudson jumps at the loudness of his cry and puts one hand to her mouth.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh!
JOHN (to Sherlock at a more normal volume): And stay shut up, because this is not funny. (He gives him an angry humourless smile.) Not this time.
SHERLOCK: I didn’t say it was funny.
(John turns his head to look at Mary.)
JOHN: You.
(He turns to face her. When he speaks, his voice and his face are full of barely-controlled anger and he frequently breathes heavily throughout his next words.)
JOHN: What have I ever done ... hmm? ... my whole life ... to deserve you?
SHERLOCK (now leaning against the right-hand door post): Everything.
JOHN (in the same tone as he turns to face him): Sherlock, I’ve told you ... (he walks towards him) ... shut up.
SHERLOCK (quietly): Oh, I mean it, seriously. Everything – everything you’ve ever done is what you did.
JOHN (very softly and dangerously): Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine.
SHERLOCK (still softly): You were a doctor who went to war.
(John’s eyes are fixed on him and he is breathing rapidly and deeply.)
SHERLOCK (a little louder but still quieter than we’re used to hearing his voice): You’re a man who couldn’t stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high.
(He pauses for a moment.)
SHERLOCK: That’s me, by the way. (He raises his left hand and waves at him.) Hello.
(He points towards Mrs Hudson.)
SHERLOCK: Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel.
MRS HUDSON: It was my husband’s cartel. I was just typing.
SHERLOCK (looking at her): And exotic dancing.
MRS HUDSON: Sherlock Holmes, if you’ve been Youtube-ing ...
SHERLOCK (louder, talking over her): John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You’re abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people ... (his voice becomes quieter again) ... so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you’ve fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?
(John grimaces briefly and then, with his eyes still fixed on Sherlock, he points towards his wife at the other side of the room.)
JOHN (his voice full of suppressed tears): But she wasn’t supposed to be like that.
(Mrs Hudson looks across to Mary in shock. Mary lowers her head.)
JOHN (to Sherlock, pointing again across the room, his voice a little stronger): Why is she like that?
(Sherlock looks away towards the sofa wall for several seconds and then turns to look directly into John’s eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Because you chose her.
(John stares back at him, his face unreadable. Sherlock holds his gaze. Finally John turns away, speaking conversationally.)
JOHN: Why is everything ... (he walks towards the dining table, holding up a questioning hand and shrugging) ... always ... (his voice raises to a loud shout) ... MY FAULT?!
(He furiously kicks one of the dining chairs across the floor. Mrs Hudson jumps and flails. Even Sherlock jumps a little, but Mary remains still.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, the neighbours!
(She hurries away. John turns to face Mary again, breathing heavily.)
SHERLOCK (still in a quiet voice): John, listen. Be calm and answer me. (Slowly, precisely) What is she?
JOHN (his gaze fixed on Mary, though he blinks repeatedly): My lying wife?
SHERLOCK: No. What is she?
JOHN (still looking at Mary): And the woman who’s carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?
(She gazes back at him.)
SHERLOCK: No. Not in this flat; not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?
(John has a small fixed humourless smile on his face as his eyes remain locked on his wife. His head is low on his neck and he looks murderous. After a long moment he sniffs deeply and harshly.)
JOHN: Okay.
(He turns briefly towards Sherlock and then back to Mary.)
JOHN (over his shoulder towards Sherlock): Your way.
(He looks at Mary for another second, then half-turns to Sherlock.)
JOHN: Always your way.
(Sherlock lowers his head and looks away. John turns, clearing his throat, then picks up one of the dining chairs and puts it down facing the two armchairs and the fireplace. He looks at Mary.)
JOHN: Sit.
MARY: Why?
JOHN (in a tight, angry whisper, leaning towards her while pointing down to the dining chair): Because that’s where they sit.
(He straightens up, still speaking in the same tight voice but a little louder.)
JOHN: ... the people who come in here with their stories. Th-the clients – that’s all you are now, Mary. You’re a client. This is where you sit and talk ... (he gestures towards the armchairs) ... and this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not.
(Sniffing, he walks over to his chair and sits down, clearing his throat and adjusting the cushion behind his back. After a moment, Sherlock walks forward and crosses the room. Pausing briefly in front of Mary to meet her eyes and give her a tiny nod, he turns and sits down in his own chair. Mary watches him as he sits, then looks across to John, who has slumped back into his chair and is not meeting her eyes, then she slowly walks in between them and turns round to sit down on the dining chair, putting her shoulder bag onto the floor beside her. She adjusts her coat around her, dusts off the tops of her legs, tugs the lower part of her trousers down a little on both legs, then turns her head to John as he looks back at her.)
THE PRESENT. In the sitting room of the Holmes’ cottage, Mary looks up from her book as John speaks.
JOHN: So, are you okay?
MARY (rather sarcastically): Oh! Are we doing conversation today? It really is Christmas(!)
(John reaches into the pocket of his trousers and takes something out. He shows her what he’s holding. It is a large silver-coloured pen drive with a circular link at one end for attaching it to a key ring. Written in black felt-tip pen on one side are the initials “A.G.R.A”. [It’s actually not clear whether there’s a dot after the ‘R’, because the bottom right hand part of the letter runs into it.] The writing is somewhat faded. Mary closes the book and lets out a brief exasperated sound.)
MARY: Now?
(John nods and tilts the drive round to look at the letters on it.)
MARY: Seriously? Months of silence and we’re gonna do this ... (she nods towards the drive) ... now?
(John lowers the drive to his side, slowly rolling it round in his fingers.)
221B IN THE PAST. Sitting on the dining chair in front of Sherlock and John, Mary puts what looks like the same pen drive onto the table at the side of John’s chair, then withdraws her hand. Sherlock, his face in a grimace as if he is in pain, zooms in on the drive and the letters written on the side of it, although they appear much darker than they will be in the future.
SHERLOCK: ‘A.G.R.A.’ What’s that?
(Mary looks from him to John and clears her throat.)
MARY: Er ... my initials.
(John grimaces and looks away. Sherlock looks down, then glances towards him.)
MARY: Everything about who I was is on there. (Directly to John) If you love me, don’t read it in front of me.
JOHN (lifting the hand nearest to the table in a shrug): Why?
MARY (apparently trying to hold back tears): Because you won’t love me when you’ve finished ...
(John holds her gaze.)
MARY: ... and I don’t want to see that happen.
(She looks down. With a loud sigh John snatches the drive from the table, looks briefly across to Sherlock and then shoves the drive into his left trouser pocket. Sniffing, he pulls himself into a higher sitting position on his chair. Mary looks across to Sherlock.)
MARY: How much d’you know already?
SHERLOCK (still speaking more quietly than we’re used to): By your skill set, you are – or were – an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You’re on the run from something; you’ve used your skills to disappear; ...
(John shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.)
SHERLOCK: ... Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him; and I assume you befriended Janine ... (he grimaces, shifting uncomfortably on his chair) ... in order to get close to him.
MARY: Oh – you can talk!
(He smiles at her.)
JOHN: Ohhh. Look at you two.
(Not raising his hands from the arms of his chair, he points his index fingers at each of them.)
JOHN: You should have got married.
(Mary turns to look at him, and Sherlock blinks a couple of times.)
MARY: The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life.
JOHN: So you were just gonna kill him.
MARY: People like Magnussen should be killed. That’s why there are people like me.
JOHN (lifting his left hand and gently punching the arm of the chair): Perfect(!) So that’s what you were? An assassin?
(He looks towards Sherlock.)
JOHN: How could I not see that?
(He turns back towards Mary.)
MARY: You did see that.
(John’s humourless and slightly murderous smile is back on his face.)
MARY (pausing for a moment): ... and you married me.
(She pauses again, then tilts her head towards Sherlock.)
MARY: Because he’s right.
(Sherlock looks down a little, unusually not looking pleased about being correct.)
MARY (softly, to John): It’s what you like.
(John looks back at her stony-faced. She holds his gaze for a moment, then lowers her eyes.)
SHERLOCK: So ... Mary ...
(He grimaces again.)
SHERLOCK: ... any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want ... (he grimaces yet again, his voice tight as if with physical pain) ... extracted and returned.
MARY: Why would you help me?
SHERLOCK: Because ... you saved my life.
JOHN: Sor-sorry, what?
SHERLOCK (looking at Mary): When I happened on you and Magnussen ...
(He takes a couple of noisy, strained breaths, bracing his hands on the arms of his chair.)
SHERLOCK: ... you had a problem.
(The camera pulls back across the floor of the living room towards the door.)
SHERLOCK (offscreen): More specifically, you had a witness.
(Near the door, Sherlock’s familiar shadow drifts across the floor ...
... but it’s not actually in 221B. In the past, Sherlock looks carefully through the gap in the door to Magnusson’s penthouse living room and sees Magnussen kneeling on the floor with his head lowered and his hands raised while the black-clad assassin points a pistol at him.)
MAGNUSSEN (voiceover): What do you do now?
(The scene fast-forwards to Mary standing facing Sherlock, pointing her pistol at him while, behind her, Magnussen is reaching to his left where his phone is lying on the floor.)
MAGNUSSEN (voiceover): Kill both of us?
(Mary pulls the trigger and in slow-motion the bullet flies out of the end of the gun.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave.
(In this version of events, Mary wasn’t aiming at Sherlock’s chest and the bullet goes straight into the centre of his forehead. His eyes close and his mouth flies open and he starts to fall backwards. Before he even reaches the floor, Mary rapidly turns towards Magnussen, who is still straightening up at the sound of the shot. She shoots him in the head. In slow-motion, both he and Sherlock fall to the floor.)
SHERLOCK (in 221B in the present): However, sentiment got the better of you.
(In the past, in Magnusson’s flat, the preceding scene goes into reverse and Magnussen lifts off the floor and back onto his knees, the bullet goes back into the gun and Mary reverse-turns towards Sherlock, who is still on his feet.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me ...
(Mary fires at him and Sherlock – this time shot in the chest – starts to fall backwards.)
SHERLOCK (voiceover): ... in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my silence.
[Transcriber’s note: Sherlock does say ‘bide’, though I suspect that Benedict ought to have said ‘buy’.]
(Before Sherlock hits the floor, Mary is already turning towards Magnussen.)
SHERLOCK (in 221B in the present): Of course, you couldn’t shoot Magnussen. (He looks towards John.) On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect, so ...
(In the past, Mary viciously lashes the end of her pistol across Magnusson’s face. His glasses fly off his face and in ultra-slow motion he starts to fall.)
SHERLOCK (offscreen for the first part of the sentence, now taking a painful breath every few words): ... you calculated ... that Magnussen ... would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police ... as is his M.O.
(In the past, Mary walks in slow motion towards the open door of Magnusson’s flat.)
SHERLOCK (in 221B): ... and then you left the way you came.
(Mary’s gaze is lowered but now she raises it to him. John is looking towards him with a grim expression on his face, then turns his eyes towards his wife.)
SHERLOCK (to Mary): Have I missed anything?
JOHN: How did she save your life?
SHERLOCK: She phoned the ambulance.
JOHN: I phoned the ambulance.
SHERLOCK: She phoned first.
(In the past, Mary viciously lashes the end of her pistol across Magnusson’s face and then immediately bends to pick up his phone from the floor. Even as she straightens up we hear three beeps as she types on it, not even looking at it. The number comes up on our screen in red:
999 EMERGENCY
OPERATOR (over phone): Emergency. Which service do you require?
Approaching sirens can be heard.
SHERLOCK (in 221B in the present, looking at John): You didn’t find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is ...
(He lifts his left hand and looks at his watch as the clatter of feet can be heard on the stairs. Two paramedics run into the room.)
PARAMEDIC: Did somebody call an ambulance?
(John stands up, looking at them in confusion.)
SHERLOCK: ... eight minutes.
(Breathing heavily and with his left hand still raised, he looks towards the paramedics.)
SHERLOCK: Did you bring any morphine? I asked on the phone.
PARAMEDIC (looking puzzled): We were told there was a shooting.
SHERLOCK: There was, last week ...
(He is holding his left wrist with his right hand, his fingers on his pulse point. He takes a sharp breath.)
SHERLOCK: ... but I believe I’m bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic.
(He puts his hands on the arms of the chair and starts to push himself upwards.)
SHERLOCK: You may need to re-start my heart on the way.
(His voice jolts on the word ‘heart’ and his knees buckle. John and Mary hurry forward and each of them takes hold of an upper arm to support him. The paramedics run towards them.)
JOHN: Come on, Sherlock. Come on, Sherlock.
(Sherlock groans and grabs at him, clinging to his shoulder. Mary steps back out of the way of the paramedics.)
SHERLOCK: John?
(The paramedics put their bags down on the floor near him and take hold of him, supporting his weight, but he ignores them and stares intensely at his friend.)
SHERLOCK: John – Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life.
JOHN (quietly): She shot you.
(Sherlock pulls a face, half-nodding his agreement.)
SHERLOCK: Er, mixed messages, I grant you.
(He grimaces, crying out in pain, and starts to fall. John and the paramedics start to lower him to the floor.)
JOHN: Sherlock? Sherlock. (To the paramedics) All right, take him.
(Sherlock cries out again. John releases him, watching the paramedics.)
JOHN: Got him?
(They lay Sherlock down as he groans and whimpers. John straightens and looks down in concern as one of the paramedics gets out an oxygen mask. As they continue working, John looks across to Mary, breathing heavily and with his teeth slightly bared.)
THE PRESENT in the Holmes’ sitting room.
MARY: So, have you read it?
(John looks down at the pen drive, repeatedly turning it around in his fingers, the key ring attachment rattling noisily, then he clasps his fist around it and looks at her while gesturing to the floor in front of him.)
JOHN: W-would you come here a moment?
MARY (shaking her head): No. Tell me. Have you?
JOHN (in an exasperated voice): Just ...
(He pauses and seems to rein in his temper.)
JOHN (more calmly): ... come here.
(She grimaces unhappily, then unwraps the blanket from around her stomach and legs and starts to stand up, holding one hand to her abdomen. She is now very visibly pregnant. John steps towards her to help her up.)
MARY: No, I’m fine.
(Wincing, she gets to her feet as John steps back again. She walks across the room and John turns to one side so that he is side-on to the fireplace. Mary stops in front of him and lowers her eyes. When John speaks, his voice is little more than a whisper and his throat is tight.)
JOHN: I’ve thought long and hard about what I want to say to you.
(He draws in a long breath through his nose as she raises her eyes to him.)
JOHN: These are prepared words, Mary.
(He lowers his head for a moment, grimacing slightly and pulling in another slightly shaky breath before glancing up at her.)
JOHN: I’ve chosen these words with care.
MARY: Okay.
(John clears his throat, and he can be heard rolling the pen drive round in his fingers again. Finally he looks up to meet her eyes.)
JOHN (still speaking quietly): The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future ... are my privilege.
(Mary’s face starts to crumple a little and tears begin to form in her eyes.)
JOHN: It’s all I have to say. It’s all I need to know.
(He looks down at the pen drive while Mary gazes at him tearfully. After a few moments he glances up at her again, then turns to the fireplace and drops the pen drive onto the burning logs. Mary quietly starts to cry as she looks at the drive on top of the fire. John clears his throat again as he turns back to her.)
JOHN (quietly): No, I didn’t read it.
(She looks at him, the first tears starting to roll down her face.)
MARY (tearfully): You don’t even know my name.
JOHN: Is ‘Mary Watson’ good enough for you?
MARY (sobbing out the word): Yes! (She wipes her fingers under her nose.) Oh my God, yes.
JOHN: Then it’s good enough for me, too.
(He gives her a small smile.)
MARY: Oh!
(They step together and hug each other tightly. She cries. He speaks softly in her ear, his throat still tight.)
JOHN: All this does not mean that I’m not still basically pissed off with you.
MARY (tearfully): I know, I know.
JOHN: I am very pissed off, and it will come out now and then.
MARY: I know, I know, I know. (She sniffs.)
(They pull back far enough to be able to look into each other’s eyes.)
JOHN (softly): You can mow the sodding lawn from now on.
MARY: I do mow the lawn.
JOHN: No, I do it loads.
MARY: You really don’t.
JOHN: I choose the baby’s name.
MARY: Not a chance.
JOHN: Okay.
(They tightly hug again.)
Outside the cottage, Mycroft and Sherlock are idly wandering along the path in the front garden towards the gate. Each of them is holding a lit cigarette.
MYCROFT: I’m glad you’ve given up on the Magnussen business.
SHERLOCK: Are you?
MYCROFT (stopping): I’m still curious, though. He’s hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you ... hate him?
SHERLOCK (turning back to face him): Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don’t you?
MYCROFT: He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He’s far too intelligent for that. He’s a business-man, that’s all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil – not a dragon for you to slay.
(He takes a drag on his cigarette while Sherlock smiles and walks back to his side.)
SHERLOCK: A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?
(He turns as he pulls on his own cigarette. They stand side by side with their backs to the cottage.)
MYCROFT (smiling): No. (He looks at his brother.) It’s what you think of yourself.
(The cottage door opens behind them and Mrs Holmes comes out onto the step.)
MRS HOLMES (crossly): Are you two smoking?
(The boys rapidly spin round to face her, frantically holding their cigarettes behind their backs as they look guiltily at her.)
MYCROFT: No!
SHERLOCK (almost simultaneously): It was Mycroft.
(She gives them a suspicious look, then goes back inside and shuts the door. Sherlock – looking every inch the naughty schoolboy who thinks he has got away with being bad and is feeling very smug about it – blows out a long plume of smoke in the direction of the door. Mycroft wanders a few paces towards the door, then slowly turns back again as he speaks.)
MYCROFT: I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline.
SHERLOCK: I decline your kind offer.
MYCROFT: I shall pass on your regrets.
SHERLOCK: What was it?
MYCROFT: MI6 – they want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months.
(Sherlock, who had started to raise his cigarette to his lips, lowers it again and looks a little surprised.)
SHERLOCK: Then why don’t you want me to take it?
MYCROFT (turning to look at him): It’s tempting ... but on balance you have more utility closer to home.
SHERLOCK: Utility(!) How do I have utility?
(He takes a drag on his cigarette. Mycroft shrugs slightly.)
MYCROFT: “Here be dragons.”
(He takes a pull on his own cigarette, then holds it up to look at, frowning. He coughs.)
MYCROFT: This isn’t agreeing with me. I’m going in.
(He drops the cigarette on the path and treads it out, then turns and walks up the path.)
SHERLOCK: You need low tar. You still smoke like a beginner.
(Mycroft slows down and stops before he reaches the door. He pauses for a moment before speaking.)
MYCROFT (without turning round): Also, your loss would break my heart.
(Sherlock had just started to take a drag on his cigarette and now he chokes and coughs before turning to look at his brother, who still hasn’t turned around.)
SHERLOCK: What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!
MYCROFT (turning round and holding out his arms a little): “Merry Christmas”?
SHERLOCK: You hate Christmas.
MYCROFT (pretending to look puzzled): Yes. (He smiles a little.) Perhaps there was something in the punch.
SHERLOCK: Clearly. Go and have some more.
(Mycroft turns and goes up the steps, opening the door. Sherlock turns away.)
In the sitting room, John and Mary are still locked in a tight hug, swaying a little from side to side.
MARY: So you realise that, er, Sherlock got us out here to see his mum and dad for a reason?
JOHN (smiling): His lovely mum and dad. A fine example of married life. I get that.
(Over his shoulder, Mary holds the fingers of one hand to her forehead, frowning and looking a little unwell.)
JOHN (unaware of this): That is the thing with Sherlock – it’s always the unexpected.
(Mary starts to slump in his grasp.)
JOHN: Oi. (He frowns round to the side of her head.) Oi.
(She slumps more, moaning softly as her arms drop from around him. He takes her weight and moves her back so he can see her face. Her eyes are closed.)
JOHN: Mary? Jesus Christ. Mary?
(He hauls her back towards a nearby armchair.)
JOHN: Sit down.
(He lowers her into the armchair. She is now unconscious. He takes hold of her face.)
JOHN: Mary, can you hear me?
(The door opens and Sherlock briskly walks in a couple of paces.)
SHERLOCK: Don’t drink Mary’s tea.
(He turns and leaves again, grabbing his scarf from the peg as he goes. John stares towards the door, then looks towards his wife again.)
SHERLOCK (loudly): Oh, or the punch.
(In another sitting room next door, a glass is lying overturned on a table and Mr Holmes is lying on his back on the sofa with his eyes closed. Sherlock holds his hand over his father’s nose to check that he’s breathing normally, then continues onwards. John follows him into the room as Sherlock heads into the kitchen, where Mrs Holmes is asleep in the armchair where Sherlock had previously sat, and Mycroft is slumped on a dining chair with his head on the kitchen table and his eyes closed. The kitchen clock above the door shows that about seven minutes have passed since the earlier scene in the kitchen, so clearly Sherlock’s countdown was absolutely accurate.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
(Sherlock holds the back of his hand to his mother’s nose to check her breathing, then walks past Bill, who is standing nearby, and goes over to the kitchen table.)
JOHN (coming in): Did you just drug my pregnant wife?
SHERLOCK (checking Mycroft’s breathing): Don’t worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist.
BILL: I calculated your wife’s dose meself. Won’t affect the little one. I’ll keep an eye on ’er.
SHERLOCK (putting his scarf on): He’ll monitor their recovery. It’s more or less his day job.
JOHN (staring at him): What the hell have you done?
(Sherlock looks down reflectively and takes a moment to reply.)
SHERLOCK: ... A deal with the devil.
FLASHBACK. A blurry figure walks in through a door, closes it and then walks forward. At the far end of the room Sherlock is sitting at a small table which has a red tablecloth. He is wearing a hospital gown and has his morphine drip on a stand beside him. On the table in front of him is a plate with a part-finished meal on it. Some penne pasta and what looks like a cherry tomato remain. There is also a glass of water on the table. Sherlock chews and swallows his latest mouthful of food, not looking up as the other person walks closer. We now see that it is Magnussen.
MAGNUSSEN: Shouldn’t you be in hospital?
SHERLOCK (still not looking up): I am in hospital. This is the canteen.
(We get a better view of where they are, and it’s definitely not the hospital canteen. Sherlock has apparently busted out of hospital again, not bothering or unable to get his clothes for the escape, and the two men are in a small restaurant or taverna. There are no other customers and the only member of staff is at the far end by the door. Magnussen looks round the not-canteen.)
MAGNUSSEN: Is it?
SHERLOCK: In my opinion, yes.
(He gestures with his fork to the chair on the other side of the table.)
SHERLOCK: Have a seat.
MAGNUSSEN: Thank you.
(Sherlock lays his fork down on the plate and watches as he sits down opposite him.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve been thinking about you.
MAGNUSSEN: I’ve been thinking about you.
SHERLOCK: Really?
(Looking a little weak, he reaches across to the morphine control and pushes the button three times.)
SHERLOCK (turning back to face Magnussen): I want to see Appledore, where you keep all the secrets, all the files, everything you’ve got on everyone. I want you to invite me.
(They lock eyes.)
MAGNUSSEN: What makes you think I’d be so careless?
SHERLOCK (softly, intensely): Oh, I think you’re a lot more ‘careless’ than you let on.
MAGNUSSEN (softly, leaning forward): Am I?
(Sherlock has his elbows on the table with his hands clasped in front of him. He too leans forward, and smiles as he looks into Magnusson’s eyes.)
SHERLOCK: It’s the dead-eye stare that gives it away.
(Magnussen looks back at him unblinking.)
SHERLOCK (unclasping his hands and slowly lifting them towards the other man): Except it’s not dead-eyed, is it?
(He continues to reach towards Magnusson’s face, moving slowly so that the man knows what he’s doing. Sherlock winces and sucks in a sharp breath as he extends his arms and slowly takes hold of Magnusson’s glasses and takes them off. Magnusson’s eyes flicker towards the glasses as they leave his face but then he returns his gaze to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: You’re reading.
(Smiling slightly, he draws the glasses towards himself and looks down at them.)
SHERLOCK: Portable Appledore. (He snorts slightly, then looks across to Magnussen.) How does it work?
(Magnussen looks down at the glasses.)
SHERLOCK: Built-in flash drive? (He lifts the glasses towards his own face.) 4G wireless?
(He puts them on and raises his head as he looks through the lenses. After a moment he frowns, turning his head a little and then lowering it before he slowly takes the glasses off again, blinking as if confused. He looks down at them, turning them in his hands.)
SHERLOCK: They’re just ordinary spectacles.
MAGNUSSEN: Yes – they are.
(Sherlock grimaces slightly, still looking down at the glasses. Magnussen looks at him. His vision is slightly blurred without his glasses on, but text appears in front of his eyes in red:
PRESSURE POINT: > MORPHINE (ADD TO FILE)
He lowers his head and smiles, then reaches across with one hand and flicks through the pasta on the plate with his fingers, unearthing a black olive. Sherlock continues to stare down at the glasses.)
MAGNUSSEN: You underestimate me, Mr Holmes.
(Sherlock sinks back in his seat, still looking at the glasses as if in disbelief. Magnussen picks up the olive and puts it in his mouth, then licks his thumb and forefinger before reaching across to the glass of water and dabbling the licked digits in it. With his other hand he reaches across the table and takes his glasses from Sherlock, then shakes the water off his wet fingers over the table and puts his glasses back on. Sherlock slowly lowers his own hands to the table, looking down as if still in shock.)
SHERLOCK (quietly): Impress me, then. Show me Appledore.
MAGNUSSEN (chewing on the olive): Everything’s available for a price.
(Sherlock lifts his eyes to his.)
MAGNUSSEN: Are you making me an offer?
SHERLOCK: A Christmas present.
MAGNUSSEN: And what are you giving me for Christmas, Mr Holmes?
SHERLOCK: My brother.
(He smiles, and the scene fades to black.)
[Your transcriber pouts, annoyed that we didn’t see Sherlock get up and leave the restaurant, because we all know how those hospital gowns gape at the back.]
THE PRESENT. In the Holmes’ kitchen, Sherlock is still looking down reflectively. John turns away from him.
JOHN (softly): Oh, Jesus.
(He walks away, while Sherlock looks down at his unconscious brother. John goes into the next door sitting room and looks down at Sherlock’s father on the sofa, then stops and grimaces with his fists clenched.)
JOHN: Sherlock ...
(In the kitchen, Sherlock is putting his gloves on.)
JOHN (from the sitting room): ... please tell me you haven’t just gone out of your mind.
(Sherlock bends down and takes the silver-grey laptop from the table, pulling it from under where Mycroft has one hand resting on it.)
SHERLOCK: I’d rather keep you guessing.
(John turns towards the second sitting room where Mary is, but just then the sound of an approaching helicopter can be heard. In the kitchen, Sherlock looks upwards.)
SHERLOCK: Ah. (He smiles.) There’s our lift.
(John walks across the room and looks through a window.)
Very shortly afterwards, as the helicopter flies low past the front of the cottage, John walks down the path with Sherlock behind him holding the laptop under his left arm and a coat in his right hand. John goes through the gate as the helicopter lands in a field in front of the cottage.
SHERLOCK (walking to his side): Coming?
JOHN: Where?
SHERLOCK: D’you want your wife to be safe?
JOHN: Yeah, of course I do.
(They both turn and look at the helicopter.)
SHERLOCK: Good, because this is going to be incredibly dangerous. (Quick-fire, speaking on one single breath for the next two sentences) One false move and we’ll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we’ve ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us.
JOHN (indignantly): But it’s Christmas.
(Sherlock smiles.)
SHERLOCK: I feel the same.
(He turns and sees John’s expression. His smile fades.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, you mean it’s actually Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?
JOHN: Why would I bring my gun to your parents’ house for Christmas dinner?!
SHERLOCK (holding out the coat in his right hand): Is it in your coat?
JOHN (tetchily, taking it from him): Yes.
SHERLOCK: Off we go, then.
(They start to walk towards the helicopter.)
JOHN: Where are we going?
SHERLOCK: Appledore.
APPLEDORE. In a large sitting room where one entire long wall is made of glass and looks out to the grounds, Magnussen lowers his whiskey glass at the sound of an approaching helicopter. The helicopter – which has the “CAM” logo on its side – flies down towards the house while Sherlock and John look down at it. They land on the grass not far from the house while Magnussen continues to sit on a long curved white leather sofa, not looking round to watch their arrival. A security man walks towards the helicopter while another one stands on the patio outside the house. The boys get out and walk towards the house and the helicopter takes off again and flies away. Shortly afterwards a security man leads the boys through an inside area which is lined with large green exotic plants, while another man follows behind. Magnussen is sitting on the sofa one level above them. He takes a drink from his glass as his men escort Sherlock and John into the room. Sherlock stops a couple of paces in front of the sofa while John stands a little way behind and to one side of him. Magnussen nods to his men and they turn and leave.
MAGNUSSEN (lifting his glass): I would offer you a drink but it’s very rare and expensive.
(He drinks. Sherlock turns and sits down on the sofa a couple of feet to Magnussen’s right. He sighs with a contented sound and slaps his hands down on the white leather either side of him, putting the laptop down between himself and the other man, then crosses his legs and clasps his hands in his lap. He looks across to the other side of the room.)
SHERLOCK (calmly): Oh. It was you.
(Projected onto a glass wall opposite them, footage is playing of Sherlock’s rescue of John from the bonfire. The footage repeats on a continuous loop.)
MAGNUSSEN: Yes, of course.
(John glances over his shoulder and turns back, then does a double-take.)
MAGNUSSEN: Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes.
SHERLOCK: Mm.
(John turns and walks towards the wall.)
MAGNUSSEN: The drugs thing I never believed for a moment.
(John continues walking closer to the wall, staring at the footage with his mouth open.)
MAGNUSSEN: Anyway, you wouldn’t care if it was exposed, would you?
(Sherlock tilts his head, quirks his mouth and shrugs.)
MAGNUSSEN (looking at the screen): But look how you care about John Watson.
(In slow motion on the footage, Sherlock drags John out from under the bonfire again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Your damsel in distress.
(John turns around.)
JOHN: You ... (he walks closer to Magnussen, his voice tight and furious) ... put me in a fire ... for leverage?
MAGNUSSEN: Oh, I’d never let you burn, Doctor Watson. (He sits up and puts his glass onto the clear glass table in front of him, then looks up at John again.) I had people standing by.
(Sherlock looks up thoughtfully at Magnussen as he stands.)
MAGNUSSEN: I’m not a murderer ... unlike your wife.
(John stares up at him grimly. He holds his gaze for a while, then glances across to Sherlock. Magnussen walks over towards the wall.)
MAGNUSSEN: Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson.
(Reaching the wall, he puts one finger on it at the side of the projected footage. There’s a beep and as Magnussen slides his finger across the glass, the footage slides with it and disappears off to the side.)
MAGNUSSEN (turning back to the others): For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well ... apart from me.
(John tilts his head at him questioningly. The side of Sherlock’s mouth lifts in a small smile.)
MAGNUSSEN: Mycroft’s pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock.
(He walks back across the room to the sofa.)
MAGNUSSEN: And Sherlock’s pressure point is his best friend, John Watson. John Watson’s pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson’s wife ... (he looks round to Sherlock) ... I own Mycroft. (He sits down.) He’s what I’m getting for Christmas.
(Even though the laptop is almost within his reach, he holds out his hand towards Sherlock. Without looking round, Sherlock shoves it across the sofa towards him.)
SHERLOCK: It’s an exchange, not a gift.
(He stands up, while Magnussen raises his eyebrows at him. Sherlock walks a few paces forward, then turns round again. Magnussen picks up the laptop.)
MAGNUSSEN: Forgive me, but ... (he holds the laptop to his chest and runs his fingers over the back) ... I already seem to have it.
SHERLOCK: It’s password protected.
(Magnussen continues to run his fingers over the machine.)
SHERLOCK: In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson.
MAGNUSSEN: Oh, she’s bad, that one. So many dead people. You should see what I’ve seen.
JOHN: I don’t need to see it.
MAGNUSSEN: You might enjoy it, though.
(John swallows but holds his gaze.)
MAGNUSSEN: I enjoy it.
(John nods as if not surprised.)
SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Then why don’t you show us?
MAGNUSSEN: Show you Appledore?
(He puts the laptop onto the sofa beside him, then looks back at Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN: The secret vaults? Is that what you want?
SHERLOCK (intensely): I want everything you’ve got on Mary.
(Magnussen lets out a short breathy laugh, shaking his head a little, then he lowers his eyes, scratches the back of his head and chuckles for a few seconds. John’s mouth twists and he shoots a brief glance towards Sherlock. Eventually Magnussen stops sniggering and looks down to the laptop, patting it and grimacing a little.)
MAGNUSSEN: You know, I honestly expected something good.
SHERLOCK: Oh, I think you’ll find the contents of that laptop ...
MAGNUSSEN: ... include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived ... (he looks down at the laptop) ... they’ll find top secret information in my hands ... (he reaches forward and picks up his glass from the table) ... and have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I’ll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr and Mrs Psychopath.
(He looks at John, who holds his gaze, though his cheeks move as if he is gritting his teeth a little. Only once Magnussen starts talking again does he cast a quick glance at Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN (lifting his glass closer to his mouth): Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. (He looks into the glass and moves it even closer.) He’ll be a very, very proud big brother.
(He drinks, emptying the glass.)
SHERLOCK: The fact that you know it’s going to happen isn’t going to stop it.
(Offscreen, Magnussen puts his glass down on the table.)
MAGNUSSEN: Then why am I smiling?
(He looks up at Sherlock and smiles a little. Sherlock looks at him thoughtfully.)
MAGNUSSEN: Ask me.
JOHN (taking one step towards him): Why are you smiling?
MAGNUSSEN (looking down a little): Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves ...
(His eyes are back on Sherlock again.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... and everything he holds dear.
(He stands up slowly.)
MAGNUSSEN: Let me show you the Appledore vaults.
(He leads the others across the room and through the open glass doors of the study we have seen before. He walks across to the wooden doors at the side of the room and then turns back to the others, putting a hand on the doors.)
MAGNUSSEN: The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all.
(He turns and takes hold of the door handles, then pulls the doors open. We are looking from inside the doors towards Magnussen and the other two as they look inside. Magnussen steps slowly through the doors, looking all around at what we can’t yet see, while Sherlock and John look uncertainly at what they can see. After a moment Magnussen slowly begins to turn around and the perspective shifts to a view from behind the boys. Inside the doors is nothing more than a small room, painted white and brightly lit. It is no more than few feet deep and the ceiling is about eight feet high. There are no shelves, no library stacks, no filing cabinets, no grotesque dolls, stuffed animals or sculptures. The only thing in the room is a metal and leather low-backed executive chair. As Magnussen slowly continues to turns around, Sherlock’s eyes quickly skim around the whiteness, then his eyes go back to Magnussen.)
JOHN: Okay – so where are the vaults, then?
MAGNUSSEN (looking at him): Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building.
(He sits down on the chair, then gestures around the room.)
MAGNUSSEN: They’re all in here.
(John frowns and blinks. Sherlock’s eyes are wide as if he is beginning to realise the truth. Magnussen leans forward and slowly raises the fingers of his right hand to touch his temple.)
MAGNUSSEN: The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don’t you, Sherlock?
(Sherlock swallows and then opens his mouth slightly.)
MAGNUSSEN: How to store information so you never forget it – by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes ... (he does so, slowly lowering his head) ... and down I go to my vaults.
(Inside his head, he opens his eyes and then walks down the wooden spiral staircase.)
MAGNUSSEN (sitting with his eyes closed in the white room): I can go anywhere inside my vaults ...
(In his head, he walks through the library stacks, his fingers flickering towards the shelves.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... my memories.
(In his head, he reaches the dark, creepy end of the Mind Palace. In the white room, he turns his head from side to side a little with his eyes still closed. In his Mind Palace he walks past the creepy displayed objects. In the white room he lifts his right hand and reaches forward.)
MAGNUSSEN: I’ll look at the files on Mrs Watson.
(In his Mind Palace, he reaches towards a filing cabinet with his right hand. He can hear himself pull one of the drawers open. Outside the white room, Sherlock closes his eyes and shakes his head a little, his lips pulled back from his teeth. John stares at Magnussen as he raises both hands and flickers his fingers in front of him as if he is working his way through the files inside the imaginary drawer. Magnussen can hear the files moving under his fingers. John clears his throat and looks down with a humourless smile as he seems to start to understand how Magnussen’s mind works. Still flicking through the files in the drawer, Magnussen hums idly to himself while, in his Mind Palace, he works his way along the files.)
MAGNUSSEN: Mmm, ah. (In the white room he lifts his right hand as if lifting a folder out of the drawer.) This is one of my favourites. (He sits back in the chair while, in his head, he looks at the file with a picture of Mary paper-clipped to the inside.) Oh, it’s so exciting.
(Lowering his head in the white room with his eyes still closed, he moves his hands as if he is turning the pages inside the file. Sherlock lowers his head with a shocked look on his face as Magnussen chuckles quietly. In his Mind Palace Magnussen is looking at a sheet of paper to which is stuck a photograph of Mary looking grimly into the camera, and another photograph which is too blurry to see clearly.)
MAGNUSSEN: All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh!
(In the white room, he points to an imaginary page in the file.)
MAGNUSSEN: She’s gone a bit ... freelance now. Bad girl.
(He turns the imaginary page and sniggers. Inside his Mind Palace he sniggers again, letting out an amused, “Ohh!” In the white room he holds up a finger, then chuckles even more, then turns another imaginary page, still smiling.)
MAGNUSSEN: Ah, she is so wicked.
(In his Mind Palace he turns back to the front page of the file. In the white room he lifts his right hand as if putting the closed file back into the cabinet.)
MAGNUSSEN: I can really see why you like her.
(With both hands, he pushes the imaginary drawer closed again. In his Mind Palace he does likewise with the ‘real’ drawer. In the white room he lifts both hands and turns them over, then opens his eyes and looks at Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN: You see?
(John clears his throat.)
JOHN: So there are no documents. You don’t actually have anything here.
MAGNUSSEN: Oh, sometimes I send out for something ... (he lifts his left hand and looks down at his watch) ... if I really need it ...
(Sherlock looks away a little, closing his eyes briefly.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... but mostly I just remember it all.
JOHN (shaking his head): I don’t understand.
MAGNUSSEN: You should have that on a T-shirt.
JOHN: You just remember it all?
MAGNUSSEN (looking at Sherlock): It’s all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning.
JOHN: But if you just know it, then you don’t have proof.
MAGNUSSEN: Proof? What would I need proof for? I’m in news, you moron. I don’t have to prove it – I just have to print it.
(Sherlock’s gaze is lowered and his expression suggests that he is fully aware of how badly he has miscalculated.)
MAGNUSSEN (standing up and buttoning his jacket): Speaking of news, you’ll both be heavily featured tomorrow – trying to sell state secrets to me.
(He tuts disapprovingly, then looks at his watch again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Let’s go outside. They’ll be here shortly.
(He walks out of the room and heads towards the glass doors.)
MAGNUSSEN: Can’t wait to see you arrested.
(John watches him go, then steps closer to his friend.)
JOHN (quietly): Sherlock, do we have a plan?
(Sherlock is fixed in place, still looking down towards the floor of the white room, his gaze unfocused.)
JOHN (sternly): Sherlock.
(When Sherlock still doesn’t move, John turns and walks away. Sherlock shuts his eyes, screwing them closed with a look of despair.
Magnussen walks across the sitting room to a glass door which leads out onto a patio. He goes outside and looks around. The sky is darkening, so apparently it is early evening. John follows him out onto the patio.)
MAGNUSSEN: They’re taking their time, aren’t they?
(John stops beside him, not looking at him.)
JOHN: I still don’t understand.
MAGNUSSEN (looking up into the sky): And there’s the back of the T-shirt.
(Sherlock has finally left the study and is walking slowly towards the patio door.)
JOHN (turning his head to look at Magnussen): You just know things. How does that work?
(Magnussen turns to face him as Sherlock walks out onto the patio and stops just outside the door.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): I just love your little soldier face. I’d like to punch it.
(John stares back at him, his eyes wide.)
MAGNUSSEN: Bring it over here a minute.
(John glances over to Sherlock.)
MAGNUSSEN: Come on.
(Very reluctantly and not meeting his eyes, Sherlock gives John a short nod, his face full of pain at having to do this.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): For Mary. Bring me your face.
(John looks back to Magnussen, who nods slightly. Clearing his throat, John slowly takes two steps closer to him. Magnussen turns a little to face him, then leans down to him.)
MAGNUSSEN: Lean forward a bit and stick your face out.
(John clears his throat again, adjusting his footing.)
MAGNUSSEN (smirking at him): Please?
(He leans closer, chuckling. John locks his gaze on him while he does as instructed.)
MAGNUSSEN: Now, can I flick it?
(John snorts in disbelief, lowering his head and shaking it before raising it again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Can I flick your face?
(Pursing his lips and looking at him again, John leans forward. Magnussen lifts his right hand with the back towards John, bends his middle finger under his thumb, holds his hand close to John’s left cheek and then releases the middle finger to flick sharply against his cheek. John blinks instinctively and tilts his head at the man, still holding his gaze. Magnussen flicks his cheek again, then chuckles.)
MAGNUSSEN: I just love doing this.
(He looks across to Sherlock, whose eyes are lowered, the pain still in his face.)
MAGNUSSEN: I could do it all day.
(He chuckles again, then turns back to John.)
MAGNUSSEN: It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed.
(He flicks his cheek again. Sherlock has now lifted his gaze and is looking at him, his expression grim.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): I know where to find people who hate her.
(He flicks him again, then again. The soldier stares back at him, tolerating it only because he has no choice.)
MAGNUSSEN: I know where they live; I know their phone numbers.
(He flicks him twice more.)
MAGNUSSEN: All in my Mind Palace – all of it.
(Sherlock’s gaze towards him becomes more intense.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down – and I will ...
(Sherlock’s lips are slightly lifted from his teeth.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): ... unless you let me flick your face.
(He flicks him three times. Sherlock continues to glare at him with his teeth bared.)
MAGNUSSEN (to John): This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries ...
(He flicks him again, then straightens up.)
MAGNUSSEN: ... just because I know.
(He bends back down to John.)
MAGNUSSEN: Can I do your eye now?
(John turns his head a little, looking away.)
MAGNUSSEN: See if you can keep it open, hmm?
(Almost before John turns back to him, he flicks John’s left eyebrow. John’s eyes instinctively flinch closed. Magnussen sniggers and flicks his eyebrow again.)
MAGNUSSEN: Come on. For Mary. Keep it open.
(He bends his finger under his thumb again.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
SHERLOCK (quietly, his voice apologetic): Let him. I’m sorry.
(Magnussen looks round to him for a moment.)
SHERLOCK: Just ... let him.
(John grimaces slightly.)
MAGNUSSEN (turning back to him): Come on. Eye open.
(With a bemused look on his face, he flicks John’s eyebrow again, and again John’s eyes flinch closed for a moment before he glares back at the man as he sniggers and flicks him again. He laughs as John breathes harshly.)
MAGNUSSEN (cheerfully): It’s difficult, isn’t it? (He straightens up.) Janine managed it once. (He looks towards Sherlock.) She makes the funniest noises.
(The sound of an approaching helicopter can be heard. It soars over the roof and at the same time, armed police marksmen run towards the patio. The helicopter drops down to hover some yards away, its spotlight aimed towards the men on the patio. As they are buffeted by the wind from the rotors, Mycroft’s voice blares out over a speaker on the helicopter.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
(He is sitting in the helicopter wearing a headset and microphone.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Stand away from that man.
(Sherlock looks away. Magnussen looks over towards him.)
MAGNUSSEN: Here we go, Mr Holmes!
SHERLOCK (loudly, over the noise of the hovering helicopter, as he steps forward and walks to John’s side): To clarify: Appledore’s vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there.
MAGNUSSEN (looking towards the helicopter): They’re not real. They never have been.
(Sherlock nods, looking down.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step away.
(Magnussen walks forward a couple of steps, waving his hands calmly at the helicopter.)
MAGNUSSEN (loudly): It’s fine! They’re harmless!
(The armed police continue moving into position, aiming their rifles towards the patio.)
POLICE OFFICER (over radio): Target is not armed. I repeat, target is not armed.
JOHN (looking round to his friend): Sherlock, what do we do?
(He turns to look at the helicopter again.)
MAGNUSSEN (over his shoulder): Nothing! (He looks round at them.) There’s nothing to be done! Oh, I’m not a villain. I have no evil plan. I’m a business-man, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!
(As John continues to stare towards the helicopter, Sherlock turns his head and looks at his friend, and his gaze is penetrating and intense.)
MAGNUSSEN: Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes.
(Sherlock looks away from John, lowering his gaze but still with a determined look on it. Magnussen turns away from him.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, stand away from that man. Do it now.
SHERLOCK (loudly, looking up): Oh, do your research.
(He steps closer to John, reaches round behind him and into John’s coat pocket, then steps away again and walks forward towards Magnussen.)
SHERLOCK: I’m not a hero ...
(Magnussen turns to look at him.)
SHERLOCK: ... I’m a high-functioning sociopath.
(He widens his eyes and glares at the man.)
SHERLOCK: Merry Christmas!
(He raises John’s pistol, aims it at Magnussen’s head and fires. As John recoils and even before Magnussen hits the ground, Sherlock drops the gun to the patio and turns towards the helicopter, raising his hands.)
POLICE OFFICER (over radio): Man down, man down.
SHERLOCK (loudly): Get away from me, John! (He turns to look at him.) Stay well back!
JOHN (desperately): Christ, Sherlock!
(He raises his own hands.)
MYCROFT (frantically, into his microphone): Stand fire!
(The police marksmen run towards the patio, aiming their rifles at Sherlock as he faces them.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE (over speaker): Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!
(The marksmen take up positions, aiming their laser sights towards Sherlock.)
JOHN (his voice full of despair): Oh, Christ, Sherlock.
(Keeping his hands raised, Sherlock looks round to him again.)
SHERLOCK: Give my love to Mary.
(John stares at him, his face full of anguish.)
SHERLOCK: Tell her she’s safe now.
(He takes one final look at his best friend and then slowly turns towards the marksmen and the helicopter and begins to sink slowly to his knees. John holds his own hands high, his eyes full of despair. Sherlock kneels on the patio, his hands raised and his face anguished. The beams from the laser sights travel over his face as he stares ahead of himself, knowing that he has done something that no one can save him from.
In the helicopter, Mycroft takes off his headset and stares in equal despair towards his brother.)
MYCROFT (softly, anguished): Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?
(He can’t see the adult Sherlock on the patio. Instead, it’s as if his little eleven year old brother is standing there, his face full of terror as he stares upwards, his hands raised, his curly hair buffeted by the wind from the helicopter’s rotor blades, and tears pouring down his face. The young boy lowers his head, weeping.)
|
