The Great Game Sherlock

BALALAIKA MUSIC PLAYS

MAN OUTSIDE SHOUTS COMMANDS

Just tell me what happened from the beginning.

We had been to a bar,

nice place, and, er, I got chatting with one of the waitresses,

and Karen weren't happy with that, so...when we get back to the hotel,

we end up having a bit of a ding-dong.

HE SIGHS

She's always getting at me, saying I weren't a real man.

Wasn't a real man.

-What?

-It's not "weren't", it's "wasn't".

Oh.

Go on.

Well...then I don't know how it happened,

but suddenly there's a knife in my hands...

..and me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives.

-He learned us how to cut up a beast.

-Taught.

-What?

-Taught you how to cut up a beast.

Yeah, well, then I done it.

-Did it.

-Did it! Stabbed her,

over and over and over, and I looked down, and she weren't...

..wasn't...

..moving no more.

Any more.

God help me, I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident, I swear.

You've got to help me, Mr Holmes!

Everyone says you're the best.

Without you...

I'll get hung for this.

No, no, Mr Bewick, not at all.

Hanged, yes.

TWO GUNSHOTS

DOOR OPENS

HE INHALES DEEPLY

DOOR SHUTS, HE SIGHS

GUNSHOTS

What the hell are you doing?!

-Bored.

-What?!

-Bored!

-No...

-GUNSHOT

-Bored!

-GUNSHOT

-Bored!

Don't know what's got into the criminal classes.

-Good job I'm not one of them.

-So you take it out on the wall?

The wall had it coming.

-What about that Russian case?

-Belarus? Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.

Oh, shame(!)

Anything in? I'm starving.

Oh, f...

There's a head.

-A severed head!

-Just tea for me, thanks.

-No, there's a head in the fridge.

-Yes?

-A bloody head!

-Well, where else

could I put it? You don't mind, do you?

-Well...

-Got it from Barts morgue.

I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.

I see you've written up the taxi driver case.

Er...yes.

A Study In Pink.

Nice.

Well, you know. Pink lady, pink case,

pink phone. There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?

-Um...no.

-Why not? I thought you'd be flattered.

Flattered?! "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds.

"What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is

-"about some things."

-Hang on, I didn't mean that...

Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way(!)

-Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister or...

-I know.

-..who's sleeping with who...

-Whether the Earth goes round the sun.

-That again! It's not important!

Not impor...?!

-It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?

-Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it.

Deleted it?

Listen. This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense

to put things in there that are useful. REALLY useful.

Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish.

That makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?

But it's the solar system!

Oh, hell! What does that matter?! So we go round the sun. If we went round the moon,

or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference!

All that matters to me is the work! Without that, my brain rots!

Put that in your blog! Or, better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world!

DOOR OPENS AND SHUTS

-Where are you going?

-Out! I need some air.

-Oh, sorry, love!

-Sorry.

Ooh-ooh! Have you two had a little domestic?

Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there.

He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.

Look at that, Mrs Hudson.

Quiet.

Calm. Peaceful.

Isn't it hateful?

Oh, I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock.

A nice murder. That'll cheer you up.

Mmm. Can't come too soon.

Hey, what have you done to my bloody wall?!

I'm putting this on your rent, young man!

EXPLOSION BOOMS

CAR ALARM BEEPS

GROANING

-Morning.

-Oh...m-morning.

-See? Told you you should have gone with the Lilo.

No, no, no, it's fine, I slept fine. It's very kind of you.

Well, maybe next time I'll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know.

-NEWSREADER:

-'..which was discovered mouldering...'

-What about the time after that?

-'..18 months ago.

'Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century...'

-Do you want some breakfast?

-Love some.

-Well, make it yourself. I'm going to have a shower.

'..It fetched over £20 million.

'This one is anticipated to do even better. Back now to our main story.

'There's been a massive explosion in central London.

'As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say

'if there's any suspicion of terrorist involvement.'

Sarah!

-'Police have issued an emergency number...'

-Sarah!

-'..for friends and relatives.'

-Sorry! I've got to run!

Excuse me, can I get through? Excuse me. Can I get through?

I live over there.

DOOR BANGS Sherlock!

Sherlock!

-PIZZICATO NOTE

-John.

I saw it on the telly. Are you OK?

Me? What? Oh, yeah, fine.

-Gas leak, apparently.

-PIZZICATO NOTE

-I can't.

-Can't?

Stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time.

Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.

-PIZZICATO NOTE

-How's the diet?

Fine.

Perhaps you can get through to him, John.

-What?

-I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent.

If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?

No. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so...

Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?

Besides, a case like this, it requires...legwork.

FALSE NOTE

How's Sarah, John? How was the Lilo?

Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.

-Oh, yes, of course.

-How...? Oh, never mind.

Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became...

pals. What's he like to live with?

-Hellish, I imagine.

-I'm never bored.

Good. That's good, isn't it?

Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. Civil servant.

Found dead on the tracks at Battersea station this morning

with his head smashed in.

Jumped in front of a train?

Seems the logical assumption.

-But?

-But?

Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident.

Hah!

The MoD is working on a new missile defence system, the Bruce-Partington Program it's called.

The plans for it were on a memory stick.

That wasn't very clever.

-It's not the only copy.

-Oh.

-But it is secret.

And missing.

Top secret?

Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick.

We can't risk it falling into the wrong hands.

You've got to find those plans, Sherlock.

-Don't make me order you.

-I'd like to see you try.

Think it over.

-Goodbye, John.

-Mm.

See you very soon.

REPEATS RAPID PHRASE

FOOTSTEPS FADE

Why did you lie?

DOOR SHUTS

You've got nothing on.

Not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding.

-Why did you tell your brother you were busy?

-Why shouldn't I?

Oh.

Nice.

Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere.

MOBILE PHONE RINGS

Sherlock Holmes.

Of course. How could I refuse?

Lestrade - I've been summoned.

Coming?

-If you want me to.

-Of course.

I'd be lost without my blogger.

'You like the funny cases, don't you?'

-The surprising ones.

-Obviously.

-You'll love this. That explosion.

-Gas leak, yes?

-No.

-No?

-No. Made to look like one.

-What?

Hardly anything left of the place, except a strongbox.

A VERY strong box, and inside it was this.

-You haven't opened it?

-It's addressed to you, isn't it?

-We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped.

-How reassuring.

Nice stationery.

Bohemian.

What?

From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?

No.

She used a fountain pen. Parker Duofold, iridium nib.

-She?

-Obviously.

Obviously.

But that... That's the phone. The pink phone.

-What, from The Study In Pink?

-Obviously, it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like...

"Study In Pink"? You read his blog?

Of course. We all do.

Do you REALLY not know that the Earth goes round the sun?

SHE SNIGGERS

It isn't the same phone. This one's brand-new.

Someone's taken trouble to make it look the same, which means your blog has a far wider readership.

'You have one new message.'

FIVE GREENWICH TIME SIGNAL PIPS

-Was that it?

-No, that's not it.

PHONE BEEPS

What the hell are we supposed to make of that?

An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips.

-It's a warning.

-A warning?

Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds,

orange pips, things like that - five pips.

They're warning us it's going to happen again.

-I've seen this place before.

-Hang on.

-What's going to happen again?

-Boom!

Mrs Hudson!

You had a look, didn't you, when you first came to see about your flat?

The door's been opened, recently.

No, can't be. That's the only key.

I can't get anyone interested in this flat.

It's the damp, I expect - that's the curse of basements.

I'd a place once when I was first married. Mould all up the wall...

Oh. Dear me.

Shoes.

He's a bomber, remember.

MOBILE PHONE RINGS

-SOFTLY:

-Hello.

RAGGED BREATHING OVER PHONE

-WOMAN:

-'H-Hello...sexy.'

-Who's this?

-WOMAN SOBS

'I've...sent you...a little puzzle,

'just to say hi.'

Who's talking? Why are you crying?

WOMAN CRIES

'I...I'm not crying.

'I'm typing.'

And this...stupid bitch

is reading it out.

The curtain rises.

-What?

-Nothing.

-No, what did you mean?

I've been expecting this for some time.

-SOBBING:

-'12 hours to solve...'

..my puzzle, Sherlock...

or I'm going to be...

..so...naughty.

-So, who do you suppose it was?

-Hmm?

Woman on the phone - the crying woman.

Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage. No lead there.

-I wasn't thinking about leads.

-You're not going to be much use to her.

Are they trying to trace it - trace the call?

-Bomber's too smart for that.

-MOBILE BEEPS

-Pass my phone.

-Where is it?

-Jacket.

Careful!

Text from your brother.

-Delete it.

-Delete it?

-Plans are out of the country. Nothing we can do.

Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times.

-Must be important.

-Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?

-His what?

-Mycroft never texts if he can talk.

Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in,

end of story.

The only mystery is why my brother is so determined to bore me when somebody is being so interesting.

Try and remember there's a woman who might die.

What for? There's hospitals full of people dying, Doctor.

Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?

-COMPUTER BEEPS

-Ah!

-Any luck?

-Oh, yes!

-Oh, sorry. I didn't...

-Jim, hi! Come in! Come in!

-Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.

-Ah.

-And, er... Sorry.

-John Watson. Hi.

Hi. So you're Sherlock Holmes.

Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?

Jim works in IT, upstairs.

-That's how we met. Office romance.

-JIM CHUCKLES

Gay.

-Sorry, what?

-Nothing. Um, hey.

-Hi.

-CLATTERING

Sorry. Sorry!

Well, I'd better be off.

I'll see you at the Fox.

-About sixish?

-Yeah.

-Bye.

-Bye.

It was nice to meet you.

You too.

DOOR OPENS

What do you mean, gay? We're together.

Domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on 3lb since I last saw you.

-Two-and-a-half.

-No, three.

-Sherlock.

-He's not gay!

-Why do you have to spoil...? He's not!

-With that level of grooming?

Because he puts product in his hair? I put product in my hair.

You wash your hair, there's a difference.

Tinted eyelashes, signs of taurine cream around the frown lines,

those tired, clubber's eyes.

-Then there's his underwear.

-His underwear?

Visible above the waistline. Very particular brand.

Plus the suggestive fact that he left his number under this dish.

I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain.

DOOR OPENS Charming, well done(!)

Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?

Kinder? No, no, Sherlock, that wasn't kind.

Go on, then.

Hm?

You know what I do. Off you go.

-Oh... No.

-Go on.

-I'm not going to let you humiliate me while I...

-An outside eye,

-a second opinion - it's very useful to me.

-Yeah, right(!)

-Really!

Fine. CLEARS THROAT

-Oh, they're just a pair of sh... trainers.

-Good.

Um...

They're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new,

except the sole has been well worn, so the owner must have had them for a while.

Er, very '80s. Probably one of those retro designs.

You're on sparkling form. What else?

They're quite big. A man's.

But...

But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip.

Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belong to a kid.

Excellent. What else?

Er...

-That's it.

-That's it.

-How did I do?

-Well, John.

Really well.

I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, you know...

The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean.

Whitened them. Changed the laces three...no, four times.

There are traces of flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he had eczema.

The shoes are more worn on the inner side, so he had weak arches.

British-made, 20 years old.

-20 years?

-They're not retro, they're original.

Limited edition - two blue stripes, 1989.

There's still mud on them. They look new.

Someone's kept them that way.

Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles.

Analysis shows it's from Sussex with London mud overlaying it.

-How do you know?

-Pollen. Clear as a map reference. South of the river.

-This kid came to London from Sussex 20 years ago and left the trainers behind.

-What happened to him?

Something bad.

He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy.

Wouldn't let them go unless he had to.

So, a child with big feet gets...

Oh!

What?

Carl Powers.

-Sorry, who?

-Carl Powers, John.

What is it?

It's where I began.

1989, kid, champion swimmer, came from Brighton for a school sports tournament, drowned in the pool.

-Tragic accident. You wouldn't remember it.

-But you remember.

-Yes.

-Something fishy about it?

Nobody thought so.

Nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.

-You started young, didn't you?

-The boy, Carl Powers,

had some kind of fit in the water,

but by the time they got him out, it was too late.

There was something wrong somewhere. I couldn't get it out of my head.

-What?

-His shoes.

-What about them?

-They weren't there. I made a fuss.

I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important.

He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes.

Until now.

CLOCK TICKS

SIREN WAILS IN DISTANCE

Can I help?

I want to help. There's only five hours left. MOBILE BEEPS

It's your brother.

He's texting me now.

-How does he know my number?

-Must be a root canal.

-Look, he did say...national importance.

-Hmm!

-How quaint!

-What is?

You are. Queen and country.

-You can't just ignore it.

-I'm not ignoring it.

Putting my best man onto it right now.

Right, good! CLEARS THROAT

Who's that?

John, how nice! I was hoping it wouldn't be long. How can I help you?

Thank you.

Um, I was wanting to...

Your brother sent me to collect more facts

about the stolen plans - the missile plans.

-Did he?

-Yes. He's investigating now.

He's, er...investigating away.

I just wondered what else you could tell me about the dead man.

Er, 27. Clerk at Vauxhall Cross.

MI6.

He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Program in a minor capacity.

Security checks A-OK. No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies.

Last seen by his fiancee 10.30 yesterday evening.

Lucy, love, I've got to go out.

I've got to see someone.

Westie!

He was found at Battersea, yes. So he got on the train?

-No.

-What?

He had an Oyster card...

-..but it hadn't been used.

-He must have bought a ticket.

Hm. There was no ticket on the body.

-Then...

-How did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea?

That is the question -

the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to.

How's he getting on?

He's fine.

And it is going...very well.

He's, um... He's completely focused on it.

CLOCK TICKS

-Poison!

-What are you going on about?

Clostridium botulinum.

It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet.

Carl Powers.

Are you saying he was murdered?

-Remember the shoelaces?

-Mmm.

He suffered from eczema. It would be easy to introduce the poison into his medication.

Two hours later he comes to London, the poison paralyses the muscles and he drowns.

-How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?

-It's virtually undetectable. Nobody was looking for it.

There are still tiny traces of it in the trainers

from where he put the cream on his feet.

-That's why they had to go.

-So how do we let the bomber know?

-Get his attention, stop the clock.

-The killer kept the shoes all these years.

-Yes.

-Meaning...

-He's our bomber.

PHONE RINGS

SOBS

"Well done, you.

"Come and get me."

Where are you?

Tell us where you are.

SIRENS WAIL

-LESTRADE:

-She lives in Cornwall.

Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park

and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house.

Told her to phone you.

Check the read-out from this - pager.

If she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off.

-Or if you hadn't solved the case.

-Oh...elegant!

Elegant?

What was the point? Why would anyone do this?

Oh...I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored.

MOBILE PHONE BEEPS

'You have one new message.'

FOUR GREENWICH TIME SIGNAL PIPS

Four pips.

First test passed, it would seem.

Here's the second.

-PHONE RINGS

-It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?

I'll see if it's been reported.

Freak, it's for you.

Hello.

-MAN, SHAKILY:

-'It's OK that you've gone to the police.'

Who is this?

Is this you again?

'But don't rely on them.

'Clever you,

'guessing about Carl Powers.

'I never liked him.'

-TRAFFIC ROARS

-Carl laughed at me,

so I stopped him laughing.

You've stolen another voice, I presume.

This is about you and me.

Who are you? What's that noise?

It's the sounds of life, Sherlock.

But don't worry. I can soon fix that.

You solved my last puzzle in nine hours.

-This time you have eight.

-CLOCK TICKS

Great!

We've found it.

The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind.

City boy. Paid in cash.

Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, never arrived.

-You're still hanging round him.

-Yeah, well...

-Opposites attract, I s'pose.

-We're not...

-You should get yourself a hobby. Stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer.

-Before you ask,

yes, it's Monkford's blood. DNA checks out.

-No body.

-Not yet.

Get a sample sent to the lab.

Oh...!

Mrs Monkford...

Yes. Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen.

We're not from the police, we're...

-TEARFULLY:

-Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband's.

We, um...

we grew up together.

I'm sorry. Who? I don't think he ever mentioned you.

Oh, he must have done. This is...

This is horrible. I mean, I just can't believe it.

I only saw him the other day.

Same old Ian. Not a care in the world.

Sorry... My husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?

Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?

No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all.

Ah, well! That was Ian.

-That was Ian all over.

-No, it wasn't.

-NORMAL VOICE:

-Wasn't it? Interesting.

-Who was that?

-Why did you lie to her?

People don't like telling you things but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?

-What?

-I referred to her husband in the past tense.

-She joined in. Bit premature. They've only just found the car.

-You think she murdered her husband?

-That's not a mistake a murderer would make.

-I see...

-No, I don't. What am I seeing? SALLY:

-Fishing.

-Try fishing.

-Where now?

Janus Cars.

Just found this in the glove compartment.

CLOCK TICKS

-Can't see how I can help you gentlemen.

-Mr Monkford hired the car

-from you yesterday.

-Yeah, lovely motor.

Mazda RX8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself.

Is that one?

No, they're all Jags.

I can see you're not a car man, eh?

-But surely you can afford one - a Mazda, I mean.

-Yeah, fair point.

It's like working in a sweet shop. Once you start eating the Liquorice Allsorts, where does it stop?

-You didn't know Mr Monkford.

-No, he was just a client.

He came in here and hired one of my cars.

I've no idea what happened to him. Poor sod!

-Nice holiday, Mr Ewart?

-Eh?

-You've been away, haven't you?

-Oh, the...

No, it's sun beds, I'm afraid.

Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though - bit of sun.

-Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?

-What?

-I noticed one on the way in and I'm gasping.

Um... Oh!

No, sorry.

Oh, well! Thank you very much for your time, Mr Ewart.

You've been very helpful. Come on, John!

-I've got change, if you still want to...

-Nicotine patches, remember? I'm doing well.

-So, what was all that about?

-I needed to look inside his wallet.

-Why?

-Mr Ewart's a liar.

FIZZING

PHONE RINGS

Hello.

The clue's in the name - Janus Cars.

Why would you be giving me a clue?

Why does anyone do anything?

Because I'm bored.

We were made for each other, Sherlock.

-Then talk to me in your own voice.

-Patience.

CLOCK TICKS

How much blood was on that seat, would you say?

How much? About a pint.

Not about. Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake.

The blood's Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen.

-Frozen?

-There are clear signs.

I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago

-and that's what they spread on the seat.

-Who did?

-Janus Cars. The clue's in the name.

-The god with two faces?

-Exactly.

They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem - money troubles,

bad marriage, whatever - Janus Cars will help you disappear.

Ian Monkford was in trouble - financial at a guess, he's a banker - couldn't see a way out.

But if he were to vanish,

if the car he hired was found with his blood on the driver's seat...

-So where is he?

-Colombia.

-Colombia?!

Mr Ewart, of Janus Cars,

had a 20,000 Colombian peso note in his wallet.

Quite a bit of change, too.

He told us he hadn't been abroad recently,

but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly.

No-one wears a shirt on a sun bed.

-That, plus his arm.

-His arm?

He kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding.

He'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Hard to tell at that distance.

He's just back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia.

Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance, and she splits it with Janus Cars.

-Mrs Monkford?

-Oh, yes. She's in on it too.

Go and arrest them, Inspector, that's what you do best.

We need to let our bomber know the case is solved.

I am on fire!

MOBILE RINGS

-MAN:

-'He says...

'you can come and fetch me.'

Help!

Help me, please!

-Feeling better?

-Mmm.

We've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started.

-Has it occurred to you...?

-Probably.

No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you?

The envelope, breaking into the other flat,

-the dead kid's shoes - it's all meant for you.

-Yes, I know.

Is it him, then? Moriarty?

Perhaps.

MOBILE PHONE BEEPS

-THREE PIPS

-That could be anybody.

-It could be, yeah.

Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed.

-How d'you mean?

-Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly.

'..Thank you, Tyra! Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?'

MOBILE PHONE RINGS

'Anyway...speaking of silk purses...'

Hello?

-WOMAN, HALTINGLY:

-'This one...

'is a bit...'

..defective.

'Sorry.'

She's blind.

'This is...'

..a funny one.

I'll give you...

-..12 hours.

-CLOCK TICKS

Why are you doing this?

I like...

..to watch you...

dance.

SHE GASPS

-TV:

-'..And I see you're back to your bad habits.'

-REPORTER:

-'..Continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality Connie Prince.

'Miss Prince, famous for her makeover programmes,

'was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared...'

Connie Prince, 54. She had one of those makeover shows on the telly.

-Did you see it?

-No.

-Very popular. She was going places.

-Not any more.

Dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos,

she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound.

Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream, good night, Vienna.

I s'pose.

-Something's wrong with this picture.

-Eh?

Can't be that simple, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong.

-John?

-Mm.

Cut on her hand, it's deep. Would have bled a lot, right?

-Yeah.

-But the wound's clean.

Very clean, and fresh.

How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?

Oh, eight, ten days.

The cut was made later.

-After she was dead?

-Must have been.

The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?

-You want to help, right?

-Of course.

-Connie Prince's background - family history, everything, get me data.

-Right.

-There's something else that we haven't thought of.

-Is there?

Yes. Why is he doing this - the bomber?

If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it up?

-Good Samaritan.

-Who press-gangs suicide bombers?

-Bad Samaritan.

-I'm...I'm serious, Sherlock.

Listen, I'm cutting you slack here, I'm trusting you,

but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex

and he's just waiting for you to solve the puzzle, so just tell me, what are we dealing with?

Something new.

CLOCK TICKS

Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection.

Carl Powers, killed 20 years ago.

The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him.

The bomber's iPhone was in the stationery from the Czech Republic.

The first hostage from Cornwall, the second from London,

the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent.

-What's he doing? Working his way round the world, showing off?

-MOBILE PHONE RINGS

You're enjoying this, aren't you?

'Joining the...dots.'

Three hours.

CLOCK TICKS

Boom...boom.

SOBS

PHONE RINGS OFF

CLICKS PHONE OFF

CAT MIAOWS

We're devastated, of course we are.

Can I get you anything, sir?

Er, no. No, thanks.

Raoul is my rock. I don't think I could have managed.

We didn't always see eye to eye... but my sister was very dear to me.

CAT MIAOWS And to the, er, public, Mr Prince.

Oh, she was adored.

I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters

and turn them into princesses.

Still, it's a relief, in a way, to know that she's beyond this vale of tears.

CAT PURRS Absolutely.

Great.

Thank you. Thanks again.

It's a real shame. I liked her.

She taught you how to do your colours.

-Colours?

-You know, what goes best with what.

I should never wear cerise, apparently.

-Drains me.

-Who's that?

-Home Office.

-Home Office?

-Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favour.

-A pretty girl,

but she messed about with herself too much.

They all do these days. People can hardly move their faces. It's silly, isn't it?

-Did you ever see her show?

-Not until now.

CONNIE PRINCE: 'You look pasty, love.

'Ah, rained every day but one...'

That's the brother. No love lost there,

-if you can believe the papers.

-So I gather.

I've just had a fruitful chat with people who love this show.

The fan site's indispensable for gossip.

'..Don't you think, girls? Off, off, off, off, off, off, off!'

AUDIENCE JOINS IN CHANTING

It's more common than people think.

The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks,

that sort of thing, and if left un...treated...

-I don't know what I'm going to do now.

-Right.

I mean, she's left me this place... which is lovely...

-..but it's not the same without her.

-That's why...

my paper wanted to get the, um...the full story straight from the horse's mouth.

Are you sure it's not too soon?

-No.

-Right.

You fire away.

CAT MIAOWS

MOBILE PHONE RINGS

-John.

-'Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something.

'You'll need to pick up some stuff first. Got a pen?'

I'll remember.

DOOR CLOSES

-That'll be him.

-What?

-Ah, Mr Prince, isn't it?

-Yes.

-Very good to meet you.

-Yes, thank you.

-So sorry to hear about...

-Yes, yes, very kind.

Shall we, er...? CLEARS THROAT

You were right, the bacteria got into her another way.

-Oh, yes?

-Yes.

-Right, are we all set?

-Er, yes. Shall we, um...?

-Not too close. I'm raw from crying.

-CAT MIAOWS

Oh, who's this?

Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess.

How nice. Was she Connie's?

Yes, a little present from yours truly.

Sherlock, light reading?

Oh, er...

-2.8.

-Bloody hell! What are you playing at?

-Sorry!

You're like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two! What's going on?

-I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us.

-What?

-Sherlock.

-What?

-We've got deadlines.

-But you've not taken anything!

WATSON LAUGHS

Yes! Ooh, yes!

You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat.

What? Yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how he got the tetanus into her system.

-Its paws stink of disinfectant.

-Lovely idea.

No, he coated it onto the claws of her cat.

It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her.

A scratch is almost inevitable.

I thought of it when I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and clever for the brother.

-He murdered his sister for her money.

-Did he?

-Didn't he?

Nope. It was revenge.

-Rev...? Who wanted revenge?

-Raoul, the houseboy.

Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes.

Virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough, fell out with her badly. It's all on the website.

-She threatened to disinherit Kenny, Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle...

-Wait. Wait!

Wait a second. What about the disinfectant on the cat's claws?

Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door,

saw the state of that floor - scrubbed within an inch of its life.

You smell of disinfectant. No, the cat doesn't come into it.

Raoul's internet records do, though. I hope we can get a cab from here.

CLOCK TICKS

Raoul de Santos is your killer.

Kenny Prince's houseboy.

Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince,

it was botulinum toxin.

We've been here before. Carl Powers. Tut-tut.

-Our bomber's repeated himself.

-So how'd he do it?

-Botox injection.

-Botox?

Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things,

Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections.

My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases.

He's been bulk-ordering Botox for months.

Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.

-Are you sure about this?

-I'm sure.

All right, my office.

-Hey, Sherlock, how long?

-What?

-How long have you known?

-Well, this one was quite simple.

And the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.

No, but Sherlock, the hostage, the old woman, she's been there all this time!

I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us 12 hours.

I solved the case quickly, that gave me time to get on with other things.

Don't you see? We're one up on him.

PHONE RINGS

Hello?

Help me!

Tell us where you are.

-Address?

-'He was so...'

His voice...

No, no, no, no! Tell me nothing about him, nothing.

He sounded so soft.

DIALLING TONE

Hello?

Sherlock?

What's happened?

-REPORTER:

-'The explosion,

'which ripped through several floors, killing 12 people...'

-Old block of flats.

-'..caused by a faulty gas main.

'A spokesman from the utility company...'

He certainly gets about.

Well, obviously I lost that round.

Although technically, I did solve the case.

He killed the old lady because she started to describe him.

Just once, he put himself in the firing line.

What d'you mean?

Well, usually, he... must stay above it all.

He organises these things, but no-one ever has direct contact.

What, like the Connie Prince murder, he arranged that?

So, people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?

Novel.

Huh!

CAMERA SHUTTERS CLICK

Taking his time this time.

WATSON CLEARS HIS THROAT

Anything on the Carl Powers case?

Nothing.

All the living classmates check out spotless, no connection.

-Maybe the killer was older than Carl?

-The thought had occurred.

So why is he doing this, then?

Playing this game with you. Do you think he wants to be caught?

-I think he wants to be distracted.

-Oh...

I hope you'll be very happy together.

-Sorry, what?

-There are lives at stake, Sherlock.

Actual human lives! Just so I know, do you care about that at all?

-Will caring about them help save them?

-Nope.

-Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.

-And you find that easy, do you?

-Yes, very.

-Is that news to you?

-No, no.

I've disappointed you.

That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah.

Don't make people into heroes, John.

Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.

-MOBILE PHONE BEEPS

-Excellent.

A view of the Thames.

South Bank, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.

You check the papers, I'll look online.

Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help.

Not much cop, this caring lark.

SIREN WAILS

-Archway suicide...

-Ten-a-penny.

Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington.

Ah, man found on the train line, Andrew West.

Nothing!

RINGING TONE

It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?

BIRDSONG

Do you reckon this is connected, then, the bomber?

Must be. Odd, though, he hasn't been in touch.

Then we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?

Yes.

-Any ideas?

-Seven, so far.

Seven?

He's dead about 24 hours.

Maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?

Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.

Yes, I'd agree.

There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth.

More bruises...

here and here.

Fingertips.

He's late 30s, I'd say, not in the best condition.

He's been in the river a long while, the water's destroyed most of the data.

But I'll tell you one thing, that lost Vermeer painting's a fake.

-What?

-We need to identify the corpse,

find out about his friends and...

Wait, wait, wait, wait. What painting? What are you on about?

It's all over the place, haven't you seen the posters?

Dutch old master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago.

Now it's turned up, worth £30 million.

OK, so what has that got to do with the stiff?

Everything.

-Have you ever heard of the Golem?

-Golem?

It's a horror story, isn't it? What are you saying?

Jewish folk story, a gigantic man made of clay - it's also the name of an assassin.

Real name - Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world.

That is his trademark style.

-So this is a hit?

-Definitely.

The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.

But what has this got to do with that painting? I don't see...

You do see, you just don't observe!

Yes, all right, all right, girls! Calm down.

Sherlock, do you want to take us through it?

What do we know about this corpse?

The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers.

They're pretty formal, maybe he was going out for the night.

The trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap.

They're both too big for him. So some kind of standard-issue uniform.

Dressed for work, then. What kind of work?

There's a hook on his belt... for a walkie-talkie.

Tube driver?

-Security guard?

-More likely.

-That'll be borne out by his backside.

-Backside?!

Flabby, you'd think he'd led a sedentary life.

Yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise.

So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around.

Security guard's looking good. The watch helps too.

The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.

Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died.

No, no, no. The buttons are stiff, hardly touched.

He set his alarm like that a long time ago, his routine never varied.

But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted,

otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely.

There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front

that he tore off, suggesting the dead man works somewhere recognisable,

some kind of institution.

I found this inside his trouser pockets.

Sodden by the river, but still recognisably...

-Tickets?

-Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check.

The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing - Alex Woodbridge.

Tonight, they unveil the rediscovered masterpiece.

Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem

to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant?

Inference, the dead man knew something about it,

something that would stop the owner getting paid £30 million.

-The pictures are fake.

-Fantastic.

-Meretricious.

-And a Happy New Year.

Poor sod.

I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character.

Pointless, you'll never find him, but I know a man who can.

-Who?

-Me.

Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?

-Waterloo Bridge.

-Where now, the gallery?

In a bit.

The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it?

-Why have they got hold of an old master?

-Don't know.

Dangerous to jump to conclusions.

Need data...

Stop!

Can you wait here?

I won't be a moment.

Sherlock?

Change? Any change?

-What for?

-Cup of tea, of course.

Here you go, 50.

Thanks.

-What are you doing?

-Investing.

Now we go to the gallery. Have you got any cash?

No, I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant.

-Lestrade will give you the address.

-OK.

We'd been sharing about a year.

-Just sharing.

-Mmm.

-May I?

-Yeah.

Sorry.

Stargazer, was he?

God, yeah. Mad about it.

It's all he ever did in his spare time.

He was a nice guy, Alex.

I liked him.

He was, er...

never much of a one for hoovering.

What about art? Did he know anything about that?

It was just a job, you know?

Mmm.

Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?

No.

We had a break-in, though.

-When?

-Last night.

There was nothing taken.

Oh, there was a message left for Alex on the land line.

-Who was it from?

-I can play it for you, if you like. I'll get the phone.

-Please.

PHONE BEEPS

-WOMAN:

-'Oh, should I speak now? Alex?

'Love, it's Professor Cairns.

'Listen, you were right. You were bloody right.

-'Give us a call when...'

-DIALLING TONE

Professor Cairns?

-No idea, sorry.

-Mmm.

Can I try and ring back?

No good. I've had other calls since. Sympathy ones, you know.

PHONE RINGS

Don't you have something to do?

Just admiring the view.

Yes.

Lovely. Now get back to work - we open tonight.

-Doesn't it bother you?

-What?

That the painting's a fake.

-What?

-It's a fake. It has to be. It's the only possible explanation.

-You are in charge, aren't you, Miss Wenceslas?

-Who are you?

Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake,

so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?

Golem? What the hell are you talking about?

Are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?

It's not a fake.

It is a fake. I don't know why.

But there's something wrong with it, there has to be.

-What the hell are you on about? You know I could have you sacked on the spot.

-Not a problem.

-No?

-No, I don't work here, you see.

Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice.

How did you get in?

-Please!

-I want to know.

The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight.

-Who are you?

-Sherlock Holmes.

Am I supposed to be impressed?

You should be.

Have a nice day.

DOOR CREAKS THEN SHUTS

-WOMAN:

-He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.

-Stranger things have happened.

-Westie wasn't a traitor.

That's a horrible thing to say!

I'm sorry. But you must understand...

That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?

He was young man, about to get married, he had debts.

Everyone's got debts,

and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country.

Can you, er...? Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?

We were having a night in.

Just...watching a DVD.

He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one.

He was quiet.

Out of the blue he said he just had to go and see someone.

And you've no idea who?

Hi, Liz. You OK, love?

-Yeah.

-Who's this?

-John Watson, hi.

-This is my brother, Joe.

John's trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.

-You with the police?

-Sort of, yeah.

Tell them to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous.

I'll do my best.

CLEARS THROAT Well, er,

thanks very much for your help. Again, I'm very, very sorry.

He didn't steal those things, Mr Watson.

I knew Westie, he was a good man.

He was MY good man.

-Spare change?

-No.

Any spare change?

Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art.

-And?

-And...

Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?

Give us a chance. He was an amateur astronomer.

-Hold that cab.

-Spare change, sir?

-Don't mind if I do.

WATSON: Can you wait here?

Fortunately, I haven't been idle. Come on.

Beautiful, isn't it?

-I thought you didn't care about...

-Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it.

Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat.

-A Professor Cairns.

-This way.

Nice. Nice part of town.

-Any time you want to explain?

-Homeless network.

-Really is indispensable.

-Homeless network?

-My eyes and ears, all over the city.

-Ah, that's...clever.

-So you scratch their backs, and...?

-Yes, then disinfect myself.

Sherlock! Come on!

What's he doing sleeping rough?

Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag...much.

-Oh sh...

-What?

-I wish I...

-Don't mention it.

-No! No! No! No!

-TYRES SQUEAL

It'll take us weeks to find him again.

Or not. I have an idea where he might be going.

-What?

-I told you, someone left Alex Woodbridge a message.

There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.

'Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system, and the largest.

'Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it 11 times.'

Yes, we know that.

FILM SPOOLS

-'Titan is the largest moon...'

-Come on, Neptune.

-THUMP

-'Many are actually long dead...'

-Tom, is that you?

-'..exploded into supernovas.'

'Discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in 1846...'

FILM SPOOLS

-'..composed mainly of hydrogen.'

-SHE STRUGGLES

-'Their light takes so long to reach us...'

-Golem!

'..many are actually long dead, exploded into...'

FILM SPOOLS

I can't see him. I'll go round.

Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?

'A star begins as a collapsing ball of material composed mainly of...'

Golem! COCKS GUN

Let him go...

or I will kill you.

FILM SPOOLS

'The fourth planet of the solar system, named after the Roman god of war.'

'..it is a gas giant...'

FILM SPOOLS

'..takes so long to reach us...

FILM SPOOLS

'..into supernovas...'

GUNSHOT

'..exploded into supernovas...'

It's a fake. It has to be.

That painting has been subjected to every test known to science.

It's a very good fake, then.

You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?

Inspector, my time is being wasted.

Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?

-PHONE RINGS

-The painting is a fake.

It's a fake, that's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed.

Oh, come on, proving it's just a detail. The painting is a fake.

I've solved it, I've figured it out.

It's a fake, that's the answer, that's why they were killed.

OK, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?

-CLOCK STARTS TICKING

-'Ten...'

-It's a kid.

-Oh God, it's a kid.

-What did he say?

-"Ten."

-'Nine...'

-It's a countdown. He's giving me time.

-Jesus...

-It's a fake, but how can I prove it? How?! How?!

'Eight...'

This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!

-'Seven...'

-No, shut up.

Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out.

It must be possible. It must be staring me in the face.

-'Six...'

-How?

-Woodbridge knew, but how?!

-'Five...'

-It's speeding up!

-Sherlock!

-'Four... '

-Oh! In the Planetarium, you heard it too.

Oh, that is brilliant, that is gorgeous!

-'Three...'

-What's brilliant? What is?!

This is beautiful. Love this!

-'Two...'

-Sherlock!

The Van Buren Supernova.

TICKING STOPS

'Please, is somebody there? Somebody help me.'

There you go. Go and find out where he is and pick him up.

Van Buren Supernova, so-called.

Exploding star. Only appeared in the sky in 1858.

So how could it have been...

painted in the 1640s?

PHONE BEEPS Oh...

Oh.

Oh, Sherl...

You know, it's interesting. Bohemian stationery,

an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Miss Wenceslas.

This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it.

Is that where this leads?

What are we looking at, Inspector?

Well, criminal conspiracy, fraud,

accessory after the fact, at the very least.

The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flat...

I didn't know anything about that.

All those things, please, believe me.

I just wanted my share.

The 30 million.

SHE SIGHS

I found a little old man in Argentina.

A genius - I mean, really.

Brushwork, immaculate.

-Could fool anyone.

-Mmm.

Well, nearly anyone.

But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine.

It was just an idea.

A spark which he blew into a flame.

Who?

I don't know.

-LESTRADE LAUGHS

-It's true!

It took a long time, but eventually I was...

put in touch with people.

His people...

Well, there was never any real contact.

Just messages...

..whispers.

And did those whispers have a name?

Moriarty.

-WATSON: So this is where West was found?

-Yeah.

-Are you going to be long?

-I might be.

-Are you the police, then?

-Sort of.

-I hate 'em.

-The police?

No, jumpers.

People who chuck 'emselves in front of trains. Selfish bastards.

Well, that's one way of looking at it.

I mean it. It's all right for them.

It's over in a split second, strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, eh?

They've got to live with it, haven't they?

Yeah, speaking of strawberry jam, there's no blood on the line.

-Has it been cleaned off?

-No, there wasn't that much.

-You said his head was smashed in.

-It was, but there wasn't much blood.

-OK.

-Well, I'll leave you to it, then.

-Just give us a shout when you're off.

-Right.

Right, so, Andrew West...got on the train somewhere. Or did he?

There was no ticket on the body.

How did he end up here?

CLANKING

-The points.

-Yes!

I knew you'd get there eventually.

West wasn't killed here, that's why there was so little blood.

-How long have you been following me?

-Since the start.

You don't think I'd give up on a case like this

just to spite my brother, do you?

Come on, we've got a bit of burglary to do.

Missile defence plans haven't left the country,

otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it.

Despite what people think, we do still have a secret service.

Yeah, I know, I've met them.

Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it

or doesn't know what to do with it.

My money's on the latter.

We're here.

Where?

Sherlock! What if there's someone in?

There isn't.

WATSON: Jesus...

-Where are we?

-Oh, sorry, didn't I say? Joe Harrison's flat.

Joe...?

Brother of West's fiancee. He stole the memory stick,

killed his prospective brother-in-law.

Then why did he do it?

KEYS RATTLING

Let's ask him.

Don't! Don't.

He wasn't meant to...

What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus.

Why did you kill him?

It was an accident. I swear it was.

But stealing the plans for the missile defence program wasn't an accident, was it?

I started dealing drugs.

I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right?

I don't know how it started.