The Six Thatchers Sherlock

My brother is a murderer.

No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes.

Oh, do your research.

I'm not a hero - I'm a high-functioning sociopath.

Merry Christmas!

GUNSHOT

I'm not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion.

You know what happened to the other one.

Miss me?

'Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?'

I've only been gone four minutes.

Well, I certainly hope you've learnt your lesson.

What you're about to see is

classified beyond top secret.

Is that quite clear? Don't minute any of this.

Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it.

A D notice has been slapped on the entire incident.

Only those within this room,

code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love,

will ever know the whole truth.

As far as everyone else is concerned,

going to the Prime Minister

-and way beyond, Charles Augustus...

-PHONE KEYBOARD CLICKS

-Are you tweeting?!

-No. MESSAGE SEND TONE

-Well, that's what it looks like!

-Of course I'm not tweeting.

-Why would I be tweeting?

-Give me that!

-What? No!

-What are you doing?! Get off!

-Give it here!

-"Back on terra firma."

-Don't read them out.

-"Free as a bird."

-God, you're such a spoilsport.

-Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?

-I am!

What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?

"#OhWhatABeautifulMorning"

Look, not so long ago I was on a mission that meant certain death -

my death!

And now I'm back, in a nice warm office, with my big brother and...

Are those ginger nuts?

-Oh, God...

-LOVE ginger nuts.

Our doctor said you were clean.

I am. Utterly.

No need for stimulants now, remember? I have work to do.

You're high as a kite!

Natural high, I assure you. Totally natural.

I'm just... # ..glad to be alive! #

What shall we do next? What's your name?

Vivian.

-What would you do, Vivian?

-Pardon?

Well, it's a lovely day. Go for a stroll?

Make a paper aeroplane? Have an ice lolly?

Ice lolly, I suppose.

Ice lolly it is!

-What's your favourite?

-Well, really, I shouldn't...

-Go on.

-Do they still do Mivvies?

-Mr Holmes...

-Yes?

-..we do need to get on.

-Yes, of course.

HELICOPTER WHIRS

'Do your research.

'I'm not a hero - I'm a high-functioning sociopath.

GUNSHOT

'..sociopath. GUNSHOT

'..sociopath.' GUNSHOT

I see. Who is supposed to have shot him, then?

Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger - that's who.

-That's not what happened at all.

-It is now.

Remarkable. How did you do it?

We have some very talented people working here.

If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land,

rest assured we have the tech to doctor a bit of security footage.

That is now the official version,

the version anyone we want to will see.

No need to go to the trouble of getting

some sort of official pardon.

You're off the hook, Mr Holmes.

You're home and dry.

OK, cheers.

Obviously, there's unfinished business.

Moriarty.

I told you - Moriarty's dead.

You say he filmed that video message before he died.

Yes.

You also say you know what he's going to do next.

-What does that mean?

-Perhaps that's all there is to it.

Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you.

No, no, he would never be that disappointing.

He's planned something, something long-term.

Something that would take effect if he never made it

off that rooftop alive.

Posthumous revenge.

No, better than that - posthumous game.

We brought you back to deal with this.

-What are you going to do?

-Wait.

Wait?!

Of course wait. I'm the target - targets wait.

Look, whatever's coming, whatever he's lined up,

I'll know when it begins.

I always know when the game is on. Do you know why?

Why?

Because I love it.

There was once a merchant, in the famous market at Baghdad.

WATER SLOSHES One day he saw a stranger

looking at him in surprise,

and he knew that the stranger was Death.

Pale and trembling, the merchant fled the marketplace

and made his way many, many miles, to the city of Samarra.

For there he was sure Death could not find him.

But when, at last, he came to Samarra,

the merchant saw, waiting for him, the grim figure of Death.

"Very well," said the merchant. "I give in. I am yours."

"But tell me, why did you look surprised

"when you saw me this morning in Baghdad?"

"Because," said Death,

"I had an appointment with you tonight...

"..in Samarra."

If this gets any better, I'm going to get two knives.

Pays to advertise.

-So, what about Moriarty, then?

-Oh, I have a plan.

I'm going to monitor the underworld,

every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move.

So, basically, your plan is just to sit there

solving crimes like you always do?

Awesome, isn't it?

He drowned, Mr Holmes. That's what we thought.

-But when they opened up his lungs...

-Yes?

-..sand.

Superficial. PHONE WHISTLES

Come back! It's the wrong thumb.

DOOR SLAMS

-Sherlock...

-It's never twins.

Hopkins, arrest Wilson. Dimmock, look in the lymph nodes.

-'Wilson?'

-'Lymph nodes?'

-Sherlock...

Yes, you may have nothing but a limbless torso, but there'll

be traces of ink in the lymph nodes under the armpits.

If your mystery corpse had tattoos, the signs will be there.

-'Bloody hell! Is that a guess?'

-I never guess.

-Sherlock...

-'So, he's the killer? The canary trainer?'

-Of course he's the killer.

-'Didn't see that coming.'

Hm, naturally.

Sherlock, you can't go on spinning plates like this.

That's it! The place was spinning.

The heart medication you're taking is known to cause bouts of amnesia.

Yes, I...I think so. Why?

Because the fingerprints on your brother's neck were your own.

-WATSON CHUCKLES

-A jellyfish?

-I know.

-You can't arrest a jellyfish.

-You could try.

-We did try.

-PHONE REPEATEDLY VIBRATES

-Oh...

-Oh, God.

-Mary?

-59 missed calls.

We're in a lot of trouble.

MARY SCREAMS

Ow! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

Relax, it's got two syllables...

I'm a nurse, darling - I think I know what to do!

-Come on, then...

-Re!

-Lax!

No, just drive, please, God, just drive! God, drive!

-SHE SCREAMS

-Sherlock - Mary!

That's it, Mary - re... PHONE KEYBOARD CLICKS

-Don't you start!

-..lax.

John, John... I think you have to pull over!

-Mary, Mary...

-Pull over!

Oh, my God! MARY SCREAMS

Has that come out?

-They never come out when I take them.

-Let's have a look.

Aw, she's so beautiful.

-Have another go.

-What about a name?

-Catherine.

-Uh, yeah, we've gone off that.

-Have we?

-Yeah.

-Oh.

-Well, you know what I think... BOTH:

-It's not a girl's name.

Molly, Mrs H, we would love you to be godparents.

-Oh!

-If you...

-Really?

-That's so lovely.

And, uh...you too, Sherlock?

-You too what?

-Godfather, we'd like you to be godfather.

God is a ludicrous fiction, dreamt up by inadequates

who abnegate all responsibility to an invisible magic friend.

Yeah, but there'll be cake. Will you do it?

I'll get back to you.

Father, we ask you to send your blessings on this water

and sanctify it for our use this day.

In Christ's name.

Now, what name have you given your daughter?

Rosamund Mary.

Rosamund?

It means "Rose of the world". Rosie for short.

Didn't you get John's text?

No. I delete his texts. I delete any text that begins "Hi."

No idea why people think you're incapable of human emotion.

-MRS HUDSON CLEARS THROAT

-Sorry.

-WHISPERING:

-Phone!

And now, godparents, are you ready to help the parents of this child

in their duties as Christian parents?

-BOTH:

-We are.

-SIRI:

-'Sorry, I didn't catch that.

'Please repeat the question.'

As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe.

To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery,

whereas, to me, it is an open book.

Hard logic versus romantic whimsy - that is your choice.

You fail to connect actions to their consequences.

Now, for the last time, if you want to keep the rattle,

do not throw the rattle.

MESSAGE TONE

All right, good girl, good girl. Good girl.

I'd better finish this, hadn't I?

-Hey.

-Afternoon. He says you've got a good one, Greg?

Oh, yeah.

It was David Welsborough's 50th birthday.

CHEERS AND APPLAUSE

God, 50!

Where does it go?

I know for a fact I was only 21 this time last week.

Yeah, well that's impossible. That was before you met me.

-Well, no, no, there never was...

-"There never was such a time."

She's looking at me disapprovingly again.

No. She's just jealous.

Yeah, well, I think we both are.

-PHONE VIBRATES

-Oh...

-No, no, David.

-Come on, you promised.

-No, it's...

Oh, no... Oh, it's a Skype call.

Oh! Then it must be Charlie. At least he's phoning, I suppose.

Oh, look! Hello!

'Hey, Dad. Happy birthday.

'Sorry to miss the party, but travel broadens the mind, right?'

No! Picture's frozen!

'Yeah, signal's rubbish. But I can still hear you.'

Why is it rubbish? Where are you?

-How is he? Is he eating? Ask him if he's eating.

-No...

-MAN:

-David? Come on!

OK, no, hang on a sec, I'll find somewhere quieter.

So, Charlie, where are you?

Are you there?

-'Sorry, I'm here. I'm just a bit...'

-Are you all right?

-'It's nothing. Probably just the altitude.'

-Altitude?

-'I'm in Tibet. Didn't you see the mountains?'

-Never mind mountains.

Your mother wants to know if you're eating properly.

-'Listen, Dad, could you do me a favour?'

-What?

-'Could you just check something on my car?'

-Your car?

'To settle a bet. The guys here don't believe

'I've got a Power Ranger stuck to the bonnet.

-'Could you take a photo and send it?'

-Uh, yes, I can do that.

All done. Have you got it?

Charlie?

-LESTRADE:

-A week later...

Yeah?

..something really weird happens.

Drunk driver, he's totally smashed, the cops are chasing him,

and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house

to try and get away.

Unfortunately...

The drunk guy survived, they managed to pull him out,

but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car...

Whose body?

Charlie Welsborough, the son.

-What?

-The son who was in Tibet. DNA all checks out.

Night of the party, the car's empty,

and a week later...

the dead boy's found at the wheel.

SHERLOCK CHUCKLES

-Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you.

-Have you got a lab report?

Yeah, Charlie Welsborough's the son of a Cabinet Minister,

so I'm under a lot of pressure to get a result.

Who cares about that? Tell me about the seats.

-The seats?

-Yes, the car seats.

Made of vinyl.

Two different types of vinyl present.

Was it his own car?

Yeah, not flash - he was a student.

-Well, that's suggestive.

-Why?

-Vinyl's cheaper than leather.

-Yeah, right?

-There's something else.

-Yes?

According to this,

Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week.

What?

The body in the car, dead for a week.

Oh, this is a good one. Is it my birthday?

You want help?

-Yes, please.

-One condition.

-OK.

Take all the credit. It gets boring if I just solve them all.

Yeah, you say that,

but then John blogs about it, and you get all the credit anyway.

He's got a point.

Which makes me look like some kind of prima donna

who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do!

Well, I think you've hit a sore spot, Sherlock.

-Like I'm some kind of credit junkie.

-Definitely a sore spot.

-So you take all the glory, thanks...

-OK!

-..thanks all the same.

Look, just solve the bloody thing, will you? It's driving me nuts.

Anything you say, Giles.

Just kidding.

HE MOUTHS: What's his name?

-HE MOUTHS:

-Greg.

-What?

Greg.

It's obvious though, isn't it, what happened?

John, you amaze me. You know what happened?

Not a clue. It's just you normally say that at this point.

Hmm. Well, then, let's hope you solve your little problem, Greg.

-Hear that?

-I know.

-So, how's it going then, fatherhood?

-Oh, good, great. Yeah, amazing.

-Getting any sleep?

-Christ, no.

You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby,

woken up at all hours to obey its every whim.

-Must feel very different...

-Sorry, what?

Yes, well, you know how it is.

All you do is clean up their mess, pat them on the head.

-Are you two having a little joke?

-Never a word of thanks.

Can't even tell people's faces apart.

This is a joke, isn't it?

Yeah, and it's all, "Oh, aren't you clever. You're so, so clever."

-Is it about me?

-I think he needs winding.

-You know, I think that really might be it.

-No, don't get it.

Charlie's family are pretty cut up about it, as you'd expect,

-so go easy on them, yeah?

-PHONE VIBRATES

-You know me. MARY:

-'Hey, hello.'

-Yeah.

-Got them, don't worry.

Pampers, the cream you can't get from Boots.

Yeah, never mind about that. Where are you now?

-At the dead boy's house?

-Yeah.

'And what does he think? Any theories?'

Well, I texted you the details.

Yeah, two different types of vinyl.

-Hey!

-How do you know about that?

'Oh you'd be amazed at what a receptionist picks up.'

-WHISPERING:

-They know everything!

-'Solved it, then?'

-I'm working on it.

-'Oh, Mary, motherhood's slowing you down.'

-Pig!

-Keep trying.

'So, what about it, then?

'What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it?

'And what are you going to call this one?'

Oh, the Ghost Driver.

-Don't give it a title.

-People like the titles.

-They hate the titles.

-Give the people what they want.

No, never do that - people are stupid.

Uh, SOME people.

'All people are stupid.

'Most people.'

'Bizarre enough though, isn't it, to be him?'

I mean, it's right up your strasse.

Mr and Mrs Welsborough, I really am most terribly sorry

-to hear about your daughter.

-Son.

-Son!

Mr and Mrs Welsborough, this is Mr Sherlock Holmes.

Thank you very much for coming. We've heard a great deal about you.

If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you.

Well, I believe that I...

..can.

-DISTORTED:

-But Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes. I...

Sherlock?

Mr Holmes?

Sorry, you were saying?

Well, Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes.

I...I don't think we'll ever get over this.

No. Shouldn't think so.

So sorry, will you excuse me a moment? I just...

I'll...I'll just, um... Ahem.

-Now what's wrong?

-Not sure, I just...

By the pricking of my thumbs.

Seriously? You?

Intuitions are not to be ignored, John.

They represent data processed too fast

for the conscious mind to comprehend.

What is this?

Oh, it's a sort of shrine, I suppose, really.

Bit of a fan of Mrs T.

A big hero of mine when I was getting started.

Right, yes.

-Who?

-What?

-Who...? Who was this?

-Are you serious?

-Sherlock...

-It's... It's Margaret Thatcher,

the first female Prime Minister of this country.

Right.

-Prime Minister?

-Hmm. Leader of the Government.

-Right.

-Female?

-For God's sake! You know perfectly well who she is.

Why are you playing for time?

It's the gap, look at the gap. It's wrong.

Everything else is perfectly ordered, managed.

The whole thing's verging on OCD. My respects.

This figurine is routinely repositioned after

the cleaner's been in, this picture is straightened every day,

yet this ugly gap remains.

-Something's missing from here, but only recently.

-Yes, a...

-Plaster bust.

-..plaster bust.

-Oh, for God's sake! It got broken.

What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?

-Rug!

-What?

-Well, how could it get broken?

The only place for it to fall is the floor and there is a big thick rug.

-Does it matter?

-Mrs Welsborough, my apologies.

-It is worth letting him do this.

-Is your friend quite mad?

No, he's an arsehole, but it's an easy mistake.

Look, no, we had a break-in, some little bastard smashed it to bits.

We found the remains out there in the porch.

-The porch where we came in?

-How anybody could hate her so much

they'd go to the trouble of smashing her likeness...

I'm no expert, but, uh, possibly her face.

Why didn't he smash all the others? Perfect opportunity,

and look at that one - she's smiling.

Oh, Inspector, this is clearly a waste of time.

-And if there's nothing...

-I know what happened to your son.

You do?

It's quite simple, superficial, to be blunt.

But first, tell me, the night of the break-in,

this room was in darkness?

-Well, yes.

-And the porch where it was smashed,

I noticed the motion sensor was damaged,

-so I assume it's permanently lit.

-How did you notice that?

I lack the arrogance to ignore details - I'm not the police.

-So you're saying he smashed it where he could see it.

-Exactly.

-Why?

-Don't know. Wouldn't be fun if I knew.

Mr Holmes, please!

It was your 50th birthday, Mr Welsborough, of course you were

disappointed that your son hadn't made it back from his gap year.

-After all, he was in Tibet.

-Yes.

-No.

-No?

CROWD: # Happy birthday... #

The first part of your conversation was, in fact, pre-recorded video.

Easily arranged.

It's a Skype call.

The trick was meant to be a surprise.

-A trick?

-Obviously.

Could you take a photo and send it?

There were two types of vinyl in the burnt-out remains of the car.

One, the actual passenger seat, the other, a good copy.

Well, good enough.

Effectively a costume.

You're joking?

No, I'm not.

All he wanted was for you to get close enough to the car

so he could spring the surprise.

-Oh, my God!

-Surprise!

That's when it happened.

I can't be certain, of course,

but I think Charlie must have suffered some sort of a seizure.

You said he'd felt unwell?

You all right?

'It's nothing. Probably just the altitude.'

He died there and then.

No-one had any cause to go near his car,

so there he remained, in the driver's seat, hidden, until...

When the two cars were examined,

the fake seat had melted in the fire, revealing Charlie,

who'd been sitting there, quite dead, for a week.

Oh, God!

Poor kid.

Really, I'm so sorry. Mr Welsborough, Mrs Welsborough.

This is where it was smashed.

-That was amazing.

-What?

-The car, the kid.

Ancient history. Why are you still talking about it?

What's so important about a broken bust of Margaret Thatcher?

I can't stand it, never can. There's a loose thread in the world.

It doesn't mean you have to pull on it.

What kind of a life would that be?

Besides, I have the strangest feeling...

Miss me?

-That's mine. You two take a...bus.

-Why?

I need to concentrate, and I don't want to hit you.

The Mall, please.

-I met her once.

-Thatcher?

-Rather arrogant, I thought.

-YOU thought that?!

-Ha, I know.

Why am I looking at this?

That's her, John and Mary's baby.

Oh, I see, yes.

Looks very...fully functioning.

Is that really the best you can do?

Sorry, I've never been very good with them.

-Babies?

-Humans.

Moriarty - did he have any connection with Thatcher?

Any interest in her?

Why on earth would he?

I don't know. You tell me.

In the last year of his life,

James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations,

over 70 assorted robberies and terrorist attacks,

including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea,

and had latterly shown some interest

in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias,

which is still missing, by the way,

in case you feel like applying yourself to something practical.

It's a pearl - get another one.

There's something important about this.

I'm sure.

Maybe it's Moriarty.

Maybe it's not.

WATER SLOSHES

But something's coming.

Are you having a premonition, brother mine?

The world is woven from billions of lives,

every strand crossing every other.

What we call premonition is just movement of the web.

If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data,

the future would be entirely calculable.

As inevitable as mathematics.

-Appointment In Samarra.

-I'm sorry?

The merchant who can't outrun Death.

You always hated that story as a child.

Less keen on predestination back then.

I'm not sure I like it now.

You wrote your own version, as I remember.

Appointment In Sumatra.

The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine.

Goodnight, Mycroft.

Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason.

-Keep me informed.

-Of what?

-Absolutely no idea.

'Ammo!'

MAN SHUDDERS

-Oh, hi, Stella.

-Greg.

-You, uh...?

-Uh, yeah, he's just got a client, so...

-Right, right, right...

Uh, you see a lot of each other, do you?

It's nothing. I mean it's nothing serious.

-No, no.

-I just pop round every now and again for a chat.

Yeah, of course.

I mean he loves a really tricky case.

Yeah, he does!

So what you here for?

Well, Interpol think the Borgia Pearl trail

leads back to London, so...

The Borgia Pearl? They still after that, are they?

Yeah.

So, how did you two first meet?

Oh, well, there was a case about, um, ten years ago.

Nobody could figure it out.

There was an old lady found dead in a sauna.

-Oh, yeah? How did she die?

-Hypothermia.

What?

I know, but then I met Sherlock, it was so simple the way...

Will you two please keep it down?!

-Sorry.

-Sorry.

Now, you haven't always been in life insurance, have you?

You started out in manual labour. Don't bother being astonished.

Your right hand's almost an entire size bigger than your left - hard manual work does that.

I was a carpenter. Like me dad.

You're trying to give up smoking - unsuccessfully -

and you once had a Japanese girlfriend

that meant a lot to you but now you feel indifferent about.

How the hell...?

Ah...e-cigarettes.

Not just that - ten individual e-cigarettes.

If you just wanted to smoke indoors, you would've invested

in one of those irritating electronic pipe things.

But you're convinced you can give up, so you don't want to buy a pipe,

because that means you're not serious about quitting.

So instead, you buy individual cigarettes,

always sure that each will be your last. Anything to add, John?

-John?

-Uh, yeah, yeah, listening.

-What is that?

-That is...me.

Well, it's a me substitute.

Don't be so hard on yourself.

You know I value your little contributions.

Yeah? It's been there since nine this morning.

-Has it? Where were you?

-Helping Mrs H with her sudoku.

-What about my girlfriend?

-What?

-You said I had an ex...

You've got a Japanese tattoo in the crook of your elbow

in the name Akako.

It's obvious you've tried to have it removed.

But surely that means I want to forget her,

not that I'm indifferent.

If she'd really hurt your feelings, you would've had the word obliterated.

The first attempt wasn't successful, and you haven't tried again,

so it seems you can live with the slightly blurred memory of Akako, hence the indifference.

I... I thought you'd done something clever.

Ah, now, but now you've explained it, it's dead simple, innit?

SHERLOCK INHALES DEEPLY

I've withheld this information from you until now, Mr Kingsley,

but I think it's time you knew the truth.

What do you mean?

Have you ever wondered if your wife was a little bit out of your league?

-Well...

-You thought she was having an affair.

I'm afraid it's far worse than that - your wife is a spy.

-What?

-That's right. Her real name is Greta Bengsdotter.

Swedish by birth and probably the most dangerous spy in the world.

She's been operating deep undercover for the past four years now

as your wife, for one reason only, to get near the American Embassy,

across the road from your flat.

Tomorrow the US President will be at the embassy,

as part of an official state visit.

As the President greets members of staff, Greta Bengsdotter,

disguised as a 22-stone cleaner, will inject the President

in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug,

hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit.

This drug will render the President entirely susceptible

-to the will of that new master, none other than James Moriarty.

-What?

Moriarty will then use the President as a pawn

to destabilise the United Nations General Assembly,

which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty,

tipping the balance in favour of a first-strike policy against Russia.

This chain of events will then prove unstoppable,

thus precipitating World War III.

-Are you serious?

-No, of course not.

His wife left him because his breath stinks

and he likes to wear her lingerie.

I don't!

-Just the bras.

-Get out.

So, what's this all about, then?

-Having fun.

-Fun?

-While I can.

-Mm-hmm.

KNOCK AT DOOR

-Uh, Sherlock...

-Borgia Pearl. Boring. Go!

-But...

-Go!

-This had better be good.

-Oh, I think you'll like it.

That is the bust, isn't it? The one that was broken.

No, it's another one - different owner.

Different part of town.

You were right - this is a thing. Something's going on.

What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased.

-I am pleased.

-You don't look pleased.

This is my game face.

And the game is on.

Another two have been smashed since the Welsborough one.

-One belonging to Mr Mohandes Hassan.

-Identical busts?

Yeah, and this one to a Dr Barnicot in Holborn.

Three in total. God knows who'd want to do something like this.

Yeah, but some people have that complex, don't they? An idee fixe.

They obsess over one thing and they can't let it go.

No, no good.

There were other images of Margaret... Margaret...?

You know who she is.

..Thatcher, present at the first break-in.

Why would a monomaniac fixate on just one? Ooh!

-What?

-Blood.

Quite a bit of it, too.

Was there any injury at the crime scene?

Nah.

Then our suspect must have cut themselves breaking the bust.

-Come on.

-Holborn?

-Lambeth!

-Lambeth? Why?

-To see Toby.

Ah, right. Who?

-You'll see.

-Right, are you coming?

No, he's got a lunch date with a brunette forensic officer

that he doesn't want to be late for.

-Who told you?

-The right sleeve of your jacket,

plus the formaldehyde mixed with your cologne

and your complete inability to stop looking at your watch.

-Have a good time.

-I will.

Trust me, though, she's not right for you.

-What?

-She's not the one.

Well, thank you, Mystic Meg.

How do you work all that out?

She's got three children in Rio that he doesn't know about.

-Are you just making this up?

-Possibly.

-Who's Toby?

There's a kid I know, hacker, brilliant hacker,

one of the world's best.

Got himself into serious trouble

with the Americans a couple of years ago.

He hacked into the Pentagon security system,

and I managed to get him off the charge.

Therefore he owes me a favour.

-So, how does that help us?

-What?

-Toby the hacker?

-Toby's not the hacker.

-What?

-All right, Craig?

-All right, Sherlock?

Craig's got a dog.

So I see.

Good boy!

Hiya!

Mary? What are you...?

No, we, we agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case.

No, exactly. So...don't wait up.

-Hey, Sherlock.

-Hey.

-Mary, what are you doing here?

-She's better at this than you.

-Better?

-So I texted her.

Hang on, Mary's better than me?

Well, she is a retired super-agent with a terrifying skill-set.

-Of course she's better.

-Yeah, OK.

-Nothing personal.

What, so I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?

What do you think, Sherlock? Shall we take him with us?

-John or the dog?

-Ha-ha, that's funny!

-John.

-Well...

-He's handy and loyal.

-That's hilarious.

-Hmm.

-Is it too early for a divorce?

-Oh.

-Barnicot's house, then. Anyone up for a trudge?

Keep up, he's fast.

-He's not moving.

-He's thinking.

He's really not moving.

Slow but sure, John, not dissimilar to yourself.

You just like this dog, don't you?

-Well, I like you.

-He's still not moving.

-Fascinating.

-Oh!

SHE CLEARS HER THROAT

Well, what do you make of it?

-They were looking for something.

-Yes, but it wasn't a burglar,

they came specifically for that Thatcher bust. Why?

DOG SNIFFS

DOG WHINES

Clever.

Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail,

-where would you go?

-Like hiding a tree in a forest.

Or blood in a butcher's.

Never mind, Toby, better luck next time, hmm?

This is it, though. This is the one, I can feel it.

Not Moriarty?

It has to be him. It's too bizarre, it's too baroque.

It's designed to beguile me, tease me and lure me in.

At last, a noose for me to put my neck into.

You should have seen the state of the front room.

-It was like The Exorcist.

-Huh. Was Rosie's head spinning round?

-No. Just the projectile vomiting.

-Nice!

-Hmm.

Now, you think we'd have noticed, when she was born.

-Hmm? Noticed what?

-The little 666 on her forehead.

Hmm, that's The Omen.

-So?

-Well, you said it was like The Exorcist.

They're two different things.

She can't be the devil and the Antichrist.

BABY CRIES

Yeah, can't she?

I'm coming, darling. Mummy's coming.

-LOVINGLY:

-Oh, what are you doing?

What are you doing? Come here.

Have you heard of that thing? In Germany?

You're going to have to be more specific, Craig.

Ostalgie. People who missed the old days under the communists.

-People are weird, aren't they?

-Hmm.

According to this, there's quite a market for Cold War memorabilia.

Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin. Time's a great leveller, innit?

Thatcher's like, I dunno, Napoleon now.

Yes, fascinating. Irrelevant. Where exactly did they come from?

I've got into the records of the suppliers - Gelder and Co.

Seems they're from Georgia.

Where exactly?

Tbilisi. Batch of six. One to Welsborough. One to Hassan.

One to Dr Barnicot.

Two to Miss Orrie Harker.

One to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading.

Lestrade? Another one?

-'Yeah.'

-Harker or Sandeford?

Harker. And it's murder this time.

Hmm, that perks things up a bit.

Defensive wounds on her face and hands, throat cut. Sharp blade.

The same thing inside the house? The bust?

-Two of them this time.

-Interesting.

That batch of statues was made in Tbilisi several years ago.

-Limited edition of six.

-And now someone's wandering about

destroying them all. Makes no sense. What's the point?

No, they're not destroying them, that's not what's happening.

-Yes, it is.

-Well, it is, but it's not the point.

I've been slow, far too slow.

Well, I'm still being slow over here, so if you wouldn't mind...

Slow but lucky, very lucky.

And since they smashed both busts, our luck might just hold.

Jack Sandeford of Reading is where I'm going next.

Congratulations, by the way.

-I'm sorry?

-Well, you're about to solve a big one.

-Yeah, until John publishes his blog.

-Yeah, until then, basically.

WATER SPLASHING

That's enough now, love.

Daddy has things to do, I'm afraid.

And you need to get to bed. Come on.

Wouldn't it be much simpler

to take out your grievances at the polling station?

You were on the run. Nowhere to hide your precious cargo.

You find yourself in a workshop,

plaster busts of the Iron Lady drying, it's clever.

Very clever.

But now you've met me and you're not so clever, are you?

Who are you?

My name is Sherlock Holmes.

Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.

Argh!

You're out of time.

-Tell me about your boss, Moriarty.

-Who?

I know it's him. It must be him.

You think you understand.

You understand nothing.

Well, before the police come in and spoil things,

why don't we just enjoy the moment?

Let me present Interpol's number one case.

Too tough for them, too boring for me.

The Black Pearl of the Borgias!

It's not possible!

How could she...?!

Everything about who I was is on there.

The problems of your past are your business.

The problems of your future...

..are my privilege.

I don't understand.

She... She destroyed it.

She?

You know her! You do, don't you?

You know the bitch?!

She betrayed me.

-Betrayed us all.

-Mary.

This is about Mary?

Is that what she's calling herself now, eh?

-'Armed police, you're surrounded!'

-Give it to me.

-YELLS:

-Give it to me!

'Come out slowly, I want to see your hands above your head.'

Nobody shoots me! Anyone shoots, I kill this man.

'Lay down your weapon. Do it now!'

I'm leaving this place.

If no-one follows me, no-one dies.

'Lay down your weapon.'

You are a policeman, I'm a professional.

Tell her she's a dead woman.

She's a dead woman walking.

She's my friend. And she's under my protection.

Who are you?

I'm the man who's going to kill your friend.

Who's Sherlock Holmes?

Not a policeman.

ALARM BLARES

What do you think? Mate in two?

Don't antagonise them, darling.

Oh, what else is there to do? Chess palls after three months.

Everything palls.

They'll send someone soon.

They? Who are THEY?

Seems to me we put an awful lot of faith in THEY.

Well, I've got something THEY would dearly love,

if only we could get out of here.

I've got Ammo.

Ammo?

-MARY:

-Madame Ambassador.

-What took you so long?

-Can't get the staff.

-Everyone out, now!

Veer left!

SCREAMING

HE LAUGHS

What now? What do we do?

We die.

Well?

He can't have got far. We'll have him in a bit.

-I very much doubt it.

-Why?

Because I think he used to work with Mary.

GUNFIRE

SHOUTING IN OTHER LANGUAGE

Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.

Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.

Passed out again. It's no fun when they pass out!

We'll come back later.

What would he do if he knew, huh? About the English woman?

What would you do to a traitor?

Maybe we'll tell him one day. If he lives that long.

HE CHUCKLES

I am an idiot, I know nothing.

Well, I've been telling you that for ages.

That was quite a text you sent me.

What's going on, Sherlock?

I was so convinced it was Moriarty,

I couldn't see what was right under my nose.

Expected a pearl.

Oh, my God, that's a...

Yes, it's an AGRA. memory stick, like you gave John,

except this one belongs to someone else. Who?

I don't know. We... We all had one but the others were...

Haven't you even looked at it yet?

-I glanced at it but I prefer to hear it from you.

-Why?

Because I'll know the truth when I hear it.

There were four of us, agents.

Not just agents.

Polite term.

Alex. Gabriel.

Me. And Ajay.

There was absolute trust between us. The memory sticks guaranteed it.

We all had one.

Each containing aliases, our background, everything.

We could never be betrayed,

because we had everything we needed to destroy the other.

-Who employed you?

-Anyone who paid well.

I mean, we were at the top of our game for years.

And then it all ended.

There was a coup in Georgia.

The British Embassy in Tbilisi was taken over, lots of hostages.

We got the call to go in, get them out.

There was a change of plan, a last-minute adjustment.

-Who from?

-I don't know, just another voice on the phone.

And a codeword.

-Ammo.

-Ammo?

Like ammunition.

We went in, but then something went wrong.

Something went really wrong.

GUNFIRE, SCREAMING

That was six years ago.

It feels like forever.

I was the only one that made it out.

No.

What?

I met someone tonight.

Same someone who's looking for the sixth Thatcher.

Oh, my God, that's Ajay, that's him. What, he's alive?

Yeah, very much so.

I don't believe it, this is amazing! I thought I was the only one,

I thought I was the only one who got out.

Where is he? I need to see him, now!

Before you gave it to John, did you keep your memory stick safe?

Yeah, of course. It was our insurance.

Above all, they mustn't fall into enemy hands.

So Ajay survived as well.

And now he's looking for the memory stick he managed to hide,

with all of AGRA's old aliases on it, but why?

I don't know.

Tbilisi was six years ago, where's he been?

Mary, I'm sorry to tell you this, but he wants you dead.

SHE LAUGHS

Sorry, no, no, because we...we were family.

Families fall out.

The memory stick is the easiest way to track you down.

You're the only other survivor, it must be you that he wants,

and he's already killed looking for the Thatcher bust.

Well, he's just trying to find me.

He survived, that's all that matters!

I heard it from his own mouth.

"Tell her she's a dead woman walking."

Why would he want to kill me?

-He said you betrayed him.

-Oh, no, no, that's insane.

Well, it's what he believes.

SHE GASPS

I suppose I was always afraid this might happen.

That something in my past would come back to haunt me one day.

Yes, well, he's a very tangible ghost.

God, I just wanted a bit of peace, and I really thought I had it.

No, Mary...

You do.

I made a vow, remember?

To look after the three of you.

Sherlock, the dragon-slayer.

Stay close to me and I will keep you safe from him, I promise you.

There's something I think you should read.

What is it?

I hoped I wouldn't have to do this.

What are you...?

HE SNIFFS

-Mary...

-There you go.

-Oh, no!

It's all right. It's for the best, believe me.

No.

You just look after them till I get back. I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

CHILD SINGS

HE GROANS

Agra?

A city on the banks of the river Yamuna

in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India.

It is 378km west of the state capital, Lucknow.

What are you, Wikipedia?

-Yes.

-AGRA is an acronym.

Oh, good, I love an acronym.

All the best secret societies have them.

Team of agents, the best. But you know all that.

Of course I do. Go on.

One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team.

Indeed? Well, that's news to me.

Is it? He's already killed looking for that memory stick.

AGRA always worked for the highest bidder,

I thought that might include you?

-Me?

-Well, I mean the British government,

or whatever government you're currently propping up.

AGRA were very reliable. Then came the Tbilisi incident.

They were sent in to free the hostages

but it all went horribly wrong.

And that was that, we stopped using freelancers.

-Your initiative?

-My initiative.

Freelancers are too woolly, too messy.

I don't like loose ends. Not on my watch.

There was something else. A detail.

A codeword.

Ammo?

It's all I've got.

Little enough.

Could you do some digging as a favour?

You don't have many favours left.

Then I'm calling them all in.

And if you can find who's after her and neutralise them, what then?

You think you can go on saving her forever?

Of course.

Is that sentiment talking?

No, it's me.

Difficult to tell the difference these days.

Told you, I made a promise. A vow.

All right. I'll see what I can do.

But remember this, brother mine,

agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age.

They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way.

Not on my watch.

-MARY:

-'My darling, I need to tell you this

'because you mustn't hate me for going away.'

-NEW YORK ACCENT:

-Pardon me, I can hear a squeaking.

-Can you hear a squeaking?

-No.

Only I watched a documentary on the Discovery Channel -

Why Planes Fail.

-Did you see it?

-Can't say I did.

-Oh, truly terrifying.

Swore I would never fly again, yet hear I am! Ha.

Everything OK, madam?

No. No, no, it's not, but then what's the use in complaining?

I hear a squeaking. Probably the wing will come off is all.

Everything's fine, I promise you. Just relax.

Oh, OK. Relax.

-She said relax.

-SHE CHUCKLES

Did you have a nice time in London?

It was OK, I guess. But did somebody hide the sun?

-Did you lose it in the war?

-SHE LAUGHS

'I gave myself permission to have an ordinary life.

'I'm not running, I promise you that,

'I just need to do this in my own way.'

Oh, God! I'm... I-I don't feel so good.

Oh, my God!

FLIGHT ATTENDANT BUTTON BEEPS

-Everything OK, madam?

-I think I'm dying.

I don't feel so good.

You're all right.

Oh, you're sweet. You have a very kind face.

God will smile on you.

'But I don't want you and Sherlock hanging off my gun arm,

'I'm sorry, my love.'

'I know you'll try to find me but there is no point.

'Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes can anticipate

'the roll of a dice.

'I need to move the target far, far away from you

'and Rosie, and then I'll come back, my darling.

'I swear I will.'

LAUGHTER

Not like this one.

You haven't got a chance, not a chance.

I've got you where I want you. Give in, give in!

I will destroy you. You're completely at my mercy.

Mr Baker. Well, that completes the set.

-No, it does not.

-Well, who else am I missing?

Master Bun, it's not a set without him.

How many more times, Mr Sherlock?

Hmm, maybe it's because I'm not familiar with the concept.

Oh, hi, Mary.

What concept?

Happy families. Nice trip?

-How the f...?

-Please, Mary, there is a child present.

-How did you get in here?

-Karim let me in.

Hello.

Karim, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?

-Sure.

-Thank you.

Nice to meet you, missus.

No, I mean how did you find me?

I'm Sherlock Holmes.

No, really, though, how?

Every movement I made was entirely random,

every new personality just on the roll of a dice!

Mary, no human action is ever truly random.

An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability,

mapped onto a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the

known dispositions of any given individual,

can reduce the number of variables considerably.

I myself know of at least 58 techniques to refine

a seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities

down to the smallest number of feasible variables.

But they're really difficult,

so instead I just stuck a tracer on the inside of the memory stick.

HE CHUCKLES

-JOKINGLY:

-Oh, you bastard!

-ANGRILY:

-You bastard!

-I know, but your face!

"The mathematics of probability"?

-You believed that.

-"Feasible variables"?

Yes, I started to run out about then.

In the memory stick!

Yeah, that was my idea.

-AGRA?

-Yes.

Uh-huh. You said it was your initials.

In a way that was true.

In a way? So many lies.

I'm so sorry.

And I don't just mean you.

What?

Alex, Gabriel, Ajay...

You're R?

Rosamund?

Rosamund Mary.

I always liked Mary.

Yeah, me too.

I used to.

I just... I didn't know what else to do.

You could have stayed, you could have talked to me.

That's what couples are supposed to do. Work things through.

Yes.

Yes, of course.

Mary, I may not be a very good man...

..but I think I'm a bit better than you give me credit for,

-most of the time.

-All the time.

You're always a good man, John, I've never doubted that.

You never judge, you never complain.

I don't deserve you, I...

All I ever wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that's all.

I will keep you safe.

But it has to be in London.

It's my city, I know the turf.

Come home and everything will be all right, I promise you.

Get down!

RAPID GUNFIRE

Hello again.

-Ajay?

-Oh, you remember me, I'm touched.

Look, I thought you were dead, believe me, I did.

I've been looking forward to this for longer than you can imagine.

I swear to you, I thought you were dead.

I thought I was the only one who got out.

How did you find us?

By following you, Sherlock Holmes. I mean, you're clever.

You found her but I found you. So perhaps not so clever.

And now here we are. At last.

-HE CHUCKLES

-Touche!

Listen, whatever you think you know, we can talk about this,

we can work it out.

She thought I was dead.

I might as well have been.

It was always just the four of us, always, remember?

Oh, yeah.

So why do you want to kill me?

Do you know how long they kept me prisoner? What they did to me?

They tortured Alex to death.

I can still hear the sound of his back breaking. But you?

You, where were you?

That day at the embassy, I escaped.

Ha!

But I lost sight of you too, so you explain. Where were you?

Oh, I got out. For a while.

Long enough to hide my memory stick.

I didn't want that to fall into their hands.

-I

-was loyal, you see.

Loyal to my friends.

But they took me, tortured me. Not for information.

Not for anything except fun.

They thought I'd give in, die,

but I didn't, I lived.

And eventually, they forgot about me rotting in a cell somewhere.

Six years they kept me there.

Until one day I saw my chance.

Oh, and I made them pay.

You know, all the time I was there, I just kept picking up things.

Little whispers. Laughter. Gossip.

How the clever agents had been betrayed.

Brought down by you!

-Me?

-TRAIN WHISTLES

You know I'll kill you too. You know I will, Ajay.

What, you think I care if I die?

I've dreamed of killing you...

..every night for six years.

Of squeezing the life out of your treacherous, lying throat.

I swear to you, Ajay.

What did you hear, Ajay?

When you were a prisoner, what EXACTLY did you hear?

What did I hear?

Ammo.

Every day as they tore into me, "Ammo.

"Ammo.

"Ammo. Ammo."

We were betrayed!

-And they said it was her?

-That you betrayed us!

They said her name?

Yeah, they said it was the English woman.

No! No!

'The English woman, that's all he heard.

'Naturally, he assumed it was Mary.'

Couldn't this wait until you're back?

No, it's not over.

Ajay said that they'd been betrayed,

the hostage-takers knew AGRA were coming.

There was only a voice on the phone.

'Remember? And a codeword.'

"Ammo," yes, you said.

How's your Latin, brother dear?

My Latin?

Amo, amas, amat.

I love, you love, he loves. What...?

Not "Ammo" as in ammunition, but "Amo", meaning?

You'd better be right, Sherlock.

Bloody thing!

What's going on?

I'm very sorry, Lady Smallwood,

your security protocols have been temporarily rescinded.

What?

'So many lies. And I don't just mean you.'

-Hello.

-Ah, hello.

-I like your daisy.

-Thank you, yeah.

-It's not really me, though, I think.

-No?

-No, no, it's too floral for me.

I'm more of a "knackered with weary old eyes" kind of guy.

Well, I think they're nice.

Nice eyes.

-HE LAUGHS

-Thank you.

-Look... Look...

I don't normally do this,

-but, um...

-But you're going to.

Yeah.

-What's this?

-This is me.

-Thank you. Cheers.

-Yeah. Great.

-Bye!

-Bye.

HE CHUCKLES

PHONE BEEPS

Now, you think we'd have noticed, when she was born.

Hmm? Noticed what?

The little 666 on her forehead.

Hmm, that's The Omen.

-So?

-Well, you said it was like The Exorcist.

They're two different things.

She can't be the devil and the Antichrist.

BABY CRIES

-Yeah, can't she?

-Hmm.

I'm coming darling. I'm coming.

PHONE BEEPS

Oh, what are you doing?

What are you doing?

Come here...

It's OK.

Do you want a cuddle?

BABY CONTINUES TO WAIL

I know.

Oh, sweetheart.

Ssh. Oh, you're not going to stop crying, are you?

I know, shall we go and see Daddy?

Oh, let's go and see Daddy!

Daddy's here. It's OK, Rosie.

I'll take her.

-Yeah?

-Yeah, I may as well get up now.

Hey, baby, it's Daddy. Your daddy.

Come here, Rose. Come here, darling, it's all right.

Thank you.

This is absolutely ridiculous and you know it.

How many more times?

Six years ago you held the brief for Foreign Operations, code name Love.

And you're basing all this on a code name?

On a whispered voice on the telephone? Come on, Mycroft.

You were the conduit for AGRA.

Every assignment, every detail they got from you.

It was my job.