All language subtitles for Sherlock S01-E03.srt - eng(2)

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,

don't we?

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 you know 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.

Eh, you've gotta help me, Mr Holmes!

Everyone says you're the best.

Without you...

...I'll get hung for this.

No, not at all, Mr Bewick.

Hanged, yes.

What the hell are you doing?!

- Bored.
- What?!

- Bored!
- No...

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 was I supposed
to put it? You don't mind, do you?

- Well...
- Got it from Bart's 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 a minute, 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...
- Yeah, I know.

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

- Whether the earth goes round the sun.
- Not 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!

- Where are you going?
- Out! I need some air.

Oh, sorry, love!

Woo-hoo!
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!

- 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.

...which was
discovered quietly mouldering...

What about the time after that?

...18 months ago. Experts are hailing it

as the artistic find
of the century and no-one...

- So, do you want some breakfast?
- Love some.

Yeah, well, you'd better make it yourself
because 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 has 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.

Sherlock!

Sherlock!

John.

I saw it on the telly. Are you OK?

Me? What? Oh, yeah, fine.

Gas leak, apparently.

- 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.

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, no, no, no, 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.

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.

Huh!

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 possibly 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.

Why did you lie?

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.

Sherlock Holmes.

Of course. How can 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, Meridian nib.

- She?
- Obviously.

Obviously.

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

What, from The Study In Pink?

Well, obviously, it's not the same phone,
but it's supposed to look like...

Study In Pink, you read his blog?

Of course I read his blog. We all do.

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

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

Someone's gone to a lot of trouble
to make it look like the same phone.

Which means your blog
has a far wider readership.

You have one new message.

- Was that it?
- No, that's not it.

What in 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,
Sherlock, 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.
Black mould all up the wall...

Oh. Dear me.

Shoes.

He's a bomber, remember.

Hello.

H-Hello... sexy.

Who's this?

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

Just to say hi.

Who's talking? Why are you crying?

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.

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.

For God's sake,
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?

The bomber's too smart for that.

- Pass me my phone.
- Where is it?

Jacket.

Careful!

Text from your brother.

- Delete it.
- Delete it?

Missile plans are out of the country now.

Nothing we can do about it.

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.

Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans,
tried to sell them,

got his head smashed in for his pains,
end of story.

The only mystery is this -

why's my brother so determined to bore me

when somebody else
is being so delightfully 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?

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.

Gay.

- Sorry, what?
- Nothing. Um, hey.

Hi.

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.

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

And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly.

You've put on three pounds
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 personal grooming?

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

You wash your hair,
there's a difference.

No, no - tinted eyelashes, clear 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 visible. Very particular brand.

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

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

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 stand here
so you can humiliate me

- while I try and disseminate...
- An outside eye, a second opinion.

- It's very useful to me.
- Yeah, right

Really!

Fine.

Oh, they're just a pair of shoes.
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 where they got discoloured.
Changed the laces three...

no, four times. Even so,
there are traces of his flaky skin

where his fingers have come into contact
with them, so he suffered from eczema.

The shoes are well worn,
more so on the inner side,

which means the owner 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 to me.
South of the river, too.

So, the kid who owned these trainers
came to London from Sussex 20 years ago

- and left them behind.
- So, 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, young kid, champion swimmer,

came up from Brighton for a school
sports tournament, drowned in the pool.

Tragic accident. You wouldn't remember it.

- Why should you?
- 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
and 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.

Can I help?

I want to help.

There's only five hours left.

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!

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.

Um, 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 fiancée
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...

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.

- 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.

The boy suffered from eczema.
It would be the easiest thing in the world

to introduce the poison
into his medication.

Two hours later he comes up to London,

the poison takes effect,
paralyses the muscles and he drowns.

How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?

It's virtually undetectable.
Nobody would have been looking for it.

There's still tiny traces of it
left inside 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.

Well done, you.

Come and get me.

Where are you?

Tell us where you are.

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.

You have one new message.

Four pips.

First test passed, it would seem.

Here's the second.

It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?

I'll see if it's been reported.

Freak, it's for you.

Hello.

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.

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.

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 and he 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...

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.

Wasn't it? Interesting.

- Who was I talking to?
- Why did you lie to her?

People don't like telling you things.
They love to contradict you.

Past tense, did you notice?

- Sorry, 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.

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

- I see... No, I don't. What am I seeing?
- Fishing.

- Try fishing.
- Where now?

Janus Cars.

Just found this in the glove compartment.

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, that's a fair point.
You know how it is.

It's like working in a sweet shop.

Once you start picking up the Liquorice
Allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?

- 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 sunbeds, 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 haven't got any change. 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.

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.

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 definitely 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 up to his eyes
in some kind of 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 abandoned with his blood
all over 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 sunbed.

- That, plus his arm.
- His arm?

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

Why? Because he'd recently had
a booster jab.

Hep-B, probably.
Difficult to tell at that distance.

Conclusion - he'd just come 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.

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

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

I am on fire!

He says...

you can come and fetch me.

Help!

Help me, please!

Feeling better?

To be honest, 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.

- That could be anybody.
- Well, 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?

Anyway...

Speaking of silk purses...

- Hello?
- This one...

is a bit...

...defective.

Sorry.

She's blind.

This is...

...a funny one.

I'll give you...

...12 hours.

Why are you doing this?

I like...

...to watch you...

dance.

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

...continuing in to 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 in Ham...

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.

So, 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 as simple as it seems,

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?

Ooh, 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, give 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.

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?

You're enjoying this, aren't you?

Joining the... dots.

Three hours.

Boom... boom.

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.

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 veil of tears.

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.

She was 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.

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 been having a very fruitful chat
with people who love this show.

- The fan site's indispensable for gossip.
- ...really only one thing we can do

with that ensemble,
don't you think, girls?

Off, off, off, off, off, off, off!

Yeah, 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,

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, erm... the full
story straight from the horse's mouth.

Are you sure it's not too soon?

- No.
- Right.

You fire away.

John.

Hi. Look, get over here quickly.
I think I'm on to some thing.

You'll need to pick up some stuff first.
Have you got a pen?

I'll remember.

- 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...?

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

- Oh, yes?
- Yes.

- Right, are we all set?
- Er, yes. Shall we, erm...?

Er, not too close. I'm raw from crying.

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...

- Bloody hell! What are you playing at?
- Sorry!

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

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

- What?
- Sherlock.

- What?
- We've got deadlines.

But you've not taken anything!

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.
She wouldn't...

I thought of it the minute
I saw the scratches on her arm,

but it's too random
and too 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 week in, week out.

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, then, 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.
I know the cat doesn't come into it.

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

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 like I said, 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.

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.

Hello?

Sherlock?

What's happened?

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!

Taking his time this time.

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.

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.

- Archway suicide...
- Ten-a-penny.

Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington.

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

Nothing!

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

and Southwark Bridge?

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 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.

Why regular? Maybe he 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, a 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.

Oh, should I speak now? Alex?

Love, it's Professor Cairns.

Listen, you were right.
You were bloody right.

Give us a call when...

Professor Cairns?

- No idea, sorry.
- Mmm.

Can I try and ring back?

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

Don't you have something to do?

Just admiring the view.

Yes.

Lovely. Now go 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.

He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.

- Stranger things have happened.
- Westie wasn't a traitor.

It'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, erm...? 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.

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.
- 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...
- What?

- I wish I...
- Don't mention it.

No! No! No! No!

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 in to it 11 times.

Yes, we know that.

- Titan is the largest moon...
- Come on, Neptune.

Many are actually long dead...

- Tom, is that you?
- ... exploded into supernovas.

Discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in 1846...

...composed mainly of hydrogen.

Their light takes so long to reach us...

- Golem!
- ...many are actually long dead,

exploded into...

I can't see him.

- I'll go round.
- Who are you working for, Dzundza?

A star begins
as a collapsing ball of material

- composed mainly of...
- Golem!

Let him go...

or I will kill you.

The fourth planet of the solar system,
named after the Roman God of War.

...it is a gas giant...

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

...in to supernovas...

...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?

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?

- 10...
- It's a kid.

- Oh God, it's a kid.
- What did he say?

- 10.
- 9.

He's giving me time.

- Jesus...
- It's a fake, but how can I prove it?

- How?! How?!
- 8.

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

- 7.
- 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.

- 6.
- How?

Woodbridge knew, but how?!

- 5.
- It's speeding up! Sherlock!

- 4.
- In the Planetarium, you heard it too.

Oh, that is brilliant,
that is gorgeous!

- 3.
- What's brilliant? What is?!

This is beautiful.

2.

- Sherlock!
- The Van Buren Supernova.

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?

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.

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.

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.

- 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?

- 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.

Jesus...

- Where are we?
- Oh, sorry, didn't I say?

Joe Harrison's flat.

Joe...?

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

killed his prospective brother-in-law.

Then why did he do it?

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.

I just got out of my depth.

I owed people thousands.
Serious people.

Then at Westie's engagement do,
he starts talking about his job.

I mean, usually, he's so careful.

But that night, after a few pints,
he really opened up.

He told me about these missile plans.

Beyond top secret.

He showed me the memory stick,
he waved it in front of me.

You hear about these things getting lost,

ending up on rubbish tips and whatnot.

But there it was. And I thought...

Well, I thought
it could be worth a fortune.

It was pretty easy to get the thing
off him, he was so plastered.

Next time I saw him,

I could tell by the look on his face
that he knew.

- What are you doing here?
- What have you done with the plans?

What happened?

I was going to call an ambulance,
but it was too late.

I just didn't have a clue what to do.

So I dragged him in 'ere.

I just sat in the dark, thinking.

When a neat little idea
popped into your head.

Carrying Andrew West way away from here.

His body would have gone on for ages

if the train hadn't hit
a stretch of track with curves.

- And points.
- Exactly.

Do you still have it, then -
the memory stick?

Fetch it for me, if you wouldn't mind.

Distraction over - the game continues.

Maybe that's over, too.
We've heard nothing from the bomber.

Five pips, remember, John.

It's a countdown. We've only had four.

No, no, no!
Course he's not the boy's father.

Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!

- I knew it was dangerous.
- Hm?

Getting you into crap telly.

Not a patch on Connie Prince.

Have you given Mycroft
the memory stick yet?

Yep. He was over the moon.

Threatened me with a knighthood... again.

- You know, I'm still waiting.
- Hm?

For you to admit that a little knowledge
of the solar system

and you'd have cleared up
the fake painting a lot quicker.

It didn't do you any good, did it?

No, but I'm not the world's
only consulting detective.

- True.
- I won't be in for tea.

I'm going to Sarah's. There's still
some of that risotto left in the fridge.

- Milk, we need milk.
- I'll get some.

- Really?
- Really.

- And some beans, then?
- Mm.

Bought you a little
getting-to-know-you present.

That's what it's all been for, isn't it?

All your little puzzles, making me dance.

All to distract me from this.

Evening.

This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?

- John! What the hell...?
- Bet you never saw this coming.

What... would you like me
to make him say... next?

Gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear,

- gottle o' gear.
- Stop it.

Nice touch, this. The pool,

where little Carl dies.

I stopped him.
I can stop John Watson, too.

- Stop his heart.
- Who are you?

I gave you my number.

I thought you might call.

Is that a British Army Browning
L9A1 in your pocket,

or are you just pleased to see me?

Both.

Jim Moriarty. Hi.

Jim?

Jim from the hospital?

Oh, did I really make
such a fleeting impression?

But then, I suppose,
that was rather the point.

Don't be silly.
Someone else is holding the rifle.

I don't like getting my hands dirty.

I've given you a glimpse,
Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse

of what I've got going on
out there in the big bad world.

I'm a specialist, you see.

Like you.

Dear Jim...

...please will you fix it for me

to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?

Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me
to disappear to South America?

Just so.

Consulting criminal.

- Brilliant.
- Isn't it?

No-one ever gets to me.

And no-one ever will.

I did.

You've come the closest.
Now you're in my way.

- Thank you.
- Didn't mean it as a compliment.

- Yes, you did.
- Yeah, OK, I did.

But the flirting's over, Sherlock.

Daddy's had enough now.

I've shown you what I can do.

I cut loose all those people,
all those little problems,

even 30 million quid,
just to get you to come out and play.

So take this as a friendly warning...
my dear.

Back off.

Although I have loved this,

this little game of ours.

Playing Jim from IT.

Playing gay. Did you like
the little touch with the underwear?

- People have died.
- That's what people do!

- I will stop you.
- No, you won't.

Are you all right?

You can talk, Johnny boy.

Go ahead.

- Take it.
- Mm? Oh...

...that?

The missile plans.

Boring!

I could have got them anywhere.

- Sherlock, run!
- Good!

Very good.

If your sniper pulls that trigger,
Mr Moriarty, then we both go up.

Isn't he sweet? I can see
why you like having him around.

But then, people do get
so sentimental about their pets.

They're so touchingly loyal.

But oops!

You've rather shown
your hand there, Dr Watson.

Gotcha.

Westwood. Do you know what happens if you
don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?

Oh, let me guess. I get killed.

Kill you?

No, don't be obvious. I mean,
I'm going to kill you anyway, some day.

I don't want to rush it, though.

I'm saving it up for something special.

No, no, no, no, no.
If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you.

I'll burn the heart out of you.

I have been reliably informed
that I don't have one.

But we both know that's not quite true.

Well, I'd better be off.

Well, so nice to have had a proper chat.

What if I was to shoot you now?

Right now?

Then you could cherish
the look of surprise on my face.

Cos I'd be surprised, Sherlock.

Really, I would.

And just a teensy bit... disappointed.

And of course, you wouldn't be able
to cherish it for very long.

Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.

Catch you... later.

No, you won't!

All right? Are you all right?

Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. Sherlock...

Sherlock!

Oh, Christ.

- Are you OK?
- Me? Yeah, fine. I'm fine. Fine.

That, er... thing that you...
that you did,

that, um... you offered to do...
that was, um... good.

- I'm glad no-one saw that.
- Mm?

You ripping my clothes off
in a darkened swimming pool.

People might talk.

They do little else.

- Oh...
- Sorry, boys. I'm so changeable!

It is a weakness with me,
but to be fair to myself,

it is my only weakness.

You can't be allowed to continue.

You just can't.

I would try to convince you,

but everything I have to say
has already crossed your mind.

Probably my answer has crossed yours.