Original subtitles

How's your blog going?

Yeah, good, very good.

You haven't written a word, have you?

You just wrote "Still has trust issues".

And you read my writing upside down.

You see what I mean?

John, you're a soldier,

and it's going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life.

And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.

Nothing happens to me.

- What do you mean there's no ruddy car? - He went to Waterloo, I'm sorry.

- Get a cab. - I never get cabs!

- I love you. - When?

Get a cab!

My husband

was a happy man who lived life to the full.

He loved his family and his work,

and that he should have taken his own life in this way

is a mystery

and a shock to all who knew him.

Taxi, taxi!

- I'll be just two minutes, mate. - What?

- I'm just going home to get my umbrella. - You can share mine.

Two minutes, all right?

She still dancing?

Yeah, if you can call it that.

- Did you get the car keys off her? - Got them out of her bag.

Where is she?

The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport,

was found late last night on a building site in Greater London.

Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide.

We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of

Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore.

In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked.

The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.

Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?

Well, they all took the same poison.

They were all found in places they had no reason to be.

- None of them had shown any prior indication. - But you can't have serial suicides.

Well, apparently you can.

These three people, there's nothing that links them?

There's no link we've found yet but...

We're looking for it. There has to be one.

- If you've all got texts, please ignore them. - It just says "Wrong".

Well, just ignore that. If there are no more questions,

I'm going to bring this session to an end.

If they're suicides, what are you investigating?

As I say, these suicides are clearly linked.

It's an unusual situation, we've got our best people investigating.

Says "Wrong" again.

One more question. Is there any chance that these are murders?

And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?

I know that you like writing about these but these do appear to be suicides.

We know the difference. The poison was clearly self-administered.

Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?

Well, don't commit suicide.

Daily Mail!

Obviously, this is a frightening time for people but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions.

We are all as safe as we want to be.

Thank you.

You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots.

If you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him.

John!

John Watson!

- Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Barts together. - Yes, sorry, yes, Mike, hello.

- Yes, I know, I got fat. - No, no.

I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?

I got shot.

Are you still at Barts, then?

Teaching now, yeah, bright young things like we used to be.

God, I hate them.

What about you, just staying in town till you get yourself sorted?

I can't afford London on an Army pension.

And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else.

- That's not the John Watson I know. - I'm not the John Watson.

Couldn't Harry help?

Yeah, like that's going to happen!

I don't know, get a flatshare or something?

Come on. Who'd want me for a flatmate?

What?

You're the second person to say that to me today.

Who was the first?

How fresh?

Just in. 67, natural causes.

Used to work here. I knew him, he was nice.

Fine.

We'll start with the riding crop.

So, bad day, was it?

I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.

Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished...

You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before.

I refreshed it a bit.

Sorry, you were saying?

I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?

Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs.

Okay...

- Bit different from my day. - You've no idea!

Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.

- And what's wrong with the landline? - I prefer to text.

Sorry, it's in my coat.

Here, use mine.

Oh, thank you.

This is an old friend of mine, John Watson.

Afghanistan or Iraq?

- Sorry? - Which was it, in Afghanistan or Iraq?

Afghanistan, sorry, how did you know?

Ah, Molly! Coffee, thank you.

What happened to the lipstick?

It wasn't working for me.

Really? It was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.

Okay.

How do you feel about the violin?

I'm sorry, what?

I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?

Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.

- You told him about me? - Not a word.

Who said anything about flatmates?

I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for.

Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from

military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap.

How did you know about Afghanistan?

Got my eye on a nice little place in central London.

Together we ought to be able to afford it.

We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock.

Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.

Is that it?

Is that what?

We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat?

Problem?

We don't know a thing about each other.

I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name.

I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan.

You've got a brother worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't

approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife.

And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic. Quite correctly, I'm afraid.

That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?

The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.

Afternoon.

Yeah, he's always like that.

Hello.

- Ah... Mr. Holmes. - Sherlock, please.

Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady... she's given me a special deal.

Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida.

- I was able to help out. - Sorry... You stopped her husband being executed?

Oh, no, I ensured it.

Sherlock!

Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson.

- Hello. Come in. - Thank you.

Shall we...?

Well, this could be very nice.

Very nice indeed.

Yes.

Yes, I think so, my thoughts precisely.

- So I went straight ahead and moved in. - Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out...

- Oh. So this is all... - Well, obviously I can erm... straighten things up a bit.

- That's a skull. - Friend of mine.

When I say friend...

What do you think, then, Dr. Watson?

There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms.

Of course we'll be needing two.

Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones.

Oh... Sherlock! The mess you've made.

I looked you up on the internet last night.

- Anything interesting? - Found your website. The Science of Deduction.

What did you think?

You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb?

Yes.

And I can read your military career in your face and your leg,

and your brother's drinking habits on your mobile phone.

How?

What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street.

Three, exactly the same.

Four.

There's been a fourth.

- And there's something different this time. - A fourth?

- Where? - Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.

What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to me if there wasn't something different.

- You know how they never leave notes? - Yeah.

This one did.

Will you come?

- Who's on forensics? - Anderson.

He doesn't work well with me.

- Well, he won't be your assistant. - I need an assistant.

- Will you come? - Not in a police car, I'll be right behind.

Thank you.

Brilliant! Yes!

Four serial suicides, and now a note.

Oh, it's Christmas. Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food.

I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.

Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home.

Don't wait up!

Look at him, dashing about...

My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell.

I'll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg.

Damn my leg! Sorry, I'm so sorry...

It's just sometimes this bloody thing...

I understand, dear, I've got a hip.

- Cup of tea'd be lovely. Thank you. - Just this once, dear, I'm not your housekeeper.

- Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em. - Not your housekeeper!

You're a doctor.

In fact you're an Army doctor.

Yes.

Any good?

Very good.

Seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths.

Well, yes.

Bit of trouble too, I bet?

Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime, far too much.

- Want to see some more? - Oh, God, yes.

- Sorry Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out. - Both of you?

Impossible suicides? Four of them?

No point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!

- Look at you, all happy. It's not decent. - Who cares about decent?

The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!

Taxi!

Okay, you've got questions...

Yeah, where are we going?

Crime scene. Next?

- Who are you, what do you do? - What do you think?

- I'd say... private detective. - But?

But the police don't go to private detectives.

I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world, I invented the job.

- What does that mean? - Means when the police are out of their depth,

- which is always, they consult me. - The police don't consult amateurs.

When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised.

- Yes, how did you know? - I didn't know, I saw.

Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military.

- But your conversation as you entered... - Bit different from my day.

...said trained at Barts. So Army doctor, obvious.

Your face is tanned...

but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing.

Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand,

like you'd forgotten about it. So it's at least partly psychosomatic.

That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic...

Wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan... Afghanistan or Iraq.

You said I had a therapist.

You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist.

Then there's your brother. Your phone.

It's expensive, e- mail enabled, MP3 player.

And you're looking for a flatshare. You wouldn't buy this. It's a gift, then.

Scratches. Not one, many over time...

it's been in the same pocket as keys and coins.

You wouldn't treat your one luxury item like this,

so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already.

The engraving?

Harry Watson. Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone.

Not your father, this is a young man's gadget.

Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live...

Unlikely you've got an extended family, not one you're close to. So brother it is.

Now, who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment.

The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend.

Must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old.

Marriage in trouble then... six months on he's given it away.

If she'd left him, he would have kept it. Sentiment.

No, he wanted rid of it. He left her.

He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch.

You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help...

that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, or don't like his drinking.

How can you possibly know about the drinking?

Shot in the dark. Good one, though.

Power connection... Tiny little scuff marks round it.

Every night he plugs it in to charge but his hands are shaking.

You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them.

- There you go, see? You were right. - I was right? Right about what?

The police don't consult amateurs.

That... was amazing.

- Do you think so? - Of course it was. It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary.

- That's not what people normally say. - What do people normally say?

"Piss off!"

Did I get anything wrong?

Harry and me don't get on, never have,

Clara and Harry split up three months ago

and they're getting a divorce,

and Harry is a drinker.

Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything.

Harry's short for Harriet.

- Harry's your sister. - Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?

- Sister! - No, seriously, what am I doing here?

There's always something.

- Hello, freak! - I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Why?

I was invited.

- Why? - I think he wants me to take a look.

- Well, you know what I think, don't you? - Always, Sally.

I even know you didn't make it home last night.

- I don't... Who's this? - Colleague of mine, Dr. Watson.

Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan.

Old friend.

A colleague. How do you get a colleague?

Did he follow you home?

- Would it be better if I just waited... - No.

Freak's here. Bringing him in.

Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.

It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?

Quite clear.

And is your wife away for long?

Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.

Your deodorant told me that.

My deodorant?

- It's for men. - Well, of course it's for men... I'm wearing it.

So's Sergeant Donovan.

Ooh... I think it just vaporised. May I go in?

Whatever you're trying to imply...

I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.

And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.

You'll need to wear one of these.

Who's this?

He's with me.

- But who is he? - I said he's with me.

Aren't you going to put one on?

- So where are we? - Upstairs.

I can give you two minutes.

May need longer.

Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards,

we're running them now for contact details.

Hasn't been here long.

Some kids found her.

Shut up.

- I didn't say anything. - You were thinking. It's annoying.

Got anything?

Not much.

She's German.

Rache. It's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something...

Yes, thank you for your input.

- So she's German? - Of course she's not. She's from out of town though.

Intended to stay in London for one night

before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious.

Sorry... Obvious? What about the message though?

Dr. Watson, what do you think?

- Of the message? - Of the body. You're a medical man.

We have a whole team right outside.

They won't work with me. I'm breaking every rule letting you in here...

Yes... because you need me.

Yes, I do.

God help me.

- Dr. Watson! - Hm?

Oh, do as he says. Help yourself.

Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes...

- Well? - What am I doing here?

- Helping me make a point. - I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent.

- This is more fun. - Fun? There's a woman lying dead.

Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper.

Yeah...

Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit.

Can't smell any alcohol on her.

It could have been a seizure. Possibly drugs.

You know what it was, you've read the papers.

Well, she's one of the suicides. The fourth...?

Sherlock, two minutes, I said, I need anything you got.

Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes...

I'm guessing the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink.

Travelled from Cardiff today intending to stay in London one night from the size of her suitcase.

- Suitcase? - Yes. She's been married at least ten years,

but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.

Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up...

Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least.

The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring.

State of her marriage, right there. The inside is shinier than the outside.

The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger.

It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so who does she remove her rings for?

Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single for that amount of time

- so more likely a string of them. - Brilliant.

- Sorry. - Cardiff?

- It's obvious, isn't it? - It's not obvious to me.

Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains, it must be so boring. Her coat...

it's slightly damp, she's been in heavy rain the last few hours...

no rain anywhere in London in that time.

Under her coat collar is damp too. She's turned it up against the wind.

She's got an umbrella in her pocket but it's dry and unused.

Not just wind, strong wind... too strong to use her umbrella.

We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight

but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried.

So... where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?

Cardiff.

- Fantastic. - Do you know you do that out loud?

- Sorry, I'll shut up. - No, it's... fine.

- Why do you keep saying suitcase? - Yes, where is it?

She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is. She was writing Rachel?

No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel, no other word it can be.

- Why did she wait until she was dying to write it? - How do you know she had a suitcase?

Tiny splash marks on her right heel and calf not present on the left.

She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand, by that splash pattern.

Smallish case, going by the spread.

Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious...

could only be an overnight bag so we know she was staying one night.

Where is it, what have you done with it?

There wasn't a case.

- Say that again. - There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase.

Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?

Sir, there was no case!

But they take the poison themselves, swallow the pills.

- There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them. - Right, thanks. And...?

It's murder, all of them. I don't know how.

But they're not suicides, they're serial killings.

We've got a serial killer, love those. There's always something to look forward to.

- Why are you saying that? - Her case! Come on, where is her case?

Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case.

So the killer must have driven here. Forgot the case was in the car.

She could have checked into a hotel, left it there.

No, look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes.

She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking...

Oh...

Oh!

Sherlock? What is it, what?

Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.

- We can't just wait! - Oh, we're done waiting. Look at her, really look!

Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff.

Find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!

Of course, yeah... but what mistake?!

Pink!

Let's get on with it...

- He's gone. - Who, Sherlock Holmes?

Yeah, he just took off. He does that.

- Is he coming back? - Didn't look like it.

Right.

Right...

Yes. Sorry, where am I?

Brixton.

Do you know where I could get a cab?

It's just er...

Well...

My leg.

Er...

Try the main road.

Thanks.

But you're not his friend.

He doesn't have friends.

So who are you?

I'm... I'm nobody. I just met him.

Okay, bit of advice then. Stay away from that guy.

Why?

You know why he's here?

He's not paid or anything.

He likes it. He gets off on it.

The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what...?

One day just showing up won't be enough.

One day we'll be standing round a body and he'll be the one that put it there.

- Why would he do that? - Because he's a psychopath.

Psychopaths get bored.

- Donovan! - Coming.

Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.

Taxi! Taxi...

Hello?

There is a security camera on the building to your left.

Do you see it?

Who's this?

Who's speaking?

Do you see the camera, Dr. Watson?

- Yeah, I see it. - Watch...

There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?

Mm-hm.

And finally, at the top of the building on your right.

How are you doing this?

Get into the car, Dr. Watson.

I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you.

- Hello. - Hi.

What's your name, then?

Er... Anthea.

- Is that your real name? - No.

I'm John.

Yes. I know.

Any point in asking... where I'm going?

None at all...

John.

Okay.

Have a seat, John.

You know, I've got a phone.

I mean, very clever and all that,

but, er...

you could just phone me.

On my phone.

When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.

Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down.

I don't want to sit down.

You don't seem very afraid.

You don't seem very frightening.

Yes...

The bravery of the soldier.

Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, do