Original subtitles

Previously on Elementary...

Hannah Gregson just found

her roommate strangled in her house.

Getting away with murder is an incredible feeling.

- Special Agent Mallick. - So you're covering

the Michael Rowan investigation for the Bureau?

You think I killed Michael. Why?

In a word-- obsession.

I spent the better part of today thinking that Michael's killer

was Special Agent Mallick.

No. It's Hannah,

your daughter.

You have to tell the FBI.

You're the door that this lunatic walked through, okay?

If it weren't for you,

Maddie Williams would be alive today,

and my little girl wouldn't be a killer.

I never meant

for any of this to come down on Joan.

What if we didn't do anything? Just took our chances,

see what happens?

Your partner-- he confessed to the murder.

That's wrong. Sherlock did not kill anyone.

I'm the only one who could confess without going to prison.

The Brits won't extradite him. They made that very clear.

He isn't allowed to set foot in the U.S. ever again.

Sherlock Holmes isn't America's problem anymore.

Bernardo "Beppo" Pugliesi.

Welcome to Baker Street.

Well, we both know why you're here, so have at it.

The Black Pearl of the Borgias.

Centerpiece of Lucrezia Borgia's favorite necklace.

You stole it from a collector in Rome little over a year ago.

Quite a haul.

If only you hadn't committed a completely unrelated crime

just one day later.

Stabbed a man in a bar fight.

And when the police

tracked you to your brother's ceramics factory,

you hid the pearl in one of exactly 1,000 busts

he planned to sell at the upcoming royal wedding.

They were so ugly, of course, he only managed to sell six.

How do you know so much about me, huh?

You're a thief of some renown.

You were long suspected of stealing the pearl,

but no one could ever prove it.

Several weeks ago, when someone

started breaking into homes and stealing nothing,

but leaving a trail of ceramic destruction,

it all became clear.

Your brother sold six busts.

After you were paroled, you destroyed five of them.

I couldn't be sure the pearl was in that one, of course.

You could've recovered it at your last stop.

But I bought it all the same.

I made quite a show of it.

I assumed you'd be keeping an eye on the woman who owned it.

Who are you?

I'm the man who's going to bring you to justice.

Typically,

I don't find your brand of criminal worth my time.

But when the owner of the fifth bust discovered you

in his home, you strangled him.

That won't do, Beppo.

Do you really think you can stop me from leaving?

I know I can.

I mean, I'd much rather you

surrendered peacefully, of course.

I suffer from

post-concussion syndrome.

A single blow to the head could do terrible damage to my brain.

Well, the thing is...

I don't think you're going to land a single blow.

I bet the owner's gonna be happy

to have that back.

That's the only part of the case I don't like.

Jacopo Cremonesi ran the Calabrian Mafia

for a stretch in the '80s.

This pearl was paid for with blood.

Watson.

Nice of you to join us, Doc.

I was working today in Whitehall, remember?

The Lucas homicide?

Just as well.

Your partner obviously didn't need any help tonight.

Notice the absence of bullet holes.

When you don't shoot the suspect,

you can actually send him to prison.

Once again, just because I'm American

does not mean that I love guns.

Right. I suppose you don't call football "soccer," either.

Just a bit of colored glass.

- A fake? - No, not exactly.

The Black Pearl of the Borgias was always made of glass.

How else could Lucrezia Borgia have hidden this inside it?

Historians have long suspected her

in the poisoning deaths of many of her family's enemies.

When she fell out of favor

with certain members of the Vatican, it's rumored

that she was urged to dispose of her favorite murder weapon,

a hollow ring

which she used to put poison

in her victims' drinks.

Looks like she found a way to keep it.

My God, Holmes.

You didn't get the goods on one murderer tonight, but two.

You're an idiot.

- If he had hit you... - He didn't.

- Yeah, but if he had... - But he didn't.

Whitehall. The murder of Eduardo Lucas.

You didn't tell me, uh, what happened.

It's over. We closed it.

Your hunch was correct?

The killer wasn't Lady Hilda. It was Eduardo's wife.

She thought he was having an affair.

We found blood evidence on a carpet.

Outstanding.

Yeah. I'm sure DCI Jones will be very impressed.

Watson, we've been over this many times.

Athelney Jones is not your enemy.

Do you hear the way she calls me "Doc"? It's a dig.

Is she a bit of an Ameri-phobe? Yeah.

A bit?

The point is, she respects your work, which is outstanding.

Think of the year that we've had so far.

We've had the Boscombe Valley Mystery,

that Adventure at Abbey Grange.

We're just as productive as we ever were in New York,

if not more so.

Keep going like this, I might get knighted.

You could be a dame.

Truth be told, it still hurts.

Not as much as it did, but there's still an ache, you know?

Tonight? I can't.

I'm going to a birthday party.

My friend's daughter is turning six.

I just bought her a very posh doll.

- Miss? - Wets itself and everything.

- Excuse me, miss? - Are you talking to me?

♪ Elementary 7x01 ♪ The Further Adventures Original Air Date on May 23,

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

They've got her full If of hydromorphone,

so she's sleeping now. I shouldn't disturb her.

I don't think she got a good look at the man anyway.

What, did she say that?

No. Ms. Quinn was in shock when they wheeled her in,

wasn't speaking at all, but, well...

Right. Hard to imagine she saw much.

She was a beautiful girl. Such a shame.

Could hardly recognize her.

You know the victim?

You probably do, too, unless you fancy real news.

She's Lola Quinn.

She's a minor celebrity in these parts,

one of the last tabloid models.

Metro Flash still runs them on page three.

Lola's been a favorite the past few years.

Sorry. Have to get that.

Excuse me, do you have a moment?

- Yes. - Athelney Jones.

This is Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson.

- Are you Ms. Quinn's doctor? - Well, I'm one of them.

Uh, Garret Halsey. I'm head of plastic surgery here.

How is she?

Well, she's stable now, but...

she has first- and second-degree chemical burns

all over her face.

She might lose the left eye, and then there's the risk

of infection. Please tell me

you have a lead on the bastard who did this to her.

I'm afraid not.

The whole thing was caught on CCTV,

but there's nothing on tape to help us make an I.D.

Part of why we came.

We were hoping she could describe him.

Do us a favor.

She wakes up, give us a call.

We're gonna want to talk to her.

With all due respect,

you lot have got to do something about this.

This plague. I get called in to consult

on another acid attack every couple of months.

It's bloody madness.

We're gonna find the person who did this.

I promise you that.

I'm afraid he's right.

The city can't take much more of this.

There have been what, over 200 acid attacks

in London this year?

First, it was the religious zealots.

Then the gangs picked it up.

Now we've got muggers

dousing people for phones and handbags.

Outcry's bound to get worse

now that a famous face has been ruined.

We need a quick closure.

Think you can give me that, Holmes?

Doc.

Detective Bell, my favorite cop.

Tony.

So, why'd you call me in this time, huh?

I've been keeping an eye on your social media.

Saw you were getting married.

Wanted to say congrats in person.

Wasn't easy, you know?

Falling in love again after Yancy left me the way she did?

Your wife didn't leave you, Tony. She was murdered.

You find her body and not tell me, Detective?

'Cause, uh, unless you did, she left me,

just like I told you a year ago.

I wanted to talk to you about the anger management classes.

This again?

Seriously? Just 'cause a guy takes some classes

doesn't make him a killer.

You were sentenced to those classes.

Yancy went to her sister's to get away from you.

You kicked her front door in.

I never laid a hand on either of 'em.

What's it gonna take to convince you?

I didn't kill my wife.

I believe you.

Your fiancée's last name, "Tugnutt," isn't too common.

When I saw it, I remembered a double homicide

at a Tugnutt Stationery last year.

The detective who caught it liked a guy named Ray Tugnutt.

The two vics, you see-- they were Ray's parents.

A few months before, they were supposed to retire

and give their store to him,

but then they changed their minds.

He got so angry, he trashed the place.

Got himself arrested and sentenced to--

wait for it--

anger management classes.

That's where you got to know him, right?

At some point, he introduced you to his cousin.

Now you're marrying her.

I don't know which of you idiots saw Strangers on a Train.

I was always partial to ThrowMomma myself,

but, obviously, you traded murders.

You killed his parents, he killed Yancy.

I'm talking to him next.

Question is, if there's a shot at a deal with the D.A.,

which of you is gonna flip first?

Got him with five days to spare.

I remember a few months ago when the federal hiring freeze

slowed everything down for you and the Marshals...

My bags were literally packed.

Could you blame me for being ticked?

I said, "Marcus, think of all the extra time

"you're gonna have to nail that piece of garbage.

Think of how good that's gonna feel."

You were right, okay?

It feels great.

You sure you still want to go?

I mean, look at everything you're missing.

The smells, the stale coffee...

fluorescent light bulbs that won't stay lit.

Ooh.

"Because every good marshal needs one."

Who's that from?

Sherlock and Joan.

Yeah. Should've known.

Congrats, okay?

I really miss Captain Gregson.

He was never anything but respectful,

even before I became a detective.

But this DCI, I swear to God,

if she calls me "Doc" just one more time...

I don't think I ever gave you enough credit

for your move to New York.

I mean, working with police you'd never met before.

It's a lot harder than I thought it'd be.

What can I say?

I am pretty great.

Archie.

Those are not to play with.

I don't need an alibi, do I?

Acid in the face.

Sort of my M.O.

Pretty sure that Lola Quinn is not a serial killer.

Poor thing.

Do you want to work this case with us?

Wouldn't mind the company.

Sorry. I've got my hands full at work.

There's no shortage of missing girls out there.

And all of my free time goes to this guy.

So when are you gonna tell Sherlock?

Tell him what?

That you aren't happy in London.

I didn't say I wasn't happy.

I just said I was having a problem at work.

Then explain the hair.

W-What?

I love it, don't get me wrong.

But I know a woman looking to shake things up when I see one.

Yeah, I'm sure you do.

Every time you look in the mirror.

I did this on a dare, and you know it.

You loved it here in the beginning.

I mean, who wouldn't? But I don't think

I've seen you truly happy in quite some time.

I'm fine.

Maybe it isn't New York you're missing,

but the idea of starting a family.

You put a lot of work into it,

then you walked away.

I didn't just walk away.

I decided long before I thought about moving to London

that I was not going to adopt a baby.

The work we do, it's just too dangerous.

Michael Rowan proved that.

Hey.

The getaway vehicle used in the acid attack,

it's been found.

Watson.

We're sure it's the same moped?

There's no question. It's over here.

I thought no one at the scene got a look at the license plate.

That's true.

But it's the same make, model, color.

And then there are the handlebars.

Or lack thereof.

They've been dissolved with sulfuric acid.

That's one way to get rid of fingerprints.

I'd call it an abundance of caution.

These are from a midsize car.

Did our guys make them?

So it must've been him.

It rained last night.

I suppose he left it here in advance.

He must have always intended to ditch the moped here.

That's a pretty complicated plan for a mugging.

What is that smell? Do you smell that?

It smells like a forest.

No. On top of that.

I'm getting... dirt.

With hints of other dirt.

He poured acid over everything in her purse?

Including her phone.

Was he determined to destroy all evidence of his crime?

I would think the phone and the wallet

were the whole point of the crime.

Holmes, what have you got?

Progress. We found some of Lola Quinn's belongings.

This wasn't a robbery after all.

We're going to have to re-approach

from a different angle.

Doesn't sound like progress.

Take heart, Chief Inspector.

A motive more personal than greed

should narrow our focus considerably.

We need to speak to Lola Quinn as soon as she wakes up.

She may have some idea who wanted to harm her.

There's the problem, I'm afraid.

We're never going to get to speak to Ms. Quinn.

She's dead.

Doctor said she was stable.

She didn't die from her wounds.

She jumped down a lift shaft

that's under repair at the hospital.

I suppose the thought of losing her looks and her livelihood

was too much to bear.

So, if you're right, if someone was just out to hurt her...

they did a far better job of it than they could have imagined.

It's official. Lola Quinn's moved

from page three to page one.

I'm getting calls every five minutes

from bosses I never knew I had.

The press is breathing down all our necks now.

Yeah, we saw the mob of reporters

out front this morning.

It's an absolute frenzy.

They've got the public in a lather, too.

Another day goes by without an arrest,

I half expect Elton John will rewrite the lyrics

to "Candle in the Wind" again.

We don't need any additional motivation.

Ms. Quinn's case has our full attention.

A fat lot of good that's done us so far.

Everything they're saying in the papers is true.

- We're nowhere. - It's been one day.

We didn't find anything useful at the crime scene,

and CCTV didn't give us anything to go on.

We have the getaway vehicle, we've got Ms. Quinn's

stolen belongings, and we've got a fingerprint

which may well belong to her assailant.

A partial print, incomplete.

And since it wasn't in the system,

it's of no use for the time being.

Nevertheless, the fact that it was found

on Ms. Quinn's handbag, which was still stuffed

with cash and credit cards, is very telling.

This acid attack is not like all the others.

He wasn't driven by ideology or greed.

Lola Quinn was targeted in a way

that would disguise a personal motive.

So we've lined up interviews with her friends and family.

Someone will know who wanted to hurt her.

DCC Forensics may be a step ahead of you there.

There was a threat made against her online?

The techs were able

to access her e-mail.

Last month, she got in a spat

with a paparazzo named Derek Casey.

Lola sent him a note out of the blue.

Called him a tosser for following her with his camera.

He didn't take it so well.

"Beauty is fleeting, dear. Before you know it,

people will see you for what you really are."

Sounds like someone

- we should invite in for a chat. - I agree.

At the very least, it will reduce the number

of agitators outside by one.

Any leads at all, Inspector?

Right, Chief Inspector Jones. Over here.

Over here. Do you have a suspect?

What do you have to say to Lola's fans, Chief Inspector?

How long are they going to have to wait?

You going to answer questions today, mum?

No, son. You are.

Hey, hold on.

- What's this about? - Come on!

Where are you taking him?

- You've been in my e-mails? - You seem troubled

that someone's invaded your privacy.

I get it. It's quite rich since I'm a pap, right?

Yeah, well, there's a difference between a journalist

observing people in public spaces

and the government sniffing their nose in your DMs.

Nobody hacked into your accounts, genius.

But we have been reading Lola Quinn's correspondence.

The victim, who you threatened.

I didn't threaten her.

What would you call it, then?

Last month, she wrote you a note.

"I heard you have a picture of me after the premiere.

What will it take to buy it exclusive?"

And you responded, "Bugger off.

You can't afford it."

Your correspondence got more heated from there.

At one point, you promised to ruin Lola.

Someone surely did that.

It wasn't me.

That's not terribly convincing, Derek.

Look, I'm...

I wish I hadn't have said those things.

Well, sure.

You wouldn't be here if you hadn't.

Look, y-you can believe I'm sorry for what I wrote or not,

but I was with my girlfriend and her dad the day it happened.

We watched Arsenal lose in the pub.

Uh, Kings Road in Islington. Go check.

We will, but that doesn't prove that you weren't involved.

You could have paid someone

to make good on your threats.

They weren't real threats.

It was just... I wanted her to drop it.

Right, there was no way that I was gonna sell her those photos.

What were the photos of?

Lola, sloshed, slinking into the back of a limo

after some film premiere.

Her skirt wasn't doing its job,

if you take my meaning. She was a mess.

You wouldn't let her buy the pictures to bury them. Why not?

- She couldn't afford your price? - Oh, come off it.

She's not a real celebrity.

The reason why the picture was worth so much

was who she was with.

Ruby Carville.

I got her pulling Lola into the backseat with her.

The Ruby Carville?

Owner of The Metro Flash?

Yeah. And about half the other rags I sell to.

It was too perfect.

Tabloid media's ice queen romping with a page-three hussy.

I don't believe you.

You don't have to.

You can see for yourself if you give me my camera.

Yeah, Ms. Carville's who I sold 'em to.

She thought she bought every copy, but I kept some.

Just in case.

Smartest thing I ever did, huh?

You know, it's been whispered for ages

that she runs around on her husband

with pretty young things.

Nobody ever got proof before.

All this proves is that she let Lola into her car.

You ask me, she's your next stop.

There's a reason they call her the witchiest woman in England.

And who knows how she treats her toys when she's done with them.

I'm gonna warn you right now.

Don't get too excited about Ruby Carville as a suspect.

Oh, it's too late. The woman is practically a Bond villain.

She's more than capable.

And if she didn't do it,

she's got plenty of enemies who might have.

Maybe, but she's also got more lawyers

than the Yard has officers.

If we're gonna take aim at the bear, we can't afford to miss.

We don't miss, generally.

I could approach her quietly.

- She might... - You're not hearing me.

I want you to promise me you won't go near her

till we have more evidence she was involved.

Holmes.

Watson and I will not approach Ruby Carville

without your say-so.

You have my word.

Ice cream?

- Seriously? - I'm the boy's godfather.

I can treat him every now and again.

It's 10:00 in the morning.

How did it go?

I did everything you asked.

I told the receptionist that I was a housekeeper

at Buckingham Palace and this was the queen's rubbish.

And I said I would only open it for Ruby.

Took some doing, but they brought me to her office.

And then, when she tried to negotiate a price,

I asked her about Lola Quinn and said

I'd heard a few rumors about the two of them.

- And? - She just...

stared at me a moment, daggers.

And then she told me to get out, take my rubbish with me.

Suspicious.

But not incriminating.

In you go.

Mind your little head.

There we go.

You talk to Watson lately?

She's my partner. We talk all the time.

No. I mean... talk to her.

I said to her yesterday that I didn't think

she'd taken to London very well.

Have you not been paying attention the last 12 months?

She's been thriving.

I'm not talking about work.

I'm talking about everything else.

Don't tell me you haven't noticed.

Does she occasionally miss New York?

Yes, of course she does.

That's to be expected after a major relocation.

I know from experience. My move to New York--

it was challenging, but as time wore on,

I grew to love my new home.

It's not the same thing-- what you did, what she's done.

You were running away from something.

She's run to something.

Watson doesn't run to anything, let alone me.

She came here so that we could be partners again.

I'm just saying, it's different.

Thanks again for helping me today.

I know you want her here.

I want her here, too.

Doesn't mean that she belongs here.

Got a minute?

Yeah, sure.

What's up? You okay?

There's something I've been wanting

to talk to you about for a while now.

Keep putting it off, and now I only have

a few days left here, and I...

What? Go ahead.

Everything that went down

between you and Sherlock and Joan--

you gotta get past it.

More than that. You gotta fix it.

- Marcus... - No.

They never did anything but right by us.

Now, whenever anyone mentions them,

it's like nails on a chalkboard to you.

I'm supposed to be happy that Sherlock

confessed to killing Michael Rowan?

That he threw away everything he had here?

He was trying to save his partner.

The Feds' case against Joan was a joke.

You know it, I know it, but would he listen? No.

He had to do what he always does.

He had to play cowboy.

I know, okay?

I know.

You know?

You know what?

I know who really killed Michael Rowan.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I'm not stupid.

I was with you when we got the news

Sherlock confessed to Rowan's murder.

You were angry, but you weren't surprised.

We're not having this conversation.

I figured, okay, maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, either.

Sherlock was doing right by Joan.

I didn't like it, but I got it.

I accepted it. You?

You acted like they never existed.

Like they weren't part of our family.

Took me a while, but I finally figured it out.

It wasn't anger you were feeling.

It was guilt.

You were protecting someone, too.

I don't like anything about what happened with the Rowan case.

Not one damn thing.

I hate knowing what I know.

But I get it.

And to be clear,

I don't think anyone else needs to know about it.

But Sherlock and Joan, they were your friends.

They were there for you,

for me, always.

It's time you made things right with them.

How?

How the hell am I supposed to do that?

I don't know.

But I bet "I'm sorry" would be a good start.

Oh, hey. I was gonna go to the store.

Do you need anything?

I'm not hungry, but thank you.

You okay?

Oi, you Holmes and Watson?

What's it to you?

This is for you.

You're not gonna take it?

You can leave it there.

- What, in the street? - Yeah.

On your way.

It's from Ruby Carville. She wants to talk.

Forgive the mess.

This place hasn't seen much attention since my father died.

He used to host orgies here

for his decrepit friends.

Think Eyes Wide Shut, but with more ear hair.

That would explain some of the smells.

To what do we owe the pleasure, Ms. Carville?

A strange but intriguing woman tried to sell me a bag

of Her Majesty's rubbish this morning.

When it became clear it was just a pretense

to ask me questions of a very private nature,

I told her to leave.

Then I put it to some of my reporters

at The Metro Flash to identify her.

It may be a rag, but it's an investigative rag.

Her name led to your names, and here we are.

You know we're helping Scotland Yard investigate

what happened to Lola Quinn.

That's why I wanted to meet away from prying eyes.

Your little helper

made reference to some rumors about Lola and me.

I assume they're the reason I'm a suspect.

Do you deny you were lovers?

Actually, I did love Lola very much,

but not in the way you think.

She wasn't my lover, you see.

She... she was my daughter.

I never told anyone about Lola.

Not for 25 years.

You gave her up for adoption?

It was my third year at Oxford.

I was persuaded a baby would ruin my life.

Not a day goes by I don't wonder.

You don't believe me.

No, that would be a horrible thing to lie about.

Not as horrible as what you've come to accuse me of.

Proof, then.

Her birth certificate.

You were 18 during your third year at Oxford?

I was precocious,

but my father said I was still a child,

that I couldn't raise her.

It was a harsh truth, but then,

that's how he made our family fortune.

Harsh truth is our brand.

Children out of wedlock aren't.

No one ever knew?

Dad arranged for me to study abroad for a term.

They took her from the delivery room.

I never even saw her.

- Until? - Four years ago.

She sent me a letter, perfectly polite.

No hard feelings. She didn't even want my money.

She just wanted to know me.

I wanted to help her-- that's why I kept

our page-three spreads going,

so I could put her in my newspapers.

As a glamour model?

Teaching her the value of a chaste image

didn't really feel like my place.

Still, she was a secret you went to

extraordinary lengths to keep.

And that hasn't changed.

She would never have exposed us. Even if she had,

I could never hurt my daughter.

You made a lot of enemies lover the years.

Can you think of anyone who would want to harm Lola

to get back at you?

Nobody knew she existed. Of that I'm quite certain.

This isn't about my relationships.

It could be about hers.

Bad boyfriend?

She had terrible taste in men.

Every single one she took up with,

they were uniformly awful.

Violent?

Mostly just dull.

But there was one...

Farid Khan. He owns a few nightclubs.

Lola was very taken with him

until earlier this year, when he started hitting her.

There's the faint outline of a bruise

beneath her sunglasses.

"With my guy at the movies."

Check his feed

or any of the gossip magazines.

They were an item at the time.

- We'll look into him. - Good.

If you come to believe he did this

but you can't quite prove it, let me know.

I've never had anyone killed before,

but I don't think I'm above it.

So, Ruby Carville was right.

Farid Khan is a loathsome human being.

But he didn't have anything to do with the attack.

Alibi?

Well, amongst other disqualifying factors,

he was at a meeting at the time of the attack.

He was signing a deal to invest in a line

of licorice-flavored vape juice.

I think I am onto something.

These are all from Lola's social media?

Yeah.

Watching Ruby scroll past so many posts

to find the one that she showed us,

it struck me how active Lola was on this site.

She posted at least five times a day, every day.

She was a model.

Self-promotion is second only to carbohydrate avoidance.

It seemed like an opportunity.

I thought we'd find another suspect or two

somewhere in her feed.

Yet she doesn't seem to have shared the lens

with anyone else.

Anything in the comments?

Just a lot of thirsty guys and eggplant emojis.

But if you look long enough, you'll catch something.

She's been airing reruns for her followers.

That most recent photo

was posted in April.

Yeah.

That's not the only one.

She hasn't posted a new photo since two Fridays ago.

I think that's when it started.

So, for some reason,

she didn't feel camera-ready these last two weeks.

I'd like to know why.

You should know,

I'm gonna have a conversation with DCI Jones.

The "Doc" business, it's... it's got to stop.

She can dislike Americans on her own time.

Our relationship needs to be more professional.

- Thanks. - And the business

with the water heater in 221A, that's being addressed today.

So your showers will no longer be an adventure.

Why you being so nice to me?

Aren't I always nice to you?

Did Kitty talk to you about me?

We may have had a conversation about you

and concerns she has about your well-being.

So, is she right?

Are you having second thoughts about being here in London?

It's not just about DCI Jones.

- What is it? - Well, you know,

it's a lot of things.

My family's in New York, all my friends.

- You know what I mean. - Uh-huh.

You know I can never go back to New York.

I'll be arrested for the murder

of Michael Rowan-- a murder that you might remember

I did not commit.

Well, no one asked you to confess.

Well, you didn't really give me any choice.

Excuse me?

The FBI only had eyes for you,

and you forbade me from going to them

and telling them that the killer was Hannah Gregson.

I mean, y-you were going to end up in a federal prison.

If you don't like the nickname "Doc,"

imagine the names they would devise for you there.

Wow. So is this why you confessed?

So you could hold it over my head for the rest of my life?

Of course not.

Then what the hell is this?

Uh...

I just, I-I'm disappointed.

You know, L-London is... is my home.

It-it means something to me.

It's not just that I can't go back to New York.

It's that I'm happy here.

You know, it-it's where I want to be.

Yeah, well, that makes one of us.

Things that bad between us?

You're emptying out your desk a few days early?

Been at the 11th a long time.

It's gonna take a few trips.

This is just the first.

I'm gonna call them tomorrow.

Apologize.

See how it goes.

That's good.

Ever since this thing with Rowan...

We don't have to talk about it, ever.

Thank you.

For what you said yesterday.

I needed that.

You know, it's funny, I thought I knew exactly

how much I was gonna miss you when you were gone.

I was wrong.

Virgin?

Excuse me?

He means the drink, Watson. This is Chip.

He's a bartender at the Saticoy Hotel.

I think a little too much ginger.

You think?

Anyway, thanks for coming.

And for the libations.

Cheers, love.

Is that why you invited me over?

Libations?

Chip is more than a simple mixologist.

He's also a witness in our investigation.

You were very nearly correct

when you said that all of Lola's recent posts were old.

There was one exception.

That's from a week ago.

Whatever she was hiding from her viewing public,

it wasn't from the waist down.

When I recognized that

as the rooftop pool at the Saticoy,

I contacted the bar there.

They connected me with Chip.

He made her that drink, you see.

Right slap-bang in the middle of her self-imposed media blackout.

When I asked him about her, he said that she had bandages

on her face.

Across her nose and beneath her eyes.

Very tidy bandages.

She had plastic surgery.

She shouldn't have.

It's the reason she was killed.

I was told this was just an informational interview.

Should I have my solicitor here?

It's not necessary, Dr. Halsey.

This is an informational interview.

We are going to lay out

the case we have against you.

You don't have to say a word if you don't want to.

I don't understand.

What case?

It was you who splashed Lola Quinn with acid.

We're certain of it.

Two weeks ago,

on Friday the 11th, Lola checked herself

into the Dunsmuir Outpatient Surgery Center.

She was permitted to check in under an assumed name

for privacy, but of course,

she used her National Insurance number.

Now, you are listed there

as her surgeon.

When we first met, you failed to mention

you'd recently performed an elective procedure on her.

I didn't see how that was relevant.

And I still don't.

Oh, we can help you with that.

Her intake form indicates she was there for a blepharoplasty.

She wanted to reduce the bags under her eyes.

Is that correct?

I don't recall.

"I don't recall" is a useful phrase, but it's not true.

You did not perform a blepharoplasty on her.

You did an entirely different procedure.

A rhinoplasty, to reshape her nose.

You performed the wrong surgery.

We think she was beginning

to suspect as much, and might have mentioned

her desire to seek a second opinion.

I'm sorry. Do you really think something like that

wouldn't have come to light in all the time since?

I mean, I get that you're not doctors, but...

Actually, I used to be one.

So I know that Lola

would have come out of anesthesia

having no idea what had been done to her.

Both operations would have left her

with dull pain in her face

and stitches near the bridge of her nose.

There would be swelling, bruises and bandages

covering up what you had done.

When you realized your mistake, you considered your options.

A malpractice suit was a given.

Your wallet and your reputation would also take a hit.

Look, this is all ridiculous.

You don't...

You don't have proof of anything.

That was the point of the acid.

You weren't angry at Lola,

you weren't ideologically motivated,

and you didn't want to rob her.

You wanted to destroy evidence of your malpractice.

I think we've strayed far enough for an informational interview.

This is pure fiction.

You share any of it with the press, and I will sue.

You shouldn't have pointed at the DCI.

Oh, what, now you're the manners police, are you?

I'm not accusing you of being rude.

We just got a very good look at the chemical burn

on your finger.

You spilled some of the acid on yourself.

The fingerprint we pulled off Lola's bag.

We thought we just had a partial.

Turns out... we had the whole thing.

Uh, come in.

You wanted to see me?

Those are for you.

You got me flowers?

No, not me.

Chip.

The bartender.

Fancies you.

Said he went to your place earlier, but you weren't in.

Thanks.

I never expected you to come to London.

When I confessed to killing Michael,

I knew what I was doing.

I knew what I was sacrificing, and...

I was ready to go it alone.

Now...

I didn't say I was leaving. I said I was struggling.

I just need a little time, okay?

What?

What?

Are you gonna answer it?

Captain.

Actually, it's me, Marcus.

Sorry I'm calling like this. I'm just dialing

everyone he's close to that's in his phone.

I didn't have all the numbers.

The captain,

he's been shot.

- It's bad. - How bad?

They found him last night on a street out in Flushing.

Nobody saw what happened.

The doctors, they, uh...

they're not sure he's gonna pull through.

Thought you guys should know.

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man