Original subtitles

Dr. Watson, what is this place?

Well, let's just say it comes

from a man named Sherlock Holmes.

He played the violin

and he died by falling

- over a waterfall. - Holmes!

I might want to hear that story sometime.

Sherlock?

My dear Watson.

I don't suppose you've any horseradish?

How are you alive?

Trickery. Some sleight of hand.

A dash of skullduggery.

Do you have an overnight guest, my friend?

Is that why we're whispering?

Trickery.

On me?

On everyone.

Not an easy decision, but I do believe it had to be taken.

Why?

I'm closer to the end now than I am to the beginning.

And if I'm to spend my remaining energy

in the way that I intend,

I had to clear the stage.

How else can one spring a third act surprise?

Would you like to hit me, Watson?

A single blow, perhaps, from that

misshapen cricket bat? I could hardly blame you.

And I won't resist.

You're alive.

You're alive.

You're here.

And you're alive.

Inclement weather.

The company of a friend.

Sandwich meats of unknown origin.

I'd say it's an evening to remind one of Baker Street.

All we need's a cracking mystery, and we're off.

Oh, a mystery, yes, yes. A mystery.

Maybe kind of like how you survived the waterfall?

You look well, Watson.

The arrogance of the world slides off you as ever.

That sounds like a compliment.

I assume you're tracking the state of things.

The deafening boorishness.

Revolting displays of excess.

Why won't you tell me where you've been?

It's rather an immense topic.

I was hoping we could start small.

The whole of a person can be read

from a single strand of DNA, yes?

Why can't a conversation work the same way?

Maybe because you've been gone for more than a year.

Or because I left my life behind to help you.

Or how about the fact that you abandoned me

to deal with Moriarty on my own?

I'm nervous, John.

I'm afraid I may have ruined things with my best friend.

I don't have any right to ask you for a break.

But I am nervous,

and I was hoping to start small.

Okay. All right.

Let's start small.

How was your day?

How was my day?

That's a dumbass question. How was my day?

- Not my finest work, true. - No, it's not, it's not.

All right. How was my day?

My day was...

Come on, stay with me, buddy.

Stay with me.

It was busy.

Oh, you want to know the whole story?

You tell me. Do I?

Well, there was an expedition to Siberia,

there's a baby woolly mammoth,

and people say the word "zombie" way too much by the way.

But it all starts with a psychiatrist.

Dr. Ferry?

John Watson. I'm a clinical geneticist and internist

with the Holmes Clinic here at UHOP.

- We're practically neighbors. - I know your work.

- Very impressive. - Well, allow me to return the compliment.

I just finished your book.

- Fascinating. - I hope so.

Quite a few years of research went into that doorstop.

Well, ego-syntonic personality disorders

are notoriously difficult to treat.

You are one of the few practitioners

who claims to see their patients making improvements.

And I don't know, I guess I'm just curious.

Do you really believe

people with these conditions can change?

Is this a professional curiosity

or do you have someone particular in mind?

I wouldn't ask you to violate confidentiality.

What are you asking, Dr. Watson?

Seems a fair question.

What were you asking?

Dr. Ferry is treating a colleague of mine.

Well, it's a... it's a former colleague, a neurologist.

I can't find anybody to replace her,

but I can't hire her back, either.

A sociopath? In therapy?

Well, that's an imprecise term.

"Sociopath" is...

Look, it doesn't matter.

The point is the call I got.

- Thanks for coming so fast. - Mm-hmm.

The patient's name is Amelia Woodward.

Yeah, you said she had symptoms similar to the flu.

Not something I'd normally worry about...

but then I spoke to her.

This is a list of everyone

I have interacted with in the past few days.

You should start contact tracing immediately.

You have the flu.

This file is important.

It pertains to my brother, James Woodward.

He is in a long-term care facility in Highland Park.

I'm the last close family he has left.

I need you to get his information

to my cousins in Campbell, Ohio.

Someone has to take care of him when I'm gone.

Miss Woodward, slow down. You have the flu.

It is Dr. Woodward.

I'm a professor of infectious diseases

and microbiology at Pitt.

I'm not sure that you have dealt with anything like

what I have brought to your door.

Okay.

Tell me.

I have spent my life studying the Arctic permafrost.

It's melting, we're losing more of it every year.

I'm aware.

In my line of work, Dr. Watson,

we worry about what is down there.

Pathogens, frozen for thousands of years,

released into the air when the ice thaws.

Exotic viruses, strangers to our immune system

that could rip through an entire population.

There's a term for it.

I'm familiar with it, yes.

I got back from Siberia two days ago.

My team and I,

we came into close contact with the remains

of six recently thawed woolly mammoths.

How do you think they died, Dr. Watson?

A zombie virus,

frozen for millennia.

That's another imprecise term.

You're better than that.

Seems apt to me.

Why the fear of vivid language?

"The Case of the Zombie Virus."

I'm in.

- Zombie virus. - That's an imprecise term.

You're better than that.

Um, resurrected virus.

Hibernating virus.

Okay, call it whatever.

We really think this is some ancient pathogen

back from the dead?

We have to consider it.

Over the past decade,

both anthrax and smallpox

have been found in Siberian permafrost.

How do we treat something that human beings

haven't encountered in 50,000 years?

Whatever it is, it's an infectious disease,

so we follow the protocols and listen to our expert.

Well, the good news is Amelia Woodward

keeps detailed records.

Her interactions are limited to colleagues.

The bad news is all of them now could be vectors of contagion.

For what it's worth, guv, the rumor mill is in full swing.

Those nurses, they do love a chat.

The word "pandemic" has been bandied about.

Shinwell Johnson,

in the company of doctors.

Who would believe it?

You've done well there, Watson.

The rest, worthy of the name on the door?

Well, in one way or another, they each remind me of you.

I ordered a full

infectious workup: CBC, blood cultures

and a respiratory viral panel.

Also started empiric antibiotics.

Stephens Croft,

he flaunts his intellect, still learning to be a team player.

His twin brother Adam just kind of glides through the world.

Learning to pick the harder path.

So I have to stay here contact tracing

while you guys get to go see a baby woolly mammoth?

This is not fun, it's work.

Oh, whatever. You get to go to Jurassic Park.

I'm stuck here like Cinderella.

Oh, does that make me the belle of the ball

or evil stepsister?

Sasha Lubbock. Failure's sworn enemy.

If she wasn't so nice, I could see her being a dictator.

Send pictures of the pachyderm.

How are we on the interviews

with Amelia's coworkers?

I just got an email from one guy, Rob Mallory,

says he's symptom-free.

All right, we need to talk to all of them.

Mm-hmm. Nate Hermannson,

Fariba Ahmadi, Tunde Sipewe.

Perfect. Hello?

Adam, hold off.

I know where they are.

This will help Mr. Hermannson.

How long have you been feeling like this, Ms. Ahmadi?

Mr. Sipewe.

Have you got a tenner, by chance?

- It's just I'm a bit skint. - You want money?

Only till Tuesday.

You see, I'm dead, my friend.

Can't be using a bank card.

But you funded my clinic.

You're rich.

I was rich. Gave it all away.

I never told you about my money. Sorry.

It's actually quite embarrassing, having means.

A certain formula emerged from my dabblings in the lab.

I made the mistake of sharing it with my brother.

Mycroft created a company, et cetera, et cetera.

So you cofounded a publicly traded corporation?

Don't rub my face in it, Watson. I'm sheepish enough as it is.

So, this zombie virus.

Should you have taken it a bit more seriously?

I took the virus seriously.

I didn't take the term seriously.

Amelia's labs are back. All normal.

So we can cross off influenza.

Okay, so as of now, we don't know

what we're facing, how contagious it is, or how deadly.

Correct.

Do you think we need to lock down?

Well, I recommend enhanced isolation precautions for now.

Meanwhile, I sent Stephens and Sasha

to examine this woolly mammoth specimen.

I've been reading Dr. Woodward's newest book.

- Mm-hmm? - She predicted this exact scenario.

I don't want to tell you how bad she thinks

it'll go from here.

Mary Morstan.

If I'm being honest, Watson,

I'd hoped you two would have found your way

back to each other by now.

Yeah, I know that. I mean, why else would you

set up the clinic in the hospital she runs?

We're divorced.

The woman in my bedroom is Dr. Laila Bynum.

And you're all right, my friend?

Why wouldn't I be?

Because she's Mary

and you're Watson.

Apologies. We're starting small.

Now...

I believe I was promised a woolly mammoth?

Oh, here it is. The mother lode.

"Siberian expedition,

August to October 2025."

Oh.

Is everything okay?

Just, uh, I made a silly mistake.

Silly how?

A month ago, I got an email from a man

claiming to have tracked me down via some sort of

adoption records program.

Said he was my birth uncle.

I have known I've been adopted

my whole life, made peace with it

when I was in grade school.

But... then I saw how happy Dr. Morstan was

when she met her brother, and I thought to myself

what if I have people out there?

You know, nieces and nephews, a...

a whole family I never knew.

A part of me I forgot I was missing.

So you wrote him back?

I sent him one tiny email with my info,

and then he overwhelmed me with replies and texts and calls.

It was just too much. So, like I said,

silly mistake.

But you didn't block him.

It's clearly something you want to investigate.

I'm glad you did.

I'm glad you told me.

Yeah, I actually, I'd rather just forget about it.

What do you say we go...

take a look at the main attraction?

That right there

is a baby woolly mammoth.

48,000 years old.

Everything that happened between then and now,

this little gal was on her inevitable journey

to this moment.

All things considered,

she weathered the road pretty well.

It's a miracle.

What do you make of that?

Can barely make it out.

Looks like scabs.

Maybe tissue damage, part of the thawing process?

Or pustules indicative of disease.

Smallpox?

I should get some samples.

Says here she was found with five adults,

all in one location.

Implies a pack traveling together.

Probably died suddenly. Maybe predators?

Or a rapid onset of a viral infection.

Mammoth promised, mammoth delivered.

Did you get the chance to examine the creature personally?

Nope. Things got a little busy on my end.

It was a ten-week expedition.

We followed every protocol, safety first all the way.

And no one displayed any symptoms?

I'm not a doctor.

I build drilling equipment.

To me, everyone seemed great.

Right now, Professor Woodward

and the rest of her team are experiencing fever,

fatigue, loss of appetite.

Are you having any of these symptoms?

I'm fine.

Mr. Mallory, so far,

the virus doesn't appear to be spreading,

but that could change very quickly.

I need to know...

What? That I got the flu on our flight home?

Let's not be overdramatic.

Excuse me.

Ingrid.

Dr. Watson. Good to see you.

Same.

I like the, um...

the, uh...

Did you go see my psychiatrist?

I did.

Kind of weird, don't you think?

Well, I see how you could think that,

but I wasn't there because he was your psychiatrist.

I was... I was there because

he's the author of a book that I'm interested in.

And the topic of said book is?

People like you.

He's gone into cardiac arrest. Starting compressions.

I'll get the crash cart.

Come on, stay with me, buddy. Stay with me.

We did everything we could, but the virus...

induced a heart attack.

Pulse check.

Restarting compressions. Prepare another

- dose of epinephrine. - Watson.

- Give me another dose of epi! - John.

We did five rounds of epi already.

He's gone.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

And whatever virus triggered his heart attack...

We just exposed ourselves.

Well, a newly unfrozen virus on the loose.

You and your nemesis

stand exposed. You can't stop now.

She's not my nemesis. She's my neurologist.

She has the qualities of a nemesis.

No, no, no. I'm done with the story time for now.

We started small, now I think I'd like to know

how you survived the waterfall, if, in fact, you went over.

No, that-that-that's just cruel.

Got me on your hook, then you deny me my climax.

That sounds weird, but yes.

Yes, I deny you your climax.

I did plunge over the falls, my friend.

- As for the rest... - Shh, keep it down.

...I promise you'll know everything by first light.

Now, please,

grant me release.

I'm gonna finish telling my story,

but only to keep you from talking like that.

So, our immediate issue was exposure.

So now I had a new problem.

That was brave, jumping in like that.

That was very brave.

I didn't know the guy had a zombie virus.

- That's an imprecise... - I know,

it's an imprecise term.

Don't correct me.

If I had to do it again, who knows what happens?

I was glad to hear that you're seeing Dr. Ferry.

How did you hear that, exactly?

I figured out what floor you're visiting,

I did a little math.

So I've been on your mind.

Is that why you can't replace me?

John, how are you both feeling?

So far, we don't have any symptoms.

Good.

Do you know anything about a leak to the press

that this outbreak is getting worse?

- No. - I've been fielding nonstop calls,

media from all over the country.

The mayor contacted me in a panic,

he's advising us to lock down the hospital.

I told him we're not there yet.

We just need more time.

These viral test results don't make any sense.

RSV's negative. That's what the test does,

it shows you positive or negative.

A resident asked me if we were gonna lock down the hospital.

- Maybe we should. - That would impact the treatment

of every patient here.

Incoming emergencies would be rerouted,

life-saving measures delayed.

People could die.

You lot need anything? Aside from caffeine,

from which you should all consider yourselves cut off.

We're all just a little wired.

Feels like we're in over our heads.

We just need to focus.

Cross off every possible alternative.

It's scary and tedious, I know.

And it doesn't help that Watson is confined to an iso room.

Stuck in there with Ingrid.

What are they even talking about?

It's fine. I'm sure they're fine. Right?

Hello?

Before you ask, Ingrid and I are fine.

Great, that's awesome.

That being said, we have to assume

that the clock is ticking.

If we're gonna get sick, I would love to get a sense

that we know what we're up against.

What's our progress?

Well, we know what it's not.

Negative viral panels for the four surviving patients.

And yet,

Rob Mallory was under

so much duress, his heart arrested.

The media's not helping either.

There are reporters out in the parking lot,

stopping UHOP staff and asking questions.

People out here are on the verge of panic.

Could be worse. You could, I don't know,

be exposed and trapped in a room with the guy who fired you.

Our patients need a breakthrough

and so do our colleagues.

Who's got some ideas?

Lab work on the baby mammoth was inconclusive.

As for our patients' labs, I could put a call in to micro,

see what comes up on blood cultures.

No other hospitals are reporting mystery flu.

If it's not spreading, maybe it's not viral.

Could be exposure to some foreign substance.

I can keep fishing around to see if we missed anything.

Great, but tread carefully. I don't want some

overeager reporter getting a sense

that we are grasping for straws.

I'm due for supervised rounds.

I can go in, casual,

ask whatever you need me to.

Great.

Any other ideas?

What? I don't work for you, remember?

So, how are we feeling today?

Still stunned.

I've known Mallory for years.

We worked together often.

I keep thinking about my twins.

When they were born, I... I stopped taking trips.

Which makes it hard when your focus is glaciology.

Can't sleep.

Which is kind of my default setting.

Might try some New Orleans jazz.

Little taste of home.

You want me to call for the doctor?

Could-could you just...

would you sit with me for a few minutes?

Of course I will.

Can't believe he's gone.

And-and I'm scared...

...I'm next

My husband, he... he goes away all the time,

nonstop.

I got so jealous.

How about Amelia?

Is she okay after what happened to Mr. Mallory?

She's holding up best she can.

Can I tell you something?

I did it for the money.

My book.

I mean, yes,

the permafrost is my life's work, but...

...I wrote the book so I could make money.

I'm a caregiver, and...

the cost for my brother...

...it comes every month.

It's gonna come every month, whether I'm dead or alive.

And if there's no one to pay it, then...

that's it for Jimmy.

No one's gonna keep him alive

just because it's the right thing to do.

That's an awful burden.

I wrote the book

so I could make a pile of money big enough for anything.

And I went back to Siberia...

...and I just kept digging.

Now it's gonna kill us.

Another one. It's just...

it's too much.

Maybe just tell him that.

Start a dialogue?

Just seems so daunting.

Well, yeah. Sure.

Believe me, I'm exhausted from dealing with

the one sibling I'm 99% sure is legit.

But this job reminds you that life is short.

Connecting with people is intimidating,

but it's worth it.

Hey, lovebirds.

- Found something. - We went over the field journal.

Twice. Most of it's barely legible.

I can read it fine.

And, yes, there's a lot here,

from temperature data to glacial measurements,

but look at this.

It's a meal log.

Oh, wow. Talk about fastidious.

There are dates, recipes

and initials for who handled prep.

Check out the last entry.

On the final night of their expedition,

they celebrated with a meat and veggie stew.

Onions, carrots, bell peppers.

The exact meal isn't as vital as the fact

that it was a communal dish,

and it was paired with, of all things...

Soda bread.

Yeah, it's an interesting choice, right?

So, on a hunch, I checked out the list of cooking supplies.

Along with everything else,

they brought a 50-pound bag of baking soda.

How much baking soda?

Of course. Thanks.

What is it?

It's the breakthrough that I needed.

And if I'm right,

you won't be here much longer.

I won't be here? Where are you going?

Mary.

What are you doing out of isolation?

This isn't a virus.

That expedition team was infected

by a foodborne pathogen.

How can you be so sure?

If my theory is right, this whole situation,

the illness, the media frenzy, all of it,

was just an elaborate ruse.

That team was poisoned.

Poisoned?

Well, well.

Now, that'd make Mr. Mallory's death

- a premeditated murder. - Exactly.

My dear Watson...

...you've only gone and dipped your spoon

into my favorite porridge.

We won't need these candles much longer.

I imagine you'll wrap this up by dawn.

Oh, no, no, no, no, my friend.

I wasn't the one who promised

to tell my story before sunrise.

True. But what's the saying?

You show me yours, I'll show you mine.

You're doing the weird thing again.

I thought I'd hear a theory by now.

I mean, are you or aren't you the world's greatest detective?

I am that.

Bit soggy from the falls, maybe, bit broke,

but very much intact.

I mean, when you lay it

all out, it is a bit obvious.

Start with the media.

Professor Woodward and her team return from Siberia.

Two days later, they're sick.

Immediately, the national press grab onto the story.

Now, how can that be?

The idea of a zombie virus hadn't even left the hospital.

Yeah, but that's easy. I mean, they knew it was coming.

Someone leaked the story to the media.

Next clue:

The disease struck no one outside the expedition.

Basic epidemiology.

Infected carriers spread the virus.

Those newly infected spread it further still.

So why was there no spread beyond the original group?

Did anything else catch your attention?

You didn't seriously think I'd miss the soda bread, did you?

Okay, okay.

Soda bread.

Baking soda.

It serves to neutralize stomach acid,

which is why I suspect your killer used it as cover.

The tainted meal was laced with baking soda,

leaving every member of the expedition

more susceptible to contamination.

How am I doing?

Well, I've heard a lot of quality deductions,

but I have yet to hear a diagnosis.

A diagnosis?

Well, your academics don't have a zombie virus, Watson.

They were infected, but most likely by...

Typhoid fever.

Based on what you've said,

it's the only thing that makes sense.

Tell me why.

Typhoid's a food-borne bacterial infection

notoriously slow to show up on blood cultures.

If your theory's right, whoever did this

must've bioengineered an antibiotic-resistant strain.

To side-step any medicine we might use as treatment,

thus lengthening the ruse.

So it seems all the more spooky and mysterious.

A true zombie virus.

I'll understand you might want to wait

until typhoid shows up in the blood cultures,

at which point, you will know with absolute certainty

it's safe to go home.

Home.

You really think you can finish this without me?

Of course your nemesis

got there first. It's perfect.

She's not my nemesis.

She's my neurologist.

Stop quibbling over details, Watson.

The gods of story demand sacrifice,

and they demand it upon the altar of irony.

Your nemesis led you to the method of murder.

And now, on to motive, I suppose.

Hoping to inspire a media firestorm

and draw attention to the perils of the thawing permafrost,

and thus raise money for research that might

curb the threat of resurrected viruses,

someone on the expedition

laced the proverbial last supper with typhoid,

giving the team an unsettling, mysterious illness.

No one was intended to die,

but Mr. Mallory's infection proved fatal.

So you need a suspect.

- Any thoughts? - Watson,

I'm positively made of thoughts.

I'm a mediocre geologist in a midlife crisis.

My work's plateaued, I take no joy in my classes.

But a bout with zombie virus could mean notoriety,

and with it, speaking engagements,

publishing opportunities, a chance for relevance.

I have no life. Work is a grind,

nonstop pressure to put out new research.

My husband? He's always gone.

I think he's having an affair.

But this new crisis, it could generate

everything I want.

Money, time off.

And maybe even some sympathy.

I'm an insomniac.

I just stay up all night and obsesses over what's coming.

Floods, hurricanes. I saw it myself in New Orleans.

Amelia's my hero,

and I would do anything to win her approval

or amplify her cause,

even put myself and the others at risk.

No one else sees the impact climate change will have,

especially on people with disabilities like my brother.

So I needed to spread the warning,

and if that drives up sales of my book,

well, mo' money, mo' health care for Jimbo.

She did not say that.

Professor Amelia Woodward did not say,

"mo' money, mo' health care for Jimbo."

We're working quickly here. You get the gist.

I take it you zeroed in on a culprit?

Well, all the facts point...

in one direction.

Now, according to this expedition log,

you yourself

prepped the final meal of that trip.

A meal that I suspect got you sick.

Meat and vegetable stew paired with Irish soda bread.

Oh, you have to remember, right?

Because all of these notes are in your handwriting.

O-okay. And?

Over the past 12 hours, the sales of your book

have skyrocketed, right in line

with the buzz about this zombie virus.

Wait. What... what are you saying?

I'm saying that you've been dedicated to a cause

that's been gone ignored.

You need money for your brother because of all the issues...

Need some help in here!

A medical crisis,

just as you confront your suspect.

My dear Watson, you do give good climax.

Now, you're sure the professor wasn't faking it?

It's a handy way to avoid a murder accusation.

Oh, no. Yes, it was, it was real.

Professor Woodward's typhoid infection

developed into a splenic abscess.

She was headed into surgery when I left.

The police are gonna be waiting for her in the morning.

Brilliant, Watson. Utterly brilliant.

- Now, I was wondering... - No.

My story's over, okay? The sun is coming up.

Tell me.

As best friends, I deserve to know.

I lived a life in need of an escape hatch.

Chasing criminals,

a nemesis lurking in every alleyway.

I always knew that one day,

it might all get to be a bit too much.

Too much plotting, too much danger

to the people I love.

I kept the secrets of my DNA from the world.

That way,

when I needed an escape,

the world might well believe I'm gone.

You spent your whole life planning to fake your own death?

Well, a man needs projects, Watson.

How else can one stave off boredom?

That day at Reichenbach,

I engineered a meeting between my two most loathed enemies:

Moriarty and Stapleton.

Each of them arrived at the falls

believing they were approaching a confrontation with me.

It's a tidy bit of business.

A trap carefully sprung.

Two dangerous criminals

pitted against each other in a fight to the death.

Holmes!

It was them you saw go over

the cliff, Watson.

Moriarty and Stapleton.

My plan was to watch...

to allow the world to believe I'd been lost

in the confrontation

and to make good my exit.

I accounted for everything.

Except...

your intrepid nature.

I showed up too early.

You thought you saw me tumble into the river

in a final conflict with Moriarty.

And in you went after me.

What else could I do

but return the favor?

I did go over the falls that day, Watson.

But I did it to save you.

Thank you.

You shouldn't have lied to me.

Thank you.

Listen, Laila's gonna be up any second now.

There was one thing I wanted to ask.

And don't take this the wrong way, my friend.

Are you entirely sure

you've got the right suspect?

Yes, Amelia Woodward.

I mean, like I said, the police are gonna be there

to question her in the morning.

That's all very well, but I've been

looking at this field journal,

and they'll be interrogating the wrong person.

I can't speak

for Amelia Woodward's medical prognosis,

but on the question of murder,

she is entirely innocent.

I should have seen it.

You had a full plate.

Dying patient, potential global outbreak,

chatty nemesis.

Sometimes it helps to get

a second opinion from a trusted friend.

Dr. Watson,

allow me to introduce your patient,

Dr. Nathan Hermannson.

Good morning, Nate. Good to see you up and about.

Dr. Hermannson was wondering about the treatment

you've been giving him and the other members

- of the expedition. - Oh, yes.

Meropenem.

We use it to treat typhoid infections

that are resistant to other medications.

You should be as good as new soon.

Well...

thank you.

Yeah, these have been a difficult

few days for you, huh?

The illness,

the loss of Rob Mallory.

It's... it's-it's terrible.

I can imagine.

The grief, the guilt.

I feel sad, of course.

I'm not sure why I'd feel guilty.

Well, I believe I traced the source of your illness

to the final meal served on that Siberian expedition.

In fact, I'm convinced that

that meal was intentionally infected.

- What? - Yeah.

Why-why... why would anyone do that?

Amelia's my hero, and I would do anything

to win her approval or amplify her cause.

To draw attention to the cause, of course.

Something that would cut through all of the clutter

and get the world to pay attention.

Professor Woodward cooked that last meal,

but a closer look reveals

that you...

...washed the ingredients

and prepped the cookware.

In fact, you even offered up

your family's old recipe

for the main dish.

Meat and vegetable stew,

aka gumbo.

You are from New Orleans, yes?

I don't like this.

Well, it had to be you.

You needed the knowledge base

to breed an antibiotic-resistant strain of typhoid.

You're a chemist. You had access to all of the equipment.

Now, listen,

I don't think you meant to kill Rob Mallory.

I don't.

But he's gone just the same, Nate.

And that's what I meant by "guilty."

Can you prove any of this?

The police are working on this as we speak.

Hey, that reminds me...

there's a couple of 'em waiting in your room.

Do you feel up to a little chat?

I hear you're doing better.

Why are you smiling at me?

You accused me of murder.

I was wrong.

I'm sorry.

Your associate laced the meal with typhoid.

Dr. Hermannson. He's with the detectives now.

Are you sure?

It's all in there.

Your brother is lucky to have you, Dr. Woodward.

Jimmy.

I'm all he has.

Maybe that doesn't have to be true anymore.

James Woodward.

My team and I, we can check in on his care.

I don't know the staff at this facility,

I assume they're good, but even if they aren't...

...it'll help if they know someone's looking on.

Thank you.

If you're serious, thank you.

I'm serious.

Oh. Th-There's a note in here.

This isn't mine.

Thank you.

My dear Watson,

stop dragging your feet

and hire your nemesis back already.

Life's more fun with a little spice.

You all know that I've been thinking about this

for a while now.

Nobody can help this clinic as much as Ingrid.

Nobody can help our patients

as much as Ingrid.

Who disagrees?

She is dangerous.

She almost killed my brother.

In a very roundabout kind of way, yes.

Are you asking me? 'Cause I'd rather die

than vet another neurologist for you.

I'm good.

I'm actually asking all of you.

Should've done this ages ago, guv.

You see, we're all colleagues...

and ain't that lovely?

but...

we all did for Moriarty together,

and that's called a conspiracy.

And with all successful conspiracies,

the perpetrators stick close.

And that's why you brought me into the room.

I'll reach out to Dr. Derian in the morning.

Sasha?

Hi.

My name is Jun.

And I'm your uncle.

Hello.

I'm very pleased to meet you, Jun.

What a beautiful accent.

Why, thank you very much.

- Oh, please, have a seat. - Oh. Thank you.

So, how-how did you find me?

Shinwell.

This gentleman here for you?

Beg pardon, guv.

The old man that was just right here,

was he waiting for me?

Uh, not sure.

You want I should go track him down?

No.

Thanks. I got it.

Holmes?

What do you say?

Impressive, no?

What are you doing here, aside from showing off?

You call it showing off.

I call it testing myself.

If I can fool Shinwell, I can fool anyone.

You made your arrest?

I did. Thanks for your help.

You'd have gotten there in your own good time.

Goodbye.

That's the reason we're here.

But what are you doing back, Holmes?

You said you had plans.

I do indeed.

There's a mystery here that's caught my attention.

"The Pittsburgh Mystery," let's call it.

So you faked your own death to poke around in Pittsburgh?

It's all part of a bigger project.

I could catch criminals until the day I die,

but it's all just a cycle.

And in the end...

...there's only one crime that truly matters.

Who stole the world, Watson?

The world is out there, Holmes.

It's not an easy place.

Not even a fair place.

But nobody stole it.

It's theirs now.

The oligarchs.

The fairway fiddlers.

The spray-tanned smilers,

foreheads frozen in place.

Cake eaters.

My brother.

The whole Jenga tower could use a bit of a rattle, I'd say.

What are you planning?

A third act surprise.

I've missed you dearly, my friend.

Goodbye for now, Watson.

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