Original subtitles

Previously on Elementary...

He's only loved one person

in his life, as far as I can tell,

and she was murdered.

My name is Moriarty.

I believe we're overdue for a chat.

Moriarty said you weren't to be harmed,

but then, a few hours ago, she tried

to have me killed. "She"?

Moriarty.

So who was the man I spoke to on the phone?

You talked to one of my lieutenants.

He has, over the years, played the role repeatedly.

You said

there was only one person in the world

who could surprise you.

Turns out there's two.

I'm going to get a coffee with a guy from TrueRomantix.

I told him I only have an hour, so

if he is a dud,

I will be back soon.

I'm certain it will be a profound experience

for the both of you.

Are you out of clean laundry?

Enjoy.

We have spilled much ink, you and I,

in our discussion of human connection...

...and we're no closer to understanding

than we were when the correspondence began.

I often feel as if I'm standing

on one side of a wide chasm,

shouting across,

and wondering if the response I hear comes from you,

or if it is my own voice

echoing back to me.

It seems to me, on my side of the canyon,

that the search for unity with another

is the font of much of the world's unhappiness.

I watch as Watson, eager as ever to extract some meaning

from the prevailing social conventions,

endures a series of curated mating rituals.

It seems to me that she's incrementally

less content each time she returns from one.

I conduct myself as though

I'm above matters of the heart,

chiefly because I have seen them corrode people I respect.

But in my candid moments,

I sometimes wonder if I take the stance I do because love,

for lack of a better word,

is a game I fail to understand,

and so I opt not to play.

After all, if I truly had

the purity of all my convictions,

I wouldn't regret so many of the things

I've done.

Nor would I persist,

against so many of my better instincts,

in this correspondence.

I find you a challenge,

one that, in spite of all that you've done,

continues to stimulate.

And so the conversation, futile though it may finally be,

continues, and we are left to wonder:

have we simply failed to find the answers to the questions

that preoccupy us...

or can they not be answered at all?

Fortunately for both of us,

the world always presents the next diversion...

the next elaborate distraction from the problems that vex.

We're good.

Kayden.

♪ Elementary 2x12 ♪ The Diabolical Kind Original Air Date on January 2, 2014

== sync, corrected by Romesh == RiVaL

♪

The victim's name was Max Fuller.

British national, some kind of old money.

His ancestors built the railroads

that connects London and Manchester.

Sometime after midnight,

they disabled the alarm, got past

past a state- of-the art deadbolt

and a steel-plated cage door.

They encountered Mr. Fuller

on their way upstairs

to his daughter Kayden's bedroom.

Mrs. Fuller woke up about an hour later,

discovered her husband was gone.

Went out to the stairs,

found the body.

Did the kidnappers leave a note?

Nothing. The FBI's on their way down now.

I'd like to see the child's bedroom, please.

No caller I.D.

Just a question mark.

Mrs. Fuller,

are you up for this?

Hello?

Good evening, Miss Fuller.

Who is this?

My name hardly matters.

Suffice it to say that you and I are about to embark

on a brief but intense affair.

Would the other parties present care to announce themselves?

This is Captain Tom Gregson

of the NYPD. I'm listening.

Congratulations on beating your federal colleagues to the scene.

When they arrive, please tell them that this can be

a simple transaction, provided no one mucks it up.

The price for the safe return of Kayden Fuller

is $50 million.

I know that voice.

$50 million.

It's Moriarty.

Could you tell me...?

Moriarty is a woman and she is in jail.

It's the man who pretended to be Moriarty.

The one who tried to hire us.

Consolidate the funds and be ready

to issue payment, Ms. Fuller.

I'll be in touch with further details.

It does sound like him.

Was he on long enough? Did you get anything?

Captain.

The man you just spoke with

is one of Moriarty's lieutenants.

As in your Moriarty?

I've spoken with him before myself.

I'm quite certain.

Moriarty's agents do not act without her leave.

She's somewhere in this.

I would like to speak with her.

You can't just walk

into the supermax wing at Newgate.

It shouldn't be overly difficult.

I know for a fact I'm on her list of approved visitors.

Well, I'll work on that.

How do you know that you're on her list of visitors?

There must be 30 letters here.

27. The first one arrived

shortly before we left for London.

Moriarty sends them to a post office box I maintain in the Bronx.

I've no idea how she learned of it.

I began to reply after the fifth one.

She said she was on the verge of quitting the correspondence.

And you didn't want that? Of course not.

Whatever my history with the woman,

she remains a criminal genius.

Her mind and her methods are worthy of study.

Oh, so all this is in the name of science?

Of course.

Any detective would relish the chance

to analyze how she thinks.

I'm a detective.

You didn't show me these letters.

You hid them in a beehive.

This exchange is an entirely good thing.

I've maintained a relationship with Moriarty,

which in turn, should make it easier to learn

what Faux-riarty is up to.

Faux-riarty?

The man who pretended to be Moriarty. Do you have

a better name for him?

Captain.

We're on.

The three of us can see your girl in the morning.

Excellent. Shall we drive out together?

Holmes, she's not in Newgate anymore.

Brooklyn Navy Yard?

I thought it was all malls and condos now.

Not quite. Government still owns some of it.

You have no idea the rabbit hole

you sent me down last night.

Nobody's answering my questions, not exactly.

Reading between the lines,

the feds keep this section restricted.

We're headed into a black site.

Those are your words, not mine.

The FBI and Scotland Yard are working together

to build a case against Moriarty.

She hasn't admitted to being at the center

of any criminal conspiracies, but she has admitted

that, uh, various pieces of information have made it to her.

She's been trading on that ever since we turned her over.

So she's secured herself some more comfortable digs.

Yeah. "Concessions have been made."

That's how the SAC put .

Captain Gregson? I'm Ramses Mattoo.

I dot the Is around here. How do you do?

Please follow me.

The facilities can scale up or down depending on the needs

of the moment, but right now we've only got one guest.

This woman has planned God knows how many murders,

and you give her her own warehouse?

As I understand it, the pieces of intelligence

she's offering have been game changers.

If it's any consolation to you, she's not living in luxury.

She gets her art supplies

and a copy of the Ledger every morning.

I only keep her locked in.

You seem like a competent man, Agent Mattoo.

I'm sure you're aware

that your charge is a vile seductress.

She's capable of manipulations

I can only describe as mind-bending.

I've been briefed.

As for the "seductress" part,

I'm the only one who interacts with her,

and I've been screened for suitability

to this particular inmate.

The brass is confident I can resist her charms.

How in the hell do they screen for that?

He's saying he isn't interested in women, Captain.

It's not a bad idea, actually.

But seduction isn't the only game she knows how to play.

It's really remarkable.

Excuse me?

I knew she was talented,

but as far as I can tell,

she captured everything.

You look a bit tired.

You look a bit evil.

Joan.

Of course, Sherlock's told me

you're doing well.

Although I'm sorry to hear your efforts

to find a soul mate haven't been fruitful.

I'd, um, hoped to show you my work someplace less bleak.

More conducive to conversation.

Perhaps if you come see me in a year?

In a year you will be serving multiple life sentences.

Captain,

I've been scouring the paper for answers,

but I have to admit,

I haven't the foggiest idea why you're here.

It happened too late for the morning edition.

A seven-year-old girl by the name of Kayden Fuller

was abducted last night.

The kidnappers murdered her father,

and they're asking for $50 million.

You recognize that name?

Of course. Uriah Fuller built the railroads

that connect London to Manchester.

But if you're here because you think I took the girl,

you're going to be disappointed.

I'm afraid that a kidnapping for ransom has

quite a few moving parts. Too many for my tastes.

Why, then, did your lieutenant make the ransom call?

You know the man I'm referring to.

You had him call Watson and I, pretend to be you.

Yes, he always was ambitious.

I, um, could give you his name, of course.

His likeness,

the names and faces of those he likely recruited.

If you do help us, I'll continue our correspondence

for as long as you're incarcerated.

You're going to do that anyway.

My hosts have a list of favors that I'd like.

If they'd review it, grant me a few,

well, then I'd be happy to lend my insights.

This needn't be unpleasant, you know.

You'd be back with Mom and Dad soon enough.

But I'd very much like to get to know you.

And cribbage is a brilliant way to do that.

Excuse me a moment, Kayden.

It's just, the boys are getting a bit jumpy.

It'd help morale if I could tell 'em something.

Tell them we all stand to profit handsomely from this.

Everyone's wondering, any word from her yet?

She's in federal custody, Clay. It'll take time.

But we'll hear from Moriarty soon enough.

You okay?

It's the first time you saw Moriarty since...

everything.

That had to be hard.

I did not expect her to cooperate.

Of course, I was hoping

she might reveal something inadvertently.

I didn't mean "hard" as in a difficult problem to solve.

I meant emotionally hard.

Oh, but it's all science to you, right?

I'm just curious: what was the empirical value in writing

to her about my dating life?

Excuse me. Well...

I'm looking for Captain Gregson.

Oh, my good Lord.

Why have you brought her here?

Considering the dire circumstances,

the government's agreed to a favor.

I've decided to help you after all.

For the duration of this investigation,

the NYPD has the full use of my knowledge and faculties.

I'm certain we'll work well together.

I'm told you rely heavily on consultants.

Given your history, I can understand why you wouldn't want

to take her up on her offer.

When Ms. Moriarty was first taken into custody,

RFID chips were implanted in both her hands.

She can't move five feet without us knowing.

She's gone.

Just thought you should get used to hearing that.

Chips aren't going to stop her.

As you can see,

she has been equipped with special security bracelets;

like handcuffs that are not connected.

Handcuffs that don't connect. Shoot me now.

They're incapacitants.

Stun guns pointing right at her.

Each with a payload of 50,000 volts that can be triggered

by any member of the detail with the touch of a button.

Then you've taken her out before, haven't you?

Captain, inviting this woman into our investigation

would be, in a word, idiotic.

The kidnappers are being led by her former lieutenant.

He is, in all likelihood, operating under her orders.

During her incarceration, Ms. Moriarty has had zero access

to technology that would allow her

to communicate with the outside world.

She's been allowed to write letters, but only to you.

So unless you are passing instructions to her old assets...

She could've helped us from her cell, couldn't she?

Given us the names, information we needed?

Why bring her here?

As per her request; obviously,

part of the deal she just struck with your superiors.

The building that you're keeping her in,

it might not be a prison,

but it did seem adequately secure.

She'd have a much easier time trying to escape

whilst out and about, no?

The bottom line is that she has cashed in some big chips

to be an active participant.

Her preference is to work with you.

If you don't take her... FBI will.

His name is Devon Gaspar.

He's former British military intelligence. And yet,

were you to ask for his records,

they would deny that he ever existed.

Devon has several aliases that I'm aware of.

I've already shared them with Mr. Mattoo.

I've also prepared some sketches of the men I believe

he may be working with.

Well, obviously, we can't

distribute these to the media.

If they're legit,

that would spook the kidnappers.

But we can put them out in-house.

We'll issue a FINEST message.

And every cop in the city will get an e-mail.

I'll make sure the Bureau does the same.

Excellent. Then I do believe we're finished here.

Lovely to see you, as always,

but we have a terrified little girl to find.

Our best to the gang at the warehouse.

Actually, I was rather

hoping to take a look at the crime scene.

We did promise her

access to the Fuller residence.

That is our next stop.

Actually, we have more important things to do.

For example, checking that even one iota of the information

- she's given us is true. - You know what?

I will go with them to the house, you take care of that.

Um, if anything comes up, I will call you.

Quite lovely, isn't she?

I can only imagine how frightened she must be.

You can stop pretending to care now.

The others can't hear you.

Would you be surprised to learn

you've been on my mind, Joan Watson?

Not really.

I don't typically misread people, but...

you're more clever than I initially estimated.

More interesting.

If you weren't, I would never have been caught.

I think you're giving me too much credit.

It's what you crave, is it not?

Acknowledgment from a superior mind?

Evidence that you matter?

Why else pursue a partnership with a man like Sherlock?

Actually, the partnership was his idea.

That bothers you, doesn't it?

I confess to not understanding it.

But... I'm drawn to things I don't understand.

Same as Sherlock.

Once I've figured you out, I'll move on.

Same as Sherlock.

Is that why you've been writing him?

Because you want to... understand him?

Part of it, I suppose.

And the rest?

What do you think?

You think you're in love with him.

Only you can't be sure,

because as much as you claim to know about the world,him.

love is something

you don't quite get.

You'd be surprised what I'd do for love.

Nothing crazy people do surprises me.

I write to Sherlock

because he's the only person on the planet

I can really talk to.

He writes to me because I'm the only one he can talk to.

The only one he can ever truly relate to.

If you still don't understand that,

you will someday.

I promise.

What's with the...?

Telephone? I have felt compelled

to hang up on a good few many people today.

I dug it out of the closet so I could do it with more emphasis.

Oh. And who was that you were you just talking to?

Old friend from Interpol. Didn't sound like a friend.

He, like many of the other people I've spoken to today,

was unable to confirm that any of these men

are who Moriarty claims them to be.

Devon Gaspar is a ghost.

This is just busywork

for us and the other agencies investigating the kidnapping

so that she has time to plan her escape.

Okay, so, let's move off of these for a while.

The captain said that every officer in New York

would get these via e-mail.

They'll keep their eyes peeled, you and I can go back

over the evidence from the abduction.

Did you say everything you wanted to say today?

To Moriarty?

That is why you accompanied her to the Fuller residence,

is it not? So you would have a private dialogue with her?

Well, you have been hogging her for the last few months.

I told you. I have merely been...

Studying her. Right.

You have feelings for her,

and that is perfectly normal. I have nothing of the sort.

Irene was the love of your life.

That is why, in spite of everything,

you can't quite give her up. I get that.

But I also know that you're only gonna get hurt in the long run

because there is no Irene. There is only Moriarty.

And Moriarty is never gonna change.

3-1-David,

3-1-David, you have a 10-10 Disorderly Male,

corner of 155th and Riverside.

Suspect wearing a gray hoodie.

Please check and advise. Dispatch, this is 3-1-David.

We're on our way.

Sir, how we doing today?

You're up.

Buddy, how you doing?

This one's locked.

Got another phone here.

There's a handsome devil.

I'd say it's a pretty good likeness, wouldn't you?

I would.

CSU said there were two shooters,

him and one other guy.

They led Molina and Kelty into an ambush.

You said Officer Molina's cell phone was missing.

The second shooter took it.

Why?

All they had to do was lie low until they got their money.

Instead, two of them pop out and shoot a couple of cops.

If that makes any sense to you, please tell me.

'Cause it sure as hell doesn't make any sense to me.

I don't know. I'm thinking

maybe it's time that we put those sketches out

to the media.

Can I see your cell phone?

The FINEST message. It goes to only policemen.

That's what they wanted.

That's why they ambushed the officers.

It was the only way they could see Moriarty's sketches.

Why would they want to see them?

And how would they even know they're out there?

You sent a FINEST message, Captain.

Moriarty sent an even finer one.

Robert Baden-Powell.

Who's Robert Baden-Powell? Founder of the Scout Movement

and Lieutenant General in the British Army in the early 1900s.

He concocted a means of concealing messages

in entomological drawings of leaves and butterflies.

He called it "weaponization of the pastoral."

You weaponized your sketches, didn't you?

Hid information in them for Devon Gaspar

and the rest of your merry band.

No, of course not.

I've already started to notice some quirks

in some of the finer details. The arrangement

of Gaspar's stubble, for example,

is quite peculiar. Or at least it is upon

closer examination. The length

of the lines, the spaces in between--

they form a pattern. Within the pattern, a message.

You are behind the abduction of Kayden Fuller.

Sherlock...

You're responsible for what happened to these policemen last night.

No, I'm trying...

Stop lying to me!

I will decode these. You know I will.

So why don't you save us both a lot of time and trouble

and just tell me your endgame, hmm? Who knows?

You might even be able to trade your cohorts' whereabouts

for some more privileges.

I can only imagine what you would get for the safe return

of Kayden Fuller.

Devon Gaspar's on the line.

He called the front desk and asked

to speak with us. Come on.

This is Captain Gregson.

Good to hear your voice, Captain.

I imagine, after yesterday's unpleasantness,

you're quite cross with me.

it became necessary when I realized

you'd turned to our old friend for assistance.

I'm sorry?

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

We've been watching you.

Your station. We know she's there.

It's why we set upon your men.

To determine the degree to which we'd been exposed.

So... now you know

what we know.

Then I guess you won't mind if I start calling you Devon?

A good a name as any.

But your knowing it won't stop me and my colleagues

from disappearing tomorrow.

I don't care where you go, Devon.

I just want the little girl back.

Oh, she's the other reason why we called.

She has been asking to speak with her mummy.

Begging, really.

Well, Mrs. Fuller isn't here with us, but

bear with us. I'm sure we can...

Mommy,

I miss you.

I'm afraid. I want to come home.

Plea... Hope you got all that.

And I hope there won't be any surprises awaiting us tomorrow.

Until then.

I don't care what she's promised your government.

Her time as a consultant is over.

You heard him.

Okay, so, if your answer key is right,

then all Moriarty tried to pass along in these sketches

is a bunch of numbers.

GPS coordinates?

Yeah. For...

a location

in the heart of... Svalbard,

which is a remote island off the northern coast of Norway.

Well, you thought all along this was about Moriarty escaping.

Maybe that's where Gaspar and his team

are supposed to take her. A fine hypothesis.

If indeed escape is still in her agenda.

You don't think it is anymore?

The woman is a riddle wrapped in a mystery

inside an enigma I've had sex with.

I would be lying if I said I was the strongest assessor

of her motives at this point.

Are you expecting someone?

Paperboy.

It's almost 9:00 at night.

I've asked him to gather me hard copies of The New York Ledger.

Anything and everything from the last two weeks.

Why? Because

it is the only newspaper Moriarty had access to

during her so-called "incarceration."

I strongly suspect the communication between Moriarty

and Gaspar has been two-way.

Prior to her generating the sketches, she had no way to send

a coded message from custody.

But she could have received one

via advert in the paper's classified section.

Pillock. He left them by the kitchen door.

Did you see Moriarty today when...

Gaspar put Kayden Fuller on the phone?

She seemed angry.

I had just determined that she sent Gaspar a message

via the sketches.

Well, I've seen that look before.

I've been on the receiving end.

Looked like she wanted to kill the guy.

Well, you're up late.

Rather hard to relax

now that you're keeping these bracelets on me here.

Heaven forfend I trigger them in my sleep and electrocute myself.

If you hadn't pulled that trick with the sketches,

we wouldn't have to take extra precautions.

Ah. So you think Sherlock was right.

I sent the originals to the NSA. It only took them a few hours

to find those numbers you'd hid.

I've been thinking about what you said the other day.

About... feelings I might still have

for her.

You were right, as you so often are

in such matters.

Despite everything, I do continue to feel a certain...

pull.

In my weaker moments,

I've entertained the notion that she might be able to...

change. I suppose because I've undergone

a transformation of my own.

I was, until as recently as two years ago,

a drug-addled misanthrope. Today, I'm sober.

I've cultivated not one but several

meaningful relationships.

The woman has never been anything less than obsessed

with our many similarities.

I suppose I thought...

she could undergo a metamorphosis of her own.

Would it surprise you to learn that during the course

of my internment here,

I have devised exactly 17 means of escaping?

Six of which can account for the extra precautions like my...

bracelets.

I can only come up with ten.

You see something?

To the naked eye, it is an advert for a used car.

But there are indicators of an Ave Maria

cipher. It's a cryptographical technique

devised by a priest named Johannes Trithemius

in the fif...

What is it?

I was wrong.

Moriarty is not the architect of the plot

to kidnap Kayden Fuller.

She's one of its victims.

Did you know that glass is a very poor conductor

of electricity? It's often used

to insulate power lines.

Most of the jars my paints come in...

are glass.

All I'd have to do is

break one, jam the shards

between my wrists and the electrodes on the restraints.

I'd probably cut myself quite badly,

but my bracelets would be neutralized.

Gaspar set this entire affair in motion

with a coded message to Moriarty.

The first part of the message reads,

"You know what I want. Tell me where it is."

The coordinates.

So, whatever Kaspar's after, it's hidden in Svalbard.

Exactly. $50 million ransom is just a fig leaf.

Although, I'm sure he'll be happy enough to have that.

His actual quarry is whatever

Moriarty has directed him towards.

You said Moriarty was a victim. What did you mean by that?

The final part of his message.

"Be prompt. Your daughter's life hangs in the balance."

Kayden Fuller is Moriarty's daughter?

28 hand.

Well done.

Go ahead.

Take Fourth Street.

Cutthroat rules suit you, I see.

Get under the bed.

Don't open the door for anyone.

Go.

Oh, no, no.

No.

Clay?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. She...

She told me to shoot him.

She?

She knows things.

I've got family, too.

I don't want her coming for 'em.

How'd you find us?

I know the properties we hold.

I know you need to house and feed a seven-year-old.

That takes space.

I know that when Montgomery was killed

while you ambushed those police,

they found clay subsoil on his boots.

Just like the kind we found

seeping into the foundations here.

The girl's safe.

Get on with it, would you?

Or do you plan to let me bleed out?

Oh, I'm afraid I've got something a little less passive

in mind for you.

Believe it or not,

most of this blood is Moriarty's.

She shorted out her bracelets,

dug these implants they gave her out of her,

and somehow used Mattoo's handprint

to get herself out of here.

And what about Mattoo?

He's in bad shape-- stable-- but they think he's gonna make it.

So, she didn't kill him?

She didn't kill anybody on her way out of here.

Mattoo's the only one she even confronted.

There's quite a bit of blood here.

She'll need medical attention.

We checked the hospitals. There's nothing.

She's got a 40-minute head start on us.

Any ideas?

She's gone to fetch her daughter.

This is Sherlock Holmes.

I'd like to see you.

Tell me where you are, and I'll come.

The Bronx. A condemned building near Van Cortlandt Park.

Top floor.

Tell the police they can wait outside.

You're the only one who can come in.

Your daughter?

Sent away, resituated.

You've done the maths, I assume.

She was born well before I met you.

An indiscretion at the start of my career.

Even as I carried her to term,

I knew that motherhood would not mix well with my...

proclivities.

Some sources of mine told me

that the Fullers were having trouble

conceiving a child of their own.

It wasn't hard to arrange a match.

How did Gaspar learn of her?

No idea.

I assume the girl's real father needs a lesson in discretion.

What's on the island of Svalbard?

The coordinates I gave Devon are the location of a vault.

Copies of all the seeds on the planet are stored inside,

in the event that the earth's flora needs to be restored

after a catastrophe.

But that's not what Gaspar expected to find there.

I maintain...

a dossier of interesting facts.

I assembled most of them myself.

Some were passed down to me by a mentor

who shared the same enthusiasms I do.

Even if I directed Devon to the right place,

he hadn't the wit to use my book properly.

So, you sent him hunting above the Arctic Circle,

just so you would have time to move against him.

It was a risk, but I've always been willing

to bet on my abilities.

And in this instance,

I had the added benefit of assistance

from the keenest mind I've ever met.

All's well that ends well, right?

You need an ambulance.

You could have run.

And live as a fugitive? Why?

The world's corruption runs deeper than even you know.

No need to skulk about.

I'll be a free woman soon enough.

Your letters have meant a great deal to me.

I find them influencing my decisions

in the most surprising ways.

You could have killed Agent Mattoo.

And from your perspective,

it would have been the expedient thing.

And yet, to you, it would have been repugnant.

Tell me, is that how you learned to be one of them?

By learning to care

how your actions seemed in the eyes of another?

I'm not sure I am one of them.

She needs a hospital.

I just got off the phone

with Captain Gregson.

She lost a lot of blood, but she's gonna make it.

You all right?

I am. Thank you.

== sync, corrected by Romesh == RiVaL

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