All language subtitles for Elementary - 2x16 - The One Percent Solution.HDTV.en

Previously on Elementary...

Joan Watson,
meet Gareth Lestrade.

My relationship with Lestrade

started as a marriage
of convenience.

Because I prefer to work
in anonymity,

the glory of my casework
was accrued to him.

Over the years, he became
accustomed to the spotlight.

He began to crave it.

You might say,
I turned him into an addict.

I'll thank you not
to take credit

for any of my insights
into the case.

I always knew that
Lawrence Pendry

was, in fact, guilty and had
actually murdered his wife.

He called your bluff.

Sorry. I think
I have a call.

Oh, wait. It's not me.
Is it you?

Hey, I'm back.

I was out on a small case
last night.

Yeah, I was just
at the bodega.

Ignacio said
you helped him...

find out where his son
was getting so much cash.

Cockfighting.

I had to break up
the ring, naturally.

Barbaric practice.

So you decided to bring
one of the chickens home?

Well, there are two combatants
in a cockfight.

I could have called
Animal Control.

But it occurred to me,

we have an opportunity.

There's some debate
as to whether these creatures,

once perverted by their keepers,
can be weaned

from their aggressive
tendencies.

The process,
as it stands now, is tedious,

highly imperfect-- I believe
it can be improved upon.

I believe that,
by this time,

several days hence,

Romulus and Remus
will be living side by side,

two cocks in harmony.

All right. Good luck.

I'm not feeding them.

You seem upset. Do you have
an aversion to cocks?

Not as a species.
I have an aversion

to these particular...

You know what?

I'm not 12.
I'm not calling them that.

Feed your roosters.

It's Captain Gregson.

Wants to meet us immediately.

So, reps from
the Treasury Department

and the Labor Department
were in town from DC.

They were trying
to sell the big banks

on the president's
latest budget,

and someone
detonated a bomb.

Six people are dead.

What kind of explosive?

Bomb squad isn't sure.

It's definitely
homemade, but intricate.

So, the people
from the government were meeting

with the bankers here?

Bomb was under the table...

They were targeted?

We think so, yeah.

One more thing.

Two of the vice
presidents of the bank

that were killed were
from Whitbrook-Balsille.

Richard Balsille, the CEO?

Apparently,
he's got a security czar

on his payroll,

someone who conducts threat
assessments for the company.

- Security Czar? Really?
- Yeah.

Balsille's got pull
with the mayor,

so, we're supposed
to give his guy

access to the investigation.

Well, sorry...
I refuse, on principle, to work

with anyone who would willingly
refer to themselves as a "czar."

Actually,
you already know him.

The two of you worked together
at Scotland Yard.

Sherlock Holmes.

As I live and breathe.

Lestrade.

Well, I haven't seen you

since you were publicly

claiming credit for my work.

That's one way
of looking at it.

Yes, one accurate way.

Well, who's to say what's
accurate and what's not?

Me.

Watson, if you like.

I always find truth

somewhere in the middle.

Hello, Miss Watson.

Happy to see you again.

Joan. Please.

Uh, but you look good.

Yes, well, I...
I am good.

Gutted about all
of this, of course,

but other than that,
I'm excellent, and delighted

to see the pair of you.

So how about it, Holmes?

You ready to match wits?

♪ Elementary 2x16 ♪
The One Percent Solution
Original Air Date on February 27, 2014

== sync, corrected by Romesh ==
RiVaL

You probably thought
I was on the skids.

Why would you say that?

Fresh coconut water,

Mr. Lestrade.
Ah, thanks. Lovely.

Healthy stuff.

Good for the rehydration.

That's my assistant, you see--
Miss Truepenny.

Yeah, she wants to be a
consulting detective, too.

She wrote to me

every day, begging
for an interview.

I cracked.

Now, as I recall,
you weren't too keen

about me striking out
on my own, were you?

What, you thought

I couldn't hack it without you,
did you?

That's not precisely
how I put it.

Yeah, well, anyway,

Fleet Street took
rather a shine to me

after that whole
Lawrence Pendry thing.

Yeah. I got awful lots of work,
got chat show interviews.

You know, they even asked me
to do one of those DOUG Chats

about the science of deduction.

DOUG Chat?

Wait. You never heard of a DOUG chat?
No.

Well, they're like
these conferences

about the spread of ideas.

Anyway, Richard Balsille--

uh, he of Whitbrook-Balsille--

saw mine, got in contact,
said he was in

the business
of talent acquisition,

and he dragged me

on board.

Must be satisfying work.

That's my friend

from St. Bede's.
Two of the survivors

have been assessed
with superficial injuries.

They're ready to talk.

I'm just going
to ring Mr. Balsille

and get him
to send a helicopter.

It's eight blocks away.

Well... Uh, yes.
Hello? Hello! Yes...

You never heard of DOUG Chats?

Of course I've heard of them.

I just refuse to shovel coal

onto the bonfire
of that man's ego.

Ms. Forrester, you work for
the Department of Labor, right?

I'm sorry. My ears
are still ringing.

That's all right. We appreciate
you talking with us.

You work
with the Department of Labor?

I'm an executive

undersecretary at the Office
of Congressional Affairs.

And you were at the end of the
table when the bomb went off?

That's where executive
undersecretaries go.

Did you notice
anything suspicious?

No, it was just lunch.

Same as we do every quarter.

Sorry. You said, "That's where
executive undersecretaries go."

Was there a prearranged
seating assignment?

Would you mind writing
that out for us?

Seating arrangements?

No offense, mate,
but I think we might be able

to aim a little higher
than that, don't you? Right?

Uh, Miss... Miss Forrester...

now, you say didn't
see anything unusual,

but, in my experience,

memory can prove to be a bit
of a tricky mistress.

Sometimes when I'm interviewing
potential witnesses,

I ask them to do what I
like to call a deep dive.

That's a way of just
shaking loose stuff

that might be lurking
deep down there.

Would you be willing to
perform a dive with me?

Um... sure.

Fabulous.

Um, just give
me your hand.

Now, I want you
to close your eyes...

Watson and I will be off

interviewing
the restaurant manager.

Miss Forrester, if you could
write out that chart for us

when you emerge from the depths.

Close your eyes.

Take a deep breath.
Don't be s...

I don't think anyone broke into
the place to plant the bomb.

If they did, we didn't notice.

Everything seemed normal
this morning?

Sure.

John had to go home sick,

but after that,
everything was business

as usual.
John?

Yeah, John Bowden.
He's one of our servers.

He came in for about 20 minutes,
then said his stomach was upset.

Is he a contented employee?

He's an okay worker,
but he's a pain in the ass.

He tried unionize the
dishwashing staff a while back.

He's always talking about how
he can't stand the clientele.

Now, I know that sounds

kind of ominous,

but he's annoying.

He's not a terrorist.

Call us if he
gets there, okay?

Bowden never showed up
to his apartment.

His roommates have
no idea where he is.

Right.
Now, follow me.

Uh...

Sherlock?

One seating plan-- check.

How do you do?

A waiter with radical leanings

who showed up
for work this morning,

and left ten minutes later.

His name's John Bowden.

Oh.

Captain.

Every publication in the city
with a circulation

over 50,000 just got a statement

taking credit
for the bomb at the restaurant.

I'm gonna test your knowledge.

I'm gonna read you
the first couple lines.

"Soon, you'll be ashes

"or bones, a mere name at most,

"and even that
is just a sound, an echo.

The things we want in life
are empty, stale, trivial."

It's from a book
called Meditations.

Yes.

We know. It's not signed,

but it sounds a hell of a lot
like the notes that came in

every time the guy the press
calls Aurelius sets off a bomb.

You know him, right?

Three bombs in ten years,
kissing cousin to the Unabomber.

Yes, of course.
Aurelius espouses

a perversion of Stoic philosophy
as justification for his crimes.

I'm sending you the full text
in an e-mail right now.

Someone just claimed credit
for the bomb.

Right. Aurelius.

So, we're off

to big game now, are we?

There is a Great White
loose in these waters.

Which is it?
Beg your pardon?

Are we hunting game,
or are we fishing for sharks?

'Cause you can't have it both
ways, metaphorically speaking.

Like any art form,

the science
of deduction and analysis

requires years of arduous study.

You see, one lifetime
is not enough to master it.

No, no, try several.
So where does one start?

Well, if you want my advice,
you start straightaway...

Take-out's downstairs.

...with a simple problem.

But you might be too,
uh, busy working to eat.

It's revolting, isn't it?

My name is Gareth Lestrade,
and I headed up...

A room full
of people so accustomed

to their own flatulence,

they don't notice
the stench anymore.

Lestrade treated you like crap,
he took credit for your work.

He uses your words
in his interviews.

If it bothers you, you
should say something to him.

To what end?

The man has chosen vanity and
the pursuit of the spotlight.

Nothing I say is going
to change that.

It's not about
changing him.

It's about putting
it out there,

so you can focus
on finding Aurelius,

instead of watching
Lestrade yammer.

When we first ran
into him, you said

that you expected him to
crash and burn without you.

Did you?

I didn't give it much thought.

Oh.

Yes, of course I did.

So, are you mad that he's
still stealing your act,

or annoyed that he managed
to pull it off?

What I do is not an act.

And I'm not pursuing Aurelius

because I no longer believe

that finding that man is going

to help us solve
this particular bombing.

What, you think
the note is a fake?

I can't be certain.

The notes that accompanied
Aurelius's original crimes

were deranged,
but they were consistent

in their interpretation
of Stoicism.

This latest one reads
like the author

spent all of five minutes
researching the philosophy.

Also, the actual Aurelius
never quoted directly

from the Meditations.

That waiter's not much
of a suspect either.

I read his blog. He's just...
dabbling in radical thought.

Probably be working
at Whitbrook-Balsille

in ten years.

No... I'm fairly certain
someone is trying to send us

on a wild goose chase.

The actual bomber
lies elsewhere.

Maybe he's in the audience
at the DOUG Chat.

I guess I should be happy

they're not crowing.

Morning, Watson.
Please ignore Romulus and Remus.

I'm reconditioning them by
punishing aggressive behavior.

They shall be fed
as soon as they calm down.

If the Aurelius note
is a fake, we can assume

that the bombing was not carried
out for ideological reasons.

If you're moved by passion,

why give credit
elsewhere, hmm?

I've used the seating chart
that Michelle Forrester gave us

to recreate the lunch.

I've examined the blast
radius of the device,

the wounds of
the victims...

It would appear the bomb
was not placed in the center

of the table but rather
towards this end.

Seated there were Lawrence Iver
and Christine Danoff,

both executive vice presidents
at Whitbrook-Balsille, and...

Vaughn Antonelli,

another representative from the
Department of Labor.

Their wounds

were by far the most gruesome,

which stands to reason--
they were seated directly

in the pathway
of the payload of shrapnel.

So you think whoever set off
the bomb was

targeting one or more
of those three?

Mm... Vaughn Antonelli is
a career bureaucrat.

He is a representative
of the federal government

but wields little actual power.

Christine Danoff
was Lawrence Iver's

underling at Whitbrook-Balsille.
Mr. Iver presents

a more interesting case study.
He was known

as a "comer" in banking circles.
And it was widely considered

that he would one day hold
a CEO title of his own.

Hey, who's Jacques St. Teton?

I don't know.

The Griffin Hotel is attached
to the restaurant,

and they provided a list
of their registered guests

the night before the attack,

so we could determine
whether the bomber

was using the hotel
as part of his plan.

Jacques St. Teton
is the only name which really

stands out.
Obvious fake.

There's no St. Teton,
for one thing.

Sherlock Holmes.

I have Gareth Lestrade for you.

Yes, if you could...

Holmes.
Hi. Yeah.

I'm trying to get a line on
that John Bowden, the waiter.

I don't know. Got a hunch.
But I figure in some way

he's connected
to Aurelius.

We no longer think that Aurelius
had anything to do

with the attack. I'm currently
focusing my efforts

on the possibility that
Lawrence Iver was the target.

What? Uh, Iver?

Whitbrook-Balsille Iver?

Yes. We're on our way
over there shortly

- to seek an audience with the CEO.
- No...

Holmes, you can't
just march straight

into Dick Balsille's office.

I'm sure we'll find a way.
Holmes...

Lovely seeing you again. And
good luck finding your waiter.

So, our first stop

is Lestrade's boss?
Who better to school us

on the comings and goings
at Whitbrook-Balsille?

Are you sure there's no part
of you that's doing this

to get under
Lestrade's skin?

Miss Truepenny, shouldn't you
be off hunting Aurelius?

Mr. Lestrade is in
with Mr. Balsille.

They'll be with
you when they can.

Fancy seeing you here.

Now, you behave yourself
in there, Holmes.

I assure you: I want only
to catch a bomber.

I have no interest in
compromising your employment.

Uh, excuse me.

Assistants wait out here.

Right.

Consulting for the NYPD.

Good for you.

I admire people who can make it
work in the public sector.

And Gareth here says
that you guys think

this Aurelius thing
may be just a smokescreen.

Well, like I-I said, Dick,
we're exploring the possibility.

Uh, um...

We think one of your executives
may have been targeted.

How did Lawrence Iver fit
into the hierarchy here?

Larry?

He was an ace.

Started out in Dallas.
He made our clients a boatload

trading
distressed debt.

Came here to the mother ship
five years ago.

He had been on the commodities
desk ever since.

Did he have any enemies
at the company?

I guess.

We all do.

Larry told people who
came to work for him:

you eat what you kill
here or you starve.

And some people respond to...

that pressure
and some people simply wilt.

Excuse me,
what are you doing?

Is this your book?

Yes, it is.
Hmm.

I spent two summers
as a fire watcher

at Grand Teton National Park.

Why?

Sorry. Could I speak
with you

outside for a moment?

Why was your boss doing
at the Griffin Hotel

under an assumed name,
the night before the bombing?

What?

"Jacques St. Teton."
Sound familiar?

If it doesn't,
I'll just ask him.

Oh, you-you'll do
no such thing.

Truepenny, just go,
just go get security.

On it.
You're kicking us out?

Lawrence Iver
was a potential CEO.

Your boss is a current CEO.

You can see how
he might feel threatened.

I knew it-- you can't stand
the fact that I've built

something for myself,
can you?

That is a great man
in there,

and I'm not gonna
have you harass him

because you've got some kind
of bizarre beef with me.

Gentlemen, please.

Mr. St. Teton checked in just
after 7:00. I wasn't on duty

that night. Let me see
if I can find the footage.

Here we go.

Lestrade is
"Jacques St. Teton?"

Or he handled
the check-in for his boss.

Either way, he's more than
just an annoyance now.

He's involved
in this somehow.

Okay, just so I'm clear,

you don't think
your ex-partner

helped plan
a mass murder, do you?

Not wittingly.
He may have been duped

into renting the room without
being privy to the larger plan.

Maybe. Or it could have
nothing to do

with the murders.
I mean,

would the room have bee
a convenient place

to assemble a bomb? Sure.

But the guy
is a Wall Street CEO.

I mean, if he wanted
to get rid of someone,

there are easier ways to do it.

We-We could show Balsille
this tape, see what he says.

We've already given him the
opportunity to be forthright.

All right if I come in?

I owe you an apology.

You've got your process,
and I've got mine.

We've got to accommodate
each other,

I realize that now.

I got territorial.

I was wrong,
and I'm-I'm sorry.

Apology accepted.

So, did you find out anything
interesting today?

No.

Unfortunately, the hotel had
already recorded over

the footage of
Jacques St. Teton checking in.

Look, I'm gonna save us
all a little bit of time here.

I meant what I said earlier
around about Richard Balsille

being a-a great man,
but unfortunately,

that doesn't always mean
a good one.

Yeah, he has a tendency
to step out on his wife.

Books himself a room.

And we don't know about anything
till it's done.

Well, thanks for
clearing that up.

Yeah, well, it's important

that we're not rowing in
different directions here.

You know,
you might be right.

about Aurelius's note
being a fake.

But that waiter, John Bowden--
I mean, he disappears

ten minutes
before the explosion,

and then he drops off
the face of the planet.

I mean, he could have
done it on his own.

Well, we can't rule it out
until we've found the man.

Agreed.

So, to a new spirit
of cooperation then, Holmes?

I'd suggest a toast,

but we haven't got
any coconut water.

Well, I guess
this is good night.

Oh, right, yes, uh...

Remarkable man.

You know,
you're very lucky.

What?

Oh, yes, I know.

He could say the same
of you, of course.

Oh, thank you.
I mean, Miss Truepenny,

she tries, but you know
what they say,

"Good help is hard to find."

A good partner is actually hard
to find, as well.

Yes, I think about
the money that I pay her--

money in the private sector's
quite obscene...

compared to what us
foot soldiers are used to.

So, anyway, if you want
to discuss anything further,

you need any more information,
please, don't hesitate.

So, give me a call.
Oh.

Thank you.
I will keep that in mind.

I think Lestrade just
tried to recruit me.

When you've eliminated
the impossible." Hmm.

Well, perhaps we can play

this to our advantage.
What did you tell him?

I told him
I'd call him, maybe.

Oh, I also stole his phone.
If you want

to know what he's up to,
it's a good place to start.

I thought you weren't convinced
that the bombing was connected

to the renting
of the hotel room.

I'm not.
Lestrade knew damn well

that Balsille rented that room.
He checked him in.

He lied to us.
I want to know why.

Hmm.

Mmm! Smells good.

What's wrong?

You only make those
when you need to calm down.

I spent several minutes
last night trying

to to work out
Lestrade's password.

Birthday?

The year Tottenham
last won the FA Cup.

Ages ago, by the way.

Anyway, the rest of the evening
was spent reviewing

the contents of the phone.

"Operation Firewall"?

It's the ham-fisted name

that Balsille gave to a project
he handed off to Lestrade.

These are all about
Lawrence Iver.

Mm.

Apparently Balsille
did view the man as a rival.

He had his phones tapped,
he monitored

every e-mail he ever sent--
and with good reason.

Iver was working with members
of the Board of Directors

to have Balsille ousted
from his post as CEO.

So he was
planning a coup.

And Balsille
knew about it.

You know, I know you've worked
with Lestrade for a long time,

but it's getting kind of hard
not to think of him

as a straight-up
suspect.

Thus the Yorkshires.

Sherlock Holmes.

I have Gareth
Lestrade calling.

Yes?

Holmes.

I found John Bowden.

Well, his grandmother
has an apartment

that's still registered
in her name,

even though she died
three years ago.

So I had, uh, Captain Gregson

send that little fella
down to have a look.

John Bowden was hiding in there.

They're on their way
to the station now.

I'll see you there.

Go to the police station.
Make an excuse tor me.

I shall keep after Lestrade.

Don't.

I'm supposed to meet him.

He takes quiet time before
he sits with a suspect.

I see what you're doing,
you know.

I beg your pardon?

All this... sashaying about,

trying to impress him.

It won't work.
This is my job.

Where's Holmes?

He said to start without him.

Oh, you left this
at our place

last night.

I didn't set off a bomb.

I left work because
I really did feel like

I was coming down
with something.

I stopped off
at my gym

on the way home
to get a massage,

and when it was over,

the bombing stuff
was on the news.

Yeah, well, that's a lot
of old bollocks, isn't it?

I mean, if you didn't do
anything, why were you hiding?

I freaked out
when I saw

that Aurelius
took credit.

Look, I go to
this Web forum, okay?

It's people who started
with Occupy,

but everyone's a little more...

aggressive about change.

Radical.

I used to talk about

the government people
and bankers

that come into the restaurant.

You know, just angry stuff.

So this guy-- he calls himself
Cassius on the site--

he was always asking me to
tell him whenever those lunches

got booked.

Cassius was one of
Marcus Aurelius's generals.

I didn't think
about that at the time.

I just figured
he wanted

to stage a protest
or something.

So I told him.

Then the bomb
goes off,

Aurelius takes credit,
I make the connection,

and I hid, because...
I don't know,

I told him
they were coming.

I don't know if that

makes me an accessory
or something...

That's enough, John.
Well, who are you?

Your father retained me.

Look, you guys can search
my computers, whatever.

I don't know how
to make a bomb...

Enough.

No more questions.

This kid read
"killer" to you?

Hello.

How did you
get in here?

I think you've allowed yourself
to become a bit of a fool.

But in spite of that...

I can't believe
you're so far gone

you'd allow yourself
to be involved in a murder.

Right, so, what?

You... you break in my safe,

do you?
I have video of you

dismantling the security camera

at the Griffin Hotel.

I've got e-mails

which confirm you knew

about Lawrence
Iver's plans

to stage a coup
at Whitbrook-Balsille.

Oh, so, I see.

So I didn't actually
leave my phone

at your house, did I?

No, no,
you nicked it.

Watson did.

I don't think she's coming
to work for you, by the way.

Anyway...

now, in your hotel suite,

I find evidence of

a clandestine surveillance
program on Iver.

Detailed notes about
his comings and goings.

Now, if I
presented all this

to the police,
I rather think

they'd be inclined
to view you

as a potential conspiracist
in a murder.

Are you?

No.

Oh, come on,
Sherlock,

for God's sakes, I mean,
come on, you know me.

The Lestrade I know would not

summon a helicopter
to travel eight blocks.

Well, you know, I... I might
have been showing off a bit.

Doesn't mean I go round
blowing up lunches, does it?

Now,
Balsille...

he's paranoid.
I mean, all CEO's are.

But he was right to be worried
about Iver, though.

And he asked me to find out
a little something about Iver

that might help
get him fired.

And that's it.

So why did you rent
a hotel room at the Griffin

the night before the explosion?

Well, I suppose
you get rich enough...

your appetites...

grow right alongside
the size of your portfolio.

Well, the way I heard it...

it started the same way
for Balsille.

Wives of colleagues...

No, we've been over this.
If he was having affairs,

you wouldn't have
bothered to lie.

I haven't even started yet.

Well...

Well, anyway,
it went from...

there to call girls.

Eventually--
and this is way before

I actually started
working with him--

he got bored of them, too.

Yeah, he felt that he deserved

something that
nobody else could get.

Now, the thing is,
about my boss, you see...

he's constantly on the lookout
for someone to sleep with him.

Doesn't matter
who they are.

You know, married women...

even the odd bloke.

But when
he spots one,

he does a little bit
of analysis.

You know... what do they want,
what do they need?

And then he puts
together an offer.

Money.
Access.

Favors.

Proper life-changing stuff,
actually.

So he views
everyone he meets

as a potential
prostitute.

Oh...

Well, the bizarre thing
is actually that...

he's right more often than one
would care to think about.

You see, nobody's doing anything

that they don't
actually agree to,

so technically,
nothing's illegal.

But can you imagine
the scandal if it got out?

I mean, whew! Pfft!
He'd be done.

Well, it's mildly distasteful,
I suppose.

But why all the secrecy?

I'm hardly the type
to go running to the press

with a man's secrets.

I wasn't protecting him.

I was protecting myself.

You see, he doesn't handle
the approach himself.

No, that'd be way too
compromising-- no, you see...

you see, I do.

I make the offer.

I check in to the hotel
so no one sees Dick's face.

No, I wasn't planning a murder.

I was acting as
a rich man's pimp.

And why not tell me?

Right, so you'd do this
kind of work, would you?

No, of course not.

But isn't it better
I know about it

than I think you're
part of some conspiracy?

Look, I was embarrassed,
Sherlock.

Is that so difficult
to get your brain around?

No, I wanted
you to think

that I was getting
by on talent alone.

I wasn't trying
to cover up a bombing.

I mean, you thought
that I was...

a fool before.

What do you think now?

So Lestrade's boss
isn't a bomber?

It would appear not.

So what is he,

a serial indecent proposer?

Look on the bright side.

At least Lestrade recruited you
for detective work.

It could have been
a very different offer.

Hmm.

Thanks for putting
that in my head.

So how is he?

It couldn't have been easy
for him to admit that.

If he hasn't passed out already,

he's probably sulking.

Lestrade's deceptions were
a time-consuming dead end.

We have a murderer to catch.

I watched the video of your
interview with John Bowden.

I found his claims

to have inadvertently passed

the information on to Aurelius
quite interesting.

I thought Aurelius's
letter was a fake.

It doesn't read like the man,

but it's quite possible
he wasn't doing

his best work that day.

In any case, I thought
I would ask him myself.

So I had
the department send over

their files
on Aurelius.

The FBI has had a task force

searching for Aurelius
for years.

You think you're just going
to look through a bunch of

NYPD files and find him,
just like that?

Hmm. Of course you do.

Why is Romulus outside my door?

That's Remus.

I don't care
which cock I'm holding,

I just want to know
how it got there.

Okay, congratulations.

You got me to say it.

I don't know if you've
settled on an epitaph yet,

but it does occur to me that
would look fantastic on a tombstone.

Why is the chicken
outside my door?

To wake you,
of course.

I ran an experiment
last night.

I reached out to
a contact at NASA.

She gained a bit of
notoriety a few years back

when I pointed out to her
the reasons that Pluto is, in fact,

a trans-Neptunian object
rather than a planet.

She was more
than happy

to provide me
with thermal maps

of New York.

They're heat scans
of the city,

performed by satellite,

one week before
attacks by Aurelius.

In 2006,
a bomb exploded

at the offices
of a hedge fund.

Four years ago,
an explosion at

an economic think tank
claimed two lives.

This one is from
one week before

the bombing of
the restaurant.

In every case,
there is a minute

but perceptible heat
spike in Queens

one week before
a bomb goes off.

Each one represents
something burning

at several
thousand degrees.

Now, when we look closer
at the heat spikes,

we see that
they originate

in Woodside,
Queens,

just behind...

...this house.

Well, Aurelius uses
magnesium tape

to detonate his bombs.

That burns at 5,000 degrees.
Mm.

You think he was
testing his fuses.

A man named Mason Caldwell
lives in this house.

He's filed for unemployment
benefits twice,

each time after being
fired from his job

at an engineering firm.

You found Aurelius.

You forgot to call me.

Just...

Must've been an oversight.

Mm.

Gregson, he gave
me the heads up.

Morning, Miss Watson.

Mm. Morning.

So, you decided
to find Aurelius.

And here we are.

May I remind you
this is a good thing.

I pursued a theory--

developed by you, I might add--

and now we might be on the
verge of a breakthrough.

You might even call it
a collaboration of sorts.

Yeah, nice try, Sherlock.

I'm not that gullible.

When I told Watson about this,

she was happy.

Please don't bring me into this.

That's the difference
between you and her.

You spend your time
resenting my abilities,

and she spends her time
developing her own.

If you'd had done the same,

you might've built
a practice you were proud of.

No answer.

But he had a few packages

from a chemical supply
at the door.

We texted pictures
of the packages

and the heat signature
over to a judge.

He's issuing a warrant.

We're going in.

Mason Caldwell!

It's NYPD!

Back!

Clear!

As far as we can tell,
the bomb he was making

was supposed to release
a cloud of chlorine gas

after it went off,
something went wrong

while he was experimenting

with the mix,
he inhaled some gas,

and collapsed
on the magnesium tape

while it was still burning.

It doesn't make any sense.

The bomb at the restaurant
had shrapnel in it, not gas.

That's because
Mason Caldwell

wasn't planning an attack
on a restaurant.

He was gonna dispatch this bomb

to a biotech company.

Well, he's been dead
at least a week.

Which means
that Aurelius did not set

that bomb off at the restaurant.

Uh... are you...?

Are you gonna
answer that or...?

Oh.

I swear, working with the man

has thrown something
out of calibration.

How else to explain such
a persistent lack of results?

We did find Aurelius.

A by-product
of the investigation.

Did you change
Lestrade's ringtone on my phone?

I decided to revisit the notion
that the three people

who sat in the pathway
of the payload of shrapnel

were potential targets.

The Department
of Labor bureaucrat

was happily married,
by all accounts

mild and pleasant.

The Whitbrook-Balsille
executive...

The Whitbrook-Balsille
executives

were beef-witted sociopaths

who had sold the world
on the idea

that playing Three-card Monte

was somehow
a respectable profession.

But they're hardly alone
in that, are they?

We're not picking up the phone
because we're working.

Who'd you tell, Holmes?

Who did I tell what?

About Balsille, what he
gets up to in his spare time.

Apart from Watson, nobody.

Well, who'd you tell?
No one.

I only told you.
I mean, somebody must've told.

Now, I've got to find them
or I'm gonna get fired.

Wh-what are you talking about?!

This! Someone,
a couple of hours ago,

sent Balsille
a blackmail threat.

Claiming they know
all about his conquests--

dates, names, times.

Everything!

Whoever's doing this,
they don't want money.

Well, not exactly.

No, they want
Balsille to arrange

for hundreds of stock trades

to be made
by a week this Friday.

Some stocks, some bonds,

some U.S. currency.

And to disguise it,
they want to spread

the trades across
all divisions.

Why?

I don't know.

Well, there's money
in there somewhere.

The threat says
a week from Friday

specifically.

Yeah, Balsille's gonna
blame me for the leak.

I'm sorry.

I've just told you
I'm gonna lose my job.

And you find that funny, do you?
No, not at all.

It's just I've learned that the
government's monthly jobs report

is due out next Friday.

Wait... so?

I'm fairly certain
that this threat is connected

to the bombing
at the restaurant.

I can also say
with near certainty

who is responsible
for both crimes.

We know who's blackmailing you.

In fact, it's the same person
who blew up that restaurant.

What? What are they doing here?

Well, I'll let him tell you.

It's his solve.

He's quite a remarkable
detective, actually.

Maybe I should hire him.

Vaughn Antonelli was one

of the victims
of the bombing.

He was also the chairman

of the benefits review board

at the Department of Labor.

It's not a particularly
exalted post.

But it does come
with one interesting perk--

the chairman, he's one
of a handful of people

who has early access

to the department's
monthly jobs report.

As I'm sure you're aware.

The markets can be relied upon
to move upwards and downwards

depending
on the report's findings.

Yes. So?

So the next one comes out

a week from Friday.

Whoever's bribing you is looking

to make a bunch of trades

based on whatever's
in that report.

You'd have to see it before
everybody else to do that.

So...

it's someone from Labor.

Do you know
who stands to succeed

Vaughn Antonelli?

A woman

named "Michelle Forrester."

Her current job
didn't give her access

to the jobs report.

But now she has it.

She's blackmailing me?
She was at the table

when the bomb went off.

Seated rather conveniently

out of the path of the blast.

If you know
the seating arrangement,

and you're the one
building the explosive,

you can-- and she did--
arrange things

so that her wounds
were relatively minor.

Once Antonelli was gone,

Forrester had his title

and access to the jobs report.

All the pieces were in place.

She could make
the blackmail threat.

To do that,
she would have to know about me.

Amazing.

So, the name, the photograph--

nothing rings a bell?

When Miss Forrester

left college, she came here.

She won an internship
with Whitbrook-Balsille.

After completing it,
she moved into

a brand-new and fully-paid-for
apartment in Georgetown,

and took a plum appointment
at the Department of Labor.

It was rather a rapid ascent,
wouldn't you say?

You found her price.

Didn't you?

She'd have had to find

some of your recent conquests

and pay them off to come
forward, of course, but...

I assume she offered
a generous package.

So, why are you here?

You want me to tell the cops

that I paid her
to go to bed with me?

It would help
us prove our case.

We also want
a comprehensive list

of your companions both before

and during Lestrade's tenure.

It will help us
identify the people

that Michelle is paying
to come forward.

But when the arrest is made,

then everything I did
goes public.

Mm.

Let me ask you something:

Suppose there is no arrest.

Can't we just give her
what she wants?

No, you see now-now you're
barking up the wrong tree

with these two, you see,
they don't take payoffs.

No, your little hobby

is gonna come out now.

You can either help
by putting a murderer away

and you can walk away
with your millions...

or...

I'll go to press.

What about your job, Gareth?

You'll be ruined, too.

I don't let murderers
go free, you see?

It's probably the only
non-negotiable thing about me.

Besides, you know,
I've been

ruined before.

Not so bad
the second time around.

Sorry about the chair.

Regulations for a discharge.

Your car's downstairs.

We'll have you at the airport
in plenty of time.

Thanks for everything,
Guillermo.

Michelle Forrester...

you're not leaving New York.

Just yet.

Are you sure
they're ready for this?

It's not the sort of thing
you can ease into.

Well...

in a moment, the world
will either have

an efficient means
of curing fighting cocks,

or we will have

the raw ingredients
for chicken dinner.

Oh... I'm not sure
I want to see this.

Would you kindly tell him
not to make such a racket?

This is a delicate moment.

Uh, sorry, yeah.

I'm just in a bit of a pinch.

You know, the company's not
paying for my hotel anymore.

They've canceled
my ticket home, as well,

so I'm just waiting
for a check to clear

so I can buy a new one.

You can stay here,
just be quiet.

My God.

It worked.

So, now what?

We own chickens,
don't we?

I-I'm not feeding them.

== sync, corrected by Romesh ==
RiVaL