All language subtitles for Elementary S01E01-Pilot (2012 September 27)

♪ ♪

(shatter echoing)

(gasping, crying)

(woman screaming)

(sobbing)

(screams)

(pop music playing)

(pop intro playing)

♪ The bittersweet
between my teeth ♪

♪ Trying to find ♪

♪ The in-betweens ♪

♪ Fall back in love
eventually ♪

♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ♪

♪ ♪

♪ The bittersweet
between my teeth... ♪

♪ ♪

(phone rings)

Hello?

Yeah, I'm coming
to get him in...

I'm sorry,
did you say he escaped?

Hi. It's Joan Watson.
On the off chance

you haven't already been
contacted by Hemdale,

your son left rehab
a little early this morning.

I'm already at his house
to see if he's here.

I'll call you
if there's a problem.

WATSON:
Excuse me,

I'm looking for Mister...

(door creaks)

Hello?

(several televisions playing
in distance)

(televisions continue playing)

Excuse me, Mister--

Shh!

(all TV audio stops)

My name is Joan Watson.

I've been hired
by your father

to be your sober companion.

He told me he was going
to e-mail you about me.

I'm here to make the transition

from your rehab
experience

to the routine of your everyday
life as smooth

Do you believe
in love at first sight?

Um...
I know what you're thinking:

the world is a cynical place,
and I must be a cynical man,

thinking a woman like you
would fall for a line like that.

Thing is...
it isn't a line,

so please hear me
when I say this.

I have never loved anyone
as I do you right now...

in this moment.

MAN (on TV): Do you believe
in love at first sight?

I know what you're thinking:
the world is a cynical place,

and I must be a cynical man,
thinking a woman like you

would fall for a line like that.

Thing is, it isn't a line,

so, please...

hear me when I say this.

I have never loved anyone

as I do you right now,

in this moment.
(remote control clicks)

(remote clatters to floor)
Spot on.

Sherlock Holmes.

Please don't get comfortable.

We won't be here long.

Mr. Holmes,

did your father tell you
about me or not?

Uh, he e-mailed, said to expect
some sort of addict-sitter.

Well, then he
explained his conditions

with respect to your sobriety?

Well, if you mean his threats
to evict me from this,

the shoddiest and the least
renovated of the five--

count them, five--

properties he owns in New York,
then yeah, he made his conditions

quite clear.

I refuse your,
quote-unquote, "help,"

I wind up on the street.

It's my understanding
that most sober companions

are recovering addicts
themselves, but...

you've never had a problem
with drugs or alcohol.

Your father told you.

Of course he didn't.

Uh, would you care to explain
why you broke out

of your rehab facility the same
day you were being released?

Bored.

You were bored?

No, I am bored right now.

It happens often;
you'll get used to it.

Regarding
our mutual friends

at Hemdale, I'd say
they should be thanking me

for exposing the flaws

in their rubbish security
system, wouldn't you?

(sniffs)
Excellent.

There was a woman leaving
just as I got here.

Did she get you high?

Actually, about six feet.

I actually find
sex repellent.

All those fluids
and all the sounds,

but my brain
and my body

require it to function
at optimum levels,

so I feed them as needed.

You're a doctor;
you understand.

Uh, I'm not doctor.

Were a doctor-- a surgeon,
judging by your hands.

Is your car
parked nearby?

Uh, yes, it's just outsi...

How did you know I had a car?

Parking ticket-- fell out of
your purse when you dropped it.

Can't have one

without the
other, can you?

We're late.
We need to get going.

Uh, late for what?

Actually, scratch the car.

Manhattan Bridge is
down to a single lane.

We'll take the
tube instead.

Look at this place. Yuck.

Can't wait for you to tidy it.

Prior to my stint
in junkie jail,

I worked as a consultant
at Scotland Yard.

Your father told me--
he said you were a detective?

I was a consultant.
I wasn't paid for my services,

and therefore I answered
to no one but myself.

(phone ringing)

(indistinct announcement
over P.A.)

WATSON:
What about London?

What about it?

He told me that's
where you bottomed out.

He thinks something happened

to you there--
he just doesn't know what.

Handsome woman, your mother.

It's very big of her to take
your dad back after the affair.

How could you possibly...?

You still haven't told me
where we're going yet.

About that, I think you and
Father will be pleased to hear

I have devised a post-rehab
regimen for myself

that'll keep me quite busy.

I decided to resume my
work as a consultant here...

in New York.

(siren chirping)

♪ Elementary 1x01 ♪
Pilot
Original Air Date on September 27, 2012

== sync, corrected by elderman ==

Tell me, how do clients
typically introduce you?

What do you mean?

I-I mean I find it hard to believe
they'd actually tell someone

they've been assigned a
glorified helper monkey.

Helper monkey?
Well, you and I have

what's known as companion/client
confidentiality,

which means that you can
introduce me however you like.

Friend, coworker, relative,
and I'll play along.

But to be honest,
most clients just call me

their companion.

Hm.

Captain Gregson.

Ah. Holmes.

(chuckles) How you doing?
Miss Watson,

this is Captain Gregson.
Captain Gregson,

this is Miss Watson,
my personal valet.

GREGSON:
How do you do?

She waits out here.
I'm afraid she's

quite crucial to
my process, Captain.

It's okay, really.

Actually, it isn't.

At least not according
to my father's e-mail.

'Cause he-he explained it's
the job of a proper valet

to accompany his or her charge
to their place of business.

Well, consider this
my place of business.

Consider every wretched hive
of depravity and murder

in this city my
place of business.

Unless, of course, you
don't think you have

the stomach for the work I do.

I'm good.

Could you put
these gloves on, please?

Dr. Richard Mantlo
came home a few hours ago

to find his door kicked in
and his wife...

Amy Dampier, missing.

That's, uh...

that's Mantlo over there.

He's a headshrinker out
at Sanbridge Hospital.

Says he caught an emergency
last night,

didn't get home till 5:00 a.m.

Saw the front door,

called 911.

First officers on the scene
found signs of-of a struggle

in the kitchen

and in the master bedroom.

But no Ms. Dampier.

Ransom demand?

Hm.

GREGSON:
What is it?

I'm not sure.

Ms. Dampier's cell phone,
have you recovered it?

We have her cell phone?

Thank you, Detective.

Hm.

Hm.

She either lost a tremendous
amount of weight or underwent

significant plastic surgery
sometime in the last two years.

WATSON: She looks the same
in all the photos.

That's my point.

Ovular frames...

are older, have
been here longer

You can tell by the way

the wall has faded--
square frames newer.

They're the only ones
that feature Ms. Dampier.

Coincidence? No.

Check her cell phone.

No photos of her
older than two years.

Yet there are countless
pictures of other people

in her life,
as many as five years ago.

WATSON: I take it you two have
worked together before?

Yeah, ten years ago.

A few months after 9/11
I was assigned to Scotland Yard

(sniffing) to observe their
counterterrorism bureau.

Holmes mostly worked
homicides, but, uh...

...our paths still
crossed a few times.

Captain, if you please?

Yeah?

Ms. Dampier knew
her attacker.

She let him
into the house herself.

(chuckles)
Captain,

who-who is this guy?

There are two
broken glasses here.

HOLMES: You can tell from
the volume of shards.

Obviously, she was pouring
a glass of water for her guest

when he assailed her.

Right. Is that something
you would do

if some nut job comes in
and kicks your door in,

you ask him
if he's thirsty.

Could I...?

Thank you.

Base of glass number... two.

If you take another glance

at the boot print
on the front door,

you will see an almost
imperceptible spot of blood

where the heel made contact.
Lab tests, I'm certain,

will conclude it's the victim's blood,
and could only have been

left there after the assault
had already taken place.

Ms. Dampier

let the man in
because he was

familiar to her.

He kicked the door in
as he exited

to try to obscure this fact.

Also, he took something
from the living room.

Note the symmetry
of the space, hm?

This wall is very nearly
a reflection of that one.

Pictures, pictures,
knickknacks, knickknacks.

I see balance everywhere,
except...

this one space.

Hey, something was
here-- what was it?

I'm sorry?
Maybe this isn't the best time.

No, no, please
concentrate.

Something used
to occupy that space.

I need you to tell me
what it was.

MANTLO:
Uh, it was an old...

ring box-- Amy's grandmother
gave it to her. Why?

You said there were also signs
of struggle

in the master bedroom?

Mm-hmm.

What is it?

Why is it so important that
the kidnapper took a ring box?

Kidnappers don't
take trophies. Killers do.

OFFICER:
There's no body, genius.

There's no blood on
the front stoop or walk, either.

It's rather difficult
not to leave any

when you're abducting someone

with an arterial wound,
wouldn't you agree?

You're certain
your men have been

over every inch
of this house?

Of course.

But as you can see,
there was a struggle here.

She's in the safe room.

What safe room?

The one behind that wall.

Husband didn't say anything
about any safe room.

There's a slight angle to the
floor in here. You can't f...

It's...

The extra weight

of the safe room
steel reinforcements

can cause the floor
around it to decline slightly,

creating a slope between

one and five degrees.

(metallic creak,
clacking)

(Watson gasps)

Sometimes I hate it
when I'm right.

(sighs) For the last time,
I loved my wife.

I didn't hurt her,
and before this moment,

I had no idea there was
any safe room in my house.

You get why that's hard
for us to believe, don't you?

The place was gutted before Amy
and I moved in two years ago.

She oversaw
all the construction.

I'm sorry,
but, uh, are you saying

she had it installed,
but never told you?

How do you do it?

Do what?

Guess things.

I don't guess. I observe.

And once I've observed,
I deduce.

You said you could
tell from my hands

that I used to
be a surgeon.

"Hand"-- singular, actually.

It was soft, no calluses.

Also, it smelled
faintly of beeswax.

Oh, many surgeons, as you know,

use a beeswax cream
to protect their hands

from the dehydrating effects
of repeated washings. Well...

You're no longer practicing,
but old habits die hard.

As far as why you gave up
your medical career

to become a companion--

I'd wager that addiction
claimed the life

of someone close to you,
and his or her death moved you

to make drastic changes
in your life.

Am I close?

What about my father?

What about him?

How did you know
he had an affair?

Google.

Well, not everything
is deducible.

(door opening)

I, uh, just want to say thanks
for helping out today.

You-you got us our guy in,
and, uh... and we're grateful.

We can take it from here.

Respectfully, Detective,
I doubt that very much,

'cause I have
reason to believe

that Richard Mantlo
didn't kill his wife.

Wait, wait, wait.

Wait, wait.

Come again?

Dr. Mantlo has girls' feet,
or hadn't you noticed?

He's a size eight
if he's an inch.

The boot print on his
front door was an 11.

So? So he was smart.

He wore bigger shoes
to throw us off.

Did he also wear bigger hands
when he strangled his wife?

Holmes...

Well, these strangulation
marks are indicative

of a man much
larger than Mantlo.

No just heavier,
but-but taller.

I'd estimate his height

to be somewhere between
six foot-one, six foot-three.

Your M.E. will come to the same
conclusion in a couple of hours.

I'm delivering it now.
You're a doctor.

Tell 'em I'm right.
I'm not a doctor.

Were a doctor.

Surely you haven't forgotten
how bruising works.

Okay, yeah, sure, these hands
do seem a little small for the

bruise pattern, but I...

With your permission,
Captain, I'd like a moment

alone with Dr. Mantlo.
Captain, this...

You got two minutes.

Tall men in your life--
I'd like a list.

(siren blaring)

Amy was a good person,
but if you're here

because you think I had
something to do with it...

Dr. Mantlo said
that you'd made a pass at her

at a holiday party last year.

Actually, no,
I didn't.

I asked her about all
the plastic surgery she'd had.

Plastic surgery?

Okay, look, I helped
plan a fund-raiser

for the hospital, two years ago,
that was before the surgeries.

I know I still
have the pictures.

(beep, then
indistinct voice over P.A.)

There.

That's a picture of
Amy and Dr. Mantlo

that I took that night, okay?
Tell me you wouldn't want

to ask her why she did it.

Tell me about the
stalking charge

brought against
you two years ago.

I asked my neighbor out.

She overreacted.

Hmm.
Mr. Polk, can you tell us

where you were last night?

POLK:
Home... alone.

I know.

Not much of an alibi,
but I don't care,

because I didn't do it.

(door creaks open)

Um, did you know

that honey was dripping
through the ceiling?

Yes. Happens sometimes.

I take it beekeeping is a hobby.

(buzzing)
I'm writing a book.

Practical Handbook
of Bee Culture

with Some Observations Upon
the Segregation of the Queen.

Up here. I've just started
Chapter 19.

Would you like to hear
the last few paragraphs?

Did you talk to the police about
that scary administrator guy?

I have not.
But I thought that...

Mr. Polk is a prat, no doubt,

but his body language

said "sub," not "dom."

I don't see him having the
berries to take another life.

Why do you suppose
you hate your job so much?

I don't hate my job.

You have two
alarm clocks.

No one with two alarm clocks
loves their job.

Two alarm clocks means
it's a chore

for you
to get up in the morning.

You don't hate
what I do, though.

That much was obvious
when we talked to Mr. Polk.

There was a look

on your face.

I imagine it was the same look
you wore to the O.R.

when you were still a surgeon.

You're wrong.

I know my father secured
your services

for the next six weeks?

The simple truth is,
I don't need you.

I'm finished with drugs.

I won't be using them again.

My advice?

Take a six-week holiday.

I promise I won't tell Papa.

(sighs)

I'm gonna need your saliva now.

10:37.

I take back everything
I said last night.

You obviously
love your job.

Couldn't wait to get
started this morning.

Open you mouth
so I can swab it.

If you're on anything, the strip
on the cup will turn blue.

I have a...

I have a new theory
about our killer.

I think he may have struck
at least once before.

I-- who love what I do-- woke up
early and couldn't stop thinking

about the ring box he stole
from Amy Dampier's living room.

You said
it was some sort of trophy.

And you know what flavor

of killers takes
trophies, don't you?

Serial. Souvenirs help them
differentiate between victims.

It occurred to me that if Amy
wasn't our killer's first,

though, there might be
other cases in common.

Eileen Renfro.

Savagely beaten and
strangled by an intruder

in her Bronx home
two years ago.

He took a jewelry
box on his way out,

but left behind a
size 11 footprint.

Drug free. Congratulations.

Especially striking--
the physical similarities

between her and Amy.

Both were curvaceous
with long red hair.

You think the killer has a type?

The one significant difference
in the cases--

Eileen Renfro survived
her attack.

I'm sorry.

I can see why you think
it might be the same guy.

I just don't think I can help you.
HOLMES: We know from the police report

that the man who assaulted you
wore a mask.

That doesn't mean
you can't help us identify him.

Did he say anything to you?

No.

I came in through my front door,
and he was just... there.

Did he have a particular scent?

Uh... I don't think so.

Was he tall, short,
somewhere in between?

I don't know.
I mean,

he was on top
of me so quickly,

his hands were around my throat.

And what about the mask?

What about it?

Was it ski, Mexican wrestling,
paper plate?

Ski.

Good. Excellent.

So, you got a good look

at his eyes.

Oh, correct me if I'm wrong,
but a-a strangler can,

literally, not be more than
an arm's length

from his stranglee, can he? That's what? Two?
Mr. Holmes?

Two and a half feet? I'm twice
that distance from you now.

I can see that your eyes
are a lovely brown.

I think I'd like you
to leave now.

Why? 'Cause I know
that you're lying?

Mr. Holmes!
No. She is.

You can tell by the crucifix.
You fiddle with it

every time I ask you a question.

It's-it's pacifying behavior.

It's just elementary
haptic communication.

Just read a book, would you?

She did see her attacker's face.
Sherlock!

I think she might even know
who he is!

Get out.
You realize

that because you protected him
two years ago,

you have the blood
of an innocent woman

on your hands, don't you?
Perhaps you'd like

to go for two or three or four.

That's enough!

You're done here.
Go wait in the car.

What a jerk!

I'm... I'm really sorry
about that.

The name of the man who
attacked her is Peter Saldua.

He was her brother's
best friend growing up.

His father was abusive,
so her parents took him in

his senior year
of high school.

Eileen heard from her
brother that he works

for a florist in Chelsea.

I knew it.

I knew that if I started
a row in there,

you'd come to her defense,
and if you came to her defense,

she might very well
tell you the truth.

You are so full of it.

(phone beeps, line rings)

This is Gregson.

Captain Gregson,
Sherlock Holmes.

I'm calling because I believe
I've uncovered

the name of a strong suspect

in the murder of Amy Dampier.

Name wouldn't be Peter Saldua
by any chance, would it?

How did you know?

'Cause I'm at his house

and I'm looking at him
right now.

Are you saying he's
in police custody?

Technically, yeah.

He's all ours.

Mailman saw the body
through the window.

Calls 911,

said he thought someone
on his route had killed himself.

Turns out
he was right.

The gun was still
in Saldua's hand

when we got here.

Watch the blood spatter.

We found the ring box

from Amy Dampier's
home, right here.

Turns out Mantlo
and his wife

used the florist
Saldua worked for.

They order fresh flowers
to the house once a week.

Saldua was the guy
who delivered them.

Explains why she would
have let him the other night.

What happened over there?

ABREU: Mixed his colors
with his whites?

Who knows.

Guy was a nut bar.

Did you already
take his phone?

It hasn't turned up yet,

but it will.

You wanted to
be the one

who found him,
didn't you?

I don't do what I do
for the credit.

Then why do you
do it?

MANTLO:
I would like to thank

the police, again,

for finding the man
who killed my wife.

I would've liked to seen him
stand trial for what he did...

She had her mole removed

when she changed her look.

It doesn't make any sense.

She loved that mole.

Before her surgery she turned
her head to feature it

whenever her picture was taken.

Where'd you
get those photographs?

I reached out

to Amy's friends via
her Facebook page.

Harrison Polk was right.

She was as beautiful
before her surgery

as she was after, so...

why bother?
What was the point?

Another thing.
Saldua's phone records

indicate he used his
cell phone constantly.

And yet, three days ago,

he just stopped.
Didn't make a single call.

Didn't send a single text.
Why?

His bank statements meanwhile,

there's several checks made out
to Dr. Roland Jessup,

Psychologist. He seems
worth a talking to, no? No?

No, 'cause he dropped
dead of a coronary, 2010.

The Amy Dampier case is over.
You helped solve it.

No.

Something's off.
I can feel it.

(printer whirrs)

What's that?

I got us tickets
to the opera tonight.

Celebrate.

When your father hired me,
he mentioned

something about
you liking it, so I thought--

I went to Le Grande Macabre

once, when I was nine,
now I'm a buff.

(sighs)
I'm worried about you.

I think you're making
things more complicated

than they really are,

and it tells me
that you're struggling.

No struggle with anything.

Or haven't you been paying
attention the last few days?

I've been right
about everything.

Actually, you haven't.

The day we met
you deduced

that I gave up being a surgeon

to become a companion because I
had lost someone close to me.

The truth is...

The truth is that you
made a mistake

during a surgery that cost
a patient his life.

It takes years
of study

to become a surgeon,
not to mention tremendous ego.

Surgeons don't just leave
to become addict-sitters.

They're forced out.
And they're only forced out

if they commit
the sin of malpractice.

I knew it would be
a sore subject so I made up

the bit about your friend
to spare your feelings.

That was very big of you.

How do you know
the patient died?

How do you know

I didn't just leave him
paralyzed or in a coma?

The parking ticket!
The one you had in your purse.

It was...

(sighs)

You incurred it
two weeks ago

near the corner
of 86th and Third.

The only thing there
is Carver Cemetery.

Obviously you were
visiting a grave.

Not a parent's grave,
of course,

Google indicates that
they're both alive and well.

Siblings? No.
Carver is a pauper's field.

The picture that you keep
on your phone of Mum and Dad

says that they're well-to-do.

No sibling of yours would be
interred in a place like that.

The place doesn't even have
a proper parking area,

hence the ticket.
So...

a surgeon who's
no longer a surgeon,

a parking violation incurred
outside poor man's cemetery,

and two parents who are as
moneyed as they are alive.

You add it all up.
What does it say?

You were visiting
the grave of the man

that you let die
on your operating table.

It's so incredible,

the way that you can...

solve people
just by looking at them.

I noticed you don't have
any mirrors around here.

And what's that
supposed to mean?

It means I think you know
a lost cause when you see one.

Tomorrow I'll arrange
for a new companion,

but tonight I've got plans.

Here you go.

Everything your
dead shrink

had on my dead friend.

You can thank me.

It's dusty.

The guy's been dead
almost two years.

His widow had all
his stuff in storage.

You're lucky she even
let me take a look.

According to this,
Saldua never told him

about the attack on
Eileen Renfro.

Just that he had an obsession
with redhead women,

and a tendency
towards violence.

Want something?

"Mr. Saldua, now obsessed
with his own recovery,

"has taken to recording
our sessions with his phone,

so he can listen
to them again and again."

Has the phone
turned up yet?

No.

I'm starting to think
he lost it.

Listen, I got
to take a leak.

Keep an eye on
this coat, will ya?

MAN (over TV): God, it feels
good! Whether it's me,

or both of us...

your ass is mine!

You're both dead!

Rage.

He felt rage.

(singing opera)

(whispers):
Watson!

(whispers):
Watson!

Excuse me.
Oh, my foot!

Excuse me.

Peter Saldua felt rage

the night he killed
Amy Dampier.

Now he had some
measure of control...

You're not here right
now. I don't see you.

I don't hear you...
Shall I speak up?!

He had some measure of control

with Eileen Renfro,
but not with her.

Why?

Tell me, what exactly,

does a Xanax tablet
look like?

Small, white, ovular-- why?

(line ringing)

Detective Abreu, please.

Shh.

"Shh" yourself.

Not even on key.

(phone rings)

Abreu.

It's Sherlock Holmes.

Make it quick, Prince Charles.

I was just on my way out.

The pile vial from Saldua's
desk, I know it was taken

into evidence.
I need you to find it for me.

Hold on.

Now what?

The pills inside should be
white and ovular,

but they're not, are they?
They're round and pink.

How did you know?

(click, dial tone)

I need a ride, right now.

I'm in the middle
of something.

You were right
the other day.

About Eileen Renfro.

I had no idea she would respond
to you the way that she did.

I just told you I did
because I was embarrassed

I'd lost my temper.

Would I have gotten
to the truth some other way?

Of course, but...

you got me there faster.

Now, please,

how fast can you get me
to Sanbridge Hospital?

(car alarm chirps)

You were Peter Saldua's

last therapist,
weren't you?

You started treating him, what,
18 months ago?

Probably just a few weeks
before you talked your wife

into all that plastic surgery.

Excuse me?

Saldua wanted to fix himself.

Dr. Jessup
was his first attempt.

You were his second.

It's quite a bit
of luck, that.

You, a man with a wife
he wanted dead,

stumbling across him,

a man with an obsessive
personality

and a history of violence.
Hmm.

Only problem was, of course,

Amy didn't fit his victim
profile, did she?

But you accounted for that
by pressuring her

to alter her appearance
until she did.

Mr. Holmes, right?
We met the other day?

Yeah. The pill vial

from Saldua's home
came from you.

Sample from the hospital,
no doubt.

Almost impossible
to trace.

He thought he was taking
tranquilizers, but he wasn't,

was he?
He was taking a steroid.

You were whipping him
into a killing frenzy.

A frenzy that only made him
more and more confused,

more violent,

more likely to give in
to his terrible compulsions.

I never even heard
the name Peter Saldua

until the police told me he was
the man who killed Amy.

Bollocks.

I imagine that you
took to

meeting at odd places
at odd times,

so you'd never
be seen together,

and then when the time
was right...

you took advantage of his job

as a delivery man
to place him in Amy's orbit.

You arranged for flowers
to be sent to the house

once a week, 'cause you
needed him to see her.

You needed him to become
obsessed with her.

You loaded him
like a weapon.

Then you pointed him squarely

at your own wife.

You're insane.

No, he was insane, Doctor.

And you took advantage.

And then after you'd
murdered him,

you made it
look like a suicide.

You took his phone.

Why? Well, because

he'd taken to recording
your sessions, as well.

Problem? Of course not.

Killing him was always
part of the plan.

You'd just take the phone
after you'd done the deed.

Hypothetically, Mr. Holmes,

a man wants out of his marriage
to a very wealthy wife.

He knows that during the course
of their relationship, he signed

a prenuptial agreement
that gives him nothing

if he leaves her,

and a living trust that gives
him everything if she dies.

Hypothetically, wouldn't
that man be smarter

to look for a way to
trigger the clauses

in the second document
as opposed to the first?

What did he say?

He said that he did it.

Well, we have
to tell the police.

No point.

We don't have any proof.
He knows it.

Need your car keys.

What? Why?
Car keys!

What...?

(engine starting,
engine revving)

(tires squealing)

(engine revving)

(thudding, car alarm chirps)

Yes. (sniffing)

Better.

(buzzer sounds, door opens)

(keys jangle,
footsteps approach, door closes)

I'm sorry.

Not just for your car,

but for the way
I spoke to you earlier.

I knew that

the death of your patient would
be a sore subject. I just...

Couldn't help
yourself.

Yeah, I'm starting to see

how that's kind of a thing
with you.

I assume you've told my father

about what
happened tonight.

I'm going to miss
that brownstone.

Actually, you're not.

I spoke with him, and since
what you did at the hospital

had nothing to do with drugs,

he's agreed
to give you another chance.

You've decided to stay on
as my companion,

haven't you?

You never would have
agreed if you hadn't...

I'm very pleased... Watson.

Oh, for myself, of course,
but for you.

I happen to think there's some
hope for you as an investigator.

I want you to let me in
on the rest of the plan.

To get Mantlo.

I know you wouldn't have
wrecked my car

unless it was part
of some elaborate...

...temper tantrum. Correct.

In that case, I want you
to tell me about London.

Big place. Lots of rain.

I want you to tell me

about what happened
to you in London.

Why is it so important to you?

Because if I'm gonna stay
with you,

I need to know everything.

Actually, you don't need
to know anything

other than
that I'm a recovering addict.

You want to know about London
because you think

it'll connect us
in a more meaningful way.

But in case you hadn't noticed,

I don't have meaningful
connections.

Why are you smiling?

Because now I know
it was a woman.

What makes you say that?

You're trying too hard.

Just like you were the other day
with that tattooed lady.

All that sexist repellent crap.

You can connect
to people.

It just frightens you.

My bail hearing
is at 9:00 tomorrow.

I trust I'll see you there.

♪ ♪

(crowd chatter)

You're late, Miss Watson.

That barrister
was rubbish.

I need to show you something.

This is Peter Saldua's
medical file.

Look under the "known
allergies" heading.

This was taken
the morning his body was found.

Weird, right?

No, actually.

Not even a little.

GREGSON:
Dr. Mantlo?

(clears throat)
Oh.

Sorry for the wait.

I appreciate you giving me
an opportunity

to apologize face-to-face
for what happened last night.

I can't promise
it'll change my mind

about suing the department

over what your consultant did
to my car, but it's a start.

There is, uh, just one thing
I wanted to ask you.

Did you ever treat Peter Saldua
as a patient?

You have a funny way
of saying you're sorry, Captain.

It's a simple question, Doctor.

No. I never treated
Peter Saldua.

I never even met the man.

Now, if that's it,

I am late for an appointment
with my attorney.

Detective!

You know you're just
digging yourself deeper,

putting this man

in the same room with me?

Dr. Mantlo,
this is a medical form

completed by Peter Saldua
for another of his doctors.

As I've told you before,
Mr. Holmes-- I was never...

My assistant, Miss Watson,
was perusing it last night

when she very astutely noticed
that Saldua had a rather strong

allergy to rice.

This is ridiculous.

Hmm. As I was saying,

Miss Watson noticed
Saldua's allergy to rice,

so you can imagine
her confusion

when she remembered seeing
a sack of the stuff

sitting on one
of his shelves.

We also found
a credit card receipt

that told us he had bought it

exactly three days
before his death.

Odd that, right?

Him going to the store

and buying the one thing
he's allergic to.

Odder still, it was the same day
he stopped using his cell phone.

First, I thought
that was by choice.

Then I remembered
the overturned washing machine.

What does a bag of rice

and an overturned
washing machine

have to do with anything?

I was wrong the other day

when I accused you of
taking Saldua's phone

after you murdered him.

You wanted to take it,
but you couldn't, could you?

'Cause you couldn't find it.

He laundered it, you see?

Left it in his pocket when
he put his trousers in the wash.

But the time he realized,
it was too late.

The phone that he'd turned
into a virtual library

of his therapy sessions
was no longer functional.

Furious with himself
and suffering the effects

of what he couldn't possibly
have known

was steroid intoxication,
he destroyed the washer

in a fit of rage.

And then he went
to the nearest grocer's

and purchased a bag of rice.

(scoffs)

Rice, as you're apparently not
aware, is a natural desiccant.

It can be used
to absorb moisture

from electronic devices that
have been immersed in water.

We went to Saldua's home
this morning

and examined... his bag

of rice.

You'll never guess
what we found inside.

(beep)
SALDUA: Her name is Amy.

And, um, when I see her,

I get these feelings, and I...

Please, Dr. Mantlo,

you need to help me.

You need to tell me how
to stop myself from hurting her.

I don't want to hurt her.
Please!

MANTLO:
It's okay, Peter. It's...

It's okay. I'm here for you.

Let's try upping your meds,
see where that leads us.

MAN (on TV):
...now the two-one count.

There's a drive
deep into center field!

That has got to be...

WATSON:
Yes!

A home run for Ryerson...

Can we please go to dinner now?

It's the bottom of the ninth,

the Mets are within one,
and no one is out.

(sighs)

Okay, don't look at me
like that. You said

you were gonna watch with me
to make up for last night.

That's before I got hungry.

Yeah, well, just because
you don't understand something

doesn't mean
it isn't awesome, okay?

Actually, Miss Watson,

quite familiar
with the American pastime.

The other addicts at Hemdale
would often gather

in the common room to watch
the matches on the telly.

They're not "matches,"
they're "games."

Truth be told,

I find the science of the
sport quite fascinating.

All of the statistical analysis,
all of the strategy.

So if you'll allow me
to save us both a little time...

ANNOUNCER:
Here he comes again.

Pop up to center.

Intentional walk,
game-ending double play.

Final score--
Reds of Cincinnati-- three,

Metropolitans

of New York-- two.

Yeah, right.
Nice try.

ANNOUNCER:
A high fly ball again...

I'll meet you at the door.

...caught...

(broadcast continues
indistinctly)

Elvis Costello:
♪ Watchin' the Detectives ♪

ANNOUNCER:
Bottom of the ninth...

There's a ground ball,
right behind second...

No! Oh! Damn!

♪ Nice girls,
not one little defect ♪

♪ Cellophane shrink-wrapped,
so correct ♪

♪ Red dogs under illegal legs ♪

♪ She looks so good
that he gets down and begs... ♪

♪ She's watchin' the detectives ♪

== sync, corrected by elderman ==