Original subtitles

Father, you need to help me.

What is your plight?

I feel darkness all around me

that compels me to do things.

What sorts of things?

Shameful things, please

to make me say.

But you must acknowledge your sins

before you can be forgiven for them.

I'm so weak...

I allow the darkness inside me.

And I'm so afraid.

You're a child of God. He will not let harm come to you.

I'm not afraid for me...

I'm afraid for you.

I'm his flesh. I'll do...

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Hey, found out anything more about Nigel Pennington's death?

This is not the place.

Have you requested the coroner's report? Could be nothing!

Dr Doyle, have you discovered anything?

The victim's facial distortion is the symptom of

stress-provoked ventricular fibrillation,

which flooded her heart with adrenaline.

She was frightened to death.

You look worse than usual...

Children were particularly rambunctious last night.

Witnesses reported this woman exhibited the strength of several men.

Adrenaline

can make people do extraordinary things.

My Lake Michigan's stunt, for example.

The whole thing was frozen over.

I dove in this hole but I couldn't find my way back

I was drowning.

I'd to punch through 8 inches of ice.

The police claimed that she was possessed by some sort of demon.

The only thing that possessed her was a sick mind.

You don't believe in evil?

Human evil, yes.

Don't tell me you think there's an actual devil out there

somewhere walking around with horns and a pitchfork.

I believe in God, why shouldn't I believe in Lucifer?

Just cos you believe in one fairy tale doesn't mean you believe 'em all.

It's not possession. It's insanity.

Well, being possessed

made her look insane.

Look at this.

It's some sort of skin sensitivity.

Urticaria, although I've never seen such configuration.

She's wearing a nice ring.

The clothes... It seems...

institutional.

B-R-H

Bethlem Royal Hospital.

Commonly known as Bedlam.

These are the clothes they issue to patients who have been released.

So, she's just got out of the loony bin...

That make her what? A loony?

Anyone behaving at all out of the ordinary can be committed.

Jumping into a frozen lake, for instance.

What an atrocity is committed in this snake pit.

Bedlam awaits.

Clearly Molly should never have been released.

Especially with her weak heart and her history of delusions.

I never went to medical school...

did he just say 'I'm right and you're wrong'?

A weak heart doesn't necessarily rule out possession.

You've authorised her release?

No, no, that was Dr Randall.

He harbours the hope of curing fear itself,

too abstract for my taste... But...

He's had glimmers of promise.

I've chastened him severely. He assures me it won't happen again.

Well, as long as we have his word.

Rest assured I've taken a most substantive approach

than Dr Randall.

Electroshock, lobotomies have proved very effective.

Turning people into house plants.

Surely, yeah.

As a doctor, you understand the brain is an organ...

- like any other. - Like any other?

I'd hate to hear the kidneys' idea of a symphony.

Many patients here lived in their own filth.

Rich patrons could pay a shilling to view them like animals in the zoo.

I brought humanity to Bethlem Royal.

Arthur Conan Doyle.

We meet at last.

My name is Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes.

We currently have three patients

with that same delusion.

By all laws of logic, two of us must be wrong.

At least.

Bet you have a lot of fans in here.

I'm honoured you like the character.

Actually...

I've noted 87 occasions where you portrayed me inaccurately.

I plan to get proper legal action to stop this slime.

I'll alert my solicitor.

That's right. Mock the lunatic.

You didn't make me.

I... made... you!

For posterity:

his name was Wilson.

I imagine you've had several patients claiming to be possessed...

Yes, it's an all too common delusion.

Have you ever had a case you thought could be actual possession?

No.

Well...

We do have one patient who has given me pause.

A defrocked priest, named Nathaniel Ferdistat.

He stoked the imagination of other patients, including Molly.

How many others?

Have they been released?

I'm not sure.

But there is no reason...

They may be in danger. We need to see your records.

No, no, no. You know I can't do that.

The Lord Chief Justice owes me a favour.

I'll be back very soon.

I can't wait till he finishes lunch. I need that court order.

Did you tell him who was asking?

Father, let's play some football.

I'm working.

You don't look like you're working...

I'm thinking. For a writer, thinking is working.

You're not thinking, you're stamping.

Kingsley! Out!

Stop your whining.

Stop your whining, Arthur!

The world hates a whinger.

Omnis immundus spiritus.

Omnis satanica potestas.

No, you go to hell!

I cast out the demon in you.

Go to hell with you!

- In the name of our Lord. - You people mads...

you disgusting, mental, pathetic weakling!

Hand me the holy water.

We use this purified water

to banish the creature within you.

Damn you!

To deliver you from all

that is unpleasant.

Shut up!

Put that scabbard away!

Stand back!

Catatonia.

And he's also from Bedlam.

Have we had access to the records, we might have known how to save him.

- Please, stop! - I smell whisky.

And despair.

Your children are never rambunctious.

And for professional writer, you're spending way to much time with us,

so I'm guessing you have a major case of writer's block.

Keeping Holmes dead is proving far more difficult than I thought.

So what on earth?

Give people what they want.

More Sherlock means more work: win-win.

It's more complicated than that.

Oh, my God!

Another reaction.

A configuration

similar to the one we saw on Molly.

Not similar. Identical.

This can't be random, it has to be a pattern.

I don't see a pattern.

I think I do.

Cos we were built to spot patterns...

helps us pick out hidden predators.

It's called apophenia.

And makes us see faces everywhere: from the man on the moon to...

Jesus on a piece of toast.

Sometimes you see them on the front of peoples' heads.

Come on. You're playing connect the dots.

You can make anything of it.

I know where I've seen it before.

Oh, the mark of Abaddon.

This is helpful, means we don't have to round up all demons...

Just Abaddon.

This points clearly suggest a pentagram.

And Ursa Major clearly looks like a bear.

Abaddon, Lord of the Abyss,

paralyses his victims with fear,

so that he may feed on their souls.

Leaving his mark on his prey.

It is the demonic equivalent of stigmata.

Mass skin writing.

Some people can cause a spontaneous allergic reaction

and unconsciously form it into whatever they want.

It's like... getting a tattoo without a needle.

It's a great trick.

How does one consciously do something...

when one is unconscious?

A better question is why does our Addy

have a big book of creepy symbols?

It's my husband's.

The ring with this marking on it.

It's the insignia of a Polish anarchist group.

Those guys have done some nasty things.

You think he was involved with these assassins.

I think he was trying to stop them.

That's why he was killed.

They left him hanging in the study for me to find.

- I'm a little... - From the Lord Chief Justice's office.

Thank you.

We have our warrant.

We'll see the priest first, then your records.

Nathaniel.

I've been waiting for you three.

Nice jacket.

I own one just like that at home.

Do you know Molly Morgan and Simon Fleming?

They were my acolytes.

I've quite a number of them.

How many?

Molly's dead.

Simon is catatonic.

They have fulfilled their purpose.

The beast must be fed.

One of them is still alive.

But his soul has gone.

I'm thinking he used hypnosis.

I need no such trickery.

I corrupt the souls for Abaddon to feed off them.

How do you do that?

Expunge your deepest fear...

And it is a simple matter.

Do you know what I most fear?

Being condemned to the same hell as me.

I see that you are weak.

A prisoner of your thirst.

And it won't be long.

It's enough of that! Guard!

It's never enough!

Abaddon's strong and he's never seed you.

It's nothing more than a talented cold reader turn there.

Grab credit for what happened to the victims.

No cold reading could make Molly and Simon

behave as they did.

Or make the mark of Abaddon appear on their bodies.

Here's another one.

That's five patients

that had contact with Nathaniel and now are out there somewhere.

- Time bombs waiting to go off. - What's that one?

Dead patients. It's not relevant.

I'll ask the Yard to check these down.

You two go. And I will see what Dr Randall has to say.

I believe committing one's fears to paper

has the effect of defining it.

And once defined, it and can be targeted.

Molly and Simon, what was their condition when you released them?

I thought they were cured.

That sounds arrogant, I know.

Now, it just sounds foolish.

How was a man like this Nathaniel allowed

contact with vulnerable patients?

Not just allowed, encouraged,

and not by me.

Dr Pearson believes if we

terrify the patients with demons...

they'll come running to God.

He's using fear to manipulate them.

Fear is the disease itself.

He doesn't understand that.

What about the rest of Dr Pearson's psychotherapies?

Electroshock or lobotomies?

He assures me he's had success.

It's barbaric and you know it.

I have a court order.

I intend to search this place...

and find out everything that is going on here.

And stop the abuse!

Can I count on you help or your hindrance?

We have much to discuss.

Can I offer you a cup of tea?

Yes.

Get off me!

Get off me!

Stop the whining, Arthur.

The world hates a whinger!

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Four of the five released inmates have been found

and detained, safe and healthy.

Still trying to find an address for the fifth.

It just leaves one question:

So, what's in the file you put aside when you saw me approach?

It's the coroner's report on Nigel Pennington.

No water found in lungs. Likely strangulation.

It's a suspicious death.

Police have no leads, no suspects.

You want to tell me about this guy?

He was my husband's friend.

And his business partner.

The police said Benjamin gambled all our money away,

but Nigel thought he'd embezzled it.

Not that I knew where it was.

Well, if I didn't known you, you'd be my top suspect.

Nigel was trying to open an inquest

into his suicide, I wanted that too.

You don't think your husband gave off the money away?

Benjamin took me to the Eiffel Tower.

Not to see the structure or enjoy the view.

So we could kiss at the top of the world.

He wasn't a gambler.

He was a romantic.

Yeah.

And those two are obviously mutually exclusive?

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- You bastard! - Don't, please.

I know what you did to my father.

You stole that file.

- I-I could charge you... - Charge me!

- Detective! - You tortured him to death.

You... you've been drinking.

Perhaps your wife's condition is too stressful to you.

Yeah, I'm fine.

- If I could give you a tincture of laudanum. - I don't need your opium.

You clearly need help, you're obviously

suffering from a great deal of anxiety.

I'm not the crazy one!

Nor was my father!

Your father suffered from

a rather savage form of dementia praecox. He was very disturbed.

You're going to prison for what you did to him!

I do this for your own good.

What's this?

I'm committing you!

You can't do this! You can't!

You're doing this to gag me up!

No! No!

Like father, like son, I'm afraid.

- I'm sorry, Arthur. - Noooo!

Sorry.

Doyle not back yet?

No.

Good. Then, I can admit he was right.

So, you think Abaddon was behind this.

Don't be cute.

But I do think there's something rotten going on at that asylum.

I think that we should go back and open every file they have.

I think that we should get Doyle first.

I demand to see my solicitor.

No one even knows I'm in here.

Meet your new roommate.

You and your bloody solicitor!

No, no, this isn't right.

This time it is not so amusing, is it?

What Pilsen is doing is illegal.

You have to alert Scotland Yard.

Guard!

Guard!

- I've been thinking... - Not talking to you.

No need.

Puffy eyes,

sallow skin: you've been drinking heavily.

Parotid swelling and rhinophyma.

Or as you would know it: 'drinkers's nose'.

This is just the same old long term issue

but abuse of the devil's mouthwash

is but one symptom of an even bigger problem.

Fear.

Of course I'm scared. I'm locked

in a bloody mental hospital.

What happened? Did somebody steal your identity?

And now they call you crazy as soon as you mention your name?

Creased forehead,

darting eyes,

stooped back.

So has the fear been with you your entire life?

Why?

What's wounded you so profoundly?

More importantly, why did you kill

my fictional counterpart?

Holmes was a lightweight. He...

stood in the way of something more profound.

It's a tad more personal and I find it interesting that

a mere... three months after your father died,

you threw Sherlock over the falls.

I made some inquiries.

Doyle's father was a patient in Bedlam,

where he died eight years ago.

Well, that would explain Doyle's behaviour.

And that file.

Let me guess.

Daddy loved it when you became a doctor and hated it

when you became a hack, although I will admit

every once in a while you did have an inspired turn of phrase. They say

a little insanity stirs the creative juices.

I'm not insane.

Your surroundings suggest otherwise.

Did he ever once acknowledge you

as a writer?

Sherlock was one of the most successful characters in the history of fiction.

Non-fiction.

I need to get out of here.

Or you could embrace the situation

and see this as an opportunity

to investigate from the inside?

I suppose I could...

try and find proof that my father was right, proof of Abaddon.

I'd tone down the Abaddon a bit,

just focus in Nathaniel.

How did you know about the case?

I hear things.

When they think you're barking mad, no one is discreet, in fact I solved your little matter.

Ah, really, you did?

Professor Moriarty...

An evil stepmother.

The victims died in a state

of great fear. They also exhibited

dry gangrene

and paresthesia. Did you ever think they may have been poisoned?

You have the fear inducing poison

in A Study in Scarlet.

Ergot...

causes terrifying hallucinations.

The house of Charles Doyle.

Offer to purchase.

I thought he was just sleeping in,

but his bed is untouched.

He mustn't have come home at all last night.

Daddy?

It's not your father, love.

Where is he?

I'm not sure.

I'm Adelaide.

You must be Kingsley.

Your father's told me so much about you.

Mostly good.

I don't like broccoli either.

You're a policeman.

I am.

And we are going to find your father.

I promise.

- I need to talk to Nathaniel. - Which is why

I devised a way to get you into his cell.

Five ways, in fact.

But four of them include giving the guard a concussion.

Let's go with number five.

As you wish. Guard! Come quick!

Dr Doyle needs help. Most probably consumption.

But they are at least eight other ailments

which manifest similar symptoms.

Look ill!

Perfect.

I thought you said this method didn't involve knocking him out.

They all did. I just expected you'd disapprove.

The stakes seem high enough to justify a headache.

Perhaps even... a mild brain injury.

You'd better come through.

It's too late for that.

Abaddon has come for me.

Your followers, Molly and Simon.

We think they were poisoned.

Fear.

Abaddon lusts the smell of fear.

Your father reeked of it.

How would you know about my father?

He died eight years ago, before you came to Bedlam.

Abaddon's always been here...

It's everywhere. The true place of destruction.

Your father was riddled with weakness.

So easy to squeeze the life out of him.

He's goading you!

Do you work for Pilsen?

I have but one master.

As does the good doctor.

Pilsen answers to a patent.

That's why he brought me here.

And you.

This is impossible.

Apparently not.

Dr Doyle!

What have you done?

No, I never... I just came to talk to him.

You attacked a guard and...

murdered this deluded fool.

No, I've never touched him. Some force... wrenched his neck.

He said Abaddon was coming for him. Tell him!

He dragged me in here. I had no idea he was going to do this.

What? No!

Tell him. Wait! No! He's lying.

No! No! No!

I liked your father.

But I failed him.

Even if I'd given him a lobotomy,

I'm sure he would be alive and grateful today.

It will end your writing,

but it's a small price to pay for ending your torment.

Doyle! Doyle!

No, no, no!

No, please!

I need to write.

Relax.

Just relax.

Excuse me.

Please, don't drill into my friend's brain.

Attendant!

They are indisposed.

By indisposed, I mean... unconscious.

Let me apologise in advance to rendering you...

unconscious as well.

What do you say?

My earlier act of betrayal was just a ruse.

I had six different options to choose from,

and a cowardly retreat lead to the most satisfying conclusion.

Wait! Wait!

Ergot was in an early draft of A Study in Scarlet,

but I caught it before it went to print.

- How could you know about it? - We're in the middle of a thrilling escape.

Must you think of that? Come on!

There's our way out.

No!

Doyle!

There must be a logical answer to this.

Nothing is making sense!

Remember that line you stole from me?

Once you've eliminated the impossible,

whatever remains...

- Everything here is impossible. - And therefore?

Everything is a figment of my imagination.

Including you.

I'm just like the other reduced.

I've been given ergot.

I'm hallucinating.

The real me

is dying.

Convulsions...

shock, oedema.

My best guess is some sort of poison

Unfortunately, it is impossible to tell which one.

Ergot.

Yes!

Ergot could certainly explain all the symptoms.

How did you ever think of that?

Lucky guess.

- Daddy? - Kingsley.

We found him and we're going to make him better.

Good as new.

Alright?

I'm afraid the children can't be in here.

No! We're not leaving our father!

We are throwing them out?

Without an antidote, there's nothing I can do for him.

You have to find a way out of your mind now.

Arthur!

Touie!

I haven't given up. I've been searching the world for a cure.

Well, stop searching.

As I feel wonderful.

He said ergot takes 12 hours to peak.

Both victims had their breakdown the day they were released,

which means they were at Bedlam when they were poisoned.

Nathaniel confined himself

so... that lets him off the hook.

Why would anybody else want to scare people to death?

Thrills?

The only ones with access to the victims were Pilsen and Randall.

But the only time Doyle saw Pilsen he was with us.

And the only time he wasn't with us,

he met Randall.

You think I poisoned him?

I'm trying to figure out why anybody would kill people

in such a torturous way...

But you're a scientist.

You're not trying to kill the fear, you're trying to cure them of it.

The way Pasteur inoculated people against rabies,

by giving them a small dose.

And how do you suppose I administered this... poison?

It's called ergot.

It's some kind of rye fungus.

And we were wondering the same thing.

How the heck do you get...

rye fungus into somebody?

Bread, I suppose.

Certain drinks, beer, alcohol.

- Tea? - Like any good scientist,

you wouldn't experiment with something you can't control.

I think you have an antidote.

Why would I have an antidote...

to a poison I don't have?

You'd better have.

Because I laced your tea with ergot.

I do the swap thing professionally.

He'd to stop you before you poison any other of these poor people.

What are you doing?

- You came to kill me! - I think you'll give us the antidote before that.

No. Don't do this.

I'm so close.

If I can cure fear,

it'll end madness.

Save so many lives from ruin.

Yes. Others died for your cause, you will too?

You told me you knew how to sail.

Like you told me you know how to ski.

Course I can ski.

Take me to Mont Blanc and I will show you.

Yes, of course you can.

Because you're not real.

Why does that matter?

The feelings are real.

It's not enough?

That's everything.

I must go back.

You'll have to watch me die.

I know.

Then, why?

Why go back to all that pain?

That torment...

Because it's real.

And if the pain is real, so is the joy.

What about me?

You're a dream.

A beautiful dream.

I'm sorry.

Good bye, my love.

A flickering light.

That's the product of your dying brain.

There's not much time left.

There must be a way out of this.

Ergot is surging through your veins,

what can you possibly do about that?

Euphoria.

A massive surge

would spike all calcium to constrict peripheral blood vessels.

Probably kill me.

It's the only thing that will physically stop the ergot.

How might I feel euphoria in this place?

By eliminating... your misery.

What is causing all the dark

memories of this house?

Go on, say it.

Father.

In the flesh. So to speak.

Am I dead?

No, Arthur.

You're losing your mind.

Out of way!

No, no, no, no!

- You're alright? - Yes.

I suppose you think all your problems are my fault.

Do you deny that you didn't have the

faintest idea how to be a father?

Yes, I was a terrible father.

All better now?

You bastard.

Hard enough.

So let's see?

What is this really about?

Oh, I know.

Your precious work.

Most fathers would have been proud of what I created.

Sherlock Holmes.

The most sceptical arse who ever lived.

You hated my work because of a fictional character.

Character who was contemptuous of everything I was.

Character you made that way with the sole purpose of hurting me.

Of course I wanted to hurt you.

You were an alcoholic madman.

And the best day of my life

was the day they took you away.

You know that's not true.

There, now.

Steady, steady.

There, Dr Doyle. Steady... steady.

The alcohol was my fault, the madness was not.

And whose fault was it, mine?

It was no one's fault.

Do you know how miserable it was?

To have a certified lunatic for a father?

Do you know the utter horror of losing one's mind?

At first, I tried to justify it was a quirk of a creative brain.

Then I tried to camouflage it with alcohol.

Hid bottles in the piano.

Better a lush than a nut case.

But I kept sinking, deeper and deeper

until it took everything from me.

My work...

Your dear mother...

Your brother and sisters...

- You. - Hmm!

Quite the loss.

Would this have been different if I'd remained a doctor?

Probably.

It was only when I read your work that I came to despise you.

You found my work that awful?

No.

My father and brother were acclaimed artists.

I was...

The disappointment...

And you came along and it was so easy for you.

Your brilliance only illuminated my own mediocrity.

My death didn't warrant a single obituary in the newspapers.

And yet the entire world mourned the death of your cartoon.

Why couldn't you tell me?

Because I was a weak...

and a petty little man.

I didn't despise you.

I despised myself.

I know it's too late, but...

but would you allow me to do something that

I wish I had the courage to do when I was alive?

Thank you.

But you're thinking that this is a shade too facile.

And you'll realise I'm just a figment of your imagination.

Precisely.

I think you'd better take my word for it.

Daddy?

Come here, son.

I was never cross with you.

Nor you.

I was cross with myself.

You gave Adelaide and your kids a hell of a scare.

Yes, all three of us.

It wasn't Pilsen, was it?

It was Randall.

How could you possibly learn that?

Holmes cracked the case.

Up here, the case was cracked by Houdini.

Figured out that you were poisoned with ergot.

How could you poss...?

No!

No. I don't know what you're thinking,

but wipe that grin off your face.

I must've communicated it to you telepathically.

Or... it came to me in one of my frequent bursts of inspiration.

And where does inspiration come from?

Please, let him have the last word.

And one last signature.

- Thank you, Dr Doyle. - Thank you.

I love you, Ma.

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