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It was destiny that brought
the great Sherlock Holmes into my life.

That fateful day, I met the finest,
most compassionate, most beautiful man

I would ever have the honor to know.

You look radiant
this morning, my darling.

Green and proud.

Not a blemish on your perfect skin.

You beautiful, green, succulent bitch...

I first met him after my return
from the Afghan War.

The war had left me
with a broken leg and a broken spirit.

I was in dire straits.

Do you like this?

I was going to end it all,
but that terrible moment...

Goodbye, life.

...became the greatest of my life.

You unforgiving turd.

He saw I was about jump to my death.

- Don't do it!
- And he immediately tried to stop me.

Get out of the way. I'm going to jump.

Jump into that garden over there.

Are you telling me not to jump?

There are many other ways
you could kill yourself.

We had instant connection.

This man cares about me.

A little cup of poison.

- Dead.
- He gave me a reason to live.

Yes, we'll go and have a drink.

I will get my gun
and fill your heart full of bullets.

Yes, right in the heart.

It's crazy, but I love you, too.

He was a man of great compassion.

I'm losing patience with you.

You're right.
Life really is worth living. I...

No, no, no!

No!

You saved me. I'm alive.

Your giant vegetable saved me.

- Don't... Yes.
- Thank you, my new friend.

- Please not...
- I'm in your debt forever.

Please don't destroy any more of it.

Oh, God.

It has been my honor...

- John Watson.
- Yes. Hi.

- ...ever since.
- Sherlock Holmes.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

Moriarty's crime spree over!

Professor James Moriarty
faces justice today!

The Napoleon of crime on trial!

Greatest criminal in the empire!

That's fake news.

Professor James Moriarty.

You have been the organizer
of half that is evil

and all that goes undetected
in this great city.

Today, you are charged
with murder in the first degree,

but all the witnesses have died.

Without said witnesses,
we have no choice but to set you free.

Inspector Lestrade,

you simply must take
better care of your witnesses.

Mark my words,

Sherlock Holmes is on his way,
and with him,

the evidence that will damn you
to the noose.

Then we should all pray he arrives soon,

for on the strike of noon,
I shall have to release this menace.

Sherlock will be here.

He is about to burst
through those doors right now.

Stop this trial at once!

I, Sherlock Holmes, have solved the case
of Professor James Moriarty.

Wonderful. Wonderful, Holmes.

A dramatic entrance worthy
of your greatest achievement.

Watson, did you notice my emphasis
on "Professor James Moriarty"?

Yes, with the finger, yes.

- Much better than the hand.
- Yes.

Instead of the karate chop,
I went to the index finger.

Yes, it's the best one yet.

This is the moment
everyone's been waiting for.

Right here.

Yes, and they're literally
waiting for it now.

- Oh, yes.
- You must get dressed.

- Yes?
- Very well.

There we are. There are your things.

- Remember, trial of the century.
- Yes.

We have but... Let's see now...

Just 16 minutes left, Holmes.

Speed is of the essence.

- Nearly there?
- Nearly there.

A sniff of morning cocaine
always helps the brain.

Come now, Sherlock.
You mustn't let that trial conclude.

For this occasion,
I have selected a new hat.

From now on, when people utter
the name "Sherlock Holmes,"

they will picture...

This.

Brilliant.

Can we go?

Your furrowed brow
betrays your lying lips.

Oh, no.

Not to worry.

Hey there, cowboy.

- That's the one.
- Bang, bang.

We should leave, yes?

Aye, aye.

I say, I like that one very much.

You don't want to be late, Mr. Holmes.

Mrs. Hudson,
what do you think of this one?

Me?

I'm just a housekeeper
from the Glasgow slums.

The likes of me telling the likes of you

what to put on his noggin?

Good point.

Back to your monkey work, Hudson.

- Perfect, right?
- May I show you a few more hats?

- No!
- Someone's left a wee box.

What are you going on about?

I never even heard anyone knocking.

Did you hear anything?

How very queer.

Queerer and queerer.

Very odd.

Watson, no.

Holmes, why are you getting
so exercised?

It's merely an empty box.

Watson, this is sent from Moriarty.
He means to kill us.

Listen.

Shut that window.

If this winged menace escapes,
it may cause a pandemic.

A killer mosquito?

The insect is infected
with African plague.

One bite means death.

Now, dance a Dutch jig.

You don't have to ask me twice
to do a Dutch jig, but why?

Your body heat will attract him
to dine on your flesh.

Brilliant.

Hold! Don't move.

- Where is it?
- Right there.

Right there on your forehead.

- Kill it, Holmes.
- I'm going to kill it.

- There it is. Don't move.
- Where?

- And hold. No.
- No, no, no.

No, hold.

Is it biting?

I hear it.

I see it.

The tip!

Don't worry, boys, I brought a net.

It is now seven minutes before noon.

Upon the lowering of my gavel,
the charges shall be dismissed.

I shall raise my gavel
in the air like so,

and then bring it down briskly,

making a satisfying bang,

at which point the prisoner
shall go free.

Angle of approach.

Compensate for warp in floor.

Account for resistance
due to dust motes.

Probable outcome:
termination of mosquito,

integrity of bee habitat maintained,

deadly bee swarm averted.

The mosquito's vanquished.

Well done, Holmes.

It's a simple matter of geometry,
entomology and physics.

Oh, my God!

Oh, shit!

Watson, stop panicking!

We can disable the queen.

It's making them angry, Holmes!

Oh, my God. What are they doing?

They're turning this way!

Just do anything! Help me!

- It's working!
- No!

It's not working!

- Get it off!
- It's not working!

Holmes, we retreat.

Run for safety. I'll lead them away.

Stop this trial!

May I present to you
the greatest detective of all time.

Solver of the unsolvable.

Untier of Gordian knots.

Bester of conundrums.

The great Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock!

Stop this trial at once!

Thank goodness
you've arrived, Mr. Holmes.

Now, what startling
new evidence do you have

- for the court?
- I am the evidence.

Inspector Lestrade
called upon me for assistance,

for he lacked the mental capacity
to solve it himself.

The inspector is a handsome man.

Ruddy. Strapping.

Legs like oaken trunks.

Teeth like ivory.

And yet his wife is of hideous visage,
terrible to look upon.

They say her gaze curdles milk.

- What?
- Who says that?

Face like a pig's rectum.

- Geoffrey.
- Holmes!

Close those pillowy lips.

I am under oath!

Actually, you're not under oath.

Not under yours.

Under my own sworn duty as a detective.

I cannot allow my brain
to be clouded with feelings.

Now...

I recall the day vividly.

I arrived at the crime scene alone,

completely and utterly alone.

I meticulously inspected
every nook and cranny of that study,

hunting for clues,

much like a panther stalks its prey.

And as I stood there, I began to employ
a groundbreaking new technique.

Right there.

Behold, fingerprints!

Imagine a print
being taken from a finger.

I love it.

How do these prove Moriarty's guilt?

Watson.

Moriarty would never
leave a trail of clues,

which begs the question,
"Why was this crime scene

"so uncharacteristically
littered with fingerprints?"

Good work, Watson.

Thank you. I just thought
of what you might have done.

I compared these prints

to those of the man standing before you.

A perfect match.

Unequivocal proof that this man

is innocent.

What?

But if those are Moriarty's prints,
then Moriarty is the murderer.

This man is not Moriarty.

He sure looks like Moriarty.

He's an impostor.

His name is Jacob Musgrave.

A complete look-alike. A doppelgänger.

A patsy framed to hang
for Moriarty's crimes

so that I may abandon my pursuit of him

and he can begin life anew in America.

Why would an innocent man agree
to hang for Moriarty's crimes?

Elementary.

This man is terminally ill.

Look at him, his pallid complexion,

the palsy in his left hand.

Wait, I know. He's an onanist.

Yes, of the most enthusiastic kind.

What's an onanist?

He... Let's see.

He pours his own tea.

He likes to create his own sauce.

He is a saucier.

And the name of his restaurant
is Crotch Kitchen.

On a daily basis,
he creams his own éclair.

He is Romeo and Juliet.

That should do it.

This here!

He's a wanker!

Thank you.

Sorry, ladies.

This chap here had nothing to lose
by being executed.

He was literally dying by his own hand.

It causes death, you see.

The infallible Sherlock Holmes
has indeed spoken.

In light of his testimony,
I order the release of the suspect.

What? This is an outrage!

Do not let this murderer free.

Bang, bang, bang!

Court is adjourned.

Sherlock Holmes has done it again!

Why are you cheering?

Sherlock!

Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock!

That couldn't have gone better.

It couldn't have.

And I tell you, that case was rather...

It took us three years to catch him.

If we release him now,
we may never find him again.

Put aside your ego and admit I am right.

I am afraid
Moriarty's long gone to America.

Whatever crimes Moriarty commits
from now on are on your head.

I quite like seeing Lestrade upset.

Yeah. I do, too.

Professor James Moriarty
fled to the Americas

and would never darken England again.

What a fine ending
to my final book of our adventures.

All there is left to do now
is to let the ink dry

on this one copy of my manuscript.

No.

Fucking son of a...

Holmes.

Are you upset?

It's just that Moriarty
was the whetstone

upon which I sharpened my mental blade.

With him gone,
not there to challenge me, why go on?

Instead, I shall occupy my great,
great mind with nutritional science.

My research suggests that the sulfurous
compounds of the common onion

can increase your red blood cells.

Vital for human health.

Just bite it like an apple?

Definitely takes four or five bites.

Are we meant to eat the whole thing?

The whole thing.

Let the juice slither down
the back of your throat.

Congratulations, Holmes.

You're not only
the smartest man in London,

you shall soon be the healthiest.

Indeed.

Now, where's my opium?

Mrs. Hudson!

- Hudson!
- Hudson!

Help!

Hudson, Watson has stuck
a carrot up my bum!

Hudson, help!

- Fire!
- Call the police!

Hudson, your mother has died!

You brain-dead bag of bones!

- Hudson!
- Hudson!

Hudson, where are you?

Did you not hear any of that?

- We screamed "fire."
- Where?

And we were screaming your name.

You were just there in my bedroom?

Supawn and succotash.

The great Sherlock Holmes.

- I am Mark...
- You curl your R's,

indicating a native from
a less-educated United State.

Namely, Missouri.

Smudge of ink on your waistcoat,

index finger of your right hand
calloused from a quill.

You are the writer
of popular fiction, Mark Twain.

But can you deduce
what we've been up to?

I'll give you a clue.

It rhymes with "Huck Finn."

Hudson. How many times have I told you

about bringing men into
our home for your trolloping?

Were you rooting in my room?

I'm sorry.

I just cannae help myself
when it comes to pleasures of the flesh.

Shame, you dirty girl.

I promise it won't happen again.

The next time I go to confession,

I'll add 12 Hail Marys
for my sins of carnality.

It reeks of exposed loins.

Just take your amorous American
and be gone.

Out. More writing
and less fornicating, Twain.

All right.

- Shut up.
- Come on.

No wonder my room always smells
like fish pie and semen.

This came for you.

Sealed by hands unused to manual labor.

Saliva from a protein-rich diet
of chicken kidneys.

Why, Watson, it's from the Queen.

Seems Her Majesty requests my services.

A crime that has baffled
even her closest advisors,

and only my singular intellect
can solve it.

Well, well, well.

Look who's back in the game.

Watson, are you all right?

I'm just very nervous.

I've not met the Queen before.

- Deep breath.
- Your Majesty,

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.

Oh, my God, it's really her.

Watson.

Say something.

I love you.

I know I am duty-bound to serve you,
but let me just say on a personal note,

- I really like you.
- Stop touching her.

Just as a fan.

Please, sir. Don't touch the Queen.

Quite right.

Sorry, Your Majesty.

You look a lot smaller in person.

- Just stop.
- Sorry. It's true.

Just stop talking.

- Yes.
- Stop talking.

I'm crazy about your look.

What did I say?

- Am I still talking out loud?
- You are.

- It's just the Queen.
- Yes.

- Okay.
- Okay.

Your Majesty,
how may we be of service to the realm?

Mr. Holmes, pray follow us.

There is danger about.

What a looker, right?

She is stunning in person.

Fear not, Your Majesty,

Sherlock will allow no harm
to come to you, and neither will I.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Surprise!

Thank you.

Had I been a non-genius
such as yourselves,

there's a 72% chance
I would have been surprised.

72%.

Happy birthday, Sherlock Holmes.

We wish you well and thank you
for your many years...

Your many years of public service.

- So, Holmes.
- Yes.

When did you know?

Tuesday.

Really?

You were seven minutes late coming home.

Stopped at the stationer's,
confirmed by the scent of paper mulch.

You have the nose of a bloodhound.

Your mustache betrayed
a dusting of crumbs.

Evidence of cake sampling.

Guilty.

And you purchased a case
of pre-phylloxera champagne.

You lack the self-esteem to buy yourself
such an extravagant bottle.

It's true.

I don't deserve nice things.

For he's a jolly good fellow
For he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow

And so say all of us

Bravo.

Thank you.

That was delightful.

A layer cake!

It's shaped like a magnifying glass.

Yes!

The second layer is rather thick.

There must be a few nuts
in there. If I may.

- Would you mind?
- Here. Yes, of course.

Do you see what I'm talking about?

Yes.

Raspberry jam.

My weakness.

I know what I need.

What the... He's getting an ax!

- Brilliant.
- Charge!

Stand back. Back, everyone, I say.

A murder in Buckingham Palace.

Look, a note. There.

Right under your nose.

"A birthday present for you, Sherlock.

"A crime to challenge your wits.

"Stop me in four days' time,
or I will destroy

"London's greatest marvel
and kill the Queen,

"and I will rewrite history."

Signed "Professor James Moriarty."

This is Jimmy Gruber,
the witness who disappeared,

whose testimony prompted
Moriarty's arrest

and whom Moriarty swore to kill.

And your conclusion?

That Moriarty has killed again,
as I predicted.

The most obvious conclusion.

No, this is definitely the work

of someone who is going
to extraordinary lengths

to make it appear
as if Moriarty committed these crimes.

- Sherlock Holmes.
- The Queen.

We charge you with the task
of stopping this criminal

before he can do us harm.

Solve this case on behalf
of your queen and country.

- I will.
- We will.

But, Your Majesty...

Sherlock Holmes has never failed us.

The bold ingenuity of this crime

calls me back
to the profession of detecting

like a siren song.

I won't let anyone hurt you.

Watson. To the morgue.

Lestrade, clean this mess up now.

- The game is a-starting.
- Yeah.

Who is this copycat
pretending to be Moriarty?

Finally, a problem worthy of my brain.

This birthday cake is delicious.

Did you get a chance to try it?

No, there was a corpse in it.

What the...

Watson?

Oh, my goodness.

Finders keepers.

Yeah.

Are you sure you wouldn't
rather wait out here?

The last time you were
in the morgue, you...

Watson, I am a man
of stout constitution.

Yes, of course.
I just thought, after the last time,

with the...

And the...

Merely a bout of stomach influenza.

Yes, but the time before that?

- Bad clams.
- And before that?

I shook hands with a prostitute.

Yes.

No. Put that away.

I'm not some vaporous,
giggling, fainting maiden who...

Oh, ye of little...

It's nothing to be ashamed of.

I think I'm starting to feel a bit...

I wouldn't...

- Are you...
- No, I'm fine.

'Cause if you start to feel sick,
then I'll start to feel...

- Surely I must be done.
- Yes.

Next to impossible to still...

There you are.

- All done.
- Yes, there.

- Would you like some water?
- Did you say water...

Sorry. I'm sorry.

Shall we begin the autopsy?

Thank goodness
these cleaning women are here

to clean up this dreadful mess.

Someone's made sick.

My dear Watson, these women

are far too well-dressed
to be cleaning women.

They're here to identify
their well-to-do husbands' bodies.

Sorry for your loss.

Thank you, but I am the doctor.

Look, Watson,
grief has scrambled her brain.

She thinks she's a doctor.

Fortunately, Miss,
there's a real doctor here

who may help you.

Would you like some heroin?

Dr. Watson, I presume.

And you must be Sherlock Holmes.

Dr. Grace Hart of Boston.

A woman doctor?

- What times we live in.
- Yes.

In America, we're much more progressive.

I now make 30 cents
for every dollar a man earns.

What does "doctor" mean in America?

It means "doctor."

You're Dr. G. Hart?

- Of Boston?
- Yes.

Holmes, we're in the presence
of a pioneer.

Dr. Hart's work with the use
of electroshock therapy

to cure female hysteria
is groundbreaking.

Yes, I proved the higher the voltage,
the more demons are released.

Well, of course.

Some of my patients live
as long as a week.

Doctor? Spelled D-O-C-T-O-R?

Yes.

This is my aide, Millicent.

She's very shy,
but a wonderful traveling companion.

Shall we proceed to the examination?

- Please.
- Our cadaver awaits.

No, no, no.

Here.

Mr. Holmes, you look rather unwell.

Perhaps you would rather stay here
and keep Millicent company.

Sherlock Holmes.

Charmed to meet...

To meet you.

Millicent is the subject of my research.

She was raised by feral cats.

She has the mental capacity
of a four-year-old,

but it is my belief that
with sufficient electroshock therapy,

she can achieve the intellect
of a six-year-old.

We are truly
in the golden age of medicine.

There's nothing left to learn.

No.

What a creature you are.

You're devouring that onion
with such passion.

It's strangely arousing.

Dr. Watson, I have always

been taken by your unwavering
devotion to Mr. Holmes,

but haven't you ever
considered something more?

Perhaps a co-detective?

He and I?

Co-detectives?

Yes.

The very idea!

Solving crimes together?

Laughing and enjoying
the esprit de corps

of two best friends
pursuing a noble cause.

Madness. No, dear.

No, not I.

Not here.

Not even in my most rapturous moments
of private fantasy.

Anyway, let's go clean
this cake-covered bastard, shall we?

The wonders of modern medicine.

Now, you're going to laugh,

but I found the most important
tool of an autopsy is...

Music.

Yes.

You, too?

This one always gets me in the mood.

So begins the dance...

You have some dribble.

Just a touch of dribble right...

There is something so sensual
about forensic autopsy, isn't there?

You are a delight.

Your eyes say more
than words ever could.

The tincture of ammonia and scrotum.

Hello, Inspector Lestrade.

We have combed the manifests

of every ship to set sail
for the Americas

and found not a single Moriarty.

Moriarty's too cunning
to use his own name.

He's sailing under an alias.

Here we are.

So, after a thorough...

Very thorough.

- Stop.
- No, you stop.

...examination of the body...

And I must say, Dr. Hart made some
beautiful lateral incisions there.

No, watching you flay the skin
from his face so gently.

- I would flay a thousand faces for you.
- And the way...

Just tell me what you found!

Yes.

Cause of death indeterminate.

Indeterminate?

What do you mean?

It means he doesn't know.

- Proceed, Watson.
- Yes.

We found a freshly applied
tattoo of a cross

and the numbers one and 20.

I have the oddest feeling.

It's like knowing, but the opposite.

Meaning you haven't a clue.

Who is this genius pretender
who's taken Moriarty's place,

committing crimes
exactly the way he would?

A fantastic new case.

I'm aroused
both mentally and physically.

I was wondering, rather than
working beside you on this case,

I might work with you as a sort of...

Grace called it a "co-detective."

One cannot simply just
make someone a detective.

It must be earned.

Well, I deduced you might say that.

Which is why, when we arrive home,
I propose a game of chess.

If I should best you,

then surely
I possess the mental power...

Checkmate!

What? We haven't started yet.

You would have opened
with the Queen's Gambit.

Indeed. A reliable first move.

I would have countered
with a Slav Defense.

An audacious move. Quite unexpected.

You would have panicked,
thus exposing your queen.

No, not my queen!

Seeing your queen exposed
would have compelled you to defend her.

Indeed. It is my duty in chess,
as in life.

Thereby neglecting my castle.

Checkmate.

Perhaps another game?

Rock-paper-scissors.

Rock, rock, paper, paper,
scissors, paper,

rock, scissors, paper, rock.

Dash it all!

What about Battleship?

D-three, E-three, F-three and G-three.

Damn it, you've sunk my battleship.

You're a good man, Watson,

but you're not ready.

But why?

If you were ready, you'd know why.

Let the game begin.

A piece for a piece.

Two can play at that game.

Peekaboo.

Checkmate.

And to the victor, the spoils.

You'll never be co-detective.

Watson, I'm near a breakthrough.

My hypothesis is the true cause of death
is ink poisoning via the fresh tattoo.

But I need your help.

You want me to be co-detective?

I'm awfully sorry, Dr. Watson.

Sorry for what?

Mr. Holmes left me no choice.

- May you rest in peace.
- What's she on about?

All will be clear in three, two, one.

Excuse me.

I'll take that.

It's just something caught in my throat.

Oh, no.

I poisoned you.

Why?

To test my theory.

Am I going to die?

No, I have an antidote.

But I need to see it play out.

Now, let's see here.

Redness around the mouth. Good.

Help me.

You will have temporary brain damage.

Wake up, Watson. Wake up.

We have work to do. Watson.

Who's Watson? I'll kill him!

You son of a bitch!

Violent aggression.

Please give me the antidote.

Drama queen syndrome.

Why am I doing this?

Confused mime.

Does this suit make me look fat?

Body image dysmorphia.

My eyes!

- Sensitivity to light.
- My eyes! It burns!

Excruciating abdominal pain.

Yes, it's confirmed.

It was poison. Come, Watson.

Let us not be late.

Of course.

Lactation.

- Why?
- Come along, Watson.

I'll explain in the cab.

There we go.

Oh, thank God for this antidote.

I feel as though
I've completely recovered.

Yes, you have.

There.

So, where are we going?

The fact that the victim was poisoned

suggests the killer lacked
physical strength to overpower him.

The tattoos you examined
have an uneven quality.

It leads me to believe that
they were drawn by a one-armed man.

A one-armed man.

Yes.

A weak man who would use poison.

There is only one one-armed
tattoo artist in all of London.

The nefarious Gustav Klinger.

Dorset Street!
And don't spare the horses!

Dorset Street.

Home of drunkards, thieves
and hairy, old whores.

And, if my theory is correct,
the killer.

Hello, gorgeous.

Though all is calm now,
we must be on highest alert.

Shall we ask someone if they've seen
our one-armed Mr. Klinger?

This neighborhood
does not welcome curious outsiders.

Excuse me. Have you the time?

Not for you, outsider.

Merciful God.

We must blend in.

Fortunately, my time tripping the boards
has made me a master of disguise.

Yes.

You.

What have you done with Sherlock?

Why, Watson...

I never left.

- Amazing.
- Yes, I know.

Yes, you've outdone yourself this time.

Now...

No.

- Still me.
- It's you?

It's still Sherlock.

- All right.
- Rest assured.

It's very convincing.

Now for your disguise.

What will it be?

Yes. You, my friend,

shall play a down-on-your-luck
horseshit salesman.

Yes.

Yes.

Come, Watson. We have
a one-armed killer to catch.

Get into character.

- Horseshit for sale!
- There you go.

- Who will buy my horse's shit?
- I'll take some.

No one must know our true purpose.

What you toffs want?

To buy a pint for any man
who can raise two hands.

Every man has both arms.

Klinger isn't here.

Our journey continues.

- Blend in like a common oaf.
- Yes.

Keep drinking. We need to fit in.

Cheers.

More, more!

They have boxing here.

I don't care if he's small!

- Kill!
- Come on, fight!

Shouldn't we be looking for Klinger?

- Who cares about Klinger?
- Exactly!

Release the child!

Let go of that boy! I want him dead!

Sweet river of piss.

You have real force there.

Arc of stream.

Direction of wind.

Compensate for shy penis.

Avoid splash on shoes.

And release fluids.

Oh, my goodness.

Damn it, I forgot to unzip my pants.

You really are a genius.

- Watch it.
- Sorry.

I should like to send a telegram.

Grace. Stop.

Are you awake? Stop.

You're such a pretty doctor lady.

Are you quite sure this is a good idea?

This is wonderful.

The combination of the late hour
and your drunkenness

allows for communication
of exceptional honesty.

Quite right.

I will call it an intoxigram.

And no one shall ever
regret sending one.

Now, lay bare the fruits
of your inebriation.

Ask her what she's wearing.

What are you wearing? Stop.

Bloomers?

A brassiere?

I'd wager you'd look good in anything.

- Wonderful.
- Stop.

Shall I ask what Millie
thinks about you?

I don't care. Sure. Why not?

What does Millie think of Sherlock?

Does Millie ever drip wax over her body?

Hot wax. Stop.

- Okay. That's enough.
- Yeah, I think so.

Describe your loins.

I have hot loins.

Hot loins for sale.

Come and get them while they're hot.

- Hot, steamy loins.
- Stop.

Now show her how she makes you feel.

Just go ahead. Display it.

There.

Don't look away. Look at it.

There we go.

Telegraph a picture of this.

And make sure you get
the banger and the beans.

Focus on the mushroom.

Are you positive I shan't
regret this in the morning?

You absolutely will.

- Silence, you!
- Say it again.

Say it again. I dare you.

Please say it again.

Do you think you would be
the first man I've killed?

I have the penis of a baby doll.

It's just a statement of fact.

Watson, after a night of drinking,
I could eat a whole pie.

No, it's cakes for me, my friend.

Cakes, indeed!

Yes, cakes stacked on cakes.

We should open a restaurant called

the International House of
Cakes Stacked Upon Other Cakes.

Yes, and you can only eat there
after a night of drinking.

Well, speaking of the night,
I fear it's a night wasted.

No sign of Klinger anywhere.

Not so fast, Watson.

Look at those two men and their tattoos.

I don't understand.

We haven't been able
to find the tattoo artist.

Perhaps we should follow the tattoos.

A gymnasium?

You really think Klinger
would be here, Holmes?

Look alive, Watson.
He could be anywhere.

Three, two, one.

Pick it up! That's it.

Out with the bad air, in with the good.

Look at these health nuts.

Big deep breath.

Obsessed with
the purifying effects of smoke.

All right, good lungful
of the cleansing vapors.

I don't think he's here, Holmes.

Hello!

Sherlock Holmes.

You must be Gustav Klinger.

The one-armed tattoo artist
of Dorset Street.

Looks like it.

Gustav Klinger, I accuse you
of poisoning Jimmy Gruber

and baking him into a large cake.

A deliciously large cake
that I baked myself.

Oh, please.

How dare you?

You did not bake that cake.

Not only did I bake it,
I decorated it, too.

- Impossible.
- It's got a frosting attachment.

You're trying to tell me
that a one-armed man

made a professional,
bakery-quality cake fit for the Queen.

- It's just... It...
- Watson, it doesn't matter

- if he baked the cake or not.
- It really bugs... I know.

- It really...
- Best cake I've ever eaten.

I did bake the cake.

All right, fine. You "baked the cake."

I didn't "bake a cake."

I baked a cake.

Then you admit it.

You killed Jimmy Gruber.

And what if I did, Mr. Holmes?

It's not as if you're in a position
to do anything about it.

He's right, Sherlock Holmes.

You've walked straight into our trap.

- Moriarty.
- Quiet, Watson.

In the name of the Queen,
I arrest you both.

Come, Sherlock.

You don't think it'll be that easy.

You won't be leaving here
alive, Mr. Holmes.

Unless, of course, you fight
your way out of the Hexagon.

Where are you pointing?

There.

This way or that way?

There.

The Hexagon.

But I won't fight a one-armed man.

No. I've got this, Sherlock.

It won't be the first time
I've fought a cripple.

You won't be fighting me.

No, no, no.

You're fighting my mate.

Meet Brawn.

Come on.

I call bullshit.

I fear it might be suicide
to fight this man.

I think it's mostly psychological.

I'm psychologically
scared shitless right now.

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Okay. Okay.

But if you want to watch this fight,
you have to pay.

You have to pay to view it.

This is a pay-to-view-it fight.

Yes, I know it seems a bit unfair,

but if you split it among a few friends
and buy some beers, some pizza,

it could be a fun thing
to do with the guys.

It's time!

Let's get ready to scuffle!

Scuffle!

- Nice!
- What is she doing here?

It's 6:00 in the morning.

Holmes, I don't know why...

- Yes.
- ...but that really jacked me up.

I think I might stand a chance.

It reminds me of Istanbul.

Exactly. And what
did I beat in Istanbul?

- Syphilis!
- Syphilis! Exactly.

- Go get him.
- All right.

Come on!

Come on? You come on.

You!

You mountain of flesh.

Your turn, Mr. Holmes!

Yes, I know. Of course I'm next.

Opponent, 350 pounds.

Use pipe.

Create diversion to distract his gaze.

Plan of attack...

Surprise first blow to center of mass,

gracefully dodge counterpunch,

employ visual impairment,

easily duck wild swing,

utilize Tibetan ototoxic method
to disrupt his balance.

Grab facial hair.

Use for leverage.

Okinawan beard flip.

Enemy incapacitated.

Catch pipe.

Revel in crowd's adulation.

Oh, no.

Good show, Watson.

Thank you, Holmes.

Break his pelvis.

Go! Again!

Club him like a baby seal.

- What have I done?
- No, you're fine.

- Yeah...
- Now...

Tell us everything you know
about the plot to kill the Queen.

All right.

I'll tell you everything I know.

I've been stabbed in the back.

Meaning?

Metaphorically speaking, yes.

No, I've literally
been stabbed in the back...

Holmes, he's escaping!

- So, Moriarty is in England.
- Watson.

Does it look like Moriarty...

Now?

Who is this?

Jacob Musgrave.

As I've been saying all along.

A man who looks so much like Moriarty,
a simple beard fooled almost everyone.

All right, I admit it.

I am no Moriarty.

My name is Musgrave, just like he says.

Who put you up to this?

They've been leaving me notes
telling me what to do.

I don't know who it is.

I swear, I'm just a simple wanker.

He's telling the truth, Watson.

This morally deficient creature,

this awful excuse for a man.

- This bag of rubbish.
- Yes, good one, Watson. Yes.

Come on, guys, I'm dying.

These are the wages of wanking, you see?

- Wait.
- What?

- Just a...
- Don't wank on us.

A coal.

Said you were to take it to Newcastle.

- A lump of coal?
- Yeah.

To Newcastle?

Newcastle by the river?

Perhaps this clue will
lead us to the real mastermind.

Time is running out.

We must save the Queen.

Good luck to you.

Bring these coals to Newcastle.

Coals.

Coals. "Sherlock."

"Three days until I rewrite
history and kill the Queen."

Millicent is the subject of my research.

Coals to Newcastle.

Talking to you is as if our brains
are sharing a tandem bicycle.

She has the mental capacity of...

- Now you have but three days...
- Bring these coals to Newcastle.

Who's the co-detective
Sherlock and me

Good morning, Sherlock.

What's happened?

Well, I'm trying to
untangle this baffling clue.

Ever since I met Millie,
my mind is muddled.

Do you suppose she's infected me
with some sort of a disease?

Disease?

My heart races.

My palms sweat.

I have all these feelings.

Holmes, get a hold of yourself.
You're not sick.

You're in love.

Love? Horseradish!

I'm a man of logic.

There's nothing to be ashamed of.

In fact, I, too, have been taken
by this malady called love.

Grace has asked me to call upon her.

Apparently,

I sent her quite
the charming telegram last night.

Watson, you've cracked it.

Have I? Co-detective?

Think, Watson.

Is there a single logical reason
for Grace to want to seek your company?

Romantic interest?

- No.
- My eyes?

It's all a ruse.

Moriarty escapes to America,

and then these two
American women show up?

Sorry, you're saying Grace
is the killer?

Of course she's not the killer.

She's an American.
She would've used a gun.

Yes.

No, Grace is working for the killer.

We shall seduce her,
and that will lead us to the murderer.

Yes.

Well, we best get you cleaned up
and dressed, then, hey?

Thank you, Watson.

- All right.
- Yes.

You're still here.

Hudson, what are you doing
in my room again?

I told you, I will clean it from now on.

You have your own room.

Under the stairs.

Out!

Come along.

You've soiled it enough!

Good God.

Harry Houdini and Albert Einstein.
Really?

What kind of three-backed beast is this?

There's sometimes more.

I pray in there.
That room is a sanctuary.

I know.

If you only knew the things
I've done in that bed.

I would just get rid of it if I was you.

Why are you bringing
all of these men in here?

Stick to your broomstick.

Go on. In we get.

Move it! You got a job to finish.

Who could that be at this early hour?

Enter.

Her Majesty!

Have you come to see me?

Mr. Holmes, I have
but two days left to live

unless you can solve this case.

My Queen, do come in.

I shall speak
with Mr. Holmes in private.

Your Majesty.

You'll be happy to know

that just this morning
we discovered a new clue.

This chunk of coal.

What does it mean?

It's quite a mystery.

Is this going to be a problem?

Watson.

Perhaps the Queen would enjoy some tea.

Yes, of course.

Mr. Holmes,
the empire is depending on you.

Your Majesty, I now suspect
two American women

are somehow involved in this plot.

Sorry. Your Majesty,

do you think I could have
a picture of us together?

But, who is going to
take the photograph?

No, I'll take the photograph.

You see, it's a type
of a self-photograph.

I can take it, and I will be in it also.

You know what, I find,
to take the most attractive photographs,

you need to purse your lips together
like a duck-billed platypus.

Platypus face. Chins up.

- Hey.
- Hey, girl.

Maybe over by the window.

- The lighting's much better there.
- Yes, capital idea.

Oh, God. Ma'am?

Your Majesty.

Ma'am?

Oh, dear.

Tell me, Watson.

She's dead.

Dear God.

We've killed the Queen.

Are you all right, Your Majesty?

Yes.

- Yes, I'm all right.
- Are you sure?

Yes, I'm quite fine.

My lover John Watson
will take good care of me.

Why did you want that photograph?

I didn't want the photograph.

What are you talking about?

Mr. Holmes? Dr. Watson?

I'm very safe.

- She's so dead.
- She's so dead.

I know. Okay.

We'll shove her down the toilet

as if she was never here,
and we'll deny ever seeing her.

Right. Excellent.

Come on. Come up.

Here we are. Into the bathroom.

Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson!

What was the big bang?

We must buy some time.

- Right.
- Let's get her to the door.

- Open this door!
- Wait.

Hello. What do you want?

Ma'am, are you all right?

Yes, of course I'm fine. Can't you see?

- Yes, of course, Ma'am. I'm so sorry.
- We've got it from here, boys.

- Thank you.
- We're good.

Yes, sir.

- The trunk.
- Yes.

Yes, we'll mail her to Africa.

Come on, Ma'am. Sorry.

There we go.

Stuff her in there.

Really thrust.

Good.

Good.

Hold on, Watson.

Come on, boys. Open the door!

Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson!

One, two, three. Watch your fingers.

Open this door immediately!

This is bad.

You know what we must do.

Grab your toolbox.

Let me in! I'm breaking down the door!

- Bone saw.
- Bone saw.

- Oh, God.
- Come on. Push! Come on, together!

Watson.

- Toilet-sized chunks.
- Put your back into it!

Good God!

What have you done?

Platypus lips.

Can you send me a copy
of the self-photograph?

Absolutely.

It will arrive at the Palace
in about a week.

Gentlemen...

You have two days to stop this killer.

Yes, Ma'am.

God save the Queen.

What a perfect day for a picnic

at London's greatest spectacle,
the Anglo-American Exhibition.

A celebration of
that special relationship

between our nation and yours.

Yes, such a special relationship
between these two nations.

Although, I could

never live in a country
with an unelected ruler like the Queen.

Why ever not?

In America, we have democracy.

Our president is a person
our people have all chosen.

An assurance that only the finest
and most qualified man will lead.

Not a wealthy tyrant
who cares for nothing but himself.

But you have the electoral college,

which surely will prevent

some trumped-up charlatan
from gaining power.

Not always, unfortunately.

It would be great
to have a strong businessman.

But a showman as well.

I love a good show.

America.

We gave you your freedom,
and now look what you've done with it.

London's spectacle...

And the hall of wondrous displays.

The White House...

Live till you're 50.

Baby nerve tonic, now with more ether.

Be calm and focused with cigarettes.

Phone! See the telly-phone.

Can I try that?

Anglo-American Exhibition.

Remember, Watson.

Relax them with small talk,
then begin the seduction.

I must say, she doesn't look like
she could be an accessory to murder.

Well, looks can be deceiving.

Remember, we're here to seduce.

These physical displays of strength
will enchant them.

- I could use a bit of cocaine.
- Did you bring a vial with you?

Very good.

- Are you all right?
- I'm exhausted.

There is one test I can employ to prove
she truly is who she says she is.

Do it, Holmes.

Employ your last test.
I simply must know.

Help!

- John?
- This man has been taken ill.

What?

- Let me see.
- If only there were a doctor present.

Clearly, he's had a severe blow
to his occipital bone.

He's concussed.

- And I am a doctor.
- A doctor?

A woman doctor. What times we live in.

Could it be?

Is Grace truly a doctor?

Are her feelings of affection genuine?

Then she's innocent.

Watson, get up.
We need to go see my brother.

I love you, Grace.

The legendary Diogenes Men's Club.

Home of London's most awkward gentlemen

and my brother.

Holmes.

I can't believe you have a brother.

Yes, but we're nothing alike.

He's an arrogant man

who never appreciates
the people around him.

Follow me. Here.

Well, well, well...

So, you are finally seeking
your brother's help.

Say, I'm not surprised.

And this vague assembly
of limbs and fatty tissue,

I assume is Dr. Watson.

So, shall I get us started?

Watson, please.

We're in the middle of a conversation.

Can't you see?

When the two most brilliant minds
in all of England have a fraternal bond,

words are an inefficiency.

We communicate without words,

silently, from giant brain
to gianter brain.

Of course.

I'll join in as I see fit.

I can spare a few minutes
to solve your little mystery

and help quench your thirst
for public adulation.

My thirst is for logic.

I don't care what the public thinks

of London's best-loved detective,
Sherlock Holmes.

Thoughts.

Me-me talky.

You find killer.

Me-me talky? We find killer?

Watson, what are you trying to do?

Trying to brain-speak.

You're going to hurt yourself.

Sorry.

Perhaps the gentleman
would be more comfortable

in the companions' chamber.

Perhaps, or perhaps I'd be
comfortable here by the fire.

- In the companions' chamber, sir.
- Yes, fine. Of course.

Great idea. Yeah, capital idea.

- I'll be in the companions' room.
- Yes.

The equal companions' room,
should you need me.

It's just here.

Please enjoy
the company of your fellow companions.

I see.

Balloons are happy,
but they're not alive.

Fair enough.

Who is this brilliant nemesis
capable of besting me?

If your nemesis
were truly smarter than you,

it could only be me.

And as I am not the killer,
one must conclude

that the killer did not,
nor could not, outwit you.

If the killer
is my intellectual inferior,

how has he predicted my every move?

The killer did not predict your actions.

Our murderer is a student of yours,
someone in your proximity.

Someone who could
observe you undetected.

Someone who knows you
better than anyone.

His mind radiates wisdom.

Sherlock Holmes has done it again!

I'm dying from anticipation.
What did your brother tell you, Holmes?

I believe I've cracked the case.

It was in front of me the whole time,
my dear Watson.

Do share.

And ruin the suspense?

I just thought,
since I worked the case with you...

And we're here.

Now...

You're all wondering
why I gathered you here today.

Prepare yourself to be astonished.

The killer could only be a man
who knew my actions at every turn.

Who was present at every murder?

Who knows me better than anyone?

It was you
who arranged my birthday party

and the cake
which contained the first victim,

initiating the events
leading us to today.

Dr. Watson is the killer.

By studying my methods, you created
a fake crime only you could solve.

Why? I was to be so impressed
that I would crown him co-detective.

He wanted to rewrite history
by becoming my partner.

Okay. Now the part about
how I could never have done it

and on to the surprising real killer.

I wonder who it's going to be.

When one eliminates the impossible,

whatever remains, however improbable,
is the truth.

But this is absurd.

- Holmes, you must know in your heart...
- The heart is for pumping blood.

The truth is the truth!

Truth...

Is that I have devoted my life to you.

And I was a fool to think

you would ever consider me
as a co-detective

when you're incapable of thinking of me
even as a friend!

Inspector Lestrade, take him. Go on.

But the man is your closest friend.

Your pursuit of Moriarty has failed.

You have no suspects.

The killer still threatens
to kill the Queen.

Is that a chance you're willing to take?

- Take him.
- What?

Do you see his propensity for violence?

- Do you still doubt me?
- Calm down.

I shall never again carry
your blasted magnifying glasses.

Or your jars of urine.

Why are we even saving these?

And you look stupid in that hat.

Your head was not meant for hats.

Unhand me! No!

I'll never forget you, John.

Why?

John Watson devoted his life to you,
and this is how you repay him?

Back to America
with your ham-dogs and hot-burgers.

At least in America, our system's fair.

No citizen can be found guilty
till his case is heard

by a jury of white property-owning men.

Millie, surely you must understand.

Fine, go.

I'm the greatest detective
who ever lived.

You're welcome for solving this case.

Sherlock abandons Watson!

Sherlock, a washed-up loser!

A tear?

What is this tear?

I can't stop it.

What is this warm feeling in my chest?

Why am I reeling in confusion?

What is this fever in my head?

Is it pox, maybe gout
I can't seem to work it out

And why don't I feel triumphant?

And why does it seem less than right
that Watson's going to hang tonight

And gasp and thrash and choke
until he's dead?

What is this strange sensation?

Where did I go wrong?

Why am I a sobbing, trembling man?

Soon my neck will snap in half I guess

And yet I know somehow

- If he could hear right now
- And yet right now

- I would still forgive him
- I would still forgive him

More or less

Please, I don't know upon
whom else to call

Nothing is making any sense at all

Speak! I need your voice

To hear your voice, so sweet
So pure, so wise

Sometimes the irrational
is truer than the rational

The heart can have its reasons

Which the head knows nothing of

Your brain says "Watson's guilty"

But a stronger force says,
"No, he's not!"

What is that force?

- It's...
- Yes? What?

- It's love!
- Love?

- It's love!
- It's love!

- It's love!
- It's love!

- It's love!
- It's love!

My God.

Did I push Watson away
because I feared losing him to Grace?

Somehow I know in my heart...

Watson is innocent!

- Come save me now
- Time to go and save

- The man I love
- The man I love

Watson!

I discovered my emotions,
and I'm only 46.

Hang!

Oh, God.

Hang Dr. Watson!

The dogs seem really unnecessary.

Sherlock.

It's you.

And you've brought cake.

Watson!

My brother!

Watson, where are you?

Where...

I'm too late.

Clever.

Very, very clever.

You were always so clever,
and I never appreciated it.

But it's not too late to make amends.

Watson!

I shouldn't have wasted
all my time singing!

Grimy news kids.

I desperately need your help.

Dr. Watson's in grave danger.

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

Because of you, you wank!

I know.

But I know of a way to save him.

Please. Please help me.

I must find a way
to the docks immediately.

"Moriarty's daughter did
the one thing Moriarty never could:

"She defeated Sherlock Holmes
and assassinated the Queen.

"Sherlock Holmes,
the man whom I regarded

"as the best and the wisest man
whom I would ever know, was a fraud."

It is done.

A devilish plan worthy of your father.

The last book in
the Sherlock Holmes canon is complete.

"The Case of the Defeated Detective."

Daddy will be so proud.

Sherlock will be remembered

as the man who failed
to protect the Queen.

History shall be rewritten

at the hand
of his loyal Boswell, Dr. Watson.

I've done your bidding.

Now set me free.

You're gonna die here.

You gave me your word.

You swore on the life of the Queen.

I'm gonna kill the Queen,
you big eejit. Boys!

Mrs. Hudson is the killer?

Gorblimey!

How'd you work that out?

Why, it was Watson who told me.

You see, beet sugar.

Mrs. Hudson's family recipe
and Watson's favorite.

He never would have left crumbs behind
unless he was leaving me a clue.

For, you see, Mrs. Hudson's origins
are not so humble.

She is none other than the daughter
of Professor James Moriarty.

No, it ain't possible.

You see, Mrs. Hudson
never knew her father.

He was never present.

To gain his love, she tried to
pull off the greatest crime ever.

Destroy the great Sherlock Holmes.

She took a job at my house
in order to study my methods,

then used a network of patsies
to execute her plans.

However, it wasn't until
I understood feelings

that I understood her motive,
her need for her father's love.

She would gain it
by eliminating his greatest enemy.

Me.

And tonight, she will commit
her boldest crime yet,

killing the Queen here!

The Titanic. The marvel of London.

A new castle, which runs on coal.

Your Majesty, may I introduce
Lieutenant Morgan.

Lieutenant.

First Officer Carter.

- Your Majesty.
- First Officer.

Look, Hudson's goons.

Create a diversion.

You go and save Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes.

We'll take care of this lot.

Come on, you tom tit!

You ain't bigger than
a couple of powder monkeys.

Is there a problem, boys?

Think we can take them, lads?

Walk away now,
and I promise you won't get hurt.

A bunch of runts and a couple of ladies?

American ladies.

Not my eyes!

I'm sorry to do this, Dr. Watson.

I'm gonna crush your head.

There's gonna be brains everywhere.

And I'll not be cleaning up after.

I know you're threatening me,

but I can't understand
a word you're saying.

You're staying, Dr. Watson,

but I'll be on my way to America
by the time the bomb explodes.

Sherlock will save me.

- You'll see.
- I'll see.

He won't let me down.

He won't. He's my best friend.

Dollface!

Come on, boys.
The bomb goes off in ten minutes.

Sherlock! Sherlock!

Help!

Sherlock!

Help!

Watson!

Oh, God, if you save me,
I'll never touch myself again.

- Watson!
- Sherlock.

You've come for me. I knew you would.

Watson, good news.

You're innocent.

Yes. I know.

Thank you.

Can you forgive me?

Of course. Now, be a good chap
and get me out of this damn thing

before it crushes my skull.

Yes? There's a good chap. Go on.

I won't leave you. Not again.

That's a lovely sentiment,

but I really need you
to free me from this gear right now.

Emotions are spewing from my heart.

- Pull yourself together.
- Okay.

Stop crying.

Because we must get the Queen
and everyone else off this ship.

You see, Hudson has planted a bomb.

A time bomb, you see?

- You must free me.
- Do you feel my heart ticking?

Get me off this fucking wheel!

All my dreams are coming true.

In just two minutes, my bomb
will go off, killing the Queen.

Sherlock Holmes will go down in history

as the worst detective
the world has ever known.

And the name Moriarty
will live on forever!

Father...

Soon, we shall be together again.

- In America!
- Yeah!

The bomb will detonate in one minute.

Where could it possibly be?

Wait.

That kettle drum.

Those are only ever used
in mounted cavalry formations,

never in a Marine band.

Perhaps...

The bomb is in the drum.
Very good, Watson.

But the Queen is standing
just beside it.

She'll be blown to smithereens.

But how to defuse it in time?

Time remaining until
bomb detonation: 55 seconds.

Estimated blast radius
from bomb: 17 feet.

Time required to move Queen
to safety: 12 seconds.

Solution: Move through crowd,

see Millie for the first time,
forget about bomb.

No.

Time remaining: 37 seconds.

Solution: Shoot water main
to douse bomb,

remember Millie at the park,
forget about bomb.

No, I forgot about the bomb!

Watson, what are you doing in my brain?

I'm doing it.

I'm communicating without words.

I can't focus.
I was trying to formulate a plan,

and I kept getting off track.

Holmes, no, you don't. Snap out of it.

I can't. I'm too emotional.

Look behind me.
The Queen's being blown to bits.

You have to take control.

You must be detective for both of us.

Right.

I know what I must do.

Estimated blast radius: 20...
No, 30 feet?

Account for ship's movement.
Wait, is that a four or a seven?

Math is so hard. Hold on.

What does that "X" mean?
Or is that a plus?

What is that thing? Angle of approach?
I don't know how to do angles.

Should've listened more in school.

Screw it. Charge!

Out of my way!

Move!

Nine. Eight.

Coming through!

- So sorry!
- Seven.

Come on.

Move your tuchis!

Sorry!

Five. Four.

Two.

Shit.

Huzzah.

Huzzah for Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes saved the Titanic.

- Huzzah!
- Hurrah for Sherlock!

Bravo, Sherlock!

Sherlock Holmes
was right about everything!

Hip hip hooray!

Thank you.

But I could never have done it
without Dr. Watson.

No.

Let Watson's name
be forever associated with the Titanic.

So, when you think
of your friends and relatives

on board the Titanic, just remember,

Dr. John H. Watson put them there.

Hooray for Watson!

Bloody good they didn't hang him.

Dr. Watson, you saved us.

Thank you.

It has been my pleasure
to serve you, Your Majesty.

No, Millie.

I have a confession to make.

I'm not actually in love with you.

In order to conclude my investigation,

it was imperative
that I understood what love felt like.

I'm sorry to have led you on.

I have a confession as well.

I was also not in love.

I was conducting an experiment

on how easy it is
to manipulate the male ego.

- What?
- I'm sorry I led you on.

Well, I have another confession.

I was just pretending to have a big ego,

so as to make you think that
your experiment was working

so that I could conclude
my experiment on you.

Well, I had to lead you on,

because I was doing an experiment
about how men think they can manipulate

female scientists
while they're doing experiments.

Well, I have another confession to make.

You will be shocked to learn
that was my first kiss.

Mine as well,
and we've already mastered it.

Yes, indeed.

All aboard! She sails in 20 minutes!

Hurry, everyone! Step lively!

Enjoy your trip
on the safest ship to sail.

- Goodbye.
- Farewell, Grace.

Goodbye, Millie.

Make sure you get plenty of bed rest.

There's a good chance you're pregnant.

I hope so.

From the kissing?

- Yes.
- Yes.

- What a grand ship.
- Yes.

Watson, look.

It's Billy Zane.

Sherlock.

He's breathtaking.

Where's the bar on this canoe?

Holmes.

I believe I may have solved
the one mystery

which has baffled you all these years.

What?

Would you mind?

Do you like it?

Let's see here.

- It suits you.
- I think it's perfect.

Really? You're not just saying that?

No, I'm not just saying it.

- Good.
- Thank you, Watson.

And I have something for you as well.

- No.
- Please.

- Step over here.
- Why?

I don't deserve anything.

My dear Watson.

What do you think?

It's beautiful.

Telegram for Professor Moriarty.

Professor?

Boy, who sent this?

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