The Syndicate

It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?

(At 221, Mrs Hudson gives a mug of tea to the workman as he squats in the hallway. He takes it and smiles gratefully, then picks up one of his tools and puts it back into his toolbox. Lying on top of all the other tools is a pistol with a small silencer attached to it. He raises his eyes ominously in the direction of Mrs H as she goes back into 221A.)
(As the assassin on the staircase continues to assemble his rifle, at Scotland Yard a plain clothed police officer in the general office looks round to Greg’s office with his eyes narrowed as the D.I. speaks on the phone.)
LESTRADE (into phone): Yes, sir, thank you. Bye.
(On the stairwell, the assassin finishes his assembly, opens the nearby window and aims his gun out of it as John’s taxi gets closer to Bart’s.)
(On the rooftop, Sherlock breathes shallowly and rapidly, holding his sleeve up over his mouth in horror as he turns to look again at Jim’s fixed grin. He thinks frantically for a while, then slowly turns towards the edge of the building. His breathing begins to slow as he steps up onto the ledge, blows out another breath and looks down towards the ground. In the street below, John’s taxi pulls up. Sherlock takes out his phone and selects a speed dial. The answering phone begins to ring below him as John gets out of the taxi and raises his phone to his ear as he trots towards the hospital.)
JOHN: Hello?
SHERLOCK: John.
JOHN: Hey, Sherlock, you okay?
SHERLOCK: Turn around and walk back the way you came now.
JOHN: No, I’m coming in.
SHERLOCK (frantically): Just do as I ask. Please.
JOHN (turning back and looking around bewildered): Where?
(Sherlock pauses for a moment as John walks along the road, then speaks urgently.)
SHERLOCK: Stop there.
JOHN (stopping): Sherlock?
SHERLOCK: Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.
(John turns and looks up, his face filling with horror.)
JOHN: Oh God.
SHERLOCK: I ... I ... I can’t come down, so we’ll ... we’ll just have to do it like this.
JOHN (anxiously): What’s going on?
SHERLOCK: An apology. It’s all true.
JOHN: Wh-what?
SHERLOCK: Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.
(He looks around briefly at his enemy’s grinning body lying behind him. On the ground, John stares up at his friend in disbelief.)
JOHN: Why are you saying this?
(Sherlock turns back to look down at him. His voice breaks.)
SHERLOCK: I’m a fake.
JOHN: Sherlock ...
SHERLOCK (his voice becoming tearful): The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.
JOHN: Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?
SHERLOCK: Nobody could be that clever.
JOHN: You could.
(Sherlock laughs and gazes down at his friend, a tear dripping from his chin.)
SHERLOCK: I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. (He sniffs quietly.) It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.
(John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly.)
JOHN: No. All right, stop it now.
(He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance.)
SHERLOCK (urgently): No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.
(John stops and backs up, holding his hand up towards Sherlock in capitulation.)
JOHN: All right.
(Breathing rapidly, Sherlock unconsciously reaches out his own hand towards his friend.)
SHERLOCK: Keep your eyes fixed on me. (His voice becomes frantic.) Please, will you do this for me?
JOHN: Do what?
SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?
(John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he’s beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky.)
JOHN: Leave a note when?
SHERLOCK: Goodbye, John.
JOHN (shaking his head): No. Don’t.
(Sherlock gazes down at his friend for several seconds, then he lowers his arm and drops the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself. John lowers his own phone and screams upwards.)
JOHN: No. SHERLOCK!
(Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground. John stares in utter horror.)
JOHN: Sher...
(A couple of seconds later the body impacts the ground. John’s hearing whites out as his entire body focuses on getting to Sherlock as soon as he can. Sherlock had disappeared from view towards the end of his fall because a building obstructed John’s view of him, and John now runs to the corner of the building, then slows down and stops in the middle of the road as he gets his first glimpse of the still figure lying on the wet pavement, the lower part of his body obscured by a parked lorry. Behind John, a young man on a fast pedal cycle slams into him and sends him crashing to the ground, his head hitting the asphalt hard. Groaning, he struggles to stay conscious as, nearby, people begin to run towards the body on the pavement. The lorry pulls away and a couple of medics from the hospital hurry out and start trying to prevent the onlookers from getting too close. Grimacing with pain, John rolls onto his side and looks across to the pavement where Sherlock is lying on his side with a lot of blood under his head. Slowly John hauls himself to his feet and stumbles towards him as more onlookers gather, talking excitedly about what they saw. John forces himself onwards.)
JOHN (in a whisper): Sherlock, Sherlock ...
(He reaches the crowd.)
JOHN: I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please.
(Some of the crowd try to hold him back but he pushes through them.)
JOHN: No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please.
(He reaches down to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist, searching for a pulse. A woman peels his fingers off as she and another person pull him away. As he reaches towards his friend again, more medics arrive with a wheeled stretcher.)
JOHN (frantically): Please, let me just ...
(The impact of the shock and the bang on his head begin to take effect and his knees give out. As he slumps to the floor supported by a couple of onlookers, two people gently roll Sherlock onto his back revealing his blood stained face and wide staring eyes. John groans in utter despair.)
JOHN: Nggh, Jesus, no.
(He tries to stand but sinks back again.)
JOHN: God, no.
(As the onlookers support him, four people lift Sherlock’s body onto the stretcher and then rapidly wheel it away into the hospital. John stares after it, his face blank and uncomprehending. He finally manages to get to his feet and shakes off his helpers, staring blindly in the direction that his friend’s body was taken.)
(In a nearby building, a rifle sight is aimed directly at John’s head. As John continues to stand in profile to the sniper, a perfect target, the assassin lifts his gun back inside the window and begins to disassemble the weapon. Packing it into his bag, he stands up and walks away.)

DIOGENES CLUB. Mycroft is holding a copy of “The Sun”. Its headline screams “SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS” and the straplines state ”SUPER-SLEUTH IS DEAD” and ”Fraudulent detective takes his own life”. Folding the paper and putting it down on the table beside him, he stares blankly into the distance and then folds his hands in front of his face in the prayer position.

221B. John sits in his armchair, dressed but with his feet bare and tucked together in front of him. One hand is propping up his head and he gazes into the distance, lost and alone.

ELLA’S OFFICE. As the rain continues to pour down, John gazes blankly at his therapist.
ELLA: There’s stuff that you wanted to say ...
(John opens his mouth briefly and then closes it.)
ELLA: ... but didn’t say it.
JOHN (his voice breaking): Yeah.
ELLA: Say it now.
JOHN (tearfully): No. (He shakes his head.) Sorry. I can’t.

TAXI. John and Mrs Hudson are sitting in the back of a cab as it drives into a graveyard. Mrs H is holding a bunch of flowers. Not long afterwards, they stand beside each other in front of a black marble headstone. The flowers are now resting at the base of the headstone.
MRS HUDSON: There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school.
(She looks at John.)
MRS HUDSON: Would you ...?
JOHN: I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment.
(She takes his arm sympathetically.)
JOHN: I’m angry.
(He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down. She pats his arm gently.)
MRS HUDSON: It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.
(She gazes at the smooth black marble which simply bears the words SHERLOCK HOLMES.)
MRS HUDSON: All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!
JOHN: Yeah.
MRS HUDSON: Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!
JOHN: Yes.
(He closes his eyes as she continues, her own voice breaking.)
MRS HUDSON: And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!
(John turns to her.)
JOHN: Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?
MRS HUDSON: Okay.
(She turns away, pulling her arm free of his.)
MRS HUDSON: I’ll leave you alone to, erm ... (her voice breaks again) ... you know.
(Crying, she walks away, fishing out a tissue to blow her nose. John looks down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. He looks back over his shoulder to see that Mrs Hudson is now out of earshot, then turns back to the grave again.)
JOHN (thoughtfully): Um ... mmm. (He pulls himself together a little.) You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There.
(He blows out a breath, whimpering slightly. Looking over his shoulder again, he walks over to the headstone and puts his fingertips onto the top of it.)
JOHN: I was so alone, and I owe you so much.
(He takes a tearful breath.)
JOHN: Okay.
(He turns and starts to walk away but only reaches the foot of the grave before he turns back again.)
JOHN: No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t ... be ... (his voice breaks and fills with tears) ... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it. (He gestures down at the grave.) Stop this.
(He sighs and lowers his head and stands there, broken. Reflected in the smooth marble of the headstone, his figure appears to have the name SHERLOCK carved directly across his chest. He lowers his head further, covers his eyes with one hand and weeps. Finally he wipes his eyes, sniffs deeply and raises his head, coming to attention in front of his best friend. Nodding in salute to him and giving himself permission to dismiss, he turns smartly on one heel and then walks away.)


Standing some distance away under a tree and obscured from view by other headstones, Sherlock Holmes watches his best friend walk across the graveyard until he disappears from view. He looks reflective for a long moment, then turns and walks away.

Thank you!

221B. A taxi pulls up outside and John jumps out and hurries towards the door, scrabbling for his keys. As he hurries inside, the man with the stepladder is standing at the top of it just in front of the stairs and is drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs Hudson is standing nearby watching him. As John runs towards her, she jolts in startlement, having not heard his approach over the sound of the drill.
MRS HUDSON: Oh, God, John! You made me jump!
JOHN (staring at her in confusion): But ...
MRS HUDSON: Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?
(John stares for a moment longer and then it suddenly sinks in.)
JOHN (softly, his voice full of horror): Oh my God.
(He turns around and runs out again, looking up and down the street frantically. Luckily he immediately sees what he needs.)
JOHN: Taxi!
(A cab begins to pull over on the other side of the road. John chases across the road towards it.)
JOHN: Taxi!
(A man is standing at the side of the road having also just hailed the cab. As he leans into the front window to tell the driver his destination, John runs around the cab and pulls open the rear door, talking even as he scrambles inside.)
JOHN: No, no, no, no, police! ... Sort of.
MAN (walking away angrily): Oh, thanks, mate – thanks a lot(!)

BART’S ROOFTOP. The two men have turned towards each other at the edge of the roof.
SHERLOCK: I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.
JIM (wearily exasperated): Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort.
(Sherlock turns away, pacing distractedly.)
JIM: Go on. For me.
(He makes his voice into a high-pitched squeal for the next word.)
JIM: Pleeeeeease?
(In a sudden movement, Sherlock grabs him by the collar of his coat with both hands and spins him around so that Jim’s back is to the drop. He stares into his face and then shoves him back one step nearer the edge. Jim looks at him with interest as Sherlock’s breathing becomes shorter.)
SHERLOCK: You’re insane.
(Jim blinks.)
JIM: You’re just getting that now?
(Sherlock shoves him further back, now holding him over the edge. Jim whoops almost triumphantly and gazes back at Sherlock with no fear in his eyes, holding his hands out wide and committing himself to Sherlock’s grasp.)
JIM: Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive.
(Sherlock frowns. Jim’s voice becomes more savage.)
JIM: Your friends will die if you don’t.
(Fear begins to creep into Sherlock’s eyes.)
SHERLOCK: John.
JIM: Not just John. (In a whisper) Everyone.
SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson.
JIM (in a whisper, with a delighted smile): Everyone.
SHERLOCK: Lestrade.
JIM: Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There’s no stopping them now.
(Furiously, Sherlock pulls Jim back upwards to safety. Jim stares into his face.)
JIM: Unless my people see you jump.
(Sherlock gazes past him, breathing heavily and appearing lost in horror. Jim shakes himself free of his grasp and smiles triumphantly.)
JIM: You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ...
SHERLOCK: ... unless I kill myself – complete your story.
(Jim nods and smiles ecstatically.)
JIM: You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier.
SHERLOCK (his gaze distant and lost): And I die in disgrace.
JIM: Of course. That’s the point of this.
(He looks over the side and sees that someone has stopped at the benches near the bus stop below them.)
JIM: Oh, you’ve got an audience now. Off you pop.
(He rolls his head from side to side on his neck.)
JIM: Go on.
(Sherlock slowly steps past him and up onto the ledge.)
JIM: I told you how this ends.
(Sherlock’s breathing becomes more shaky as he looks down.)
JIM (not even looking at him): Your death is the only thing that’s gonna call off the killers. I’m certainly not gonna do it.
(Now he turns his head and looks up at his enemy expectantly. Sherlock blinks anxiously.)
SHERLOCK: Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy?
(He glances down at Jim.)
SHERLOCK: Please?
(Jim looks disappointed that Sherlock should be so ‘ordinary’.)
JIM: Of course.
(He moves away across the roof. Sherlock takes several shallow anxious breaths, then he stops breathing for a moment as his brain kicks into gear again. He lifts his gaze as his expression becomes more like the Sherlock we know and his eyes become thoughtful. Slowly a smile spreads across his face and he starts to chuckle. Behind him, Jim is slowly walking across the roof but he stops, his expression livid, as Sherlock laughs with delight. Jim spins around furiously.)
JIM: What?
(Sherlock continues to laugh.)
JIM (angrily): What is it?
(Sherlock half turns on the ledge, smiling towards him as he glares back.)
JIM (angrily): What did I miss?
(Sherlock hops down off the ledge and walks closer to him.)
SHERLOCK: “You’re not going to do it.” So the killers can be called off, then – there’s a recall code or a word or a number.
(Now he’s the one circling his prey.)
SHERLOCK: I don’t have to die ... (his voice becomes sing-song) ... if I’ve got you.
JIM: Oh! (He laughs in relieved delight.) You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?
SHERLOCK (still circling him): Yes. So do you.
JIM: Sherlock, your big brother and all the King’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to.
SHERLOCK (stopping and getting into Jim’s face): Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you.
(Jim shakes his head slowly.)
JIM: Naah. You talk big. Naah. You’re ordinary. You’re ordinary – you’re on the side of the angels.
SHERLOCK (his voice becoming more ominous): Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.
(The enemies lock eyes for a long moment as Jim tries to deduce how far Sherlock will go.)
JIM: No, you’re not.
(He blinks, then closes his eyes briefly. Sherlock does likewise in an unintentional mirror movement. Jim smiles and opens his eyes again.)
JIM (softly, insanely): I see. You’re not ordinary. No. You’re me.
(He hisses out a delighted laugh and his voice becomes more high-pitched.)
JIM: You’re me! Thank you!
(He lifts his hand as if to embrace Sherlock, but then lowers it and offers it to him to shake instead.)
JIM: Sherlock Holmes.
(They both look down at the offered hand, then Sherlock slowly raises his own and takes it.)
JIM (nodding almost frenetically, though his voice stays soft): Thank you. Bless you.
(He blinks and lowers his gaze as if blinking back tears.)
JIM: As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends; you’ve got a way out.
(He continues to blink with his gaze lowered.)
JIM: Well, good luck with that.
(In rapid succession he raises his eyes to Sherlock’s, grins manically, opens his mouth wide and pulls Sherlock closer as he reaches into his waistband with his other hand and pulls a pistol out and raises it towards his own mouth. As Sherlock instinctively pulls back, crying out in alarm, Jim sticks the muzzle into his own mouth and pulls the trigger, dropping to the roof instantly. Sherlock stares in horror as blood begins to trickle across the roof underneath Jim’s head. Jim’s eyes are fixed and open and there is a smile of victory on his face. Sherlock spins away from him, his breathing noisy and frantic as he raises his hands to his head in horror.)

Just tryin’ to have some fun.


On the roof of the hospital, daylight has come. Jim Moriarty – now back in a typical smart suit and overcoat and with his hair slicked back – calmly sits on the raised ledge at the edge of the building with his phone in his hand as The Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” plays from it. He doesn’t look at Sherlock as he comes onto the roof and walks towards him.
JIM: Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem.
(He holds the phone up higher.)
JIM: Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it?
(Angrily he switches the phone off.)
JIM: It’s just ... (he holds his hand out flat with the palm down and skims it slowly through the air level to the roof) ... staying.
(He pulls his hand back and briefly sinks his head into it as Sherlock paces around the roof.)
JIM: All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have you. Because I’ve beaten you.
(Sherlock’s head turns sharply towards him as he continues to pace.)
JIM: And you know what? In the end it was easy.
(Sherlock stops and folds his hands behind his back.)
JIM (quietly, disappointed): It was easy. Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them.
(He lowers his head again and rubs his face before looking up at Sherlock.)
JIM: Ah well.
(He stands up and walks closer, then starts to pace slowly around the detective.)
JIM: Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?
SHERLOCK: Richard Brook.
JIM: Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do.
SHERLOCK: Of course.
JIM: Attaboy.
SHERLOCK: Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name.
JIM (in a fake American accent): Just tryin’ to have some fun.
(As he continues to pace around him, he looks down to Sherlock’s hands and sees that he is beating out a rhythm with his fingers.)
JIM: Good. You got that too.
SHERLOCK: Beats like digits.
(Flashback to Jim sitting at 221B drumming his fingers on his knee.)
SHERLOCK: Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system.
JIM: I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy.
SHERLOCK (gesturing to his own head): Yes, but now that it’s up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty.
(Jim gazes at him for a moment, then turns away with a disappointed look on his face.)
JIM: No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy.
(He buries his head in his hands.)
JIM: This is too easy.
(Lowering his hands, he turns back to Sherlock.)
JIM: There is no key, DOOFUS!
(He screams the last word into Sherlock’s face.)
JIM: Those digits are meaningless. They’re utterly meaningless.
(Sherlock can’t hide the confusion on his face.)
JIM: You don’t really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I’m disappointed.
(He turns away and lumbers across the roof, making his voice sound moronic as he continues speaking.)
JIM: I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock.
SHERLOCK: But the rhythm ...
JIM: “Partita number one.” Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach.
SHERLOCK: But then how did ...
JIM (speaking over him): Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?
(He turns and spreads his arms wide.)
JIM: Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants.
(In flashback at the White Tower, Jim selects the Crown icon on his phone. A message is automatically sent to the man in the surveillance room who hasn’t gone to make tea. He lifts his own phone to see the message: “it’s showtime !” then types on his keyboard and the alarms begin to sound as the security screens go blank. He gets up from the desk and hurries off, presumably to close the security door that will shut Jim into the Crown Jewels display room.)
JIM: I knew you’d fall for it. That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it.
(Sherlock has been staring blankly into the distance. Now he sounds bewildered as he speaks.)
SHERLOCK: Do it? Do – do what?
(He blinks as it becomes clearer to him and he turns towards Jim.)
SHERLOCK: Yes, of course. My suicide.
JIM: “Genius detective proved to be a fraud.” I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales.
(Sherlock walks to the edge of the roof and leans forward, looking over the side to the ground below. Jim walks to stand beside him and looks over the side as well.)
JIM: And pretty Grimm ones too.
(He turns his head and looks ominously at Sherlock.)

THE BIG EVENT

I'm sorry for being an hour late, but something came up, so without further ado, here is the challenge.

As punishment for nobody giving a fuck about the challenge, I have decided to give a bomb to Dharmahelper. In 24 hours, the bomb will explode, and the person who holds it will be eliminated. This could decide the game. If you have the bomb, you can give it to someone else. Just type "I'm giving the bomb to (insertnamehere)." That person can do the same thing. You can only pass the bomb to other living players.

If this is too much, and you want Immunity, you can complete the challenge that nobody gave a fuck about. If you complete it, you will be safe.

Good luck.

THE BIG EVENT
at 3:30CST
4:30EST
10:30GMT+2
9/19/13

If you do not make it to this event, you will most definitely be eliminated. If this is a bad time, tell me.

Busy?


Some hours later, dawn is breaking. Sherlock is still in the same place, although he’s now sitting down with his feet up on the bench. He is rapidly rolling the rubber ball from side to side across the bench, his fingers flickering rapidly over the top of the ball. John has sat on a stool at a nearby bench and has his head down on his folded arms, asleep. His phone rings. Lifting his head tiredly, he groans and answers the phone.
JOHN: Yeah, speaking.
(He listens for a moment.)
JOHN (shocked): Er, what?
(He gets to his feet.)
JOHN: What happened? Is she okay? (He listens.) Oh my God. Right, yes, I’m coming.
(He switches the phone off.)
SHERLOCK: What is it?
JOHN: Paramedics. Mrs Hudson – she’s been shot.
SHERLOCK: What? How?
JOHN (frantically): Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract ... Jesus. Jesus. She’s dying, Sherlock. Let’s go.
(He turns towards the door.)
SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): You go. I’m busy.
(John turns back towards him, his face appalled.)
JOHN: Busy?
SHERLOCK: Thinking. I need to think.
JOHN: You need to ...? Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her.
SHERLOCK (shrugging): She’s my landlady.
JOHN (furiously): She’s dying ...
(He flails a hand in front of himself in utter disbelief at Sherlock’s attitude.)
JOHN: You machine.
(He looks down, shaking his head.)
JOHN: Sod this. Sod this. (He heads towards the door.) You stay here if you want, on your own.
SHERLOCK: Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.
JOHN (opening the door and looking back at him angrily): No. Friends protect people.
(He storms out of the room. Sherlock lifts his gaze towards the door. A moment later his phone trills a text alert. He reaches into his pocket and looks at the message:
I’m waiting...
JM
Taking his feet off the bench and standing up, he walks across the lab buttoning his jacket. He picks up his coat, opens the door and leaves the room.)

Come and play


THE DIOGENES CLUB. Mycroft walks across one of the common rooms, where an old man is fast asleep in an armchair, and goes into the smaller private room, reaching for the door handle to close it, but he stops as he realises that John is sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him. John is still looking through Kitty’s file.
JOHN: She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.
MYCROFT (closing the door): Ah.
JOHN: Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Two names: yours and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me.
(Mycroft walks across the room to face him.)
MYCROFT: John ...
JOHN: So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?
(Mycroft sits down in the chair opposite and opens his mouth but John interrupts again. His voice is full of controlled anger.)
JOHN: Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.
MYCROFT: I never inten... I never dreamt ...
JOHN (interrupting): So this ...th-th-this ... (he looks through the papers again) ... is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it: “Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.”
(He slaps the papers down on the table beside his chair and sits back, clearing his throat as he tries to stay calm.)
JOHN: How did you meet him?
(Mycroft draws in a long breath.)
MYCROFT: People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.
JOHN: And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?
MYCROFT: Interrogated him for weeks.
(Flashback to Mycroft watching through a one-way mirror as, in the cell on the other side of the mirror – the cell we saw at the end of “The Hounds of Baskerville” – a man viciously beats a seated Jim across the face.)
JOHN: And?
MYCROFT: He wouldn’t play along.
(In the flashback, Jim slowly turns his head towards the front after the blow and stares up at his interrogator, who strikes him again.)
MYCROFT: He just sat there, staring into the darkness.
(Again Jim turns his head to the front, appearing unphased by the assault. The interrogator strikes him again.)
MYCROFT: The only thing that made him open up ...
(Ruefully he gestures to himself. In the flashback, Mycroft opens the door to the cell and stops in the doorway. Jim lifts his head and looks at Mycroft’s reflection in the mirror in front of him.)
MYCROFT: I could get him to talk ...
(Mycroft comes into the room and turns to shut the door behind him. Jim closes his eyes and smiles blissfully as Mycroft walks closer.)
MYCROFT: ... just a little, but ...
(He trails off. John grimly finishes the sentence for him.)
JOHN: ... in return you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true.
(He leans forward in his chair.)
JOHN: Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.
(He smiles bitterly at him. Mycroft lowers his eyes. John pulls in a sharp breath and then gets to his feet, turning towards the door.)
MYCROFT: John ...
(John turns back. Mycroft looks up at him.)
MYCROFT (softly): I’m sorry.
JOHN (tightly): Oh, please ...
(He shakes his head in disbelief and turns away, laughing humourlessly as he walks to the door.)
MYCROFT: Tell him, would you?
(John opens the door and walks away, leaving the door open behind him.)


BART’S LAB. The lights are now on. Sherlock sits alone on the floor with his back against the bench. He is bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard in front of him and catching it before repeating the movement constantly. John comes in.
JOHN: Got your message.
(Sherlock catches the ball and holds on to it.)
SHERLOCK: The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it – beat Moriarty at his own game.
JOHN: What d’you mean, “use it”?
SHERLOCK: He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook.
JOHN: And bring back Jim Moriarty again.
SHERLOCK (standing up): Somewhere in 221B, somewhere – on the day of the verdict – he left it hidden.
(He turns and faces the bench, putting both hands on the work surface. John walks to stand beside him, unconsciously mimicking his stance.)
JOHN: Uh-huh.
(Both of them stare ahead of them, thinking. John purses his lips, then looks at Sherlock.)
JOHN: What did he touch?
SHERLOCK: An apple. Nothing else.
(He briefly drums his fingers on the bench.)
JOHN: Did he write anything down?
SHERLOCK: No.
(John hisses in a breath and looks away, racking his brains and again unconsciously mimicking his friend by drumming his own fingers on the bench. After a moment, he turns and walks across the lab, blowing the breath out again. Sherlock lifts the fingers of his right hand, hesitates for a moment, then begins to drum them again but now he’s beating out a specific rhythm as, in his mind, binary code begins to stream out from his fingers. He lifts his head as John sighs heavily, unaware of Sherlock’s sharpened expression. Straightening up, Sherlock turns his back to John, takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to type a text message:
Come and play.
Bart’s Hospital rooftop.
SH
He pauses for a moment, then adds:
PS. Got something
of yours you might
want back.
Sending the message, he tucks his phone away into his jacket and then turns back towards the bench, his eyes full of thought.)

TWIST #4

None of the still living players can vote on the next poll. Only Deadies, Non-Participants, and any other account that is not playing.

I am sorry. I am. I am sorry.


SHERLOCK: Everybody wants to believe it – that’s what makes it so clever. (He looks at John.) A lie that’s preferable to the truth. (Looking away again, his voice becomes bitter.) All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man.
JOHN: What about Mycroft? He could help us.
(He grunts as Sherlock drags him across to the other side of the alley and peers down the left arm of the T-junction.)
SHERLOCK: A big family reconciliation? Now’s not really the moment.
(He spins around, dragging John in a circle behind him as he looks back the way they came. John spots something at the end of the right arm of the T-junction.)
JOHN: Sher... Sherlock.
(He elbows him with his cuffed arm to turn him in that direction. A face is peering around the corner at the end of the alley.)
JOHN: We’re being followed. I knew we couldn’t outrun the police.
SHERLOCK: That’s not the police. It’s one of my new neighbours from Baker Street. Let’s see if he can give us some answers.
(He breaks in the opposite direction from where the man is watching them. Running to the next corner, they flatten themselves against the wall as they reach it and Sherlock looks around the corner. There’s no sign of any police in the street but a double decker bus – the number 74 to Baker Street Station – is approaching. Sherlock presses himself back against the wall again.)
JOHN: Where are we going?
SHERLOCK: We’re going to jump in front of that bus.
JOHN: What?!
(But Sherlock’s already on the move and drags John out into the street. The assassin races after them. Halfway across the road, Sherlock screeches to a halt directly in front of the approaching bus. John’s impetus carries him past Sherlock before he’s able to turn and now they’re both facing the bus and not moving. The assassin charges into the road, throws himself at them and shoves them out of the way and all three of them tumble to the ground as the bus drives past, its horn blaring. Before the assassin can recover, Sherlock sits up and drags the man’s own gun from his jeans, then cocks and points it at him.)
SHERLOCK: Tell me what you want from me.
(The man stares at him wide-eyed but doesn’t speak. Sherlock moves the gun’s muzzle closer to him.)
SHERLOCK: Tell me.
ASSASSIN: He left it at your flat.
SHERLOCK: Who?
ASSASSIN: Moriarty.
SHERLOCK: What?
(All three of them start to get to their feet, Sherlock still holding the gun on the other man.)
ASSASSIN: The computer keycode.
SHERLOCK: Of course. He’s selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around.
(Three gunshots ring out and the assassin reels and drops to the ground. Sherlock stares up in the direction the bullets came from, then swings around and he and John race off. As police sirens approach again, they duck into an open doorway as yet another police car drives past the end of the road. They take a moment to catch their breath again.)
SHERLOCK: It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come. “Get Sherlock.” We need to get back into the flat and search.
JOHN: CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you?
SHERLOCK: It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals.
(John has spotted a pile of newspapers nearby and he picks up the top copy.)
JOHN: Yeah, well, have you seen this?
(It’s a copy of “The Sun” – the same edition that Mycroft had at the Diogenes Club that morning, telling of the upcoming exposé by Kitty Riley. John shows it to Sherlock.)
JOHN: A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook.
(Sherlock slowly turns his head – clearly the name means something to him. John is still looking at the paper and doesn’t see his expression.)
JOHN: Who is he?

Kitty Riley parks her car outside her home, gets out and locks the car before walking to the front door. Opening it, she walks along the hall to the door of her flat, then pauses and looks at the door nervously as she realises that it is slightly ajar. Hesitantly she pushes the door open and reaches for the light switch on the wall. The lights come on and she is greeted with the sight of Sherlock and John sitting side by side on her sofa, each of them drumming the fingers of their handcuffed hand on their respective knees.
SHERLOCK: Too late to go on the record?

Not long afterwards, Kitty is sitting in an armchair while the boys stand in the middle of the room. Sherlock is using a hairpin to pick the lock on his handcuff.
SHERLOCK (to Kitty): Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes.
(He frees his hand and gives the hairpin to John before starting to pace back and forth in front of Kitty.)
SHERLOCK: The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo(!)
KITTY: I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so ...
SHERLOCK: And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?
(Kitty shakes her head, refusing to tell him any more.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone.
(John finally frees his own hand from the cuffs.)
SHERLOCK: There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. (Sternly) What were his credentials?
(Outside in the hallway there have been the sounds of someone coming in through the main front door. Now Kitty looks towards the door of the flat and rises to her feet with a concerned look on her face as someone pushes her door open. Sherlock turns to follow her gaze as Jim Moriarty, unshaven and with his hair messy and wearing casual clothes including a cardigan, walks in with a shopping bag.)
JIM: Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal ...
(He raises his eyes and stares in terror at the sight of Sherlock, whose own eyes widen. Jim drops the shopping bag and backs away until he bumps into the wall behind him, holding his hands up protectively in front of him.)
JIM (his voice trembling): You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.
KITTY: You are safe, Richard. I’m a witness. He wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.
(John, his face full of shock, points at Jim.)
JOHN (to Kitty): So that’s your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!
(His teeth are bared and he glares at Jim, breathing heavily in pure fury.)
KITTY: Of course he’s Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been.
JOHN: What are you talking about?
KITTY: Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.
(Sherlock stares at Jim, who is still holding his hands up and looking at everyone nervously. Jim’s voice is shaking as he turns to John.)
JIM: Doctor Watson, I know you’re a good man.
(He backs into the corner of the room, appearing terrified under John’s ferocious glare.)
JIM: Don’t ... don’t h... Don’t hurt me.
(John screams at him, pointing towards him furiously.)
JOHN: No, you are Moriarty! (He turns his head briefly and yells at Kitty.) He’s Moriarty! (He turns back to Jim.) We’ve met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!
(Jim puts his hands briefly over his face, then holds them up in front of himself again, sounding as if he is almost crying in fear.)
JIM: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. (He gestures towards Sherlock.) He paid me. I needed the work. I’m an actor. I was out of work. I’m sorry, okay?
(Breathing heavily, John turns to Sherlock.)
JOHN: Sherlock, you’d better ... explain ... because I am not getting this.
KITTY: Oh I’ll ... I’ll be doing the explaining – in print. (She hands John a folder.) It’s all here – conclusive proof.
(John looks at an early typed sheet of her upcoming article, then turns to the proof copy showing the layout of how it will appear in the newspaper, with spaces left for photographs. The headline reads, ”Sherlock’s a fake!” with the strapline, “He invented all the crimes”.)
KITTY (looking at Sherlock): You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis.
JOHN (upset): Invented him?
KITTY: Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain.
JOHN: Oh, don’t be ridiculous!
(Kitty turns and points towards Jim.)
KITTY: Ask him. He’s right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard.
JOHN (furiously): Look, for God’s sake, this man was on trial!
KITTY: Yes ... (she points at Sherlock) ... and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you’d rig the jury.
(Sherlock stares at her silently.)
KITTY: Not exactly a West End role, but I’ll bet the money was good.
(She walks over to Jim and puts her arm around his shoulders as he stands with his hands still held out in front of himself.)
KITTY: But not so good he didn’t want to sell his story.
(Jim looks plaintively at John, putting his hands together pleadingly.)
JIM: I am sorry. I am. I am sorry.
JOHN (to Kitty): So-so this is the story that you’re gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty’s an actor?!
(He shakes his head in disbelief.)
JIM: He knows I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!
JOHN: Yeah, show me something.
(Kitty walks across the room. John turns to watch her as she reaches into a bag for more information. Behind them, Jim has put his hands over his face but now he pulls his hands away from his eyes a little and looks towards Sherlock, whose own gaze has barely left him since he arrived. For a brief moment, he reveals his true self and he smiles triumphantly at his enemy. Sherlock half-smiles back at him but there’s no humour in his eyes. Kitty takes out a folder, walks over to John and gives it to him.)
JIM (slipping back into his Richard persona and sounding plaintive and panicked): I’m on TV. I’m on kids’ TV. I’m The Storyteller.
(John looks at copies of Richard Brook’s contact details apparently taken from an agency website, then a newspaper article showing a picture of Richard in glasses wearing medical scrubs and with a stethoscope around his neck. The article is headlined, “Award Winning Actor Joins The Cast of Top Medical Drama”.)
JIM: I’m ... I’m The Storyteller. It’s on DVD.
(He looks across to Sherlock again, this time keeping his Richard face on. John continues looking through the folder at other publicity stills of Rich together with his CV. Jim gestures towards John, looking at Sherlock pleadingly.)
JIM: Just tell him. It’s all coming out now. It’s all over. (His voice becomes more frantic.) Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!
(Baring his teeth, Sherlock starts to walk towards him.)
JIM: It’s all over now ... NO!
(He backs away from Sherlock and up a short flight of stairs towards the bedroom on the upper level of the flat. His eyes are wide and terrified.)
JIM: Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me!
SHERLOCK (furiously): Stop it. Stop it NOW!
(Jim turns and bolts up the stairs.)
JIM: Don’t hurt me!
(Sherlock and John chase after him.)
JOHN: Don’t let him get away!
KITTY: Leave him alone!
(Jim runs into the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. With Kitty still at the bottom of the stairs and therefore unsighted, and John halfway up the stairs with his vision blocked by Sherlock ahead of him, Jim turns and grins manically at Sherlock for a brief second before slamming the door shut. Sherlock runs to the door and struggles momentarily to open it, then shoves it open but Jim has already disappeared through the open window opposite. There’s a crash outside as if Jim has landed on top of a dustbin. Sherlock looks out of the window, then turns to stop John.)
SHERLOCK: No, no, no. He’ll have back-up.
(He heads towards the stairs. Kitty backs down to get out of his way but doesn’t move quickly, slowing him down.)
KITTY: D’you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you.
(He stops at the bottom of the stairs as she gets into his face.)
KITTY: And you ... repel ... me.
(Sherlock turns and heads out of the door. John, still holding the folder of the articles about Rich, shoves Kitty aside and follows him. She closes the door behind them. The boys go out onto the street and John stops as Sherlock begins to pace rapidly back and forth in the middle of the road.)
JOHN: Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?
SHERLOCK: He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.
JOHN: Your word against his.
SHERLOCK: He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to ...
(He stops dead as he makes a realisation. John, who has still been rifling through the folder, looks up at his friend, who is turned away from him.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
SHERLOCK: Something I need to do.
JOHN: What? Can I help?
SHERLOCK: No – on my own.

Hmm. Bit awkward, this.


Shortly afterwards, John – standing in the centre of the living room at 221B – lowers his own phone from his ear and switches it off. He turns to Sherlock who is now sitting in his armchair.
JOHN: So, still got some friends on the Force. It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people.
(Sherlock appears to be taking no notice of him, and now Mrs Hudson knocks on the closed living room door with her customary “Ooh-ooh!” and then comes in. She apparently feels the tension in the room.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?
(Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks away. She turns her attention to John.)
MRS HUDSON: Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked ‘Perishable’ – I had to sign for it.
(John takes the Jiffy bag from her and immediately realizes that there’s a wax seal over the flap. Sherlock looks across and also sees the seal.)
MRS HUDSON: Funny name. German, like the fairytales.
(Sherlock rises to his feet and walks forward, his gaze intense and locked on the Jiffy bag as John opens it and pulls out the contents. Outside, the sirens of several different vehicles are approaching. In John’s hand is a large gingerbread man but it’s an unusual colour. He tilts it so that Sherlock can see it better.)
SHERLOCK: Burnt to a crisp.
(The sirens stop as the vehicles pull up outside, and doors start to slam as people get out of the cars.)
JOHN (referring to the burnt gingerbread man): What does it mean?
(The doorbell rings and at the same time someone pounds on the front door knocker.)
VOICE: Police!
MRS HUDSON: I’ll go.
(She turns and hurries down the stairs as someone continues to knock on the door. Voices can be heard as she opens the door.)
DONOVAN (offscreen): Sherlock ...
LESTRADE (offscreen): Evening, Mrs Hudson.
DONOVAN (calling up the stairs): We need to talk to you!
(John puts the gingerbread man back into the envelope and puts it on the table before heading out of the flat. Downstairs, Mrs Hudson sounds angry.)
MRS HUDSON (offscreen): Don’t barge in like that!
(Feet can be heard trotting up the stairs. Calmly Sherlock turns around and picks up his scarf and loops it around his neck. John is apparently blocking the stairs halfway up.)
JOHN (offscreen): Have you got a warrant? Have you?
LESTRADE (offscreen): Leave it, John.
MRS HUDSON (offscreen): Really! Manners!
(Sherlock puts his coat on. Shortly afterwards Greg stands in front of him and reads him his rights while one of two armed officers attaches handcuffs to his left wrist.)
LESTRADE: Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.
(John gestures towards Sherlock while looking at Greg as the officer pulls Sherlock’s left hand behind his back in order to cuff his other wrist.)
JOHN: He’s not resisting.
SHERLOCK: It’s all right, John.
JOHN: He’s not resisting. No, it’s not all right. This is ridiculous.
LESTRADE (to the officer who just handcuffed Sherlock): Get him downstairs now.
(The officer spins Sherlock around and marches him out of the door. Mrs Hudson stands nearby almost in tears.)
JOHN (to Greg): You know you don’t have to do ...
LESTRADE (getting into his face and pointing at him sternly): Don’t try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too.
(He turns and leaves the room. John turns to Sally who is standing near the door.)
JOHN: You done?
DONOVAN (looking smug and oh-so-very punchable as she walks into the room): Oh, I said it.
JOHN: Mmm-hmm?
DONOVAN: First time we met.
JOHN: Don’t bother.
DONOVAN: “Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line.” Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?
(Mrs Hudson gasps. Just then the Chief Superintendant walks in.)
CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Donovan.
DONOVAN: Sir.
CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Got our man?
DONOVAN: Er, yes, sir.
CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.
(John turns towards him.)
CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Often are, these vigilante types.
(He has been looking around the living room as he spoke but now he turns and sees John staring at him.)
CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: What are you looking at?

A minute or two later, the Chief Superintendant walks out onto the street holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.
POLICE OFFICER: Are you all right, sir?
(Nearby, Sherlock has been leaned against the side of a police car, facing it. Now John is slammed up against the car next to him and to his left. Sherlock looks across to him with an amused expression on his face.)
SHERLOCK: Joining me?
JOHN: Yeah. Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant.
(Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlock the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transfer it to John’s right wrist, chaining the boys together. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they’re standing.)
SHERLOCK (to John): Hmm. Bit awkward, this.
JOHN: Huh. No-one to bail us.
SHERLOCK: I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.
(He looks down at the radio lying on the dashboard of the car they’re leaning against. The radio squeals as the dispatcher speaks.)
RADIO DISPATCHER: All units to two-seven.
(John looks round at Sherlock’s previous statement.)
JOHN: What?
RADIO DISPATCHER: All units to two ...
(Rapidly Sherlock reaches through the open window of the car with his free hand and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly the officer behind the boys doubles over in pain and grabs at his earpiece as a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls the officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. As it’s in his left hand, John’s shackled right hand is yanked upwards as well and he gasps in surprise at the rapid turn of events. Sherlock calls out as he aims the pistol towards the nearest officers.)
SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?
(When nobody reacts very quickly, Sherlock raises the gun skywards and fires it twice.)
SHERLOCK: NOW would be good!
(He lowers it and points it at the police again.)
LESTRADE: Do as he says!
(He gestures everybody downwards and all the police start to kneel. The boys start to back away.)
JOHN (loudly): Just-just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea. I’m just a ... you know ...
(Sherlock transfers the pistol to his right hand and promptly aims it at John’s head.)
SHERLOCK (loudly): ... my hostage.
(John gasps.)
JOHN (quietly, to Sherlock): Hostage! Yes, that works – that works(!)
(They continue backing away from the kneeling police. Behind them and probably unnoticed in all the excitement, a new piece of artistic graffiti has been sprayed on the wall of the house on the street corner. In red paint, huge letters spelling out “iou” are at least three feet high and are surrounded by an elaborate dark set of angel’s wings. The boys begin to back carefully around the corner.)
JOHN: So what now?
SHERLOCK: Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run.
(He turns and begins to race off down the road, dragging John with him. Back at the police cars, Greg buries his head in his hands. The Chief Superintendant gets to his feet and turns to him.)
CHIEF SUPERINTENDANT: Get after him, Lestrade!
(Greg glares furiously at Sally as she begins to head in the direction the boys have gone. Greg is a lot slower in getting moving. Around the corner as the boys run along side by side, Sherlock loops the loose chain between their handcuffs around his wrist.)
SHERLOCK: Take my hand.
JOHN (grabbing his hand as they race onwards): Now people will definitely talk.
(Sirens are approaching at the junction ahead of them. Sherlock swerves to his left and drops the pistol in the process. It clatters to the ground.)
JOHN: The gun!
SHERLOCK: Leave it!

You’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.

SHERLOCK (without turning around, still concentrating on removing the camera): No, Inspector.
LESTRADE: What?
SHERLOCK (stepping down with the camera in his fingers): The answer’s no.
LESTRADE: But you haven’t heard the question!
SHERLOCK: You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.
(He walks closer. Greg pulls in a breath.)
LESTRADE: Sherlock ...
SHERLOCK (interrupting): The scream?
LESTRADE: Yeah.
SHERLOCK: Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You’re gonna have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home ... (he reaches forward and briefly places his index fingertip on Greg’s forehead between his eyes) ... there.
LESTRADE: Will you come?
SHERLOCK (turning away, sitting down at the laptop and beginning to type): One photograph – that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch.
(Picking up the camera again, he looks at it for a moment, then raises his eyes to Greg’s.)
SHERLOCK: It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play.
SHERLOCK (looking away again): Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan.
(Sighing and exchanging a brief look with John, Greg turns and heads off down the stairs. John watches him go, then turns back towards Sherlock who has now linked the camera into the computer so that he can pull up the footage on the computer screen. Downstairs, Greg walks along the hallway and glowers at Sally who is waiting at the front door. He walks past her and out into the street. She turns and watches him unhappily, then follows. Upstairs, John has gone over to the right-hand window and looks out at the car parked outside as Greg and Sally go over to it and get in, Greg glancing up towards the window momentarily. As the car starts, Sherlock briefly looks at John.)
SHERLOCK: They’ll be deciding.
JOHN: Deciding?
SHERLOCK: Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.
JOHN: You think?
SHERLOCK: Standard procedure.
JOHN: Should have gone with him. People’ll think ...
SHERLOCK: I don’t care what people think.
JOHN: You’d care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong.
SHERLOCK: No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.
(Angrily, John turns towards him.)
JOHN: Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re ...
(He breaks off as Sherlock lifts his head to look at him. They lock eyes for a long moment.)
SHERLOCK: That I am what?
JOHN: A fraud.
(Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in the seat.)
SHERLOCK: You’re worried they’re right.
JOHN: What?
SHERLOCK: You’re worried they’re right about me.
JOHN: No.
SHERLOCK: That’s why you’re so upset. You can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.
JOHN (turning away and look out of the window again): No I’m not.
(Sherlock leans forward.)
SHERLOCK: Moriarty is playing with your mind too. (Furious, he slams his hand onto the table.) Can’t you see what’s going on?
(John looks at him for a few seconds, then looks out of the window again.)
JOHN: No, I know you’re for real.
SHERLOCK: A hundred percent?
JOHN (quietly, turning back towards him): Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.

It is now Day 11. You have 24 hours.