The Syndicate

That’s what people DO!

SHERLOCK (loudly): Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that’s what it’s all been for, hasn’t it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this.
(He gestures with the memory stick, then begins to turn in a slow circle as he waits for a response. When his back is turned to the pool, a door opens halfway down the room. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, still holding the memory stick aloft. And John Watson walks through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snugly in a hooded jacket with his hands tucked into the pockets. He turns and looks at Sherlock as the detective stares back at him in absolute shock.)
JOHN: Evening.
(Sherlock’s raised hand begins to lower slowly but otherwise he doesn’t move, still staring over his shoulder in utter disbelief.)
JOHN: This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?
SHERLOCK (softly, shocked): John. What the hell ...?
JOHN: Bet you never saw this coming.
(Finally Sherlock manages to move, and starts to walk slowly towards the man he had believed to be his friend until now. The shock and bewilderment on his face make him look about twelve years old. Then, with a look of despair that matches Sherlock’s, John takes his hands from his pockets and pulls open his jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to his chest. A sniper’s laser immediately begins to dance around over the bomb.)
JOHN: What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next?
(Sherlock continues to step towards him but now he is looking everywhere but at John as he tries to see who else is in the area.)
JOHN (obviously narrating words spoken into an earpiece): Gottle o’ gear ... gottle o’ gear ... gottle o’ gear.
(His voice almost breaks on the last phrase.)
SHERLOCK: Stop it.
JOHN (narrating): Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. (He tries not to cringe as he listens to the next words.) I can stop John Watson too. (He looks down at the laser point on his chest.) Stop his heart.
SHERLOCK (turning on the spot as he tries to look in all directions): Who are you?
(A door opens at the far end of the pool and a soft male voice with an Irish accent speaks from that direction.)
VOICE: I gave you my number.
(We get a brief glimpse of a man wearing a suit and tie, but he is currently mostly obscured by a column.)
VOICE (plaintively): I thought you might call.
(Sherlock turns towards the new arrival, who now slowly walks out into the open. It’s Jim, Molly’s boyfriend. But this isn’t the fumble-fingered casually-dressed Londoner who did indeed leave his number for Sherlock in the lab at Bart’s; this is a sharply-dressed man with immaculate hair and a murderous look on his face. With his hands in his pockets, he casually begins to stroll alongside the deep end of the pool, heading towards Sherlock and John. All hint of plaintiveness has now gone from his voice.)
JIM: Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket ...
(Sherlock reaches down to his trouser pocket and removes a pistol from it.)
JIM: ... or are you just pleased to see me?
SHERLOCK (raising the pistol and aiming it towards Jim): Both.
(Jim stops and looks back at him, unafraid.)
JIM: Jim Moriarty. Hi!
(Sherlock tilts his head as he looks more closely at the man. Jim acts as if he needs to remind Sherlock who he is.)
JIM: Jim? Jim from the hospital?
(He begins to walk alongside the deep end again. Sherlock brings up his other hand to support the one aiming the gun. Jim bites his lip as if disappointed.)
JIM: Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point.
(He turns to face Sherlock just as the sniper’s laser flickers over John’s upper chest. Sherlock briefly turns his head towards John, a questioning look on his face.)
JIM (starting to walk again): Don’t be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don’t like getting my hands dirty.
(He reaches the corner of the pool and stops.)
JIM: I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see ...
(He looks surprised, as if he has only just realized the connection.)
JIM: ... like you!
SHERLOCK: “Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister?”
(Starting to walk forward again, Jim grins as he recognizes the TV show and catchphrase that Sherlock is quoting.)
SHERLOCK: “Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?”
JIM (stopping again): Just so.
SHERLOCK: Consulting criminal. (softly) Brilliant.
JIM (smiling proudly): Isn’t it? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will.
SHERLOCK (cocking the pistol): I did.
JIM: You’ve come the closest. Now you’re in my way.
SHERLOCK: Thank you.
JIM: Didn’t mean it as a compliment.
SHERLOCK: Yes you did.
JIM (shrugging): Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting’s over, Sherlock ... (His voice becomes high-pitched and sing-song.) Daddy’s had enough now!
(He again starts to stroll closer.)
JIM (back to his normal tone): I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play.
(John is starting to feel the strain and closes his eyes briefly. Sherlock’s eyes can’t help but flicker across to him a couple of times as he tries to keep his focus on the man approaching them.)
JIM: So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.
(He smiles.)
JIM: Although I have loved this – this little game of ours. (He puts on his London accent for a moment.) Playing Jim from I.T. (He switches back to his Irish accent.) Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?
SHERLOCK: People have died.
JIM: That’s what people DO!
(He screams the last word furiously, his personality changing in an instant.)
SHERLOCK (softly): I will stop you.
JIM (calmer again): No, you won’t.