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.
I put as much effort into it as you did this fucking game.
).
