The Syndicate

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.)

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.)