The Syndicate

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.

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.)

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.)