Page 175 - SHERLOCK transcripts

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SHERLOCK: Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their
text alert noise.
JOHN: Hmm. So every time they text you ...
(Right on cue, the phone sighs orgasmically again.)
SHERLOCK: It would seem so.
MRS HUDSON: Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it’s ...
(The latest text message reads:

I’m fine since you didn’t ask

Sherlock puts down the phone again and goes back to reading the paper which is showing the
headline “Refit for Historical Hospital.”)
JOHN: I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in
your coat, wouldn’t it?
(Sherlock raises his newspaper so that it’s obscuring his face.)
SHERLOCK: I’ll leave you to your deductions.
(John smiles.)
JOHN: I’m not stupid, you know.
SHERLOCK: Where do you get that idea?
(Mycroft comes back into the room, still talking on his phone.)
MYCROFT: Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.
(He hangs up. Sherlock looks at him.)
SHERLOCK: What else does she have?
(Mycroft looks at him enquiringly.)
SHERLOCK: Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of
compromising photographs. There’s more.
(He stands up and faces his brother.)
SHERLOCK: Much more.
(Mycroft looks at him stony-faced. Sherlock walks closer to him.)
SHERLOCK: Something big’s coming, isn’t it?
MYCROFT: Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this.
SHERLOCK (locking eyes with him): Oh, will I?
MYCROFT: Yes, Sherlock, you will.
(Sherlock shrugs and turns away.)
MYCROFT: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old
friend.
SHERLOCK (picking up his violin): Do give her my love.
(He begins to play the National Anthem, “God Save The Queen.” Mycroft rolls his eyes, turns
and leaves the room, Sherlock following along behind him while John grins. As Mycroft hurries
down the stairs, Sherlock turns back and walks over to the window, still playing.)

Time passes and now it’s Christmas. Fairy lights are strung up around the window frame of the
flat and it’s snowing outside. Inside, the living room is festooned with Christmas decorations
and cards, and Sherlock is walking around playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on his
violin. Mrs Hudson is sitting in his chair with a glass in her hand, watching him happily. Lestrade
is standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding a wine glass, and John – wearing a very
snazzy Christmassy jumper – walks across the room with a cup and saucer in one hand and a
bottle of beer in the other. As Sherlock finishes the tune with a fancy flourish, Lestrade whistles
in appreciation.
MRS HUDSON: Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!
JOHN: Marvellous!
(Sherlock sketches a small bow to his audience. Mrs Hudson, apparently a little bit squiffy,
giggles up at him.)
MRS HUDSON: I wish you could have worn the antlers!
SHERLOCK: Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson.
JOHN (handing her a cup of tea, perhaps in an attempt to sober her up): Mrs H.
(A dark-haired woman in her thirties brings over a tray containing mince pies and slices of cake
and offers it to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK (politely): No thank you, Sarah.
(Her face falls. John hurries over to her and puts his arm around her as she turns away.)
JOHN: Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names.

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)