Page 198 - SHERLOCK transcripts

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(He looks around the room, then gets inspired and hurls himself to the floor in front of the
fireplace. Unearthing a slipper from the pile of papers in front of the unlit fire, he holds it up and
scrabbles about inside as Mrs Hudson arrives at the door and comes in.)
MRS HUDSON: Ooh-ooh!
SHERLOCK (rummaging about in the fireplace and speaking almost sing-song): My secret
supply. What have you done with my secret supply?
MRS HUDSON: Eh?
SHERLOCK: Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?
MRS HUDSON: You know you never let me touch your things!
(She looks around at the mess.)
MRS HUDSON: Ooh, chance would be a fine thing.
SHERLOCK (standing up and facing her): I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.
MRS HUDSON: I’m not.
(Making a frustrated noise, Sherlock stomps back over to the harpoon and picks it up again.
Behind him, Mrs Hudson looks down at John who does the universal mime for offering someone
a drink. She looks at Sherlock again.)
MRS HUDSON: How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon.
SHERLOCK: I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger.
(He glares out of the window, then turns back towards Mrs Hudson and aims the point of the
harpoon at her. She flinches.)
SHERLOCK: You’ve been to see Mr Chatterjee again.
MRS HUDSON: Pardon?
SHERLOCK (pointing with the harpoon’s tip): Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s
flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking.
JOHN: Sherlock ...
SHERLOCK: Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where
that leads, don’t we?
(He sniffs deeply as he finally stops aiming the harpoon at her.)
SHERLOCK: Mmm: ‘Kasbah Nights.’ Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn’t
you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website – you
should look it up.
MRS HUDSON (exasperated): Please.
SHERLOCK: I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr Chatterjee. He’s got a wife in
Doncaster (he adopts a south Yorkshire accent to say the town’s name) that nobody knows
about.
JOHN (angrily): Sherlock!
SHERLOCK: Well, nobody except me.
MRS HUDSON (upset): I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t.
(She storms out of the flat, slamming the living room door closed as she goes. Sherlock leaps
over the back of his chair from behind it, then perches on the seat, wrapping his arms around
his knees like a petulant child. John slams his newspaper down.)
JOHN: What the bloody hell was all that about?
SHERLOCK (rocking back and forth): You don’t understand.
JOHN (sternly): Go after her and apologise.
SHERLOCK (staring at him): Apologise?
JOHN: Mmm-hmm.
SHERLOCK (sighing): Oh, John, I envy you so much.
(John hesitates, wondering whether to rise to the bait, but eventually asks.)
JOHN: You envy me?
SHERLOCK: Your mind: it’s so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing
out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. (Loudly, frantically) I
need a case!
JOHN (equally loudly): You’ve just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!
(With an exasperated noise, Sherlock jumps up in the air and then lands in the seated position
on the chair.)
SHERLOCK: That was this morning!
(He starts drumming the fingers of both hands on the arms of the chair while stomping his feet
on the floor.)
SHERLOCK: When’s the next one?
JOHN: Nothing on the website?

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)