Page 253 - SHERLOCK transcripts

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(He is taken to another smaller dormitory and looks around, going to stand beside the only bed
in the room which still has bedding on it. The bed is opposite the door, which has a frosted glass
pane in it. He looks towards the door while gesturing down to the bed.)
SHERLOCK: The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the
corridor. He’d recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the
door.
LESTRADE: Okay, so ...
SHERLOCK: So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognise, an intruder. Maybe he
can even see the outline of a weapon.
(Leaving the other three inside the room, he goes outside the door and pulls it almost closed,
then raises his hand and points his fingers as if they’re a gun, showing the others how it would
be seen through the frosted glass. He pushes the door open and comes back into the room.)
SHERLOCK: What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room?
How would he use them if not to cry out?
(He walks around the bed, looking at the boy’s possessions.)
SHERLOCK: This little boy; this particular little boy ... (he looks at the bedside table and points
towards it) ... who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?
JOHN: He’d leave a sign?
(Sherlock starts sniffing noisily. He picks up a cricket bat leaning against the nearby cupboard
and sniffs along both sides of it. Putting the bat down again he squats and sniffs around the
bedside table, then reaches under the bed and picks up an almost empty glass bottle of linseed
oil. He looks up.)
SHERLOCK (sternly): Get Anderson.

Not long afterwards the room has been darkened as much as possible by closing the wooden
shutters over the windows. Sherlock shines an ultraviolet light onto the wall beside the boy’s
bed where the words “HELP US” have been written on the wall, only now visible in the light.
SHERLOCK: Linseed oil.
ANDERSON: Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.
SHERLOCK: Brilliant, Anderson.
ANDERSON: Really?
SHERLOCK: Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot.
(He points downwards, shining the light close to the wooden floorboards.)
SHERLOCK: The floor.
(There are several sets of illuminated footprints of varying sizes leading towards the door.
Sherlock slowly follows them.)
JOHN: He made a trail for us!
SHERLOCK: The boy was made to walk ahead of them.
JOHN (looking at the shape of some of the smaller footprints): On, what, tiptoe?
SHERLOCK: Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head.
(He walks slowly out into the corridor, which has also been blacked out, and follows the
footsteps. Anderson walks beside him with another ultraviolet light.)
SHERLOCK: The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled
about her neck.
(A few yards along the corridor the glowing footsteps stop.)
ANDERSON: That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here.
(Sherlock stops. Anderson turns back to him.)
ANDERSON: Tells us nothing after all.
SHERLOCK: You’re right, Anderson – nothing.
(He pauses for a moment, then takes a breath.)
SHERLOCK (quick fire): Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace.
(He reaches to the closest window and tears down the blackout material that had been stuck
across it. Daylight floods back into the corridor. Putting the light onto the window sill, he kneels
down and takes his wallet of tools and a small lidded plastic Petri dish from his inside pocket.
While the police go back towards the bedroom, he puts the dish on the floor, opens the wallet
and chuckles contentedly. John squats down beside him.)
JOHN: Having fun?
SHERLOCK: Starting to.
JOHN: Maybe don’t do the smiling.
(Sherlock lifts his head.)
JOHN: Kidnapped children?

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)