Page 3 - SHERLOCK transcripts

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(Sighing silently, Anderson goes back into the room. Lestrade raises the phone to his ear as it
begins to ring out. He apparently immediately gets the voicemail of the person he’s calling.)
LESTRADE (into phone): This is Inspector Lestrade. Please call me as soon as you get this. I
think we’re gonna need you.
(He hangs up and sighs as he looks at the crime scene.)

TUESDAY 13 JANUARY [as indicated by the date on John’s phone later in the episode].
PICCADILLY CIRCUS. A newspaper stand carries the headline “4th SUICIDE MURDER VICTIM.”
John is walking down the road, leaning heavily on his cane. A man in a raincoat and carrying a
briefcase walks past him, then turns and stares at him, clearly recognising him. He calls out.
MIKE: John! John Watson!
(John stops and turns around. Mike hurries towards him, smiling.)
MIKE: Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.
JOHN: Yes, sorry, yes, Mike. (He takes Mike’s offered hand and shakes it.) Hello.
MIKE (grinning and gesturing to himself): Yeah, I know. I got fat!
JOHN (trying to sound convincing): No.
MIKE: I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?
JOHN (awkwardly): I got shot.

A little later they are sitting opposite each other at a table in the bar of the Criterion restaurant.
They each have a glass of wine – John’s wine is red and Mike’s white. A waiter brings them a
basket of bread rolls and collects their menus as they talk.
JOHN: So you’re still at Bart’s, then?
MIKE: Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!
(John smiles.)
MIKE: What about you? Staying in town ’til you get yourself sorted?
JOHN: Can’t afford London on an Army pension.
MIKE (shrugging): I dunno – get yourself a flatshare or something?
JOHN: Who’d want me for a flatmate?
(Mike chuckles thoughtfully.)
JOHN: What?
MIKE: Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today.
JOHN: Who was the first?

ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL MORGUE. Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the
table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs.
SHERLOCK: How fresh?
(Mortician Molly Hooper walks over.)
MOLLY: Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here – donated his body. I knew
him. He was nice.
(Sherlock straightens up and turns to her.)
SHERLOCK: Fine. We’ll start with the riding crop.

Shortly afterwards the body has been removed from the bag and is lying on its front on the
table. In the observation room next door, Molly watches while Sherlock flogs the body
repeatedly and violently with a riding crop, grunting with the effort. She walks back into the
room.
MOLLY (jokingly): So, bad day, was it?
(Sherlock turns and puts the crop down on a nearby shelf.)
SHERLOCK: I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man’s alibi
depends on it. Text me.
(Picking up his coat, he starts to walk past her on his way out of the room.)
MOLLY (a little nervously): Listen, I was wondering: maybe later ...
(Sherlock stops and frowns at her.)
SHERLOCK: Are you wearing lipstick? You weren’t wearing lipstick before.
MOLLY: I just refreshed it a bit.
(She smiles at him nervously.)
SHERLOCK: Sorry, you were saying?
MOLLY (gazing at him intently): I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee.
SHERLOCK: Black, two sugars, please. I’ll be upstairs.
(He smiles falsely at her and walks away.)

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)