Page 399 - SHERLOCK transcripts

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Before he hits the floor he’s suddenly in a long corridor lined with wooden doors. Mycroft’s voice
sounds in his head as he races along the corridor.)
MYCROFT’s VOICE: Find it.
(Sherlock runs to a nearby door and pulls it open. White light floods out and then he’s in
another similar corridor. Lying on the floor a short distance away is a dog – an Irish setter –
panting and looking towards him.)
SHERLOCK: Hello, Redbeard. Here, boy. Come on!
(He leans down and pats the top of his legs repeatedly, smiling at his dog. The dog sits up.)
SHERLOCK: Come to me. It’s okay. It’s all right.
(The dog starts to trot along the corridor towards him; and now Sherlock is his younger self
again, patting his legs and calling to his dog.)
YOUNG SHERLOCK: Come on! It’s me! It’s me, come on!
(The dog breaks into a run, barking as he continues onwards.
Adult Sherlock is now squatting in the middle of the corridor, smiling with delight and still
patting his legs encouragingly as the dog runs towards him.)
SHERLOCK: Come on!
YOUNG SHERLOCK: Good boy! Clever boy!
(The barking dog reaches the boy, who kneels down smiling happily and starts stroking his head
and ears.
The dog has also reached the adult Sherlock and is licking his face while Sherlock strokes his
head and ears.)
SHERLOCK: Hello, Redbeard. They’re putting me down too, now. It’s no fun, is it?
(He slumps down onto his backside, looking weak and disorientated.)
SHERLOCK (weakly): Redbeard.
(The dog barks, and Sherlock falls backwards to the floor.
In Magnussen’s flat, Sherlock continues his slow-motion fall backwards, and finally lands on the
carpet staring upwards blankly.)
MOLLY (offscreen): Without the shock, you’re going to feel the pain.
(In Redbeard’s corridor, she is standing some distance away from Sherlock while he convulses
on the floor, his eyes wide and his teeth clenched. Molly looks towards him, her face serious.)
MOLLY: There’s a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding.
(Sherlock continues to convulse, his face contorted in agony and his mouth open. He screams,
although the scream is muted to our ears.)
MOLLY: You have to control the pain.
(And now Sherlock is running down the stairs again. He reaches the bottom and, screaming in
pain, runs through a door into a padded cell. The room is circular and about twenty feet in
diameter. The floor is plain concrete and the walls are heavily padded with a dirty greyish-
brown material. On the opposite side of the cell to the door, a man crouches on the floor,
leaning against the wall with his head lowered. The door closes behind Sherlock and he flattens
himself against the wall beside it, convulsing and crying out in pain. He stares upwards, his
eyes red-rimmed.)
SHERLOCK: Control! Control! Control.
(His voice quietens a little with each repeat. On the other side of the room the man – who we
now see is wearing a filthy white straitjacket and who has a large metal collar around his neck
with a heavy chain fastened to it – slowly turns his head a little towards Sherlock. His face still
cannot be seen but his breathing is very loud. Sherlock stares at him, his eyes wide and his
teeth bared.)
SHERLOCK (straightening up and leaning up from the wall): You.
(Breathing heavily, he takes a couple of steps forward.)
SHERLOCK: You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain?
JIM MORIARTY (slowly turning his head more): You always feel it, Sherlock.
(He turns his head some more and looks across at Sherlock, his face murderous. His face is
dirty and it is flushed dark red with rage. Sherlock stares back at him.
The lights around the walls flicker briefly and Jim surges up and charges towards him, his
mouth wide and roaring with fury. Sherlock recoils but just before Jim can crash into him the
chain on his collar, fastened to the wall behind him, reaches its full length and prevents him
from going further. He shouts manically into Sherlock’s face.)
JIM: But you don’t have to fear it!
(Sherlock doubles over, crying out in agony. Jim stares at him, wide-eyed and insane, as
Sherlock crumples slowly to his knees and then slumps over onto his back. Jim continues to
stare down at him while Sherlock writhes.)

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)