Page 409 - SHERLOCK transcripts

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(He walks to the fuse box and puts his hand onto one of the switches before looking back
towards her.)
SHERLOCK: Not that obvious a trick.
(He flicks the switch and all the lights come on. Behind Mary at the far end of the corridor there
is slight movement. Even though she has not seen it, her face fills with dread as if she has
already realised the truth. Lowering her eyes and letting out a breath, she turns to look along
the corridor to where the figure at the end can now be seen clearly. She gasps. Her husband is
sitting in the wheelchair, looking back at her with no expression in his eyes. His hair is ruffled to
make it look bigger and he is wearing a black jacket with the collar popped. Slowly he stands up
and begins to stroke his hair back down.)
SHERLOCK (softly): Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly.
(John takes hold of his coat and pulls it wide, shaking the collar down before settling it back
onto his shoulders. Mary lets out an anguished sigh as he slowly starts to walk towards her and
then stops several feet away. The scene slowly fades to black.)

DAY TIME. A church choir can be heard singing the Christmas carol, “Hark, the Herald Angels
Sing.” From the quality of the sound, it appears that the music is coming from a radio. Outside
a red-walled cottage, Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s father comes out of the door wearing grey
trousers, a white checked shirt, a grey cardigan and a bright red bowtie. He goes over to a
nearby pile of small wooden logs and picks up two of them before going back inside. Mycroft’s
voice can be heard. It has a rather despairing tone to it.
MYCROFT (offscreen): Oh, dear God, it’s only two o’clock. It’s been Christmas Day for at least a
week now.
(We switch to a view through a window of the cottage and can see the kitchen. Mycroft –
wearing a shirt and tie and a sleeveless waistcoat – is sitting at the side of a large table in the
middle of the kitchen rubbing one hand wearily over his brow. Christmas lights – wrapped
around green foliage – are strung along the bottom of the window we are looking through and
another set of lights is wrapped over the curtain rail above a window on the opposite side of the
kitchen. The latter lights then progress to where they drape over the top of a picture on the wall
beside the window and then dangle down haphazardly towards the floor. On the kitchen table is
some crockery, including a large plate with red paper serviettes and some cutlery on it, another
plate with mince pies on it, a small iced and decorated Christmas cake, and various other items.
From just offscreen, someone drops some more Christmas crackers onto a pile of them lying in
a wicker basket on the table. Sherlock, wearing his usual dark suit and a very dark grey shirt, is
sitting in an armchair near the table.)
MYCROFT (in the same despairing tone): How can it only be two o’clock? I’m in agony.
(Sherlock is looking at the front page of The Guardian which bears the headline “Lord
Smallwood suicide” and the straplines “Shamed peer takes own life” and “63-year-old dies
following letters scandal”. Mrs Holmes’ voice speaks offscreen.)
MRS HOLMES: Mikey, is this your laptop?
(Standing at the end of the table, she points down to a silver-grey laptop on the table, half-
obscured by a chopping board on top of it which has several whole peeled potatoes and the
peelings on it.)
MYCROFT: On which depends the security of the free world, yes ... (he smiles rather
sarcastically up at her) ... and you’ve got potatoes on it.
(Sherlock glances over towards them.)
MRS HOLMES (to Mycroft): Well, you shouldn’t leave it lying around if it’s so important.
(She reaches to pick up the basket of crackers but puts it down again when Mycroft speaks
while gesturing around the kitchen.)
MYCROFT: Why are we doing this? We never do this.
(Looking a little exasperated, his mother leans on the table.)
MRS HOLMES: We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy.
(Mycroft looks up at her with an extremely insincere smile.)
MYCROFT: Am I happy too? I haven’t checked.
MRS HOLMES (picking up the basket): Behave, Mike.
MYCROFT: ‘Mycroft’ is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the
end.
(Bill Wiggins walks over and holds out a glass of punch with pieces of fruit floating in it.)
BILL: Mrs Holmes?
(She looks round and takes the glass from him.)
MRS HOLMES: Oh! Thank you, dear.

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)