Page 453 - SHERLOCK transcripts

452

WATSON: Well, why not?
HOLMES: What’s the matter with you this evening?
WATSON (pointing): That watch that you’re wearing: there’s a photograph inside it. I glimpsed
it once ...
(Cut-away shot of the photograph inside the lid of the pocket watch. We all recognise it.)
WATSON: I believe it is of Irene Adler.
HOLMES (a little angrily): You didn’t ‘glimpse’ it. You waited ’til I had fallen asleep and looked at
it.
WATSON: Yes, I did.
HOLMES: You seriously thought I wouldn’t notice?
WATSON: Irene Adler.
HOLMES: Formidable opponent; a remarkable adventure.
WATSON: A very nice photograph.
HOLMES: Why are you talking like this?
WATSON: Why are you so determined to be alone?
HOLMES: Are you quite well, Watson?
WATSON: Is it such a curious question?
HOLMES: From a Viennese alienist, no; from a retired Army surgeon, most certainly.
WATSON: Holmes, against absolutely no opposition whatsoever, I am your closest friend.
HOLMES: I concede it.
WATSON: I am currently attempting to have a perfectly normal conversation with you.
HOLMES (precisely): Please don’t.
WATSON (equally precisely): Why do you need to be alone?
HOLMES: If you are referring to romantic entanglement, Watson – which I rather fear you are –
as I have often explained before, all emotion is abhorrent to me. It is the grit in a sensitive
instrument ...
(Watson joins in with what he says next.)
HOLMES and WATSON (almost simultaneously): ... the crack in the lens.
WATSON: Yes.
HOLMES: Well, there you are, you see? I’ve said it all before.
WATSON: No, I wrote all that. You’re quoting yourself from The Strand Magazine.
HOLMES: Well, exactly.
WATSON: No, those are my words, not yours! That is the version of you that I present to the
public: the brain without a heart; the calculating machine. I write all of that, Holmes, and the
readers lap it up, but I do not believe it.
HOLMES: Well, I’ve a good mind to write to your editor.
WATSON: You are a living, breathing man. You’ve lived a life; you have a past.
HOLMES: A what?!
WATSON: Well, you must have had ...
HOLMES: Had what?
(Watson pauses a little awkwardly, then points at his friend.)
WATSON: You know.
HOLMES: No.
(Watson swallows.)
WATSON: Experiences.
HOLMES (angrily): Pass me your revolver. I have a sudden need to use it.
WATSON: Damn it, Holmes, you are flesh and blood. You have feelings. You have ... you must
have ... impulses.
(Holmes closes his eyes in exasperation.)
HOLMES (through his teeth): Dear Lord. I have never been so impatient to be attacked by a
murderous ghost.
WATSON: As your friend – as someone who ... worries about you – what made you like this?
(Holmes has opened his eyes and looks at his friend almost sympathetically.)
HOLMES: Oh, Watson. Nothing made me.
(From somewhere to his left, scrabbling claws can be heard together with a sound of a dog
whimpering anxiously, or as if it is in pain. Holmes turns his head in the direction of the sound.)
HOLMES: I made me.
(The scrabbling and whimpering continues. Holmes frowns in confusion.)
HOLMES: Redbeard?
WATSON: Good God!

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)