Page 469 - SHERLOCK transcripts

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HOLMES: One small detail doesn’t quite make sense to me, however. Why engage me to
prevent a murder you intended to commit?
(The Bride doesn’t respond.)
HOLMES: Hmm?
(The Bride huffs out a laugh but it’s not coming from any woman’s mouth.)
MORIARTY’s VOICE (from underneath the veil, in a deliberately poor impersonation of Holmes):
It doesn’t quite make sense; this doesn’t quite make sense. (In his own voice) Of course it
doesn’t make sense.
(Holmes blinks a couple of times.)
MORIARTY’s VOICE: It’s not real.
(He snores as if bored.)
MORIARTY’s VOICE: Oh, Sherlock.
(He takes hold of the veil and flips it back onto his head, holding it there so as to reveal his
face. There is dried blood in the middle of his upper and lower lips from where he shot himself
in the mouth. Holmes gasps.)
MORIARTY: Peekaboo.
(He rolls his jaw as if it hurts. Holmes stares in shock.)
HOLMES: No. No, not you. It can’t be you.
MORIARTY: I mean, come on, be serious. Costumes, the gong. Speaking as a criminal
mastermind, we don’t really have gongs, or special outfits.
(Holmes, looking faint, closes his eyes. Behind his closed eyes, it’s as if a faint image of Watson
is shining a penlight into his eyes. The voice which speaks in his head, however, sounds a little
more like modern John than Victorian Watson.)
JOHN/WATSON: What the hell is going on?
(Holmes opens his eyes again and peers at Moriarty in continuing disbelief.)
MORIARTY: Is this silly enough for you yet? Gothic enough? Mad enough, even for you? It
doesn’t make sense, Sherlock, because it’s not real. (In a whisper) None of it.
(Behind his eyes, Holmes can again see Watson looking closely at him, and again he hears the
voice.)
JOHN/WATSON: What’s he talking about?
MORIARTY (in a whisper): This is all in your mind.
(Holmes clamps his eyes shut again.)
JOHN’s VOICE: Sherlock.
(The penlight shines into Holmes’ closed eyes.)
WATSON’s VOICE: Holmes!
MORIARTY (in a whisper): You’re dreaming.
(Holmes, his eyes wide again, opens his mouth and gasps out a long breath.)
MARY: Is he dreaming?
(Sherlock’s vision clears. Mary is sitting a short distance away and peering at him, and John is
leaning over him and shining a penlight into his right eye. Mycroft is sitting at Sherlock’s
bedside. They’re no longer in the plane and Sherlock is lying fully clothed on a bed, presumably
in a hospital.)
MYCROFT (somewhat sarcastically): And there he is. Thought we’d lost you for a moment. May
I just check: is this what you mean by “controlled usage”?
(In the background, a woman in a white hospital uniform walks past.)
SHERLOCK (a little blearily): Mrs Emelia Ricoletti. I need to know where she was buried.
MYCROFT: What, a hundred and twenty years ago?!
SHERLOCK (struggling to sit up, while John tries to push him back down): Yes.
MYCROFT: That would take weeks to find, if those records even exist. Even with my resources
...
MARY (looking down at her phone): Got it.

Some time later, John and Mary get out of a police car and follow Sherlock, who has just taken
a spade from the boot of another police car. Sherlock is now wearing his Coat and scarf and he
leads them into a cemetery. Mycroft and Greg Lestrade follow them and there are several
uniformed police officers in attendance.
JOHN: I don’t get it. How is this relevant?
SHERLOCK: I need to know I was right, then I’ll be sure.
MARY: You mean how Moriarty did it?
SHERLOCK: Yes.
JOHN: But none of that really happened. It was in your head.

Transcripts by Ariane DeVere (arianedevere@livejournal.com)