The date '2014' appears on the screen, then the numbers begin rapidly to scroll backwards. When they reach the late 1800s they begin to fade from the screen, reaching around '1884' before disappearing.
A blue eye opens and then widening. Then, in an obvious flashback, Captain John Watson, wearing a Victorian military uniform, is standing in a battlefield and flinching as a shell explodes close behind him.
"The second Afghan War brought honours and promotion to many." Watson said, as a voiceover.
Flashback/dream...
Watson is squatting down to a fallen colleague.
Real life...
Watson rolls over in bed, trying to get back to sleep.
"... but for me it meant nothing but misfortune and disaster." Watson said, as a voiceover.
Flashback/dream...
Still tending to his colleague, Watson cowers as another shell explodes and he is showered with earth. Some distance away, an enemy soldier squints along his rifle and pulls the trigger. The bullet impacts Watson's left shoulder and he falls to the ground.
Watson's bed...
Watson thrashes into a new position, groaning quietly.
Flashback/dream...
One of Watson's colleagues drags him to safety.
"You all right, Captain?" A soldier asked.
Watson wakes up again, his face covered with sweat. Before his open eyes he can still see explosions going off on the battlefield.
The scene changes to a London street in the 1880s. The road is busy with horse-drawn carriages, and there are many people walking along the pavement.
"I returned to England with my health irretrievably ruined and my future bleak." Watson said, as a voice over.
Watson limps along the road leaning on a cane.
"Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are drained." Watson said, as a voice over, and as his narration was happening, a voice could be heard calling out, 'Watson!'
Now the man calls out again.
"Watson!" Stamford yelled, and Watson turns to see a man smiling as he approaches him. "Stamford. Remember?" Watson looks blankly at him. "We were at Bart's together."
"Yes, of course." Watson said, shaking hands with the other man. "Stamford."
"Good Lord! Where have you been? You're as thin as a rake!" Stamford said, excitedly.
Criterion...
Watson and Stamford are standing at a table in the crowded bar.
"I made it home. Many weren't so lucky." Watson said.
"So what now?" Stamford asked.
"Hmm? I need a place to live. Somewhere decent, and an affordable price. It's not easy." Watson said, drinking from his glass of beer.
Stamford chuckles, "You know, you're the second person to say that to me today."
"Hmm? Who was the first?"
Underground mortuary...
A man is repeatedly and violently flogging a corpse with a heavy walking stick. His friend is looking at the back of his head. Watson and Stamford walk into the corridor leading to the mortuary and Watson looks through the window of the room with surprise.
"Good Lord!" Watson said, angrily.
"It's an experiment, apparently. Beating corpses to establish how long after death bruising is still possible." Stamford said.
Watson watches the man a little uncomfortably as he continues to flog the corpse. Eventually he turns and limps away.
"Is there a medical point to that?" Watson asked.
"Not sure." Stamford said, following Watson.
"Neither am I. So, where are those friends of yours, then?" Watson asked.
Stamford stops at the door to the room. Watson stops and turns back to look at him, then realisation begins to dawn.
Inside the room...
"'olmes. Do yer 'ave ter keep on doin' that, eh?" Shay asked.
The man's friend is still watching him, still thrashing the corpse with their backs to Stamford and Watson as they walk in.
"I have to do it, Shay." Holmes said.
"Excuse me!" Stamford said, loudly.
The man flogs the corpse even faster.
"I do hope we're not interrupting." Watson said, loudly.
Giving the corpse one last violent lash, the man blows out a breath and turns, and it is Sherlock Holmes. The friend next to Sherlock Holmes is Jared Shay.
"Yor not interruptin' anyfink. I promise." Shay said, while Holmes quickly looks down the length of Watson's body. "Cop ready for sumfink amazin'."
"You've been in Afghanistan, I perceive." Holmes said, turning away, reaching into his waistcoat for his pocket watch.
"Doctor Watson, Mr Sherlock ..." Stamford said.
Looking down at his watch and without turning round, Holmes tosses his walking stick towards Watson, who instinctively reaches out and catches it.
"Excellent reflexes." Holmes said, turning his back again, and he smiles falsely at Watson while grabbing Shay's hand and putting his watch back into his pocket. "You'll do."
"I'm sorry?" Watson asked.
"We have our eye on a suite of rooms near Regent's Park. Between the three of us, we could afford them." Holmes said.
"Rooms?" Watson asked, glancing briefly at Stamford. "Who said anything about rooms?"
"We did, right? We was 'avin' breakfast. I enjoyed some nice fish and chips." Shay said, with Holmes squeezing his hand.
"And we mentioned to Stamford this morning we were in need of a fellow lodger. Now he appears after lunch in the company of a man of military aspect with a tan and recent injury, both suggestive of the campaign in Afghanistan and an enforced departure from it." Holmes said, in a quick fire rate, before finally taking a quick breath. "The conclusion seemed inescapable." He flicks a quick glance at Watson and then lowers his eyes with a small self-satisfied smile, before pulling in a longer breath. "We'll finalise the details tomorrow evening."
Holmes walks towards the other two with Shay, forcing them to step aside as they walk in between them, with the consulting detective taking his walking stick from Watson as they pass.
"Now if you'll excuse us, we have a hanging in Wandsworth and we'd hate them to start without us." Holmes said, taking his coat from a nearby stand and starts to put it on.
"A hanging?" Watson asked.
"Yeah, i'n it? Watchin' a 'angin' is cool ter experience wiv 'im. A once in a lifetime opportunity." Shay said, happily.
"I take a professional interest. I also play the violin and smoke a pipe. Shay here writes stories in his diaries and he reads a lot of novels. Has a whole library full of them in one of the other levels. I presume that's not a problem?" Holmes asked.
"Er, no, well ..." Watson said, at a loss for words.
"And you're clearly acclimatised to never getting to the end of a sentence. More so than Shay who gets to the end of a sentence. We'll get along splendidly. Tomorrow evening, seven o'clock, then." Holmes said, taking his hat from the stand and smiling at Watson, and he starts to turn away with Shay, then turns back. "Oh, and the name is Sherlock Holmes, this is Jared Shay, and the address is two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street."
"I'll spot yer later, right, Watson." Shay said, smiling.
Holmes puts on his hat, then turns and walks away with Shay.
"Yes. He's always been like that. And so is his companion." Stamford said, looking at Watson.
London...
Anews vendor is calling out to the passing pedestrians, carrying an issue of The Strand Magazine. He is holding newspapers and another copy of The Strand with a small red sleeve around it on which are the words 'SHERLOCK HOLMES' and an in-profile white silhouette of the detective. Offscreen, carollers can be heard singing 'Hark! The Herald Angels Sing'.
"Papers! Papers!" The news vendor said, while a hansom cab approaches along the street. "Papers! Papers!"
The cab slows down as Watson leans out of the window a little and gestures to attract the attention of the vendor.
"Here." Watson said, happily.
"Oi. Why did we put the mockers on?" Shay asked, when the cab stopped.
"Shush." Watson said, as Shay kicked him, and the army doctor looked at the news vendor. "Sorry. How's 'The Blue Carbuncle' doing?"
"Very popular, Doctor Watson. Is there gonna be a proper murder next time?" The news vendor asked.
"I'll have a word with the criminal classes."
"If you wouldn't mind." The news vendor said, pointing towards the figure sitting next to Watson. "Is that 'im? Is 'e in there?"
Holmes, mostly obscured from the vendor's view, also kicks Watson, who grunts.
"No. No, no, not at all." Watson said, tipping a finger to his hat. "Ah, good day to you."
"Walk on." The cabbie siad, looking at his horse, his horse, shaking the reins at it.
"Thank goodness. We're movin' again." Shay said, as the cab sets off again.
The news vendor calls after it, "Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes!"
BAKER STREET...
W. sign on the wall of a building. As the camera pans down to show the street, the cab pulls up outside the front door of 221B. Next door is a canopy over a shop showing that this is SPEEDWELL'S Restaurant and Tea Rooms. The door to 221B opens and Mrs Hudson comes out as Holmes, Watson, and Shay get out of the cab, Holmes holding a pipe.
"Mr Holmes, I do wish you'd let me know when you're planning to come home." Mrs Hudson said, and the houseboy, Billy hurries out of the house towards Watson and Shay, who are unloading bags from the cab.
"I hardly knew myself, Mrs Hudson. That's the trouble with dismembered country squires – they're notoriously difficult to schedule." Holmes said, clamping the pipe between his teeth and turns back to pay the cabbie.
"What's in there?" Billy asked, looking at Watson, looking at one of the bags which he is holding.
"Never mind." Watson said.
"Thank you." Holmes said, looking at the cabbie.
"It's nuffink ter worry about, right, Billy. Promise, do wot Guvnor!" Shay said, excitedly.
Billy takes some of the other bags and starts to take them inside.
"Did you catch a murderer, Mr Holmes?" Billy asked, over his shoulder.
"Caught the murderer; still looking for the legs. Think we'll call it a draw." Holmes said, going inside with Shay.
Mrs Hudson, on the doorstep, turns to Watson.
"And I notice you've published another of your stories, Doctor Watson." Mrs Hudson said.
"Yes. Did you enjoy it?" Watson asked.
"No." Mrs Hudson said, after only a second's thought, turns and goes inside.
221B Baker Street...
Watson follows Mrs Hudson, "Oh?"
"I never enjoy them." Mrs Hudson said.
"Why not?" Watson asked, pushing the door closed behind him.
In the hallway Holmes has taken off his coat and hat and hangs them on a hook near the front door as Shay took off his hood and cap and hangs them on another hook near the front door, then the two walks further into the hall.
"It's because o' the bloody way yer wrote Mrs 'udson, Watson. That's why she don't like it." Shay said, sadly.
"Shay's right. That's the reason why. Well, I never say anything, do I? According to you, I just show people up the stairs and serve you breakfasts." Mrs Hudson said, scoffing.
"Well, within the narrative, that is – broadly speaking – your function." Watson said, hanging up his own coat and hat.
"My what?!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed.
"Don't feel singled out, Mrs Hudson. Shay and I are hardly in the dog one." Holmes said.
"The dog one wasn't bad. It were a bit borin', though. Probably one o' us bests. Despite the chuffin' pacin'." Shay said, smiling.
"'The dog one'?!" Watson exclaimed, indignantly.
"I'm your landlady, not a plot device." Mrs Hudson said, rolling her eyes.
"Do you mean 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'?!" Watson exclaimed, looking at Holmes and Watson, who are heading up the stairs.
"And you make the room so drab and dingy." Mrs Hudson said, upset.
"Oh, blame it on the illustrator. He's out of control. I've had to grow this moustache just so people'll recognise me." Watson said, tetchily following Holmes and Shay up the stairs.
"Over the many years it has been my privilege to record the exploits of my remarkable friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, with Mr Jared Shay helping to come up with some of the titles of the exploits, it has sometimes been difficult to choose which of his many cases to set before my readers." Watson said, while he has been narrating, Holmes and Shay have gone up the stairs into the first floor sitting room.
Glancing briefly towards the fire, Holmes walks across the room to the right-hand window and pulls back the closed curtains, revealing a stag's head hung on the wall between the two windows. The mounted head has a full set of antlers, upon which an ear trumpet hangs.
"Some are still too sensitive to recount ..." Watson said, as a voice over.
As Holmes walks across the room to the left-hand window, a knife can be seen stabbed into some letters on the mantelpiece.
"... whilst others are too recent in the minds of the public." Watson said, as a voice over.
On the wall opposite the fireplace is a framed copy of the painting 'All is Vanity' by Charles Allen Gilbert, painted in 1892.
"But in all our many adventures together, no case pushed my friends to such mental and physical extremes as that of The Abominable Bride." Watson said, as a voice over.
During his narration, Watson has brought one of the bags upstairs, taken it to the room behind the sitting room and put it on the table. Letting the bag go, he flexes the fingers of his left hand, then turns towards the sitting room where Holmes is pushing open the curtains of the left window. Shay is reading Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol' at the table. As more light floods into the room, a figure is revealed standing in front of the fire. Dressed in black mourning clothes and with a black veil over the face, the figure, apparently a woman, stands facing the fire with her hands clasped behind her back.
"Good Lord!" Watson yelled, walking into the room.
The figure turns around to face the room.
"Mrs Hudson, there is a woman in my sitting room! Is it intentional?" Holmes asked, loudly, walking past the figure to the door.
"She's a client! Said you were out; insisted on waiting." Mrs Hudson said, from downstairs.
Holmes grimaces.
Watson picks up a chair near the table and turns to put it down in front of the woman, "Would you, er, care to sit down?"
The woman doesn't move or respond to him.
"Didn't you ask her what she wanted?" Holmes asked, calling down the stairs.
"You ask her!" Mrs Hudson said, from downstairs.
"Well, why didn't you ask her?"
"How could I, what with me not talking and everything?" Mrs Hudson asked, tetchily.
Holmes rolls his eyes and sighs. He turns and walks back into the sitting room.
"Oh, for God's sake." Holmes said, quietly, to Watson and Shay. "Give her some lines. She's perfectly capable of starving us." He walks towards the woman and smiles at her. "Good afternoon. I'm Sherlock Holmes. These are my friends and colleagues, Doctor Watson and Jared Shay. You may speak freely in front of them, as they rarely understand a word."
"Holmes." Watson said.
"However, before you do, allow me to make some trifling observations." Holmes said, looking at the woman and walking closer to her and circles around her while she continues to stand there impassively. "You have an impish sense of humour which currently you're deploying to ease a degree of personal anguish." He moves towards Watson and circles around him, still addressing the silent woman. "You have recently married a man of a seemingly kindly disposition who has now abandoned you for an unsavoury companion of dubious morals. You have come to this agency as a last resort in the hope that reconciliation may still be possible."
"Good Lord, Holmes!" Watson said, angrily.
"All of this is, of course, perfectly evident from your perfume."
"Her perfume?"
"Yes, her perfume, which brings insight to me and Shay and disaster to you." Holmes said.
"How so?"
"Because Shay and I recognised it and you did not." Holmes said, stepping towards the woman and undoes the woman's veil and pulls it clear of her face.
As Holmes walks away from her, Watson instantly recognises her.
"Mary!" Watson yelled.
"John." Mrs Watson said, smiling.
"Why, in God's name, are you pretending to be a client?"
"Because I could think of no other way to see my husband, Husband."
"Oi Mary. It's nice ter spot yer again. Sorry ter keep yer waitin'." Shay said, walking up to Mrs Watson to hug her.
"It's alright, Jared." Mrs Watson said, happily. "Have you been keeping my Baker Street Boys safe?"
"Yes, I 'ave. 'olmes and Watson prove ter be a pain in me arse." Shay said, smirking. "Right. But nuffink I couldn't 'andle."
"That's good. What have you two been dealing with?"
"It were a murdered country squire. An annoyin' case." Shay said, while Holmes has taken off his jacket and put on a camel coloured dressing gown over his clothes.
Holding his violin and standing facing the right-hand window, Holmes is playing a tune which Shay recognise as his wedding waltz.
"John, we need to talk." Mrs Watson said, still standing near the fireplace and Watson is pacing nearby but now turns back to his wife and speaks angrily to her. "Jared spilled the beans on your latest case. A murdered country squire? Seriously?"
"It was an affair of international intrigue." Watson said.
"It was a murdered country squire."
"Nevertheless, matters were pressing."
"I don't mind you going, my darling. I mind you leaving me behind! Jared wanted me to come, but you said no!" Mrs Watson said, angrily.
"But what could you do?!" Watson exclaimed.
"Oh, what do you do except wander round, taking notes, looking surprised ..."
Holmes stops playing and angrily lowers his violin.
"Button it! Both o' yer!" Shay yelled, looking up from his book. "Thank yer kindly, i'n it?"
The others fall silent and look at him. Holmes doesn't turn round.
"The stage is set, and the curtain rises. We are ready to begin." Holmes said, softly.
"Begin what?" Mrs Watson asked.
"Sometimes, to solve a case, one must first solve another."
"Oh, you have a case, then, a new one?" Watson asked.
"An old one. Very old. I shall have to go deep with Shay." Holmes said, softly.
"Deep? Into what?"
"'olmes and I 'ave ter go deep into ourselves. Cor blimey guv, would I lie to you. I'm not lookin' forward ter this one bit, right, Watson, do wot Guvnor!" Shay said, gazing out of the window with Holmes.
Holmes gazes out of the window for a moment longer, then turns and calls over his shoulder, "Lestrade! Do stop loitering by the door and come in."
The door to the sitting room opens and Inspector Lestrade comes in, breathing heavily and looking anxious. He glances towards the table in between the windows before looking towards the people near the fireplace.
"How did you know it was me?" Lestrade asked.
"The regulation tread is unmistakable; lighter than Jones, heavier than Gregson." Holmes said, going across to his chair and sitting down.
"I-I-I just came up. Mrs Hudson didn't seem to be talking." Lestrade said, stuttering.
Rolling his eyes, Holmes reaches towards a Turkish slipper on the table beside his chair and takes out some tobacco to fill his pipe.
"I fear she's branched into literary criticism by means of satire. It is a distressing trend in the modern landlady. What brings you here in your off-duty hours?" Holmes asked.
Lestrade glances to his right, then looks back at Holmes, "How'd you know I'm off-duty?"
"Well, since your arrival you've addressed over forty percent of your remarks to my decanter." Holmes said, pointing to the table between the windows, on which is a silver tray holding various bottles and glasses, including a whisky decanter. "Watson, Shay, give the inspector what he so clearly wants."
"Okay, do wot Guvnor! Got it, 'olmes." Shay said, walking across the room while Lestrade takes off his hat, and he picks up the decanter and pours a drink for Lestrade. "'ere yer go, Lestrade. Cor blimey guv, would I lie to you. It's all yors."
"So, Lestrade, what can we do for you?" Watson asked.
"Oh, I'm not here on business. I just thought I'd ... drop by." Lestrade said.
"A social call, then, eh, mate? Wot sort of social call, then?" Shay asked, walking over and hands Lestrade the glass.
"Yeah, of course, just to wish you the compliments of the season." Lestrade said.
Holmes takes his pipe from his mouth and looks pointedly at the inspector. Lestrade looks at him a little nervously and then raises his glass, looking across to Mary.
"Merry Christmas?" Lestrade asked.
"Merry Christmas." Holmes said.
"Merry Christmas." Watson said.
"Merry Christmas." Mrs Watson said.
"Merry Christmas." Shay said, happily.
"Thank God that's over. Now, Inspector, what strange happening compels you to my door but embarrasses you to relate?" Holmes asked.
Lestrade has taken a long drink from his glass and now closes his eyes before shaking his head and opening his eyes again, "Who said anything happened?"
"You did, by every means short of actual speech." Holmes said.
Lestrade drinks deeply and then sighs with relief.
"Wait! Right! Yer got yor deduction wrong, 'olmes! Blimey!" Shay said, worried.
"Then correct me, Shay." Holmes said, smiling.
"'e didn't want a drink, 'olmes, i'n it?" Shay asked, taking the glass from Lestrade and turns it upside down to show that it is empty. "'e needed one. Badly. 'e's not embarrassed about drinkin' at all, i'n it? 'e's afraid o' sumfink. I usually read because I'm scared and want ter drift away and escape."
Lestrade looks down, putting his gloved hand to his mouth and looking anxious. Holmes smirks.
"One of my Boswells is learning. They do grow up so fast." Holmes said, looking up at Mary, who smiles at him. "Shay, restore the courage of Scotland Yard." Shay takes the glass back over to the table. "Inspector, do sit down."
Holmes gestures to the dining chair with his pipe and picks up a match.
"I'm-I'm not afraid, exactly." Lestrade said, picking up the chair and moving it near to Watson's armchair so that he can sit facing Holmes.
"Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. It is nothing to be ashamed of." Holmes said.
"'ere yer go. 'ave aunuvver one. Cor blimey guv, would I lie to you." Shay said, bringing over the refilled glass and gives it to Lestrade.
"Thank you." Lestrade said.
"From the beginning, then." Holmes said, striking the match, and the image of the igniting match head morphs into the barrel of a pistol.
London...
Standing on the balcony outside an upper storey window of a building elsewhere in London, a woman is holding a long-barrelled pistol in each hand. She is wearing a wedding dress and matching head dress with the veil flipped back on her head, and her face is painted deathly white, except for her lips which are vividly red against the paleness of her face. The lipstick runs slightly over the edges of her lips. She fires into the street below and one of the bullets smashes through the window of a nearby baker's shop. She fires again and people in the street below cry out in panic and duck or run. As a man runs along the street, the woman turns and aims her pistols at him.
"You!" The bride said, excitedly.
The man – named Giles – turns and stares up at her, holding up his hands pleadingly, "No! Please!"
The bride turns away from Giles and stares wide-eyed at the pandemonium below her. Another man is running for cover. She glares at him but then fires further down the street to her right. He stops at the baker's shop and struggles to open the door but it appears to be locked. Breathing heavily, the woman cries towards him.
"You?!" The bride exclaimed.
The man turns and starts to run down the street as the woman fires in his direction.
221B's sitting room...
Holmes raises his hand, "A moment."
London...
In the street, as another gunshot rings out, the scene freezes and, a little way down the road, it's as if the sitting room has appeared in the street but with only the wall with the fireplace there. The other three walls have vanished and Holmes and the others are sitting in their chairs and looking out at the scene. Watson has now sat down in his armchair, and Mary is sitting on the arm of his chair. Shay is standing by the fireplace.
Holmes points at the frozen scene, "When was this?"
"Yesterday morning." Lestrade said.
"The bride's face. How was it described?" Holmes asked.
Lestrade opens his notebook and looks at his notes.
"White as death ..." Lestrade said, while there is a brief shot of the bride firing into the street. "... mouth like a crimson wound."
Holmes stands up and walks across the room to look at his imagined version of the street scene, "Poetry or truth?"
"Well, a bit o' blokes would think they're the bloody same finkbugger, right, right, then, eh? And say that it is, right, and well, spread rumors about it." Shay said, frowning.
"Yes, idiots. Poetry or truth?" Holmes asked, briefly closing his eyes in exasperation.
"I saw her face myself. Afterwards." Lestrade said.
Holmes turns to look at Lestrade, "After what?"
The balcony...
The bride aims her pistols at another man.
"You!" The bride yelled, pausing for a moment. "Or me?"
Lowering the left-hand pistol, she raises the barrel of the other pistol in her right hand and opens her mouth wide. Aiming the gun up into her mouth, she fires and blood spatters over the white net curtains behind her. As the watching people cry out in alarm, she falls backwards and disappears from view.
Sitting room...
Holmes sighs with exasperation.
"Really, Lestrade." Holmes said, walking back across the room to sit in his chair. "A woman blows her own brains out in public and you need help identifying the guilty party. I fear Scotland Yard has reached a new low."
"That's not why I'm here." Lestrade said.
"I surmise."
"What was her name, the bride?" Watson asked, now holding an open notebook on his lap.
Room...
Brief shot of the woman lying on the carpet in the room where she shot herself, the pistol still in her hand.
Sitting room...
"Emelia Ricoletti. Yesterday was her wedding anniversary. The police, of course, were called, and her body taken to the morgue." Lestrade said, drinking from his glass.
"Standard procedure. Why are you telling us what may be presumed?" Holmes asked.
"Because of what happened next."
Limehouse...
A pretty Chinese woman smiles at an English man who is sitting in a carriage. A Chinese man stands beside her. Nearby, another Chinese man stands outside what can be presumed to be an opium den.
"Limehouse, just a few hours later." Lestrade said, as a voice over.
An English man in a smart dress suit comes out of the den and starts to walk down the street. The scene freezes with the man facing towards where the sitting room of 221B seems to have appeared in the street.
Lestrade looks towards the man, "Thomas Ricoletti, Emelia Ricoletti's husband."
"Maybe 'e were on 'is way ter the bleedin' morgue ter find 'er corpse." Shay said, letting out a sigh.
Lestrade takes another drink, then nods, "As it turned out, he was saved the trip."
London...
In the street, a hansom cab approaches and a horse whinnies. Ricoletti turns around to look. The door of the cab opens and a woman starts to get out. At this moment all we can see is her boot and her white wedding dress covering her leg.
"Do not forget me ..." The bride said, singing.
Ricoletti stares in horror as the Bride is revealed, her face covered and obscured by the head dress' veil. She is holding a shotgun which she now aims at him as she continues to sing.
"Do not forget me ..." The bride said, singing the next line of her song, as Ricoletti raises his hands in terrified submission and she slowly walks towards him. "Remember the maid ..."
"Who are you?" Ricoletti asked.
"The maid of the mill."
"Why are you doing this? Just tell me who you are!" Ricoletti said, talking over the bride.
"You recognise our song, my dear? I sang it at our wedding." The bride said.
Ricoletti stares in horror as the Bride lifts her veil with one hand. Her lipstick is even more smeared than before, and there are powder burns around the middle of her lips.
"Emelia?!" Ricoletti exclaimed, stuttering. "You're dead. You can't be here. You died."
"Am I not beautiful, Thomas? As beautiful as the day you married me?" The bride asked, smiling at Ricoletti.
Behind the bride, a young police constable runs toward the scene but stops a few paces away.
"What the hell's all this about?" PC Rance asked, nervously.
The Bride turns her head towards him. The back of her head is covered with blood.
"What does it look like, my handsome friend?" The bride asked, turning her head towards her husband again. "It's a shotgun wedding."
Cocking the shotgun twice in rapid succession, she fires at him twice. She smiles as he stares sightlessly at her for a moment, his own blood spattered over his face, then drops to the ground. His head seems to lands on the carpet of the sitting room in 221B. Holmes looks impassively at the man's body.
"'Til death us do part. Twice, in this case." Holmes said, smiling at Lestrade.
In the street, the Bride has pulled her veil back over her face and now turns in the direction of the hansom cab. The back of her head can be seen more clearly and it looks as if the rear of her skull has been blown off. PC Rance gasps as she walks past the cab and continues on into the fog and disappears from view. Rance blows his police whistle and then runs off after her.
"Extraordinary." Watson said, at a loss for words.
"Impossible!" Mrs Watson said, worried.
"That's amazin'. I luv it, i'n it?" Shay asked.
"Superb! Suicide as street theatre; murder by corpse. Lestrade, you're spoiling us. Watson, Shay, your hats and coats." Holmes said, standing, and walking towards the door.
"Where are we going?" Watson asked, also standing.
"We're 'eadin' towards the morgue, Watson. Yer can't 'ave a knees-up wivout a joanna." Shay said, standing just outside the sitting room with Holmes and putting on his coat and hat. "Can't think o' anyone who'd 'ave that as a nickname. Cor blimey guv, would I lie to you. Maybe some lass called Morgan. I don't know."
Holmes takes off his dressing gown and puts on his jacket, "... which one can so rarely say of a morgue."
"And am I just to sit here?" Mrs Watson asked.
"Not at all, my dear." Watson said, leaning down and chucks his wife under the chin. "We'll be hungry later!" He turns to Holmes and Shay. "Holmes, Shay, just one thing?" Watson looks down at his own clothes. "Tweeds, in a morgue?"
"Needs must when the devil drives, Watson." Holmes said, smirking.
Holmes, Shay, and Watson hurry down the stairs.
Lestrade looks at Mary as he starts to follow them, "Ma'am."
"I'm part of a campaign, you know." Mrs Watson said, standing up.
"Oh yeah? Campaign?" Lestrade asked, turning back to Mrs Watson.
"Votes for Women."
"And are you – are you for or against?"
"Get out." Mrs Watson said, sternly pointing to the stairs.
Looking bewildered, Lestrade turns and leaves. Mary sits down in Watson's chair, props her head on her hand and stares into the fire, sighing in exasperation. Mrs Hudson comes to the open door and knocks on it.
"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson said, looking around the room. "Oh. Have they gone off again, have they? I dunno – what a life those gentlemen lead."
"Yes. Those gentlemen." Mrs Watson said, bitterly.
"Oh, never you mind. Ooh, almost forgot." Mrs Hudson said, walking over and hands Mary an envelope. "That came for you."
"Oh!" Mrs Watson said, taking the envelope and opens it.
Mrs Hudson stands nearby, trying to read the card which Mary takes from the envelope. On one side is simply:
M
On the other side it says:
Immediately
Mary smiles with delight, "Mrs Hudson, tell my husband, I'll be home late. I have some urgent business."
"Is everything all right?" Mrs Hudson asked.
"Oh, you know, just a ..." Mrs Watson said, waving her hand vaguely and clears her throat "... friend in need."
Mary stands up and walks toward the door.
"Oh dear. What friend?" Mrs Hudson asked.
Mary turns and smiles at her excitedly, "England."
Mary turns and goes down the stairs.
Mrs Hudson looks round, bewildered, "Well, that's not very specific!"
The streets...
The men are in a hansom cab, Holmes and Watson sitting side by side facing forward and Lestrade and Shay sitting facing Holmes.
Holmes looks at the inspector, "Who's on mortuary duty?"
"You know who." Lestrade said.
"Always him." Holmes said, exasperated.
Underground mortuary...
Holmes opens the door to the underground mortuary room and leads in the other three. They walk across to the nearest table on which is a body covered with a sheet.
"Please tell me which idiot did this!" Holmes yelled.
The body has been chained down in several places along its length. Nearby, a man turns and walks towards Holmes.
"It's for everyone's safety." Anderson said.
Watson pulls back the cover from the corpse's head, revealing the face of Emelia Ricoletti, "This woman is dead. Half her head is missing! She's not a threat to anyone!"
"Tell that to her husband." Anderson said, pointing across the room. "He's under a sheet over there."
"Whatever happened in Limehouse last night, I think we can safely assume it wasn't the work of a dead woman." Holmes said.
"Stranger things have happened."
"Such as?"
"Well ... strange things." Anderson said, hesitantly.
"You're speaking like a child." Watson said, looking at Anderson.
"Stranger Things. Should be the name o' a story in the chuffin' future. I might like it someday, right?" Shay asked.
"This is clearly a man's work. Where is he?" Holmes asked, looking down at the body.
Anderson hesitates, but before he can answer, the door opens. Holmes turns to look at the new arrival. It's a man wearing a suit, with brown hair and a moustache. He looks familiar to Shay, and now speaks with a voice that he immediately recognise, though it's slightly deeper than he's used to.
"Holmes." Hooper said.
"Hooper." Holmes said, as Hooper walks closer, looking sternly at Anderson.
"You – back to work." Hooper said, and Anderson nods nervously and turns away. Hooper walks to one side of the table and looks across it at Holmes. "So, come to astonish us with your magic tricks, I suppose."
"Is there anything to which you would like to draw my attention?"
"Nothing at all, Mr Holmes. You may leave any time you like."
"Doctor Hooper, I asked Mr Holmes to come here. Co-operate. That's an order." Lestrade said.
Hooper takes a long breath, then looks down at the body, "There are two 'features of interest,' as you are always saying in Doctor Watson's stories."
"I never say that." Holmes said.
"You do, actually, quite a lot." Watson said, nodding his head.
"More than we could count, 'olmes. It impresses Watson and I, right, but yer do luv showin' off yor deduction skills." Shay said, while Holmes narrows his eyes.
"First of all, this is definitely Emelia Ricoletti. She has been categorically identified. Beyond a doubt it is her." Hooper said.
"Then who was that in Limehouse last night?" Watson asked.
"That was also Emelia Ricoletti."
"It can't have been. She was dead. She was here."
Holmes takes out a small magnifying glass and bends down to look more closely at the Bride's face.
"She was positively identified by her own husband seconds before he died. He had no reason to lie. He could hardly be mistaken." Hooper said.
"The cabbie knew her too. There's no question it's her." Lestrade said.
"But she can't have been in two places at the same time, can she?" Watson asked.
"No, Watson. One place is strictly the limit for the recently deceased." Holmes said, straightening up.
Watson clicks his fingers and points to his friend, "Holmes, could it have been twins?"
"No." Holmes said.
"Why not?" Watson asked.
"Because it's never twins."
"Emelia was not a twin, nor did she have any sisters. She had one older brother who died four years ago." Lestrade said.
Watson isn't yet prepared to let go of the idea and shakes his head, humming, "Maybe it was a secret twin."
Holmes looks at him as if staggered by his idiocy, "A what?"
"A secret twin?" Watson asked, precisely, and Holmes continues to look at him as if he can't believe what he's hearing. "Hmm? You know? A twin that nobody knows about? This whole thing could have been planned."
"Since the moment of conception? How breathtakingly prescient of her! It is never twins, Watson." Holmes said.
"Then what's your theory?"
"A secret twin. God, that sounds like fan fiction. One I might enjoy readin' in the bloomin' future. Or in the bloody past, i'n it?" Shay asked.
"More to the point, what's your problem?" Holmes asked, turning back to look at Lestrade.
Lestrade lifts his eyes from the corpse and looks at Holmes, "I-I don't understand. What ..."
"Why were you so frightened? Nothing so far has justified your assault on my decanter, and why have you allowed a dead woman to be placed under arrest?" Holmes asked.
"Ah. That would be the other feature of interest." Hooper said, lifting the right hand of the corpse, showing her index finger.
Holmes, Watson, and Shay bend down for a closer look.
"Ah. A smear of blood on her finger. That could have happened any number of ways." Watson said.
"Indeed." Hopper said, lowering the hand, Hooper looks sternly at Holmes. "There's one other thing. It wasn't there earlier."
Holmes straightens up.
Lestrade points to a nearby wall, "And neither was that."
Lestrade walks towards the wall and picks up a lantern to illuminate it more clearly. Watson walks around the table and he, Holmes, and Shay go over to the wall. In the light from the lantern, a single word can be seen painted on the wall, apparently in blood:
YOU
There's a brief flashback to the Bride standing on the balcony, pointing her pistols into the street and crying out, 'You!' or 'You?' three times to various men.
"Holmes!" Watson yelled.
"'olmes, right, cop out o' yor fuckin' trance. Please. Explain wotcher thinkin', man!" Shay said, angrily.
"Gun in the mouth; a bullet through the brain; back of the head blown clean off. How could he survive?" Holmes asked, softly, staring at the word on the wall.
Confused, Watson looks around the mortuary and then turns back to Holmes, "She, you mean."
"I'm sorry?" Holmes asked, his eyes still fixed on the wall.
"Not 'he', 'she'." Watson said.
"Yes, yes, of course." Holmes said, absently staring at the wall for another moment, apparently lost in thought, then jumps and comes back to himself.
"This reminds me so much o' Moriarty, y'know. Right. 'e terrifies me, right, but it's so familiar, 'olmes." Shay said, frowning.
"Well, thank you all for a fascinating case." Holmes said, more normally, turning to the others, before looking at Lestrade. "I'll send you a telegram when I've solved it. Watson? Let's go, Shay."
Holmes walks away and leaves the room with Shay.
Watson, however, turns back to Hooper and points down at the body, "Er, the gunshot wound was obviously the cause of death, but there are clear indicators of consumption. Might be worth a post mortem. We need all the information we can get."
Watson turns and starts to walk away.
"Oh, isn't he observant now that Daddy's gone with one of your associates?" Hooper asked.
Watson stops. Hooper quietly smirks. After a moment, Watson turns back and walks closer to the table again.
"I am observant in some ways, just as Holmes is quite blind in others." Watson said, quietly. "And Shay is observant in some ways and quite blind in others. That is why he is the middle ground between Holmes and I."
"Really?" Hooper asked, sarcastically.
"Yes. Really." Watson said, quietly looking at Hooper pointedly. "Amazing what one has to do to get ahead in a man's world."
Hooper stares at Watson. Watson doffs his hat to him her, then puts it back on his head. He glances across to Anderson, then turns and walks away. Hooper swallows a little nervously and watches him go.
"What's he saying that for?" Anderson asked.
"Get back to work." Hooper said, sternly.
HANSOM CAB...
Watson looks across to his friends, "Well, Holmes, Shay? Surely one of you must have some theory."
"Not yet. These are deep waters, Watson. Deep waters." Holmes said, looking out of the window. "And Shay and I shall have to go deeper still."
"Deeper than we 'ave ever gone before, right, Watson. It is gonna be a goddamn pain. Cor blimey guv, would I lie to you." Shay said, taking out a newspaper and looking down at it.
Headlines from various newspaper reports drift across the screen:
STATEMENT FROM CAB DRIVER
'IT WAS MRS RICOLETTI'
GHASTLY
MURDER
IN THE WEST END!
DREADFUL END OF PEER.
ALARMING DISCOVERY IN ISLINGTON
BODY OF SEA CAPTAIN FOUND IN CHAPEL
MANCHESTER SHIP CANAL AT EASTHAM
'GHOST' IDENTIFIED?
Statement from cab driver claims:
'It was Mrs Ricoletti'.
WHO WILL BE NEXT?
In the notorious 'Bride'
Murders.
SCOTLAND YARD BAFFLED
MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF VISCOUNT HUMMERSKNOT
The mysterious death of Viscount Hummersknot on Wednesday last
has led to questions in the House. Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard
refused to say whether the peer's death was anything to do with the...
Jared closed the newspaper as he started to read the rest of the next.
"It was not for several months that we were to pick up the threads of this strange case again; and then under very unexpected circumstances." Watson said, as a voice over.
221B...
Holmes – wearing a dark blue dressing gown over his clothes – is pacing back and forth beside the table of the room behind the sitting room, reading a book. Shay is reading a copy of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.
Lestrade is sitting on a chair at the other side of the table, "Five of them now, all the same, every one of 'em."
"Hush, please. This is a matter of supreme importance." Holmes said, not looking up from his book.
"Woss important 'olmes, eh, luv?" Shay asked.
"The obliquity of the ecliptic. I have to understand it." Holmes said.
"Understand wot, isit?"
"I don't know. I'm still trying to understand it."
"I thought you understood everything." Lestrade said, annoyed.
"Of course not. That would be an appalling waste of brain space. I specialise."
"Then what's so important about this?"
"What's so important about five boring murders?" Holmes asked, loudly, looking angrily at Lestrade.
"They're not boring! Five men dead! Murdered in their own homes; rice on the floor, like at a wedding; and the word 'YOU' written in blood on the wall!" Lestrade yelled, pointing angrily towards the opposite wall and Holmes continues to pace and read his book. "Uh, it's-it's her! It's-it's the Bride. Somehow she's risen again!"
"Solved it." Holmes said, nonchalantly.
"You can't have solved it!" Lestrade said, angrily.
"There's no way yer could 'ave solved it, 'olmes." Shay said, rolling his eyes.
"Of course I've solved it. It's perfectly simple. The Incident of the Mysterious Mrs Ricoletti, the Killer from Beyond the Grave, has been widely reported in the popular press. Now people are disguising their own dull little murders as the work of a ghost to confuse the impossibly imbecilic Scotland Yard. There you are: solved." Holmes said, stopping and turning to look at Lestrade and Shay, before closing his book and puts it on the table. "Pay Mrs Hudson a visit on your way out. She likes to feel involved."
"You sure?" Lestrade asked.
"Certainly. Go away." Holmes said, turning and calls into the sitting room. Watson! Shay! I'm ready. Get your hat and boots. We have an important appointment."
Lestrade stands and picks up his hat, then looks into the sitting room.
"'olmes. Didn't Doctor Watson move out ter live wiv 'is trouble and strife?" Shay asked, holding his books.
"He did, didn't he?" Holmes asked, looking thoughtful. "Who have I been talking to all this time?"
"Well, speaking on behalf of the impossibly imbecilic Scotland Yard, that chair is definitely empty." Lestrade said.
Holmes looked towards Watson's armchair, "It is, isn't it? Works surprisingly well, though. I actually thought he was improving."
Holmes looks through some paperwork on the table and then walks off in the direction of his bedroom. Lestrade turns and leaves the room.
Watsons' home...
Another empty chair is facing Doctor Watson. This chair is at a dining table and there is cutlery, a teacup and saucer and a tea plate in front of the chair. Sitting at the other end of the table in the dining room of his house while reading a newspaper, Watson looks across at the chair, then sighs and looks down at his newspaper again. After a moment he lifts his head and looks towards the door, then picks up a small bell from the table and rings it for a couple of seconds. He also has cutlery and a teacup and saucer in front of him, and nearby is a glass bowl of marmalade with a spoon in it. Another glass bowl with a glass lid stands beside it. He puts down the bell and looks expectantly towards the door. After a while he puts down the newspaper and takes out his pocket watch from his waistcoat to look at the time. Sighing and shaking his head, he puts the watch away and rings the bell again. The door opens and a maid comes in.
"Ah. Where have you been?" Watson asked.
"Sorry, sir. I'm rather behind my time this morning." Jane said, sadly.
"Are you incapable of boiling an egg?" Watson asked, sighing. "The fires are rarely lit; there is dust everywhere; and you almost destroyed my boots scraping the mud off them. If it wasn't my wife's business to deal with the staff, I would talk to you myself. Where is my wife?"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but the mistress has gone out."
"Out? At this hour of the morning?"
"Yes, sir. Did you not know that, sir?"
"Where did she go?" Watson asked, looking down at his newspaper. "She's always out these days."
"Not unlike yourself." Jane said, laughing softly, while Watson raises his head to look at her. "... sir."
"I'm sorry?"
"Just observing, sir."
"Well, that's quite enough. Nobody asked you to be observant."
"Sorry, sir. I just meant you're hardly ever home together any more, sir."
"You are dangerously close to impertinence." Watson said, leaning forward. "I shall have a word with my wife to have a word with you."
Watson sits back again and looks down at his paper.
"Very good, sir. And when will you be seeing her?" Jane asked.
Watson's head snaps up and he leans forward again, "Now listen ..."
"Ooh, I nearly forgot, sir." Jane said, reaching into the pocket of her apron and takes out a telegram which she hands to him. "Er, a telegram came for you."
"You forgot?!" Watson exclaimed.
"No, I nearly forgot."
"What have you been doing all morning?" Watson asked, snatching the telegram from Jane.
"Reading your new one in The Strand, sir." Jane said.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Why do you never mention me, sir?"
"Go away." Watson said, and Jane turns and leaves and the army doctor opens the telegram.
On the outside it reads:
DR. JOHN WATSON
and the message reads:
COME AT ONCE
IF CONVENIENT.
IF INCONVENIENT,
COME ALL THE SAME.
HOLMES
Watson instantly drops the telegram onto the table, stands up and hurries away.
Hansom cab...
Shay closed his eyes to imagine a spinning globe and he opened them to see himself in a hansom cab with Holmes and Watson.
"The what of the what?" Watson asked.
"The obliquity of the ecliptic." Holmes said.
"'Come at once', you said. I assumed it was important."
"It is. It's the inclination of the Earth's equator to the path of the sun on the celestial plane."
Watson scoffs, "Have you been swotting up?"
"'e 'as, right, Watson. 'e did it in front o' Lestrade and I." Shay said, laughing a lot.
"No, I didn't, Shay. Why would I do that?" Holmes asked.
"To sound clever." Watson said.
"I am clever."
"Oh, I see."
"You see what?"
"I deduce we're on our way to see someone cleverer than you."
"Shut up." Holmes said, after a slight pause.
Outside the Diogenes Club...
The three of them approach a building and the sign at the side of its entrance says that it is the Diogenes Club.
The Diogenes Club...
A glass sign hangs above the reception desk stating, 'ABSOLUTE SILENCE'. Holmes, Watson, and Shay walk in and approach the desk, and Holmes smiles at the elderly uniformed gentleman standing behind it, who raises an acknowledging finger to him. Holmes puts his gloves into his coat pocket, then uses sign language to communicate with the receptionist, signing:
Good morning, Wilder.
Is my brother in?
Wilder nods and signs back:
Naturally sir.
It's breakfast time.
Holmes signs:
The Stranger's Room?
Wilder nods, implying:
Yes, sir.
Holmes gestures towards Watson and Shay, then signs:
These gentlemen are my guests.
Wilder looks at Watson and Shay and signs:
Ah Yes!
Dr Watson and Jared Shay, of course.
Enjoyed 'The Blue Carbuncle', sir.
Holmes looks towards Watson and Shay and rolls his eyes, then elbows him and nods. Looking a little nervous, Watson signs to Wilder:
Thank you. I...am...glad
...you...liked it.
You are very...ugly.
Holmes does a double-take in Watson's direction, and Shay signs: Watson, then? Did yer just call 'im right ugly, eh, squire?
Wilder frowns and signs:
I beg your pardon?
Watson signs:
Ugly. What you said about
'The Blue Fishmonger'.
Very ugly...
I am glad you liked
my potato.
Wilder looks a little bewildered and throws a nervous glance at Holmes, who smiles ruefully at Watson and signs to him:
Yes. Needs work, Watson.
Too much time spent on
dancing lessons.
"Sorry, what?" Watson asked, aloud.
Rolling his eyes, Holmes turns and walks away with Shay.
Watson looks awkwardly at Wilder, "Oh."
Watson turns his head and watches Holmes and Shay for a moment, then turns back to look at Wilder. Giving him an embarrassed thumbs-up with his left hand, he follows Holmes and Shay who opens the door to a room in which, with his back to the door, an extremely corpulent man sits wedged into a chair. On either side of the chair are several tables loaded with all sorts of food, including puddings, cakes, pork pies and a huge roasted ham.
Mycroft Holmes is rubbing his fingers together as he chews on his latest mouthful, "To anyone who wishes to study mankind, this is the spot."
Watson closes the door while Holmes walks round to face his brother.
"Handy, really, as your ever-expanding backside is permanently glued to it. Good morning, brother mine." Holmes said.
"Sherlock. Jared. Doctor Watson." Mycroft Holmes said, chewing his last mouthful.
Watson, now standing at Holmes' and Shay's side, is staring in horror at all the food surrounding Mycroft, but then notices that he is holding out his very pudgy hand to him. He takes Mycroft's hand and shakes it.
"You look ... well, sir." Watson said, sadly.
"Really? I rather thought I looked enormous." Mycroft Holmes said, picking up a glass of port and drinks from it.
"Well, now you mention it, this level of consumption is incredibly injurious to your health. Your heart ..."
"No need to worry on that score, Watson." Holmes said.
"No?"
"Yer right don't, right, Watson. 'e luvs food." Shay said, happily.
"Shay's right, Watson. There's only a large cavity where that organ should reside." Holmes said, looking at his older brother.
"It's a family trait." Mycroft Holmes said.
"Oh, I wasn't being critical."
"If you continue like this, sir, I give you five years at the most." Watson said.
Holmes raises his eyebrows and looks round at him.
"Five? We thought three, did we not, Sherlock and Jared?" Mycroft Holmes asked.
"We're still inclined to four." Holmes said.
"As ever, you see but you do not observe. Note the discolouration in the whites of my eyes, the visible rings of fat around the corneas ..."
"Yes, you're right. I'm changing my bet to three years, four months and eleven days. Shay is more likely to be on my side."
"A bet?!" Watson exclaimed.
"I understand your disapproval, Watson, but if he's feeling competitive it is perfectly within his power to die early." Holmes said.
"That's a risk you'll have to take." Mycroft Holmes said.
"You're gambling with your own life?" Watson asked.
"Why not? It's so much more exciting than gambling with others."
"Let's spot. Sumfink me mate Neptune would like. That bein' puddin'. I'll give yer three years if yer eat that plum puddin', Mycroft." Shay said, nodding to an item on one of the nearby tables.
"Done!" Mycroft Holmes said, licking his lips, he reached over to the table, picked up the large stodgy pudding on a plate, opened his mouth wide and lifted the pudding towards it.
Shay is watching the pudding go into Mycroft Holmes' mouth.
A little later, Holmes, Watson, and Shay are sitting side by side on chairs facing Mycroft. There is a small table beside Watson on which is a coffee pot, a cream or milk jug and a bowl of sugar, together with a cup and saucer with white coffee in it. Shay is drinking a cup of tea, eating cake, and pudding from a table near him. Holmes is holding another cup and saucer and has just taken a drink from his black coffee.
"I expected to see you a few days ago about the Manor House case. I thought you might be a little out of your depth there." Mycroft Holmes said.
"No. I solved it." Holmes said, putting down his cup and saucer on a table beside him.
"It was Adams, of course."
"Yes, it was Adams."
"Murderous jealousy. He'd written a paper for the Royal Astronomical Society on the obliquity of the ecliptic, and then read another that seemed to surpass it." Mycroft Holmes said, looking between Watson and Shay.
"I know. I read it."
"Did you understand it?"
"Yes, of course I understood it. It was perfectly simple." Holmes said, looking sideways to Watson and Shay.
"No – did you understand the murderous jealousy? It is no easy thing for a great mind to contemplate a still greater one."
Holmes sighs but then smiles slightly at his brother, "Did you summon me here just to humiliate me?"
"Yes." Mycroft Holmes said, while Holmes stands up, his face angry and his older brother chuckles a little. "Of course not, but it is by far the greater pleasure."
"Then would you mind explaining exactly why you did summon ..." Holmes said.
"Our way of life is under threat from an invisible enemy, one that hovers at our elbow on a daily basis. These enemies are everywhere, undetected and unstoppable." Mycroft Holmes said, talking over his younger brother.
Watson leans forward, "Socialists?"
"Communists, isit?" Shay asked.
"Not socialists or communists, Doctor, Jared no." Mycroft Holmes said, looking between Watson and Shay.
"Anarchists?" Watson asked.
"Wot about terrorists, isit?" Shay asked.
"No." Mycroft Holmes said.
"The French? The suffragists?" Watson asked.
"The bloomin' Russians or the Chinese, then, squire?" Shay asked.
"Is there any large body of people either of you are not concerned about?" Mycroft Holmes asked.
"Doctor Watson and Jared Shay are endlessly vigilant." Holmes said, looking at his brother. "Elaborate."
"No. Investigate. This is a conjecture of mine and I need you to confirm it. I'm sending you a case."
Watson frowns thoughtfully and now has another idea, "The Scots."
"Oh. Is it the Koreans, mate?" Shay asked.
"Scots?! Koreans?!" Holmes exclaimed.
"Are you aware of recent theories concerning what is known as 'paranoia'?" Mycroft Holmes asked.
"Ooh, sounds Serbian." Watson said, smiling.
"Or right Japanese, do wot Guvnor!" Shay said, excitedly.
Holmes rolls his eyes.
"A woman will call on you – Lady Carmichael. I want you to take her case." Mycroft Holmes said, looking at Holmes.
"But these enemies: how are we to defeat them if you won't tell us about them?" Watson asked.
"We don't defeat them. We must certainly lose to them."
"Eh, up. W should we lose ter them, then, eh, guv?" Shay asked.
"Because they are right, and we are wrong." Mycroft Holmes said.
"Lady Carmichael's case – what is it?" Holmes asked.
"Oh, rest assured, it has features of interest."
"I never really say that."
"You really do." Watson said.
"Yer definitely do, 'olmes." Shay said.
"And you've solved it already, I assume?" Holmes asked, looking at Mycroft.
"Only in my head. I need you for the, er ..." Mycroft Holmes said, grimacing. "... legwork."
"Why not just tell us your solution?" Watson asked.
"Where would be the sport in that? Will you do it, Sherlock? I can promise you a superior distraction." Mycroft Holmes said.
"On one condition. Have another plum pudding." Holmes said.
"There's one on the way." Mycroft Holmes said.
"Two years, eleven months and four days." Holmes said, buttoning his dress coat and starting to walk away with Shay.
Mycroft chuckles, "It's getting exciting now!"
Watson realises that Holmes and Shay are leaving and stands up to follow them.
"Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock." Mycroft Holmes said, waggling his fingers at Watson as he leaves.
From another door, Wilder wheels in a trolley with a silver cover over a large plate.
"Thank you, Wilder." Mycroft Holmes said.
"Also, Mr Melas to see you, Mr Holmes." Wilder said.
"Ah. Give me five minutes. I have a wager to win." Mycroft Holmes said, leaning forward as Wilder lifts the silver cover.
There are three large plum puddings on the plate. Mycroft looks up at Wilder.
"Better make that fifteen." Mycroft said, reaching out with an ecstatic expression on his face.
"Tick tock." Holmes said, sinking his fingers into one of the puddings and there's a loud squelch as he lifts it from the plate and takes it in both hands.
Outside of 221B...
Speedwell is next door.
221B's sitting room...
Holmes and Watson are sitting in their armchairs, Shay is sitting on the sofa, and an elegantly-dressed woman sits on a dining chair opposite them.
"Mr Holmes, I have come here for advice." Lady Carmichael said.
"That is easily got." Holmes said.
"And help."
"Not always so easy."
"Something has happened, Mr Holmes – something ... unusual and ... terrifying."
"Then you are in luck." Holmes said.
Lady Carmichael scoffs, "'Luck'?"
"Those are my specialisms." Holmes said, smiling at Lady Carmichael.
Holmes smiles across at Watson and Shay, "This is really very promising."
"Holmes ..." Watson said, sadly.
"Not the time or the bleedin' place, right, 'olmes! Blimey!" Shay yelled.
Holmes drops the smile and turns back to Lady Carmichael.
"Please do tell us what has so distressed you." Holmes said.
"I – I thought long and hard as to what to do, but then, er, it occurred to me that my husband was an acquaintance of your brother and that, perhaps through him ..." Lady Carmichael said, trailing off and Holmes tilts his head at her enquiringly. "The fact is, I'm not sure this comes within your purview, Mr Holmes."
"No?" Holmes asked.
"Lord help me, I think it may be a matter for a priest."
Holmes glances across at Watson and Shay, who returns their gazes.