THREE WEEKS LATER...
A red car speeds on a road in white paint, and a police car follows, its siren wailing. 'Ode to Joy' blares out of its speakers. Then from an outside perspective the car rapidly overtakes another one and heads towards a roundabout, entering the roundabout without slowing. The car skids around the roundabout, almost sideways at one point, while up above a helicopter follows the chase. The car speeds off down another road and we get a brief view from inside the car and the driver's left hand gripping the steering wheel while the helicopter can be seen through the windscreen soaring overhead. The car heads for another roundabout, now pursued by two police cars. The red car turns left and is followed by the first police car but the second one goes straight on, presumably taking a short cut to intercept the chase further on. The red car skids around a right turn into a residential road. As the second police car approaches from in front, the driver throws the car into a spectacular U-turn and crashes into several black plastic rubbish bins outside the houses. One of the bins flies into the air and then crashes to the ground. As the vehicles come to a halt and the helicopter hovers overhead, John opens the front door of his therapist's house, walks out and looks at the car and then squints up at the chopper.
"Well, now ..." The therapist said, standing in the doorway behind John who lowers his gaze to the car and licks his lips. "... won't you introduce me?"
The driver opens the door where the wheel is and their passenger opens the shotgun door and the music gets louder. It's Mrs Hudson and Jared Shay, sighing with relief. They close the doors and turn to John, smiling and sighing out another breath as they walk towards him. John opens his mouth but before he can speak a male police officer storms over from the car that had been behind the Aston at the end of the chase.
"Right, you there. Stop right where you are. Both of you." The police officer said.
"Huh? What?" Mrs Hudson asked, stopping momentarily, looking at the officer, then turned and continued towards the front door with Jared, holding out a hand towards John. "Oh, John ..."
"John..." Jared said, sipping on some bubble tea.
"Mrs Hudson ..." John said, taking a step towards Mrs Hudson and Jared.
"Do you have any idea what speed you two were going at?" The police officer asked.
"Nope. No idea." Jared said, walking towards the police officer. "I was on my phone and drinking bubble tea to alleviate my stress." He looked down and continued sipping his bubble tea. "Oh, yeah..." Jared held out his iPhone 15 Pro Max to the police officer. "...This is for you."
"For me?" The police officer asked, automatically taking Jared's phone.
"Yeah. I know. An American hanging around Brits." Jared said, turning around and heading for the house with Mrs Hudson. "It's the government. Your government. Not mine."
"The what?!" The police officer exclaimed, raising the phone to his ear.
"What's going on? What's wrong?" John asked, looking between Mrs Hudson and Jared.
"Hello?" The police officer asked, talking into the phone.
"My name is Mycroft Holmes and I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Office." Mycroft said, his voice over the phone.
Simultaneously John continues talking to Mrs Hudson and Jared.
"Look at the state of the both of you! Mrs H, Jared, what have you been doing?!" John exclaimed.
Apparently the police officer recognises Mycroft's name, because he takes off his cap even though Mycroft obviously can't see it.
"I left Rosie with Molly because what's going on at Baker Street was too much." Jared said, letting out a lot of tears. "I thought visiting him would be a good idea while you attend your therapy session, but it wasn't."
Outside the front door Mrs H is pointing vaguely up to the helicopter.
"What's happened?" John asked, looking between Mrs Hudson and Jared.
"It's Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson yelled, lowering her hand and breaking down in tears, she pulled John and Jared into a hug. "John, you've no idea what Jared and I have been through!"
(Jared's POV)
221 BAKER STREET...
As the 'Le nozze di Figaro' overture plays in the background, Mrs Hudson and I creep slowly and nervously up the stairs towards the first floor, with the two of us clinging anxiously to the bannisters. From the flat come various and random angry cries from Sherlock and the crashing noises of objects being flung around. A moment later Bill pelts down the stairs towards Mrs Hudson and I.
"Wait!" Sherlock yelled, from the apartment.
"Bill! What the hell happened?" I asked, while Mrs H whimpered and cringed against the bannisters with me as Bill raced past us.
"I'm out of 'ere." Bill said, reaching the half-landing and pointing back up the stairs. "'e's lost it."
"Where is it?!" Sherlock exclaimed, angrily, from inside the apartment.
"'e's totally gone!" Bill said, pausing momentarily to yell in my ear and Mrs Hudson's ear.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." I said, looking at a cringing Mrs Hudson and we backed a step down while Bill heads off down the stairs, and upstairs Sherlock lets out a triumphant cry. "What do we do?"
In the flat, Sherlock charges from the kitchen into the living room, wielding a long-muzzled pistol in his right hand. Wearing a dark blue dressing gown over his black shirt and trousers, he still has a few days' of beard growth and his hair is greasy. He looks manic as he runs across the living room.
"'Once more unto the breach, dear friends ...'" Sherlock said, shouting loudly and dramatically, and he spins round in the middle of the room, pumping the pistol towards the ceiling. "'... once more!'"
"Jesus Christ!" I said, looking all around the room to see countless photographs of Culverton Smith. They're stuck on the walls, they're scattered over every surface, and Sherlock has apparently taken lessons from Phillip Anderson on how to display evidence and has strung pieces of string across the room to which he has attached even more photos of Smith with clothes pegs. And I ran back down the stairs to see Mrs Hudson continue her slow nervous climb on the stairs. "Billy's right. He lost it."
I closed my eyes to imagine the open kitchen door, which has a large knife stuck in it. And I hear a book fly across the kitchen, flung from the direction of the living room.
"'Or close the wall up ...'" Sherlock said, leaping onto the sofa. "'... with our English dead!'"
"Jared..." Mrs Hudson said, as lots more photographs of Smith are randomly stuck on the wall behind the sofa. "What do we do?"
"I..." I said, and Sherlock turns around and heads back across the room. "I don't know..."
"'... set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide.'" Sherlock said, turning and dramatically kicks the living room door closed before storming across towards the fireplace. "'Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit ...'" He snatches down a photo of Smith which was taped to the mirror. "'... to his full height!'"
Screwing up the photo, Sherlock looks down at it for a moment, then raises his head and brandishes both hands either side of his head.
"'On, on, you noblest English ...'" Sherlock said, now yelling at the top of his voice, his face full of rage before hurling the photo across the room. "'... whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!'"
"We should go in there." Mrs Hudson said, nervously reaching the landing with me and looks towards the kitchen door.
In the living room, Sherlock points the pistol towards the wall behind the sofa, taking the gun in both hands.
"'And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture!'" Sherlock yelled.
Mrs H and I walked slowly towards the closed living room door. Inside, Sherlock heads into the kitchen.
"'... which I doubt not, for there is none of you so mean and base ...'" Sherlock said, gesturing dramatically with both hands, his gaze manic. "'... that hath not noble lustre in your eyes!'"
Cautiously, Mrs H and I open the door and we peer around it. Pinned to the back of the door is a printout of a newspaper or magazine article headed CULVERTON HIT-LIST with a large photo of Smith underneath. A piece of string has also been attached to the door and it leads towards the sofa wall with more pictures pegged to it. The string brushes against the top of Mrs Hudson's forehead and my forehead and we duck under it and we crane our heads around the edge of the door in the direction of the kitchen, where Sherlock is still ranting and alternately pacing or twirling on the spot.
"'I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start!'" Sherlock said, angrily.
Stepping into the living room he aims the pistol towards the sofa wall and fires, narrowly missing Mrs Hudson and I who ducks back and pulls the door closed. Sherlock fires four more times in quick succession, blowing holes in various photos of Smith.
The music ends. Sherlock glares towards the wall.
"'The game's afoot.'" Sherlock said, intensely.
"Oh, Sherlock..." I said, while Sherlock breathes heavily as Mrs Hudson and I slowly push the door open again and we peer round it. "I had to leave Rosie with Molly. Because I wanted to come check on you."
"I know." Sherlock said, calmly. "Oh, hello." He sniffs and blinks hard. "Can I have a cup of tea?"
Sherlock turns and walks back into the kitchen.
Therapist's house...
John is walking along the hall. Mrs Hudson closes the front door and follows him with me.
"Did one of you call the police?" John asked.
"Did we really want to drag Greg into that?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Where Sherlock will kill a detective inspector?"
"Jared's right. We shouldn't." Mrs Hudson said, crossly. "Of course I didn't call the police. I'm not a civilian! Jared would if Sherlock wasn't acting like that!"
221B's living room...
Sherlock is back in the room. He tears at some of the photographs near the door, then turns towards the windows, putting both hands to his head in frustration. He still has the pistol in one hand.
"These pictures ..." Mrs Hudson said, pushing back the plastic tent from around the sink in the kitchen and pouring tea from a teapot into a cup and saucer on the work surface. "... they're that man on the telly, aren't they?"
"They are." I said, as Sherlock is frenetically turning back and forth but lowers his hands and turns to look at Mrs Hudson and I. "Culverton Smith. Basically the opposite of Tony Stark. Instead of using his money for good, he uses them for evil. I can't believe you have a lot of pictures of him."
"What pictures?" Sherlock asked.
"They're everywhere." Mrs Hudson said, nervously putting down the teapot and picks up the cup and saucer.
Sherlock dramatically gestures around the room with both hands.
"Oh, these pictures!" Sherlock yelled, gesturing towards the fireplace with the pistol. "Oh, you and Jared can see them too." For a second, he points the gun directly at me. "That's good."
Sherlock turns away, focusing in on a few of the many photographs. Screwing his eyes closed for a moment, he spins around, still zooming in on individual pictures and then onto a white padded envelope stabbed into the mantelpiece at one corner. The address label is typed and in large red letters underneath is printed Private and Personal. An out of focus sticker on the top of the envelope suggests that it was sent by Special Delivery. Pulling in a shaky breath and putting one clenched hand to his cheek, he turns away and continues looking at the photographs around the room.
Therapist's house...
"Culverton Smith." The therapist said, nearby.
John's therapist has her laptop open on the side table in the back room. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she bends down to the computer and runs her finger over the pad.
"This, I think, is relevant from this morning. " The therapist said, and she has done a search for the man in question and the results page is on the screen.
At the right of the screen are photographs of Smith, and underneath are links to a couple of books he has written. One is called 'How to Make a Killing' and the other 'Business Killer'. On the left of the screen, the top item on the results list – headed Latest News – is headlined, in speech marks, 'He's a serial killer!' and underneath it says, 'Net detective blasts Culverton Smith on Twitter' and then 'Defamatory remake goes viral on Twitter'. The article underneath is headed 'Culverton Smith | UK News' and underneath it reads, 'Culverton Smith wins year long legal battle with media outlet 'News24', gaining an undisclosed sum for defamation of character over the infamous 'crooked tooth...' There are several other articles under that one.
"He's publicly accused Mr Smith of being a serial killer." The therapist said, clicking on the top article and it jumps to a report on Speculator Online which shows side-by-side photos of Sherlock, wearing his deerstalker and looking towards the camera, and a smiling Smith.
The two photos are divided by a jagged white line that looks like lightning striking. The main headline again reads, in quotes, 'He's a serial killer!' and the straplines read:
Net detective blasts Culverton Smith on Twitter
• Defamatory remark goes viral on social networking site
• Media tycoon yet to comment
Under the photographs the left-hand side of the caption can't be seen but it ends 'Culverton Smith blasted by Sherlock Holmes'.
"Christ! Sherlock on Twitter. He really has lost it." John said, leaning down to the laptop beside the therapist.
"Don't you dare make jokes. Don't you dare. We were terrified!" Mrs Hudson said, crossly.
"We were! And I didn't want to drag my family into this!" I said, angrily. "Not while Sherlock has lost it!"
221B Baker Street...
Sherlock has his back to the kitchen and gestures dramatically either side of his head, the pistol still in one hand.
"Cup of tea!" Sherlock said, frantically, through gritted teeth and he spins around and rolls his eyes. "Oh, for goodness' sakes."
In the kitchen, Mrs Hudson is clutching the cup and saucer in both shaking hands as she stares at Sherlock in terror and slowly backs away towards me.
"What's the matter with both of you?" Sherlock asked, walking briskly towards Mrs Hudson and I.
"Um..." I said, when Mrs Hudson whimpered and I grabbed her hand. "I..."
Sherlock storms closer to Mrs Hudson and I, staring manically down at the tea and again gesturing with both hands.
"Are you two having an earthquake?!" Sherlock exclaimed, loudly, sarcastically.
Time slows down and in ultra-slow motion the cup and saucer start to fall from Mrs Hudson's hand.
Therapist's house...
Mrs Hudson looks at John pleadingly, "You need to see him, John. You and Jared need to help him!"
"Nope." John said, shaking his head.
"He needs you, John! Like how he needs Jared!" Mrs Hudson said, frantically.
"Somebody else." John said, angrily turning away from Mrs Hudson. "Not me. Not now."
As John turns, he sees Mary standing just outside the door of the room. Leaning casually against the wall, she is looking at him with a sort of 'Really, John?' look on her face.
I looked over at Mary and walked towards her, "What do I do?"
"You talk some sense into John. That's what." Mary said, looking at me.
"But it's hard. It's impossible."
"It's not impossible. It's a bit unlikely, Jared."
"Now you just listen to me for once in your stupid life. I know Mary's dead and I know your heart is broken, but if Sherlock Holmes and Jared Shay die too, who will you have then?" Mrs Hudson asked, storming over to John.
"John, shut up and let her speak." I said, as John opened his mouth but Mrs Hudson kept talking, pointing an angry finger at him. "She's not done."
"Thank you, Jared. Because I tell you something, John Watson. You will not have me." Mrs Hudson said, storming out of the door, passing invisi-Mary, and heads for the front door.
John turns to watch her go and Mary tilts her head towards Mrs H, urging him to follow. After a moment he does what he's told, grabs my hand to drag me away, and we stomp off into the hall. Mary smiles and watches us go.
London...
Outside, Mrs Hudson has folded her arms on top of the Aston's roof and has lowered her head onto them and is crying. The police cars and helicopter have gone. John and I come out of the house, I close the door and we slowly walk towards her while she sobs noisily. We stop behind her for a long moment, the army doctor blows out a long breath and steps closer with me.
"Have you spoken to Mycroft, Molly, uh, anyone?" John asked, looking at Mrs Hudson.
"John. Mycroft and Molly don't matter. And neither does Mrs Hudson." I said, sadly. "We do. We matter to Sherlock."
"Jared's right." Mrs Hudson said, tearfully straightening up and turns to face John. "Would you just see him with Jared? Please, John. Or just take a look at him as a doctor? I know you'd change your mind if you did. Jared already changed his mind when he stopped by Baker Street today."
John tries to shake his head but then pauses for a second, "Yeah, look, okay, maybe, if I get a chance."
"D'you promise?" Mrs Hudson asked, hopefully, beaming at John.
"I'll try, if I'm in the area." John said, sadly.
"Promise me?" Mrs Hudson asked, turning puppy dog eyes on John.
"I promise."
"Thank you!"
"Thank you, John!" I said, instantly letting go of John's hand and walking to the rear of the car.
John frowns.
"Here you go, one William Sherlock Scott Holmes to go!" I said, opening the boot of the car and lifting it up. "The patient is ready for the doctor!"
Inside the boot Sherlock looks up at her anxiously. John walks to the rear of the car and looks into the boot with no expression on his face.
"Well? On you go." Mrs Hudson said, turning to John.
In the boot, Sherlock squints against the daylight. His wrists are handcuffed together in front of him.
"Examine him!" Mrs Hudson yelled, looking at John.
John throws Mrs Hudson and I a quick glance and then looks into the boot again where Sherlock, his legs bent up in front of him, lifts his head and peers out.
221B's kitchen...
The teacup and saucer are dropping in ultra-slow motion from Mrs Hudson's hands. Instinctively – and also in ultra-slow motion – Sherlock reaches forward to drop his pistol onto the kitchen table and then his hand continues its downward motion as he bends his knees and gets his hand under the falling saucer. He catches it and the tea splashes noisily in the cup as its fall is halted. Before he can start to straighten up again, Mrs Hudson reaches across to the table and picks up the gun by its muzzle with her right hand, pulling it towards her and reaching for the other end with her left.
Sherlock starts to come up again, some of the tea splashing out of the cup and falling towards the floor. As his knees straighten and his hand shakes, rattling the cup in the saucer, Mrs H turns and points the gun at him, cocking it. He jumps at the sight and stares at it, his hand still trembling.
"Right, then, mister. Now I need your handcuffs. I happen to know there's a pair in the salad drawer." Mrs Hudson said, shrugging. "I've borrowed them before."
"I borrowed them too. Mostly on Clara. God, the handcuff challenges I did with her." I said, and Sherlock looks at Mrs Hudson and I in startled indignation. "Those were a lot of fun."
"Not the time to think about your girlfriend, Jared." Mrs Hudson said, crossly. "Oh, get over yourself. You're not my first smackhead, Sherlock Holmes."
Therapist's house...
John opens the front door and stands aside while Sherlock, rubbing one of his wrists from where the handcuffs have been removed, stumbles inside.
"These two are out of control. I asked for a cup of tea!" Sherlock yelled, stopping partway down the hall and picks up a glass vase of flowers from a shelf, takes out the flowers and heads further down the hall.
"A cup of tea while you act like you have to be in the psychiatric hospital?!" I exclaimed, looking at Sherlock. "Oh, hell no!"
John turns to Mrs H and I as we walk in, "How did the two of you get him in the boot?"
"The boys from the café." Mrs Hudson said, smirking.
"Along with a couple of girls from there. I let Amelia Watson and Shiori Novella work there part time." I said, happily. "When they're not doing their HoloLive duties."
"They dropped me. Your friends of yours, Jared. Twice." Sherlock said, angrily, turning back.
"Yeah." I said, while Sherlock turns around again and heads for the kitchen, drinking some of the water from the vase. "Do you want to know why they dropped you, Shirley?" Sherlock dumps the flowers onto the breakfast bar. "It's because they know you. Shiori read all of your cases. And in an alternate timeline, Amelia is your assistant, not John."
Sherlock takes another drink from the vase, grimaces and then gestures towards the therapist standing in the consultation room with a phone to her ear.
"Who's this one?" Sherlock asked, pointing at the therapist while looking at John. "Is this a new person? I'm against new people."
"Excuse me for a moment." The therapist said, talking into the phone, before lowering it.
Sherlock, now holding the vase in both hands, takes another long drink from it.
"She's my therapist." John said, sadly.
"Awesome!" Sherlock said, walking towards the therapist. "D'you do block bookings?"
In the hall, John points out of the open front door to the Aston.
"Whose car is that?" John asked.
"That's my car." Mrs Hudson said, happily.
"How can that be your car?!"
"Oh, for God's sake! I'm the widow of a drug dealer, I own property in central London ..." Mrs Hudson said, high-pitched with exasperation.
Consultation room...
Sherlock stands with his back to the chair in which John was sitting earlier, looks round at it and drops heavily onto it, grimacing.
"... and for the last bloody time, John, I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson said, walking back to the front door to close it.
The therapist holds out the phone to John, "I'm so sorry. I answered your phone. You were busy. I think you'll want to take it."
John takes it and holds it to his ear as he walks back into the hall.
"Uh, yes, hello?" John asked, talking into the phone.
London / Therapist's home...
Culverton Smith is sitting at a table while a make-up artist brushes flesh-coloured powder onto his forehead.
"Is this Doctor John Watson?" Smith asked, talking into his cell phone.
"Yeah. Who's this?" John asked.
"Culverton Smith. You've probably heard of me." Smith said, dismissing the make-up artist with a smack on her hand.
"Uh, well, yes." John said, looking towards the open laptop which still shows the article he was looking at earlier.
Sherlock holds up the vase, which is now almost empty, "Get me a fresh glass of water, please. This one's filthy."
"I mean, I'm aware of this morning's developments." Smith said.
Sighing, Sherlock leans forward and holds out the vase to the approaching therapist, who takes it.
"Yes. I'm sure he was being ... hilarious. Sorry, did you say all still meeting?" John asked, talking into the phone.
"You, me and Mr Holmes. I've sent a car; should be outside. Mr Holmes gave me an address." Smith said, over the phone.
"Well, he couldn't have given you this one. It's ..." John said.
The doorbell rings. John turns and walks to the front door and opens it.
"When you're ready." A man standing outside said.
Frowning, John looks to the curb where a black stretch limousine is parked in front of the Aston Martin. He looks at the man again and gives him a tiny nod. The man turns away and John closes the door, grimacing.
John lifts the phone to his ear and heads down the hall, "When did Sherlock give you this address?"
"Two weeks ago." Smith said.
"Two weeks?" John asked, tightly.
"Yes. Two weeks." Smith said.
John lowers the phone and switches it off. Smith takes his phone from his ear and looks at it as it beeps three times.
Therapist's home...
John, now in the kitchen, looks at Mrs Hudson who is cleaning up at the sink, "How did you and Jared know where to find me?"
"Oh, Sherlock told me. He's not so difficult when you've got a gun on him." Mrs Hudson said.
"And it becomes even easier after Amelia stabbed Sherlock with one of her 'Watson Concoctions'." I said, tossing a chocolate chip cookie into my mouth.
John turns, hesitates for a moment, then walks into the consulting room. Sherlock is slumped back in the chair with his eyes closed, and the therapist is just putting a glass of water onto the nearby table.
"How did you know?" John asked, loudly, making Sherlock jerk awake. "How? On Monday, I decided to get a new therapist. Tuesday afternoon, I chose her."
John points to the therapist who is just sitting down in her chair. Sherlock leans one elbow on the arm of his chair and supports his head with his fingers.
"Wednesday morning, I booked today's session. Now, today is Friday. So two weeks ago – two weeks before you were abducted at gunpoint and brought here against your will ..." John said, as Sherlock frowns and rolls his jaw, looking as if he's finding it hard to keep up, making the army doctor speak angrily. "... over a week before I even thought of coming here, you knew exactly where you'd need to be picked up for lunch?"
"Really? I correctly anticipated the responses of people I know well to scenarios I devised? Can't everyone do that?" Sherlock asked, looking towards the ceiling.
"How?" Mrs Hudson asked.
"Except the boot. The boot was mean." Sherlock said, pointing in the direction of Mrs Hudson's car.
"It was either the trunk or using Amelia's time machine." I said, laughing a lot.
"Fair point."
"Never mind how. He's dying to tell us that." John said, looking at Mrs Hudson and I before turning to Sherlock. "I want to know why."
"Because Mrs Hudson and Jared are right. I'm burning up." Sherlock said, and John straightened up, putting his hands on his hips. "I'm at the bottom of a pit and I'm still falling and ..." He shakes his head and clenches his eyes closed. "... I'm never climbing out."
Mrs Hudson turns away sadly and goes back to the kitchen.
"I need you to know, John, Jared – I need the both of you to see that up here ..." Sherlock said, standing up and gestures to his temples with both hands. "... I've still got it, so when I tell you that this ..." He walks to the side table to point to the open laptop. "... is the most dangerous, the most despicable human being that I have ever encountered; when I tell you that this-this monster must be ended, please remember where you're standing, because ... you two are standing exactly where I said you would be two weeks ago."
Grimacing in pain, Sherlock slumps into a chair beside the table.
"I'm a mess; I'm in hell; but I am not wrong, not about him." Sherlock said, more quietly, pointing to Smith's photo on the laptop.
"So what has all this got to do with me?" John asked, folding his arms, he smiles humourlessly at Sherlock.
"That creature, that rotting thing, is a living breathing coagulation of human evil, and if the only thing I ever do in this world is drive him out of it, then my life will not have been wasted." Sherlock said, savagely, still looking at the photo, and he took a breath, staring up at John and I as the army doctor tilted his head to one side and grabbed my hand. "Look at me. Can't do it, not now. Not alone."
Sherlock looks away and swallows, his eyes slightly tearful. John sighs slightly, then unfolds his arms and holds out his right hand towards Sherlock, pulling in a sharp breath through his nose. Sherlock stands up, also sighing a little, and takes his hand. Instantly John clasps Sherlock's arm with his other hand and turns it over. Sherlock rolls his eyes as John pushes up the sleeves of his dressing gown and shirt to reveal all the dark marks on the underside of his arm where he's been injecting himself.
"Yeah, well, they're real enough, I suppose." John said, releasing his arm.
"Why would I be faking?" Sherlock asked, turning away.
"Because you're a liar." John said, loudly, and Sherlock turns back to him. "You lie all the time. It's like your mission."
"I have been many things, John, but when have I ever been a malingerer?" Sherlock asked, holding out his hands either side.
"You pretended to be dead for two years with Jared!" John yelled.
"... Apart from that?" Sherlock asked, after a momentary hesitation.
"Listen, before I do anything, I need to know what state you're in." John said, more quietly.
"Well, you're a doctor. Examine me." Sherlock said, sitting down on the chair again.
"No, I need a third opinion."
"Oh, John, calm down. When have you ever managed three opinions? You'd fall over." Sherlock said, exasperated.
"I need the one person who – unlike me and Jared – learned to see through your bullshit long ago." John said.
"Who's that, then? I'm sure I would have noticed." Sherlock said.
"The last person you'd think of." John said, while Sherlock looks up at him silently. "I want you to be examined by Molly Hooper." Sherlock looks down, biting his lip. "D'you hear me? I said Molly Hooper."
"You're really not gonna like this." Sherlock said, cringing a little.
"Like what?" John asked, when the doorbell rings.
John looks towards the sound, then heaves in a frustrated breath and scowls down at Sherlock.
A few moments later, he opens the door to Molly who is standing outside wearing her white lab coat over her clothes. He looks at her in exasperation.
"Um, hel-hello. Is, uh ... I'm sorry, Sh-Sherlock asked me to come." Molly said.
An ambulance is parked in the driveway of the house opposite. A paramedic is opening the rear doors.
"What, two weeks ago?" John asked.
"Yeah. About two weeks." Molly said, as John nods in resignation.
Sherlock stumbles out into the hall, "If you'd like to know how I predict the future ..."
"I don't care how." John said, angrily interrupting, as he turned to Sherlock. "You're not Jared. Only he could predict the future."
"Okay." Sherlock said, holding up his hands as he continued forward. "Fully equipped ambulance; Molly can examine me on the way. It'll save time." He stops on the doorstep. "Ready to go, Molly?"
"Oh, well ..." Molly said, sadly.
"Just tell me when to cough." Sherlock said, smiling falsely at Molly and walked out the door. "Hope you remembered my coat."
"Wh..." Molly said, and Sherlock's gone.
"Molly, I hope you did as I asked." I said, happily.
"Yeah. Rosie is safe and sound with Sarah Jane." Molly said, looking at me before looking at John. "John, I... Sorry. I didn't know that you were gonna be here."
Glancing briefly towards the nearby limousine, Sherlock walks round the front of the Aston and almost falls off the kerb before heading for the ambulance.
"Absolutely no idea what's going on." Molly said, looking between John and I.
"Sherlock's using it again." John said, and Molly's slight smile fades.
Behind Molly, Sherlock climbs into the back of the ambulance.
"Oh God. But, um, a-are you sure?" Molly asked.
Mrs Hudson has come along the hall and stops just behind John and I.
"No. It's Sherlock. Of course I'm not sure." John said, glaring towards the ambulance then speaks more quietly to Molly. "Just check him out."
Nodding, Molly turns and heads across the road.
"Is Molly the right person to be doing medicals? She's more used to dead people. It's bound to lower your standards." Mrs Hudson said, quietly to John and I, standing at our side.
"I don't know. I don't know anything any more." John said, looking across the road.
"Martha has a son now." I said, while Mrs Hudson gently laughed sympathetically. "I don't want to call her for Sherlock."
"Mrs Hudson. As ever, you are amazing." John said, smiling.
"No!" Mrs Hudson said, chuckling, leaning closer to John. "You're going to have to buck up a bit, John." John turns to look at her. "You know that, don't you? The game is on! And Jared knows that the game is on."
"I'll do my best." John said, looking away.
Mrs Hudson puts an arm around John, "Anything you need, any time, just ask. Anything at all!"
John smiles at Mrs Hudson.
"Thank you." John said, patting his arm, and Mrs Hudson stepped back.
John pulls in a breath, then steps out of the door. He has only taken a few paces when he slows down, half-turns towards her and points towards her Aston before walking back to her.
"Sometimes, can I borrow your car?" John asked.
Mrs Hudson thinks about it for a split second then shakes her head.
"No." Mrs Hudson said, turning away.
"But can I borrow your car?" I asked, looking at Mrs Hudson.
"Yes. As long as you bring a friend to stop you."
"Okay." John said, turning and walks forward again with me, then stops and looks towards the limo, flexing his left hand. "Let's go, Jared."
"Right." I said, while John starts to walk along the road with me, passing the open door of the ambulance and Mary is walking beside us.
"He knew you'd get a new therapist after I died because you'd need to change everything. That's just what you're like." Mary said.
John and I step off the pavement, passing a bush on the other side of the road which again momentarily obscures our view of us, and when we reappear, Mary has gone. We walked to the left rear door of the limo which a man is holding open for us.
John nods to the limousine driver, "Thanks."
"Thank you." I said, happily.
John and I get into the back seat. Mary is already sitting on the other side, one leg curled under her. The man closes the door.
"You keep your weekends for Rosie, so you needed to see someone during working hours." Mary said.
I closed my eyes to think of John typing into a search engine – surfsearching.co.uk – 'Psychiatrist my location'.
"Because you're an idiot, you don't want anyone at the surgery knowing you're in therapy, so that restricts you to lunchtime sessions with someone reasonably close." Mary said.
John looks round at Mary.
I thought about John looking at the homepage of Dr. Marcus Chambers, Phd, Consultant Psychiatrist.
John's face comes into focus reflected in the screen as Mary continues speaking. He folds his hands in front of him and rubs his thumb against the other hand while he looks at the screen.
"You found four men and one woman, and you are done with the world being explained to you by a man." Mary said, nearby.
Limo...
Mary laughs briefly.
"Who isn't?!" Mary exclaimed, as John looked at her. "So all he needed to do was find the first available lunchtime appointment with a female therapist within cycling distance of your surgery." While she speaks, John turns his head away and rubs his nose briefly. "My God, he knows you."
The ambulance drives past the limo.
"No, he doesn't." John said.
"I'm in your head, John. You're disagreeing with yourself." Mary said, smiling.
"You ready, sir?" The driver asked.
John and I are together on the back seat. He turns and looks at the blank space, speaking a little angrily.
"Yes, I am." John said, turning to look into the rear-view mirror where the driver is watching him in the mirror through sunglasses.
The man turns his head away.
"He is the cleverest man in the world, but he's not a monster." Mary said, back sitting beside John and I.
"Yeah, he is." John said, looking at Mary.
"Yeah, okay, all right, he is." Mary said, mock-shuddering. "Urgh!" She chuckles, before talking softly. "But he's our monster."
"This is a River Song situation." I said, and John turned away again. "Man, I should see her again sometime."
(Open POV)
TV studio...
Smith smiles into the camera.
"I'm a killer." Smith said, in a loud whisper.
Outside the building...
A large billboard is being carried away by a couple of people. The image shows someone – presumably a man but the picture only shows him from the neck down – wearing a suit and tie and holding up a large sharp knife covered with blood. To the right of the person, text reads:
ROWBANK MEDIA
A ROWBANK
ORIGINAL SERIES
ROUGE
SERIES PREMIERE
8TH MARCH
EXCLUSIVE TO
PLAY TV
Along the bottom of the poster it reads:
ON MARCH 8, THE SECRET WILL BE UNLEASHED
As the billboard is carried away, behind it the limousine turns into the forecourt.
Inside the studio...
Smith, wearing a grey suit and white shirt, has turned his head to the left to smile into another camera, "You know I'm a killer."
Outside the building...
The limo drives past two people in alien make-up and clothes. They watch the car go past. Each of them has a cigarette in their hands and the woman is also holding her phone.
Inside the studio...
Smith straightens up and turns to the camera in front of him, "But did you know I'm a s..."
To Smith's right, the bulb in a large light on a stand explodes. Just starting to hold up a bowl and spoon, Smith flinches.
"Cut there. What was that? Was that a light?" The director asked, nearby.
Smith is standing behind a breakfast bar. To his left on the table is a tall jug of orange juice, a glass of orange juice and an orange sliced into two. Beside them are two boxes of breakfast cereal. The cereal is called 'GNASH' and a blue triangle in the top left corner of the boxes announces that this is 'New!' A large picture behind Smith shows an overhead shot of a bowl of cereal with a spoon in it. Smith puts his own spoon into the bowl and puts the bowl onto the table, pointing to the exploded light.
"Oh, was that me? Er, was I too good, huh?" Smith asked.
The camera crew laugh. His assistant Cornelia walks to his side and speaks into his ear.
"He's here." Cornelia said.
(Jared's POV)
Parking lot...
The limo comes to a halt and a man walks over and opens the rear right-hand door. John has already slid across to that side and he gets out with me. The ambulance is parked nearby with its back doors open and he walks over to where Molly is sitting on the back step slightly hunched over and with her hands clasped in her lap. Sherlock is lying on the stretcher inside but now stands up.
"Well? How is he?" John asked, looking at Molly.
"Basically fine." Sherlock said, taking off his dressing gown and reaches down to pick up his coat which is lying on the stretcher.
"You're not fine. You're dying." I said, looking at Sherlock.
"I know I'm dying."
"I've seen healthier people on the slab." Molly said, scoffing.
"Yeah but, to be fair, you work with murder victims. They tend to be quite young." Sherlock said, putting on his coat.
"Not funny."
"It really isn't funny." I said, rolling my eyes.
"Little bit funny." Sherlock said, happily.
"If you keep taking what you're taking at the rate you're taking it, you've got weeks." Molly said, her voice getting tearful as she speaks.
Sherlock comes to the doorway and holds onto the poles either side.
"Exactly, weeks. Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Sherlock said, stepping down to the ground, then totters on the spot.
"For Christ's sake, Sherlock, it's not a game!" Molly yelled, standing up.
"I'm worried about you, Molly, Jared. You two seem very stressed." Sherlock said, turning to Molly and I.
"I'm stressed; you're dying." Molly said, grabbing my hand.
"I'm also stressed because you're dying. Without you, John, Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson have nothing." I said, squeezing Molly's hand.
"Yeah, well, I'm ahead, then. Stress can ruin every day of your life." Sherlock said, as Molly turned away from him, closing her eyes against her tears. "Dying can only ruin one."
"So this is real? You've really lost it. You're actually out of control." John said, stepping closer to Sherlock with his hands behind his back.
"When have I ever been that?"
"Since the day I met you and Jared."
"Oh, clever boy. I've missed you fumbling 'round the place."
"I thought this was some kind of ..." John said, looking at Molly and I.
"What's up?" I asked, letting out a lot of tears.
"... trick." John said, turning to me. "Is it a trick?"
"'Course it's not a trick. It's a plan." Sherlock said, smirking.
"Mr Holmes!" Smith said, nearby.
John looks past Sherlock's shoulder to where the voice came from. Smith is coming out of the doors of a building marked VILLAGE STUDIOS. Cornelia is behind him and a man walks alongside filming him as more people come out of the doors behind them.
"Thirty feet and closing: the most significant undetected serial killer in British criminal history." Sherlock said, quick fire, not turning round.
Smiling, Smith walks towards them followed by his entourage.
"Help me bring him down." Sherlock said, looking between John and I.
"What ... what plan?" John asked.
"I'm not telling you and Jared."
"Why not? You usually tell us things, Sherlock." I said, letting go of Molly's hand.
"Because neither of you won't like it." Sherlock said, sadly.
"Mr Holmes!" Smith said, and Sherlock turns to face him.
Smith stops a few feet away. A cameraman and another man hurry around behind our boys so that they can film Smith from the front.
"I don't do handshakes." Smith said, starting to walk towards Sherlock again. "It'll have to be a hug."
"I know." Sherlock said, while reporters holding notebooks gather around them.
Chuckling, Smith reaches out and hugs him. Sherlock leans down into the man's embrace. Resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder, Smith pats his back.
"Oh, Sherlock." Smith said, as Sherlock frowns over his shoulder. "Oh, Sherlock!" Releasing Sherlock, he steps back. "What can I say? Thanks to you ..." Smith turns to his entourage. "... we're, uh, we're everywhere!"
"Mr Holmes, how did Culverton talk you into this?" A male reporter asked.
"Well, he-he's a detective." Smith said, faking a startled look. "Maybe I just confessed!"
The reporters and Smith laugh.
Smith looks at Sherlock and beckons him towards the building, "Come on."
Starting to follow Smith, Sherlock turns and throws a significant, perhaps pleading, look to John and I, who follows him. Molly watches us go, looking worried.
"Now, it's a ... it's a new kind of breakfast cereal." Smith said, walking along.
"Mr Holmes, can you put on the hat?" The male reporter asked.
"Yeah, he doesn't really wear the hat." John said, grabbing my hand.
"He really doesn't. Not unless a former assassin tells him to." I said, looking over my shoulder to see Mary there.
"Kids will be getting two of their five-a-day before they've even left home!" Smith said, leading the crowd into the building and stops to take a notebook from a woman and sign his name in it.
Cornelia walks alongside John and I, "Sherlock's been amazing for us."
Handing the notebook back to the woman as she smiles, Smith continues onwards with the others.
"Breakfast has got to be cool." Smith said, looking at the reporters.
"We're beyond viral." Cornelia said, looking at John and I.
"And you know what makes it cool when you're a kid?"
"What, sorry? Beyond what?" John asked, looking at Cornelia.
"Beyond viral?" I asked, squeezing John's hand.
"No. Dangerous." Smith said.
TV studio...
Smith is behind the breakfast bar, smiling to one of the cameras.
"Set; and action!" The director said, nearby.
"I'm a killer." Smith said.
Sherlock stands several feet away with his hands in his pockets, watching him. John grabbed my hand and turned to one side with his back to Sherlock, with the two of us watching the filming on one of the nearby TV screens.
"You know I'm a killer." Smith said, smiling into the camera, then turns to the one on his right and looks into that. "But did you know ..." He turns back to the front camera, picks up the bowl and holds it up. "... I'm a cereal killer?!"
To Smith's right, behind the repaired light on its stand, is a large poster advertising the new breakfast cereal.
"Not in the mood for puns." I said, looking at the poster where Smith is smiling into the camera and the words 'I'm a CEREAL KILLER!' are to the left of his head. "It's not the best one either."
Sherlock chuckles slightly, his gaze intense. Smith takes a large mouthful of cereal and chews on it.
"Mm!" Smith said, making an appreciative noise and straightens up and gestures towards the director.
"And cut there. Thank you." The director said, nearby.
Smith puts down the bowl, claps his hands together a couple of times and gestures to a young woman who hurries over to him. She is wearing a headset and carrying a black plastic bin with a white bin liner inside. Smith leans down to the bin and spits the cereal into it. Spitting, he straightens and looks at the woman.
"We should bag that up, sell it." Smith said, spitting a last bit of cereal into the bin. "Make money for that on eBay."
The woman chuckles nervously and Smith looks up at her again and nods towards the bin.
"I could make more if you like. Any time you like." Smith said, quietly.
The woman's smile becomes rather fixed and she turns and walks away. Smith straightens up and grimly watches her go.
John turned to Sherlock, "Has it occurred to you – anywhere in your drug-addled brain – that you've just been played?"
"Oh, yes." Sherlock said, happily.
"For an ad campaign."
"Brilliant, isn't it?"
"Brilliant?" John asked.
"How is it brilliant?" I asked, as Sherlock stares towards Smith.
"Safest place to hide." Sherlock said, smirking.
At the table, Smith is picking a bit of cereal from his teeth while a wardrobe mistress adjusts his shirt and a make-up artist strokes a brush through her tin of powder.
"Plain sight." Sherlock said.
"Mr Holmes? Culverton wants to know if you're okay going straight to the hospital." Cornelia said, walking towards Sherlock.
"Hospital?" John asked.
"Culverton's doing a visit. The kids would love to meet you three. I think he sort of promised."
"Oh, okay." Sherlock said, walking away.
"Jared, do you know what is going on here?" John asked, looking at Sherlock, startled.
"Yeah..." I said, letting out a sigh. "I wish I could change this. I really do. I hate knowing things."
Cornelia gestures to John and I, "If you'd just like to come this way."
We walk away. Smith watches us go, his face serious.
Limousine...
John gets into the right-hand side of the limousine. I am sitting in the middle seat of the limousine. Sherlock is already sitting on the other side, typing on a phone.
"So ... what are we doing here? What's the point?" John asked, closing the door and settling down on the seat.
"I needed a hug." Sherlock said, still typing, not looking up.
Smith comes to John's side of the car and knocks on the window. John presses the button to lower it.
Smith bends down and looks in, "What do you think, Mr Holmes? 'Cereal' killer."
"It's funny 'cause it's true!" Sherlock yelled, still typing.
"See you at the hospital." Smith said, straightening up and starts to walk away.
"Oh, you can have this back now." Sherlock said, turning and calling to Smith.
Smith stops. The sound of a message being sent from the phone can be heard, and Sherlock lowers it to his lap and tries to look nonchalant while John and I frown round at him. Smith turns and walks back to the window.
"Have what back?" Smith asked.
"Thanks for the hug." Sherlock said, reaching across John and I and holding out the phone with a tight smile.
Frowning, Smith takes the phone.
"Oh, I sent and deleted a text. You might get a reply but I doubt it." Sherlock said, settling back into his seat.
Smith smiles and tucks his phone into his inside jacket pocket, "It's password protected."
"Please!" Sherlock said, scornfully.
Smith chuckles, "We're going to have endless fun, Mr Holmes, aren't we?"
"Oh no. No, not endless."
Smiling, Smith walks away. Sherlock looks at him grimly for a moment, then turns away. John glances towards him as Sherlock sighs silently, hugging himself.
"Need another hit, do you?" John asked.
"I think he does." I said, rolling my eyes. "I just want this adventure to be over already."
"I know you do, Jared." Sherlock said, frowning. "I can wait until the hospital."
John turns his head away, shaking it slightly, and closes the window. Sherlock lays his head back and closes his eyes.
SAINT CAEDWALLA'S HOSPITAL...
John and I stand in a corridor with a blue-uniformed female nurse. Near us is the plaque beside which Smith stood when he opened The Culverton Smith Wing. To the right of the plaque is a large photo of Smith just about to cut the ribbon, and to the right of that is another photograph, or possibly a painting, of him smiling.
The nurse looks at John and I, "You lot involved much?"
"Sorry?" John asked.
"Um, with Mr Holmes – Sherlock and all his cases?" Nurse Cornish asked.
"Uh, yeah. I'm John Watson." John said, happily.
"And I'm Jared Shay." I said, smiling.
"Okay." Nurse Cornish said, looking as if that means nothing to her.
"Doctor Watson and Jared Shay." John said, sadly.
"I love his blog, don't you?" Nurse Cornish asked.
"His blog?"
"Oh, don't you read it?"
"You mean my blog."
"I help John come up with the cases for his blog of Sherlock's adventures!" I said, excitedly. "It's like coming up with headlines for news stories. So much fun."
Sherlock comes out of the nearby toilets, "Say what you like about addiction; the day is full of highlights."
"Oh, Mr Holmes. You feeling better?" Nurse Cornish asked, smiling at Sherlock.
"Psychedelic!" Sherlock said, angrily.
"I was just saying I love your blog."
"Great. I ..."
"It's my blog." John said, interrupting Sherlock.
"It is. He writes the blog." Sherlock said.
"It's yours?" Nurse Cornish asked, looking at John.
"Yes." John said, grabbing my hand.
"You write Sherlock's blog?"
"Yes."
Sherlock briefly closes his eyes and then widens them, blowing out a long breath.
"It's ... gone downhill a little bit, hasn't it?" Nurse Cornish asked.
"No. It hasn't gone downhill after Mary came along. And after she passed." I said, and John smiles tightly at Nurse Cornish. "It's been going along swimmingly."
"Oh, it's this way, then." Nurse Cornish said, turning round while Sherlock blows out another breath and he, John, and I follow her.
Smith is standing in the middle of a play area in a children's ward. Child patients and their nurses and other support staff are sitting and standing around him. He turns and everyone applauds as Nurse Cornish leads Sherlock, John, and I into the room. Another nurse smiles at us as we walk past.
"Oh, my God; I love your blog!" A nurse yelled.
Sherlock points both index fingers at the nurse and smiles, "You're welcome!"
Sherlock puts a friendly hand on the nurse's shoulder as he walks past. John squeezed my hand and looked at them straight-faced.
"Right, here he comes, the internet 'tec!" Smith said, nearby.
Sherlock continues into the room, mock-gaping at the sight.
"You all know Sherlock Holmes!" Smith said, happily.
The children cheer and applaud harder.
"Hello!" Sherlock said, smiling.
Smith walks closer to Sherlock as the applause dies down.
"Oh, and Doctor Watson and Jared Shay, of course." Smith said, and the audience clap again, far less enthusiastically this time making John press his lips together. "Mr Holmes. I was wondering – well ..." He turns to the kids. "... we all were, weren't we? – maybe you could tell us about some of your cases."
"No." Sherlock said, instantly.
"Yup. You do. What do you have to lose, Sherlock?" I asked, squeezing John's hand.
"Yes! Absolutely, yes." Sherlock said, going into lecture mode as he walks forward into the circle of children. "The main feature of interest in the field of criminal investigation is not the sensational aspects of the crime itself, but rather the iron chain of reasoning, from cause to effect, that reveals – step by step – the solution. That's the only truly remarkable aspect of the entire affair. Now, I will share with you the facts and evidence as they were available to me, and in this very room you will all attempt to solve the case of Blessington the Poisoner."
Sherlock has wandered back towards John and I while talking, with the army doctor now speaking quietly.
"I think you slightly gave away the ending." John said, sadly.
"That's why I hate endings. I don't like it when stories end." I said, rolling my eyes.
"There were five main suspects ..." Sherlock said, looking at the audience.
"One of them called Blessington." John said.
"... but it's more about how he did it." Sherlock said, briefly throwing John a look.
"Poison?" John asked.
"Okay." Sherlock said, causing the kids to laugh. "Drearcliff House. Remember that one, John and Jared?"
"I do." I said, while Sherlock blows out a breath. "'The House of Fear'."
"One murder, ten suspects." Sherlock said, excitedly holding up his hands and splays his fingers.
"Ten, yeah." John said.
"All of them guilty."
"Sherlock ..." John said, letting out a sigh.
Mary is sitting at one side of the room, smiling fondly at John and I. She giggles silently.
Meanwhile, Sherlock is starting to lose concentration, "Uh, wh-wh-wh-what did you call that one, John and Jared? Um, something to do with murder at the zoo."
"Yeah, we called it 'Murder at the Zoo'." John said.
"I thought it was the 'House of Fear' but I tend to get the titles wrong at times." I said, while the audience smiled.
"Or-or was it The Case of the Killer Orang-Utan?" Sherlock asked, as the audience fall silent.
John looks at Sherlock straight-faced.
"He should be wearing the hat. The kids'd love the hat." Mary said, smirking.
"You're not wrong, they would. He's Sherlock Holmes. He should wear the damn hat." I said, letting go of John's hand.
"So, any more questions?" Sherlock asked, turning in a circle to look at his audience.
"No." Several of the kids said, simultaneously.
"I don't think so." One of the kids said.
"No?" Sherlock asked.
Smith has sat down near a couple of the children and now raises a hand, "Mr Holmes?"
"Good, then I'll ..." Sherlock said, trailing off and turns to Smith.
"How do you catch a serial killer?" Smith asked.
The little girl to one side of him had previously been holding a Barbie-type doll but at some time after Smith sat with her, he has taken it from her and is holding it in one hand on his lap.
Sherlock looks at Smith silently for a long moment before speaking, "Same way you catch any other killer."
"No, but m-most killers kill someone they know." Smith said, causing Sherlock to blink several times. "You're looking for a murderer in a tiny social grouping."
"Um, Mr Smith. Um, I'm-I'm just, er, wondering. Maybe this isn't a suitable subject for the children." Nurse Cornish said, sadly.
"Nurse Cornish. How long have you been with us now?" Smith asked, quietly, not turning to Nurse Cornish.
"Seven years."
Smith turns to look at Nurse Cornish straight-faced.
"Seven years." Smith said, as Nurse Cornish smiles nervously. "Okay."
After a moment, Smith turns back towards Sherlock and the audience. His tone is serious when he speaks, and the adults in the room are now starting to look a little uncomfortable.
"Serial killers choose their victims at random. Surely that must make it more difficult?" Smith asked.
"Some of them advertise." Sherlock said, staring at Smith wide-eyed.
"Do they really?"
"Serial killing is an expression of power, ego, a signature in human destruction." Sherlock said, his voice quiet and intense.
Smith presses his lips together, fiddling with the doll on his lap with both hands as Sherlock continues. Both men have locked eyes on each other.
"Ultimately, for full satisfaction, it requires ..." Sherlock said, speaking the next two words pedantically "... plain sight. Additionally, serial killers are easily profiled. They tend to be social outcasts, educationally sub-normal."
Nurse Cornish looks around the room anxiously.
"No-no-no-no-no-no. You're just talking about the ones you know, the ones you've caught." Smith said, as Sherlock frowns slightly. "But hello, dummy, you only catch the dumb ones. Now, imagine if the Queen wanted to kill some people. What would happen then?" Sherlock's gaze lowers downwards towards Smith's hands. "All that power, all that money." Smith squeezes the head of the doll with one thumb, crushing its face. "Sweet little government dancing attendance." Nurse Cornish looks round again, now very uncomfortable. "A whole country just to keep her warm and..." He pulls the doll's head off its body. "...and fat."
Smith smiles up at Sherlock, whose eyes are still fixed on the doll. Smith pushes the head back onto its body.
"Hm." Smith said, looking round at the kids, smiling. "We all love the Queen, don't we? And I bet she'd love you lot!"
"Um, I..." I said, clutching the side of my sling bag. "I..."
John steps forward a few paces.
"Uh, it-it's all right, everyone. I can personally assure you that Sherlock Holmes is not about to arrest the Queen." John said, grinning at the kids.
"Well, of course not! Not Her Majesty!" Smith yelled, and Sherlock is staring intensely at him causing the serial killer to turn back to face him. "Money, power, fame."
Standing near him, the expression on John's face suggests that he's beginning to realise why Sherlock is obsessed with this man and why I am terrified of him.
"Some things make you untouchable." Smith said.
John's gaze lowers and he blinks several times. It seems he now also knows that Sherlock is right in his obsession and why I have been slowly breaking down.
"God save the Queen!" Smith said, loudly, before looking round at the kids. "She could open a slaughterhouse and we'd all probably pay the entrance fee!"
"No-one's untouchable." John said, as I walked towards him to grab his hand.
"No-one?" Smith asked.
"Yeah. No one is. Not even Sherlock Holmes." I said, squeezing John's hand.
Sherlock's eyes turn towards John and I and we smile slightly. Sherlock's reading John's expression and knows that he's finally on his side. Smith looks round at the children.
"Look at you all! So gloomy! Can't you take a joke?" Smith asked, standing up, chuckling. "The Queen! If the Queen was a serial killer, I'd be the first person she'd tell!" He pulls a funny face. "We have that kind of friendship!" Smith chuckles and claps his hands together. "A big round of applause for Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, and Jared Shay!" He chuckles again and applauds while the audience clap rather unenthusiastically. "Come on! Wonderful!" Smith turns to smile at Sherlock, who gazes back at him intensely. "Thank you so much for coming. Thank you."
Sherlock's eyes lift to meet John's. John returns the look. It's clear that he's now fully on board.
Not long afterwards, Smith leads Sherlock, John, and I along a bright white-painted corridor.
"Where are we going now?" Sherlock asked.
"I want to show you my favourite room." Smith said, and we walk past a door.
Sherlock glances towards the door, then does a double-take, "No, let's go in here."
The door has a window in it and Sherlock pulls the door open and goes inside. A sign on the wall inside shows that this is Suite W34, Directors Boardroom B-2. There's a white rectangular table in the middle with three chairs on each side and one at each end, and there are drug stands beside each of the side chairs. Sherlock walks around the table, gesturing towards it.
"So you've had another one of your little meetings." Sherlock said, smiling humourlessly at Smith.
"Oh, it's just a monthly top-up. Confession is good for the soul ... providing you can delete it." Smith said, smirking.
John looks closely at a bag hanging from one of the stands, "What's TD12?"
"It's a memory inhibitor." Sherlock said.
"Like the Retcon I use with Torchwood?" I asked, squeezing John's hand. "Is it like that?"
"It is exactly like that."
"Bliss." Smith said.
"Bliss?" John asked.
"Opt-in ignorance. Makes the world go round."
"Anyone ever 'opt' to remember?" Sherlock asked, folding his arms.
"Some people take the drip out, yeah. Some people have the same ... urges. Huh ..." Smith said, clapping his hands together. "... come on. Wasting time."
"Indeed." Sherlock said, looking at his watch. "You have – I estimate – twenty minutes left."
Smiling, Sherlock walks towards the door which Smith is about to push open.
Smith turns back towards Sherlock, "Sorry?"
"I sent a text from your phone, remember? It was read almost immediately. Factoring in a degree of shock, an emotional decision and a journey time based on the associated address, I'd say that your life as you know it has twenty minutes left to run." Sherlock said, checking his watch again. "Well, no, seventeen and a half, to be precise but I rounded up for dramatic effect, so please do show us your favourite room." He walks closer to Smith, glaring at him intensely. "It'll give you a chance to say ... goodbye."
Smith chuckles unpleasantly, "Come along."
Smith turns around. Sherlock pulls a brief humourless smile behind him, then heads for the door which Smith is holding open for him. They walk away, Smith letting the door go behind him.
John walks towards the door with me.
"The game is on." Mary said, her voice nearby.
John stops with me and the door closes in front of him. He raises his head skywards. As he starts to turn around, we are looking over Mary's shoulder from behind her.
"Do you still miss me?" Mary asked, when John turned to look back into the room.
There's nobody there. John turns again, looking thoughtful, then starts to move with me.