A.N. Hi! I really hope this turns out well, since there isn't many other stories about this out there. Hint hint, I'd like it if you all would write some more.
So here's my attempt at Watching Sherlock.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I give all credit to the BBC. Also, I got the transcripts from Ariane DeVere. Credit goes to her.
This is it, John thought as he unconsiously touched his new mustache, My first date with Mary.
Mary then sat down at the table, smiling broadly from ear to ear. They greeted each other and were halfway through their meal when they were taken by a mysterious light.
Lestrade ran a frustrated hand over his face as he looked at his team. Donovan was diligently working on a case and Anderson was either trying to prove to the world Sherlock was alive, or also doing work. He didn't know which.
After Sherlock had jumped off a building, his team had worked exceptionally hard since then.
"Donovan what do we got?" Lestrade asked, referring to the case before they all got taken by a blinding light.
John, Mary, Donovan, Anderson and Lestrade were all dumped in a fairly comfortable looking room. It was an average living room. But there was much more places to sit.
"Greg?" John asked, looking over the Scotland Yarders while helping Mary up.
Lestrade looked over them all as they all stood up, wary of the couches, "This is definitely not my division," he sighed.
"Where are we?" Donovan asked, the room they were in had no windows, and the only doors there lead them into a bathroom and kitchen.
"Were we drugged?" Anderson asked, carefully looking around the room.
"What's this?" Mary asked, walking over to a TV, pressing the power button, they all watched as it begun to play.
The word 'Sherlock' filled the screen.
"Okay, what is this? Was this the freak's idea?" Donovan said, looking angry and annoyed.
John frowned, the swallowed emotionally, "No, don't you remember, he's dead,"
All was silent as they paused for a second.
"Maybe this is proof he's alive," Anderson interrupted.
"Anderson-" Lestrade tried to stop him.
"No, no, no," Anderson stopped him, "There have been so many instances where we've seen him figure out something that seemed impossible, why not cheating death?"
"Because it was a 10 story building?" Lestrade asked blandly.
"There's only one way to know what this is," Mary continued, she was the first one to sit on a couch, with remote in hand, she pressed 'play'. Everyone quickly sat down around her.
In a bedsit somewhere in London, John Watson is having a nightmare.
"Uh...What is this?" John looked around awkwardly, "I thought this would be about Sherlock,"
Lestrade gazed at the screen worryingly, "How long ago was this?"
"I don't know, probably around the time I first met him,"
He is reliving his Army days and his team is under fire somewhere abroad. A colleague cries out his name as the gunfire continues. Finally he jolts awake, distressed and panic-stricken.
John got many looks of sympathy.
He sits up in bed wide-eyed and breathing heavily until he realises that he is safe and a long way from the war. Flopping back onto his pillow, he tries to calm his breathing as he continues to be haunted by his memories. Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.
"Aw, John," Mary states sadly, grasping his arm in an attempt of comfort.
Some time later he has sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. It's still dark outside. John sits quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, and looks across to the desk on the other side of the room. A metal walking cane is leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily, then continues to gaze into the distance. He will not be sleeping again tonight.
DAY TIME. The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a dressing gown over his night wear, hobbles across the room leaning heavily on his cane. In his other hand he has a mug of tea and an apple, both of which he puts down onto the desk. The mug bears the arms of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Sitting down, he opens the drawer in the desk to get his laptop. As he lifts the computer out of the drawer, we see that he also has a pistol in there. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads, "The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson". The rest of the page is blank.
"Writer's block?" Donovan asked.
"No, I didn't have anything to write about," John says, recently, since Sherlock died, he might write about an old adventure with him, but for the most part, it remained empty.
Later he is at his psychotherapist's office and he sits in a chair opposite her.
ELLA: How's your blog going?
JOHN: Yeah, good. (He clears his throat awkwardly.) Very good.
"It's obvious you're lying, mate," Lestrade briefly looked away from the screen to make eye contact.
ELLA: You haven't written a word, have you?
JOHN (pointing to Ella's notepad on her lap): You just wrote "Still has trust issues".
ELLA: And you read my writing upside down. D'you see what I mean? (John smiles awkwardly.)
ELLA: John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.
(John gazes back at her, his face full of despair.)
JOHN: Nothing happens to me.
Once again, everyone gazed at him sadly.
OCTOBER 12TH. A well-dressed middle-aged business man walks across the concourse of a busy London railway station talking into his mobile phone.
Most of them's eyes narrowed.
"That isn't..." Anderson gulped, not wanting to finish his sentence.
SIR JEFFREY: What d'you mean, there's no ruddy car?
(His secretary is at his office talking into her phone as she walks across the room.)
HELEN: He went to Waterloo. I'm sorry. Get a cab.
SIR JEFFREY: I never get cabs.
(Helen looks around furtively to make sure that nobody is within earshot, then speaks quietly into the phone.)
HELEN: I love you.
"Oh, she was the affair," Donovan whispered quietly.
SIR JEFFREY (suggestively): When?
HELEN (giggling): Get a cab!
(Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.)
Everyone besides Mary flinched, realizing what was about to happen.
Some unspecified time later, sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an office many storeys above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid as he puts the capsule into his mouth. Later, he is writhing on the floor in agony. We can now see that the office in which his dying body is lying is empty of furniture.
"I didn't realize how painful that must've been," John shuddered, wondering what would've happened if he hadn't gotten to Sherlock in time.
POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Flanked by a police officer and another man who may be her solicitor or a family member, Sir Jeffrey's wife is sitting at a table making a statement to the press.
MARGARET PATTERSON (tearfully as she reads from her statement): My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work – and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him.
(Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.)
"Did she know he was married?" Mary whispered, staring at the scene in despair.
NOVEMBER 26TH. Two boys in their late teens are running down a street at night in the pouring rain. Gary has opened a fold-up umbrella and is trying to keep it under control in the wind, while Jimmy has his jacket pulled up over his head. He calls out in triumph as a black cab approaches with its yellow sign lit to show that it is available for hire.
JIMMY: Yes, yes, taxi, yes!
(He whistles and waves to the taxi but it drives past. He makes an exasperated sound, then starts to head back in the direction he just came, looking round at his friend.)
"I hate it when taxis just drive past you," Lestrade said in an attempt to lighten the mood.
JIMMY: I'll be back in two minutes, mate.
GARY: What?
JIMMY: I'm just going home; get my mum's umbrella.
GARY: You can share mine!
"If only he stayed," Anderson stated, "I guess it might've been embarrassing, but it's better than dying."
JIMMY: Two minutes, all right?
(He walks away. Some time later Gary looks at his watch, apparently worried because Jimmy has been gone for too long. He turns around and heads back in pursuit of his friend.)
"If it was only two minutes away, why did he feel the need to take a cab?" Mary asked, "Was he going to bring it back to his friend so they could get in it together?"
Everyone looked briefly shocked, she was asking the right questions.
"She's a keeper," Lestrade whispered to John.
Some unspecified time later, Jimmy sits crying and clutching a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. He unscrews the lid, his hands shaking, and sobs. We see that he is sitting on a window ledge inside a sports centre overlooking a sports court. The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline "Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre".
JANUARY 27TH. At a public venue, a party is being held. A large poster showing a photograph of the guest of honour is labelled "Your local MP, Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport". As pounding dance music comes from inside the room, one of Beth's aides walks out of the room and goes over to her male colleague who is standing at the bar. He looks at her in exasperation.
"I'm not getting a good feeling from them," Anderson stated.
AIDE 1: Is she still dancing?
AIDE 2: Yeah, if you can call it that.
AIDE 1: Did you get the car keys off her?
AIDE 2 (showing him the keys): Got 'em out of her bag.
"Car thieves," everyone looked at them in hate.
(The man smiles in satisfaction, then looks into the dance hall and frowns.)
AIDE 1: Where is she?
Beth has slipped out of the venue and is standing at the side of her car searching through her handbag for her keys. She sighs when she can't find them and looks around helplessly.
Everyone felt the emotion build up as they watched her.
Some unspecified time later, Beth sobs hysterically as she stands inside a portacabin on a building site. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules.
POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable as his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters.
DONOVAN: The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.
REPORTER 1: Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?
"Because they're not suicides," Mary whispered.
LESTRADE: Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...
REPORTER 1 (interrupting): But you can't have serial suicides.
LESTRADE: Well, apparently you can.
REPORTER 2: These three people: there's nothing that links them?
LESTRADE: There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one.
"Yeah, their taxi," he stared at the screen.
(Everybody's mobile phone trills a text alert simultaneously. As they look at their phones, each message reads: Wrong! Donovan looks at the same message on her own phone.)
"You never think you'll miss something like that," Lestrade said sadly.
DONOVAN: If you've all got texts, please ignore them.
REPORTER 1: Just says, 'Wrong'.
Despite himself, John snorted. Taking notice of everyone's looks, he said, "Sherlock would've loved him,"
"To insult him?" Donovan raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Yep,"
DONOVAN: Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end.
REPORTER 2: But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?
LESTRADE: As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ...
(Everybody's mobile trills another text alert and again each message reads "Wrong!")
REPORTER 1: Says, 'Wrong' again. (Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally.)
John just nodded, looking amused.
DONOVAN (to the reporters): One more question.
REPORTER 3: Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?
"And someone Sherlock might've listened to for half a second," John gestured.
Even Anderson and Donovan had to laugh at that.
LESTRADE: I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered.
REPORTER 3: Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?
LESTRADE: Well, don't commit suicide.
Once again, everyone stared at him and he slowly covered his face.
(The reporter looks at him in shock. Donovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning.)
DONOVAN: "Daily Mail." (Lestrade grimaces and looks at the reporters again.)
LESTRADE: Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.
(Again the mobiles trill their text alerts, and once more each message reads "Wrong!"
But Lestrade's phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads:
You know where to find me. SH
"Drama queen," John whispered.
Mary smiled at him and put her head on his shoulder.
Looking exasperated, he puts the phone into his pocket and looks at the reporters as he stands up.)
LESTRADE: Thank you.
Shortly afterwards, he and Donovan are walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard.
DONOVAN: You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots.
LESTRADE: Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him.
Anderson narrowed his eyes, since Sherlock's suicide, he had brought it up on himself to honor the detective by learning basic deducing skills.
"Group message?" he asked.
Lestrade looked at him, unconvinced, "He has the number of everyone in that room?"
"Some satellite thingy that sends the message to the phones in that area?"
"You're still rubbish at it," Lestrade said, turning back to the screen.
RUSSELL SQUARE PARK. John is limping briskly through the park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walks past a man sitting on the bench, the man stares after him, clearly recognising him. He calls out.
MIKE: John! John Watson! (John turns back to Mike as he stands up and hurries towards him, smiling.)
"Friend of yours?" Mary asked.
John nodded.
MIKE: Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together.
JOHN: Yes, sorry, yes, Mike. (He takes Mike's offered hand and shakes it.) Hello, hi.
MIKE (grinning and gesturing to himself): Yeah, I know. I got fat!
JOHN (trying to sound convincing): No.
"Once again," Lestrade said, "You can't lie,"
MIKE: I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?
JOHN (awkwardly): I got shot.
"That's going to be awkward," Donovan winced.
(They both look embarrassed.)
A little later they have bought take-away coffees and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park. Mike looks at John worriedly. Oblivious, John takes a sip from his coffee then looks across to his old friend.
JOHN: Are you still at Bart's, then?
MIKE: Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them! (They both laugh.)
Everyone in the room laughed along with them.
MIKE: What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?
JOHN: I can't afford London on an Army pension.
MIKE: Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know.
JOHN (uncomfortably): Yeah, I'm not the John Watson ...
"Oh come on John," Mary told him, "Perk up!"
John smiled at her comfort.
(He stops. Mike awkwardly looks away and drinks his coffee. John switches his own cup to his right hand and looks down at his left hand, clenching it into a fist as he tries to control the tremor that has started. Mike looks round at him again.)
MIKE: Couldn't Harry help?
"Who's Harry?" most everyone looked around confused.
JOHN (sarcastically): Yeah, like that's gonna happen!
MIKE (shrugging): I dunno – get a flatshare or something?
JOHN: Come on – who'd want me for a flatmate? (Mike chuckles thoughtfully.)
JOHN: What?
MIKE: Well, you're the second person to say that to me today.
JOHN: Who was the first?
ST BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL MORGUE.
Sherlock Holmes
They all looked very sad. Even Mary, who hasn't met him.
unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs.
"He sniffs them?" Mary asked curiously.
Lestrade thought about his answer, "It's one of his deducing things, he uses all the senses,"
Mary looked at him and nodded, storing the information for later.
SHERLOCK: How fresh? (Morgue assistant Molly Hooper walks over.)
MOLLY: Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice.
(Zipping the bag up again, Sherlock straightens up, turns to her and smiles falsely.)
"That's a fake smile," Mary said, wincing slightly.
"I feel sorry for Molly," Donovan said, looking at the screen in slight disgust.
SHERLOCK: Fine. We'll start with the riding crop.
Shortly afterwards the body has been removed from the bag and is lying on its back on the table. In the observation room next door, Molly watches and flinches while Sherlock flogs the body repeatedly and violently with a riding crop, but her face is also full of admiration. She walks back into the room and as he finishes and straightens up, breathless,
They all leaned back (except for John, who was used to his habits), and looked disturbed by the display of violence upon the corpse.
"How did he die?" Anderson asked.
"Heart attack," Lestrade answered.
"Wasn't that Moriarty guy his replacement," Anderson stated.
Everyone nodded.
"Maybe it wasn't natural," he concluded.
They all looked stunned at Anderson.
"That's... actually..." Lestrade gave up at looking for words.
she goes over to him.
MOLLY (jokingly): So, bad day, was it?
SHERLOCK (ignoring her banter as he gets out a notebook and starts writing in it): I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.
"Wait, he was on another case at the time?" Donovan looked confused.
"He'd do multiple cases at once, when they were done he'd be so exhausted he'd pass out where he was," John said, thinking about the past.
Nobody questioned him.
MOLLY: Listen, I was wondering: maybe later, when you're finished ...
(Sherlock glances across to her as he is writing, then does a double-take and frowns at her.)
SHERLOCK: Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before.
"She chose the hardest person to have a crush on," they all agreed.
MOLLY (nervously): I, er, I refreshed it a bit.
(She smiles at him flirtatiously. He gives her a long oblivious look, then goes back to writing in his notebook.)
Lestrade snorted, "It's funny," everyone looked at him, "That one of the smartest people is so oblivious,"
They all smiled.
John decided not to mention the Sun right then.
SHERLOCK: Sorry, you were saying?
MOLLY (gazing at him intently): I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee.
(Sherlock puts his notebook away.)
SHERLOCK: Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs. (He walks away.)
"No," Mary shook her head, "That's not what she meant!"
MOLLY: ... Okay.
BART'S LAB.
Sherlock is standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. Mike knocks on the door and brings John in with him. Sherlock glances across at them briefly before looking at his work again. John limps into the room, looking around at all the equipment.
JOHN: Well, bit different from my day.
"John," Lestrade sighed, "You're making me feel old,"
"Sorry," John smiled fakely.
MIKE (chuckling): You've no idea!
SHERLOCK (sitting down): Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.
MIKE: And what's wrong with the landline?
SHERLOCK: I prefer to text.
"If he loves to talk so much why does he text?" Donovan looked very confused.
MIKE: Sorry. It's in my coat.
(John fishes in his back pocket and takes out his own phone.)
JOHN: Er, here. Use mine.
SHERLOCK: Oh. Thank you.
(Glancing briefly at Mike, he stands up and walks towards John. Mike introduces him.)
MIKE: It's an old friend of mine, John Watson.
(Sherlock reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning partially away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it.)
SHERLOCK: Afghanistan or Iraq?
"He's going to do the thing you told me about, right?" Mary smiled.
"First date and you've already told her about him?" Anderson looked at him.
John looked slightly embarrassed, but it was fixed by Mary's excited expression.
(John frowns. Nearby, Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock as he continues to type.)
JOHN: Sorry?
SHERLOCK: Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?
(He briefly raises his eyes to John's before looking back to the phone. John hesitates, then looks across to Mike, confused. Mike just smiles smugly.)
JOHN: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?
(Sherlock looks up as Molly comes into the room holding a mug of coffee.)
SHERLOCK: Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.
"He said thank you," Lestrade grinned at the victory.
(He shuts down John's phone and hands it back as Molly brings the mug over to him. He looks closely at her as he takes the mug. Her mouth is paler again.)
SHERLOCK: What happened to the lipstick?
MOLLY (smiling awkwardly at him): It wasn't working for me.
SHERLOCK: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.
"Oh..." they all said, sounding pained.
"That's not what normal people say," Donovan winced at his behavior.
(He turns and walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.)
MOLLY: ... Okay.
(She turns and heads back towards the door.)
SHERLOCK: How do you feel about the violin?
(John looks round at Molly but she's on her way out the door. He glances at Mike who is still smiling smugly, and finally realises that Sherlock is talking to him.)
JOHN: I'm sorry, what?
SHERLOCK (typing on a laptop keyboard as he talks): I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. (He looks round at John.) Would that bother you?
"Yes," everyone else nodded.
Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other. (He throws a hideously false smile at John, who looks at him blankly for a moment then looks across to Mike.)
JOHN: Oh, you ... you told him about me?
MIKE: Not a word.
JOHN (turning to Sherlock again): Then who said anything about flatmates?
SHERLOCK (picking up his greatcoat and putting it on): I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap.
JOHN: How did you know about Afghanistan?
"How does he do it?" Lestrade concentrated on the thought, "He never got to tell me,"
(Sherlock ignores the question, wraps his scarf around his neck, then picks up his mobile and checks it.)
SHERLOCK: Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. (He walks towards John.)
SHERLOCK: We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.
(Putting his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, he walks past John and heads for the door.)
JOHN (turning to look at him): Is that it? (Sherlock turns back from the door and strolls closer to John again.)
SHERLOCK: Is that what?
JOHN: We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?
SHERLOCK: Problem?
Everyone else copied screen-John's expression.
(John smiles in disbelief, looking across to Mike for help, but his friend just continues to smile as he looks at Sherlock. John turns back to the younger man.)
JOHN: We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name.
(Sherlock looks closely at him for a moment before speaking.)
SHERLOCK: I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid.
(John looks down at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly.)
SHERLOCK (smugly): That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?
"That's a lot," Mary looked at Sherlock in awe.
(He turns and walks to the door again, opening it and going through, but then leans back into the room again.)
SHERLOCK: The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street.
(He click-winks at John, then looks round at Mike.)
SHERLOCK: Afternoon.
(Mike raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room. As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiles and nods to him.)
MIKE: Yeah. He's always like that.
"That's how you met him," Lestrade looked at John slightly shocked.
"Yep," John nodded.
"Such a freak," Donovan whispered at the sociopath's antics.
John stood up, "He's dead," he yelled at her, surprising everyone by the tone he used, "Most likely due to you, so please show some respect...You know what? I think that by this is over, you'll have a different opinion on Sherlock Holmes, one more like mine, a friends, a colleagues,"
There was silence as everyone digested this information.
"Well then," she raised her eyebrows in a condensing manner, "We'll see,"
A.N. I wanted Donovan to still not like Sherlock, but be slightly contained due to everyone's emotions.
And I wanted Mary to be someone who wants to learn about Sherlock, she seemed very well read into him in Series 3.
And Anderson...if you've watched Series 3 it speaks for itself.
Please review! I'm planning to go with as many episodes as possible!
