Emma and Christopher were discharged from the hospital two days later. As Emma walked slowly to the black car out on the street, feeling sore, Sherlock carried their precious bundle in his brand new car seat covered in a knitted blanket with the initials 'CSH' embroidered into the corner. A gift from his parents. His mother had sent the entire 4 hour journey to London embroidering the letters after Sherlock had shared his name. Sherlock was very aware that he and Emma needed to have a serious talk about the last nine months, but for right now he was happy to enjoy the moment, feeling as high as a kite without the drugs.
Emma sank gratefully into the couch back at 221b and positioned her arms for Sherlock to gently place Christopher into them. She stared down at the perfect little being, his tiny fingernails, his perfect nose, his messy yet curly tuft of hair. She closed her eyes and gently placed a kiss to his forehead. She and Sherlock had a hard time deciding on his name at first. Sherlock had wanted Emma to decide, seeing as she had been the one to go through the pregnancy alone, but Emma got so wound up trying to think of one that she had burst into tears, not knowing what to do. She was feeling incredibly overwhelmed after the birth. Cuddling them both close to him Sherlock had a thought.
Sherlock: What about... Christopher?
Emma's head shot up, eyes wide.
Emma: Are... are you sure?
Sherlock kissed her gently.
Sherlock: You are who you are today because of your love for your brother Emma. I think it only right we honour his memory with naming our son after him.
Emma looked down at the baby in her arms.
Emma: Christopher Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock: A good strong name.
He kissed her and then placed a kiss against Christopher's cheek.
The first month of living life as a family of three was far more tiring than either Emma nor Sherlock had anticipated. If Sherlock thought dismantling a terrorist cell in 9 months had been difficult, he hadn't accounted for the fact that a baby demands all of your attention almost every minute of every day. The new parents took turns most days, Sherlock taking over the night feeds while Emma slept and vice versa during the daytime. He hadn't had a case since returning and he was almost chomping at the bit. He didn't mutter any complaint though, he felt such intense guilt for Emma going through the 9 months alone that he would do anything possible to make motherhood easy for her. They finally had the conversation, along with their friends who were visiting, 3 days after Christopher was born.
Emma: What happened Sherlock?
SHERLOCK: The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast. Its roots were everywhere like a cancer, so we came up with a plan. Mycroft fed Moriarty information about me. Moriarty in turn gave us hints – just hints – as to the extent of his web. We let him go ... because it was important to let him believe he had the upper hand. And then I sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation bit by bit. I had to make him believe he'd beaten me, utterly defeated me, and then he'd show his hand. There were thirteen likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each of them were rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn't just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury – I had to die. But the one thing I didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go. I suppose that was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool – his death wish. I knew I didn't have long. I contacted my brother; set the wheels in motion. And then everyone got to work. It was vital that John stayed just where I put him. That way, his view was blocked by the ambulance station. I needed to hit the airbag – which I did. Speed was paramount. The airbag needed to be got out of the way just as John cleared the station. But we needed him to see a body. That's where Molly came in. Like figures on a weather clock, we went one way, John went the other. Then our well-timed cyclist ... put John briefly out of action ... giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement. The rest was just window dressing. And one final touch ... a squash ball under the armpit. Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse. Everything was anticipated; every eventuality allowed for. It worked ... (he smiles slightly) ... perfectly.
Sally: Molly? Molly Hooper? you were in on it?
Molly: I'm so sorry.
Sherlock: Yes. You remember the little girl who was abducted by Moriarty? Anderson assumed she reacted like that because I was her kidnapper. But I deduced Moriarty must have found someone who looked very like me to plant suspicion, and that that man – whoever he was – had to be got out of the way as soon as his usefulness ended. That meant there was a corpse in a morgue somewhere that looked just like me. Molly found the body, faked the records, and I provided the other coat. I've got lots of coats.
Greg: And what about the sniper aiming at John?
Sherlock: Mycroft's men intervened before he could take the shot. He was invited to reconsider.
Sally: And your homeless network?
Sherlock: As I explained, the whole street was closed off ... (he smiles) ... like a scene from a play.
Emma: None of that explains why you drugged me before even going onto that roof.
Sherlock closed his eyes, pain written across his face clearly for all to see. He whispered.
Sherlock: I knew you would try and stop me. (speaking normally again) When Mycroft texted me to let me know he had taken you to his place i knew i needed to come and see you. I had Mycroft add a sedative to a glass of water and place it in my room before he went off to the club. I needed to see you, spend one last night with you just in case everything didn't go to plan. I tricked you into drinking the drug, knowing it would put you out of action for at least 8 hours. I knew that if you accompanied John to Barts you would have deduced what i was going to do immediately. Having you locked away in Mycroft's was an added bonus, his place is under 24 hour guard and he himself stayed with you. (whispering again), He.. he was going to kill you all...
Sherlock broke off and turned away, trying not to let those in the room see just how upset he was. Emma handed Christopher over to John, walked in front of Sherlock and placed her hand on his cheek, his tears sliding off his nose rapidly.
Emma: And you saved us. You saved us all and now you're back.
Sherlock: I almost didn't make it, Mycroft spent two months trying to find me. If id.. if i'd known you were pregnant i wouldn't have stayed away. I.. I didn't know.
Emma: I know.
She kissed him softly and he pulled her into a tight hug. They stayed like that.
2 months later Mary decided she was going to take Emma and Christopher out for lunch, Emma had been cooped up in the flat since he was born and Mary was tired of it. She arrived at 221b, dragged Emma off for a shower and then waited for her to get sorted. Sherlock had already prepared a baby bag and discreetly slipped Mary his debit card, telling her it was his treat and that he also wanted Emma to buy something for herself. He kissed Emma gently before he helped carry Christopher to Mary's car and put the pram in the boot. Giving his son a fond look and a little ruffle on his hat he closed the car door and watched them drive off. Turning waved Mycroft in who was waiting in the shadows There was a case a foot.
Sherlock: I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft. (He briefly looks at his brother.) Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.
Mycroft: One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London – a big one.
Sherlock stands on the sofa pinning photographs and papers on the wall behind
Sherlock: Sometimes it's not a question of 'Who?'; it's a question of 'Who Knows?' If this man cancels his papers ... I need to know. If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know. There are certain people – they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up – like rats deserting a sinking ship.
Mycroft: All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical. (The brothers are sitting opposite each other in front of the unlit fire, Sherlock still in his dressing gown. A chess set between them. Sherlock sits back from making a move, his eyes locked onto Mycroft's.)
Sherlock: Boring. Your move.
Mycroft: We have solid information. An attack is coming. (He glances down to make his move.)
Sherlock: "Solid information." A secret terrorist organisation's planning an attack – that's what secret terrorist organisations do, isn't it? It's their version of golf.
Mycroft: An agent gave his life to tell us that.
Sherlock: Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. He was obviously just trying to show off. (Mycroft appears to hold back a sigh.)
Mycroft: None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously? (He glances down again and makes a move.) Your move.
Sherlock: No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad. (He had only glanced down briefly before speaking, but out of view there's a slight click as he moves his piece.) Your move. (Mycroft glances down briefly before raising his eyes to Sherlock's again.)
Mycroft: I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case.
Sherlock: I am on the case. We're both on the case. Look at us right now. (On the table in between them, there's a loud buzzing and a red light flashes.)
Mycroft: Oh, bugger! (He angrily drops the small tweezers he was using in their game of "Operation".
Sherlock: Oopsie! (Mycroft returns the piece to the board.) (looking at which piece Mycroft had failed to remove successfully): Can't handle a broken heart – how very telling. (Looking smug, he sits back in his chair and crosses his legs.)
Mycroft: Don't be smart.
Sherlock: That takes me back. (In a little boy's voice) "Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one."
Mycroft (glowering at him): I am the smart one. (Sherlock looks off to the side reflectively.)
Sherlock: I used to think I was an idiot.
Mycroft: Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on 'til we met other children.
Sherlock: Oh, yes. That was a mistake.
Mycroft: Ghastly. What were they thinking of?
Sherlock: Probably something about trying to make friends.
Mycroft: Oh yes. Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.
Sherlock (looking at him closely): And you don't? Ever?
Mycroft: If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish. (Sherlock steeples his fingers in front of him and looks at his brother.)
Sherlock: Yes, but I've been away for 9 months.
Mycroft: So?
Sherlock (shrugging): Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a ... goldfish.
Mycroft (looking appalled): Change the subject – now! Not only that but I and the one who has been looking after your girlfriend! (He stands up and walks over to the fireplace.)
Sherlock: Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre. (Mrs Hudson, carrying a tray of tea things, walks into the room with her traditional "Ooh-hoo!")
Mycroft: Speaking of which ... (Sherlock smiles.)
MRS HUDSON (happily, putting the tray on the dining table): I can't believe it. I just can't believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again! (She looks at Mycroft.) Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr Holmes?
Mycroft: I can barely contain myself(!)
Sherlock: Oh, he really can, you know.
MRS HUDSON: He's secretly pleased to see you underneath all that ... (she pulls a sour face).
Mycroft: Sorry – which of us?
MRS HUDSON: Both of you. (She leaves the room.)
Sherlock: Let's play something different.
Mycroft (with an exasperated sigh): Why are we playing games?
Sherlock: Well, London's terror alert has been raised to Critical. (He flails his legs over the table in front of him and stands up.) I'm just passing the time. Let's do deductions. (He walks over to the dining table and picks up a woollen bobble hat with earflaps and dangly pom poms hanging from each flap.) Client left this while I was out. What d'you reckon? (He tosses it to his brother.)
Mycroft (catching it): I'm busy.
Sherlock: Oh, go on. It's been an age. (Mycroft lifts the hat to his nose and sniffs, then looks across to Sherlock.)
Mycroft: I always win.
Sherlock: Which is why you can't resist.
Mycroft (quick-fire): I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis ... (He stops as he notices Sherlock's widening smile.) Damn. (He throws the hat back to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: Isolated, too, don't you think?
Mycroft: Why would he be isolated?
Sherlock: "He"?
Mycroft: Obviously.
Sherlock: Why? Size of the hat?
Mycroft: Don't be silly. Some women have large heads too.
MYCROFT: No – he's recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside. (Sherlock looks down at the hat, pouting slightly.)
Sherlock: Some women have short hair, too.
Mycroft: Balance of probability.
Sherlock: Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair – or, you know, a woman.
Mycroft: Stains show he's out of condition, and he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four ...
Sherlock: Five times. (He throws the hat back to his brother.) Very neatly. (Quick-fire) The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five's excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive.
Mycroft: Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that? (He throws the hat back to Sherlock, who grabs it with an exasperated grimace.) The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad – in Peru.
Sherlock: Peru?
Mycroft: This is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca.
Sherlock (smirking): No.
Mycroft: No?
Sherlock: Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres.
MRS HUDSON (coming back into the room with a teapot): I'm sure there's a crying need for that. (Sherlock pauses for a moment, then turns back to his brother.)
Sherlock: You said he was anxious.
Mycroft: The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but ...
Sherlock (talking over him): ... but also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right.
Mycroft: Precisely. (Sherlock lifts the hat and sniffs it before lowering it again, grimacing.)
Sherlock: Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath. (He turns away.) (sarcastically): Brilliant(!)
Mycroft: Elementary.
Sherlock: But you've missed his isolation.
Mycroft: I don't see it.
Sherlock: Plain as day.
Mycroft: Where?
Sherlock: There for all to see.
Mycroft: Tell me.
Sherlock: Plain as the nose on your ...
Mycroft: Tell me.
Sherlock (turning back to him): Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?
Mycroft: Not at all. Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated.
Sherlock: Exactly. (He looks down at the hat again. Mycroft blinks several times, apparently confused.)
Mycroft: I'm sorry?
Sherlock (looking at him): He's different – so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right. (He lifts the hat and perches it on the top of his head, then looks pointedly at his brother.) Why would anyone mind? (Mycroft opens his mouth but seems to struggle to speak for a moment.)
Mycroft: ... I'm not lonely, Sherlock. (Sherlock tilts his head down and looks closely at him, then steps nearer with an intense expression on his face.)
Sherlock: How would you know? (Taking the hat off, he turns away. Mrs Hudson, who has been pottering in the kitchen, comes to the doorway and smiles.)
Mycroft: Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning. (Looking a little wide-eyed as a result of the recent conversation, he heads for the door. Behind him, Sherlock winks at Mrs Hudson, who giggles happily.)
Sherlock (turning to face the wall of information behind the sofa): Right. Back to work.
JOHN'S SURGERY.
Although John goes round to see Emma and the baby, he is still mighty pissed at Sherlock for making him believe that he was dead, because of this, John refuses to do any cases with him right now.
Sarah knocks on the door and looks in.
Sarah: Mr Summerson.
John: Right.
Sarah: Undescended testicle.
John: ... Right. (Mary leaves again. The clock shows 10 past 10.
221B.
Sherlock holds up his phone and looks at the latest photos of one of his 'markers'. Mrs Hudson comes to the door of the living room and watches as Sherlock draws a cross over the photo of the man which is pinned to the wall.
MRS HUDSON: Sherlock.
Sherlock (absently): Mm?
MRS HUDSON: Talk to John.
Sherlock: I tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear.
In his surgery, John has his middle finger raised in front of him. With his other hand he pulls the medical glove tighter down onto his fingers. Mr Summerson is standing in front of him, naked from the waist down and looking awkward.
John: Just relax, Mr Summerson. (He walks towards him.)
MRS HUDSON: What did he say?
Sherlock: F...
John: Cough. (He is cradling Mr Summerson's testicles with his gloved hand.)
MRS HUDSON: Ooh dear! (She turns away.)
Later, John sits looking at his computer in his surgery. The intercom beeps and he switches it on.
John: Hi.
Sarah (over intercom): Er, Mrs Reeves. Thrush. (John lowers his head momentarily.)
John: Right. (The clock shows 4 minutes past 1.)
At 221B, Sherlock is standing at the window, twiddling one of his one muslins in his hands. Molly walks into the room behind him.
MOLLY: You wanted to see me?
Sherlock (turning to face her): Yes. (He starts to walk towards her.) Molly?
MOLLY: Yes?
Sherlock: Would you ... (He stops, looking down, then slowly starts to walk closer.) : Would you like to ...
MOLLY: ... have dinner?
Sherlock (simultaneously): ... solve crimes? Wait what?
MOLLY (awkwardly): Ooh.
John writes out a prescription as he talks to the woman sitting behind him.
John: Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs Reeves. It's very common ... (he turns and hands the prescription to her) ... but I'm recommending a course of ...
Sherlock: ... monkey glands. (He is looking at the wall, while Molly sits on a dining chair beside Sherlock's armchair. She bites back a smile as Sherlock turns towards the two clients in the room. A woman is sitting in what was John's chair and a man stands beside her.) But enough about Professor Presbury. Tell us more about your case, Mr Harcourt. (Molly speaks quietly to him as he walks past her.)
Molly: Are you sure about this?
Sherlock: Absolutely.
MOLLY: Should I be making notes?
Sherlock: If it makes you feel better.
MOLLY: It's just that that's what John says he does, so if I'm being John ...
Sherlock (sitting down in his chair): You're not being John – you're being yourself. (Molly smiles proudly.)
MR HARCOURT: Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen. (Sherlock looks closely at him, zooming in on his jacket, then his hairline and then the skin above his eyes. He stands and walks closer to him.)
Sherlock: Why didn't you assume it was your wife?
MR HARCOURT: Because I've always had total faith in her.
Sherlock: No – it's because you emptied it. (He points at the three areas on the man at which he had just looked and speaks quick-fire.) Weight loss, hair dye, Botox; affair. (Whipping out a business card, he holds it out to Mrs Harcourt.) Lawyer. Next!
Sarah shows the next patient into the room and looks at John.
Sarah: This is Mr Blake. (Whispering) Piles. (John nods politely. The clock shows half past 3. John turns and smiles at his patient.)
John: Mr Blake, hi.
Sherlock is sitting on a stool close to a woman who is sitting on the sofa. He is clasping her hands and patting them sympathetically while he talks softly to her.
Sherlock: And your pen pal's emails just stopped, did they? (The woman nods, whimpering as she cries. Molly looks across to her but then continues writing notes at the dining table. An older man is sitting beside the woman.) (softly): And you really thought he was the one, didn't you? The love of your life? (As the woman takes off her glasses and cries harder, Sherlock turns and looks at Molly for a moment, then stands and walks across to her. Keeping his back to the clients, he speaks quietly.) Stepfather posing as online boyfriend.
MOLLY (shocked): What?!
Sherlock: Breaks it off, breaks her heart. She swears off relationships, stays at home – he still has her wage coming in. (He turns to the man and addresses him sternly.) : Mr Windibank, you have been a complete and utter ...
John: ... piss pot. (He is holding up a small plastic cylinder used for collecting urine samples. He hands it to his latest patient who is sitting facing him.) It's nothing to worry about. Just a small infection by the sound of it. Er, Doctor Verner is your usual GP, yes? (The man speaks in a rough voice with a thick accent.)
MR SZIKORA: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. (John looks startled. The man appears to be in his sixties, has long white hair and a white beard and is wearing very dark glasses and a black knitted hat.) He looked after me, man and boy. (He beckons John closer and talks confidentially.)I run a little shop, just on the corner of Church Street.
John: Oh, right.
MR SZIKORA (picking up a plastic bag from the floor): Er, magazines, DVDs. Brought along a few little beauties that might interest you. (Taking a DVD from the bag, he shows it to John.) "Tree Worshippers." Oh, that's a corker. It's very saucy. (John nods in a bemused way, looking closely at the man as if he is beginning to suspect something. The man gets out a magazine and holds it up.) "British Birds." Same sort of thing. (The magazine cover shows two glamorous women in skimpy clothing, and some of the captions around the photograph read, "We're a real handful," "Hot British Birds! XXX" and "Knocker Glory".)
John: I'm fine, thanks.
MR SZIKORA (holding up another DVD and translating its foreign title): "The Holy War." Sounds a bit dry, I know, but there's a nun with all these holes in her habit.
John: Jesus. Sherlock ...
MR SZIKORA: Huh?
John: ... what do you want?
MR SZIKORA: Huh?
John: Have you come to torment me?
MR SZIKORA: What are you talking about?
John (impersonating his accent): "What are you talking ..." (He stands up and walks closer.) What, d'you think I'm gonna be fooled by this bloody beard? (He tugs at it while the man flails in panic.)
MR SZIKORA: Are you crazy?! (John straightens a little and imitates his flaily hands, mockingly saying, "No, no, no, no!" in the man's accent, then leans into his face.)
John: It's not as good as your French. Not as good as your French. It's not even a good disguise, Sherlock! (He rips off the man's hat and glasses. The man stares up at him with a terrified look on his face.): Where'd you get it from? A bloody joke ... sh-shop ...? (Staring at the man with dawning horror, he reaches out and pulls his head forward to confirm that he genuinely is bald on top.) : Oh my God. (The man whimpers as John gently puts his glasses back onto his face.) I am so sorry. Oh my God. (Mary comes in, having presumably heard the noise. John puts the man's hat back onto his head.) Please for... (He looks across to Sarah, speaking a little plaintively.) It's fine. (Clearing his throat, he sits down again. Sarah goes out and closes the door.)
Emma and Mary sit having lunch, Emma laughing lightly at something Mary had said while she gently patted Christopher's back as he'd just finished a bottle. They didn't know they were being watched.
LATER.
Sherlock – with Molly at his side – pushes the doorbell to a flat. Instead of the bell ringing or buzzing, it plays a recording of an Underground announcement of a male voice saying, "Mind the gap. Mind the gap." Molly giggles quietly as a young man answers the door. Sherlock immediately holds out the bobble hat towards him.
HOWARD: Oh. Thanks for hanging on to it.
Sherlock: No problem. (Taking the hat, Howard leads them inside.) So, what's this all about, Mr Shilcott? (They go into a room which is mostly taken up by a train set with Tube trains running round it. On the wall is a photo of Howard, wearing his bobble hat, grinning happily and doing a thumbs-up to the camera while he stands in front of a train which doesn't seem to be in Britain. The rest of the room is full of all sorts of different train memorabilia.)
HOWARD: My girlfriend's a big fan of yours.
Sherlock: (chuckling sarcastically): Girlfriend?! (Howard looks round indignantly and Molly throws Sherlock a look.) : Sorry. Do go on.
HOWARD: I like trains.
Sherlock: Yyyes.
HOWARD: I work on the Tube, on the District Line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared. (He sits down at his computer.) I was just whizzing through and, er, I found something a bit bizarre. (He turns towards the computer and Sherlock throws a silent and quirky "Ooh!" at Molly, who smiles. Howard pulls up the relevant footage and the others walk to either side of him to look at the screen, which shows the platform of a station. A train is stationary and its doors are open. There is only one man on the platform. He looks like a business man and is carrying a briefcase.) Now, this was a week ago. The last train on the Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car.
MOLLY: "Car"?
HOWARD: They're cars, not carriages. It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system. (Molly turns and throws a look at Sherlock.)
Sherlock: He said he liked trains.
MOLLY: Hmm!
HOWARD: And the next stop ... (he shows the appropriate footage) ... St James's Park station ... and ... (The footage shows the doors of the last car opening – and nobody gets out. Suddenly Sherlock is more interested. The doors close again.) : I thought you'd like it. (He replays the earlier footage.) He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger ... (He switches to the later footage.) ... and the car is empty at St James's Park station. Explain that, Mr Holmes.
MOLLY: Couldn't he have just jumped off? (Sherlock shakes his head.)
HOWARD: There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit. But there's something else. The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flatmate, he's on holiday. Came into some money.
Sherlock (turning to look at Molly): Bought off? (Molly has been gazing at him for the last few seconds and now looks startled by his question.)
MOLLY (blankly): Hmm? (Sherlock looks disapprovingly at her for a moment, then turns to Howard. Molly looks embarrassed.)
Sherlock: So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger did get off.
HOWARD: There's nowhere he could go. It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels – nothing on any map. Nothing. The train never stops, and the man vanishes. Good, innit?! (Sherlock closes his eyes, replaying a close-up of the passenger on the platform as his head turns towards the camera.)
Sherlock: I know that face. (His eyes snap open, but now he's in his Mind Palace, calling up footage of trains travelling along Tube lines, racing along the various lines on the Tube map, and generally recalling everything he can about the London Underground. Some time during the process he physically relocates to the stairs outside the flat, presumably so that he can concentrate better, but he frowns when he realises where he is, as if he doesn't remember moving. Shutting his eyes to get back into the zone, he continues his search, walking down a long flight of stairs into an Underground station. Briefly the face of the disappearing man appears in his mind before more images from the Tube network and maps flash though his brain, and then the man's face appears again.)
Emma and Mary walk along the street back to Baker's St pushing Christopher's pram. Emma trails off as she notices a Jewellery store, slowing to a stop as Mary and the pram move ahead. Mary turns back to her.
Mary: Everything alright Emma?
Emma watches somebody walk out of the shop, a small tinkling of a bell can be heard.
Emma: Yeah um, actually Mary can you do me a favour?
Mary: Course.
Emma: Could you take Christopher back to the flat for me?
Mary looks confused.
Emma: I have something i need to do quick and it will be easier without a buggy. Plus Chris is going to wake for a feed soon and i don't have any extra bottles. ( She smiles at her friend)
Mary: Alright, of course, we'll see you back there in a while?
Emma: Yeah, Thanks Mary.
A little wile later she steps out of the store, tucking a small box into her inside pocket. She set off down the road.
Emma walks towards the front door of 221 and then stands and looks at it. A man comes around the corner and walks along the road, barging past her and bumping roughly into his shoulder. Emma turns to look at him as he continues onwards without speaking. (The man glances over his shoulder at her but doesn't stop. Behind Emma, another man walks up to her, grabs his left wrist and instantly jabs the needle of a syringe into the right side of her neck. Emma tries to grab at him but the drսg is already starting to take effect and her weakening struggles are in vain as the first man comes back and they both hold her as she starts to fall. They carefully lower her to the ground.)
HOWARD'S BUILDING.
Molly looks up the stairs and slowly walks up them towards Sherlock as he stands there with his eyes closed. After a moment he opens his eyes but can see only a ticking clock, followed by a journey through a Tube tunnel.
Sherlock (quick-fire, as his eyes rapidly flicker back and forth): The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes – ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park. (He looks down at Molly.) So I'm going to need maps – lots of maps, older maps, all the maps.
MOLLY: Right.
Sherlock (walking past her and continuing down the stairs): Fancy some chips?
MOLLY: What?
Sherlock: I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions.
MOLLY (following him): Did you get him off a murder charge?
Sherlock: No – I helped him put up some shelves. (She giggles and he smiles briefly.)
MOLLY: Sherlock?
Sherlock: Hmm? (He stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns back to her.)
MOLLY: What was today about?
Sherlock: Saying thank you.
MOLLY: For what?
Sherlock: Everything you did for me.
MOLLY: It's okay. It was my pleasure. (She reaches the bottom of the stairs and starts towards the door but turns back as he speaks.)
Sherlock: No, I mean it.
MOLLY: I don't mean "pleasure". I mean, I didn't mind. I wanted to.
Sherlock (stepping closer and speaking intensely but softly): Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible. (He draws in a breath.) But you can't do this again, can you? (She smiles, and when she speaks her voice is a little choked.)
MOLLY: I had a lovely day. I'd love to – I just ... um ... (She looks down.)
Sherlock (following her gaze): Oh, congratulations, by the way. (Molly is wearing a diamond solitaire engagement ring.)
MOLLY: He's not from work. (Sherlock smiles.) We met through friends, the old-fashioned way. He's nice. We ... he's got a dog ... we-we go to the pub on weekends and he ... I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family and I've no idea why I'm telling you this.
Sherlock: I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths(!)
MOLLY: No?
Sherlock: No. (Stepping closer to her, he gives her a beautiful smile, then leans in and kisses her on the cheek. She closes her eyes and keeps them closed as he turns and walks out of the front door. After a moment she turns and looks at his disappearing back.)
MOLLY: Maybe it's just my type. (Outside it's snowing. Sherlock walks down the path, sighing a little and pulling his coat around him. He turns to the right and walks off down the road. Molly follows down the path, pulling out her gloves and putting them on. She stops at the pavement and watches Sherlock walk away, then turns and walks off in the opposite direction.)
NIGHT TIME.
There's a full moon in the sky. Emma slowly starts to regain consciousness. She seems to be surrounded by foliage, and the flickers of moonlight coming through the greenery seem like a flashlight being shone on her. Choking, she tries to move her hands but finds that she can't. She opens her mouth to cry but no sound will come. She tries to raise her head but eventually sinks back down again. There is a bleeding wound on the right side of her head just at her hairline.
Elsewhere, Mary is walking along a street, having left Christopher back at the flat with John and gone to search for Emma, but stops to take out her phone when it beeps a text alert. Taking off her glove to activate the phone, she sees the message Save souls now! Emma or James Taylor? Saint or Sinner? James or Emma? The more is Less? Frowning, she lowers the phone and hurries on.
Some time later she is at the door of 221 as Mrs Hudson opens the door to her knock.
Mary: Oh, Mrs Hudson.
(Upstairs in 221B's living room, Sherlock – who is pacing just inside the door – turns at the sound of her voice. Mrs H follows her.)
(Sherlock is already coming onto the landing as Mary hurries up the stairs.)
Sherlock: Mary? What's wrong, Where is she?
Mary: (taking her phone from her pocket): Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code.
(Sherlock looks at her closely, then turns his attention to her phone as she shows him the first part of the message: Save souls now! Emma or James Taylor?
Sherlock: First word, then every third. Save ... Emma ... Taylor. (Mary pulls up the rest of the message: Saint or Sinner? James or Emma? The more is Less? The unimportant words seem to fade, leaving just the vital ones: Saint James The Less)
Sherlock (urgently): Now! He races down the stairs with Mary following.)
Mary: Where are we going?
Sherlock: St James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car. (He pelts out into the street.) Did you drive here?
Mary: Er, yes.
Sherlock (pacing about in the middle of the road): It's too slow. It's too slow. (He is oblivious to the approach of a car, which swerves around him, the driver blaring his horn.)
Mary (frantically): Sherlock, what are we waiting for? (Sherlock turns towards oncoming headlights.)
Sherlock: This. (He steps directly into the path of the approaching motorcycle and holds up an imperious hand. The driver slams on the brakes and the bike skids to a halt just in time.) Shortly afterwards Sherlock and Mary – wearing the helmets of the driver and his pillion passenger – are racing through the streets on the bike. In Sherlock's mind, he is calculating how long it will take to get to St James the Less Church. Currently the journey will take 10 minutes. Mary's phone sounds a text alert and she checks it. It reads: Getting warmer Mr Holmes You have about ten minutes They drive on.
Mary: What does it mean? What are they going to do to her?
Sherlock: I don't know.
Wherever Emma is, she is struggling to move. The sound of children's voices can be heard some distance away. She grunts as she frantically strains to escape but she can make no louder noise.
On the motorcycle, Mary holds her phone over Sherlock's shoulder so that he can see the latest message: 8 minutes and counting... Sherlock turns his attention back to the road and accelerates, but shortly afterwards they approach a roadblock. The road ahead is cordoned off with police tape, and two police officers are explaining the situation to stopped cars.
Sherlock (slamming on the brakes): Damn! (He looks to his left and rapidly works out an alternative route which he overlays onto the original route. The original one has an ETA of 8 minutes; the new, more direct route shows an ETA of 5 minutes. Sherlock turns the bike and heads up onto the pavement and into a walkway between two buildings. One of the police officers uselessly chases after him.)
POLICE OFFICER: Oi! Oi! You can't go down there! (On the other side of the buildings, the path descends down a long flight of steps but Sherlock heads straight down them and onto the road at the bottom, which happens to be The Mall. They race onwards towards Buckingham Palace.)
Elsewhere, a fireworks party is starting in a small park in a square near a church. Children wave their sparklers around, and some people are playing small drums. One little girl, Zoe, gazes at the gigantic bonfire which has been piled up in the middle of the park, made up of broken wooden pallets, furniture and anything else which has been scavenged. She looks up at the Guy Fawkes guy which has been perched on the top of the bonfire, completely unaware that Emma is at the bottom of the bonfire, lying on the ground out of sight of all the people nearby. The children gather near, perhaps knowing that it is not long until the fire will be lit. Emma opens her mouth and tries again to cry out but all she can manage is a faint moan. She thrashes, trying to push herself up and continuing to moan quietly. And now a man approaches the bonfire carrying a flaming brand of wood. The children watch him delightedly. Emma manages to produce some slightly louder croaks but they cannot be heard above the excited chatter of the children and the drumming. Smiling cheerfully, the man lowers the brand to the foot of the fire.
On the motorcycle, Mary receives a new message: Better hurry things are hotting up here... They continue onwards but their speed is impeded as they cross a bridge and are blocked by a slow-moving lorry.
At the park the man with the brand, trying to light the bonfire without any success, looks round and shakes his head.
MAN: No. It's not gonna work. Bit damp. I'll get something to help it along, yeah? (He walks away. Part of the bonfire is smouldering and the smoke drifts across Emma, who continues to try and cry out. Her voice is getting a little stronger and she manages to let out a couple of louder but wordless cries. Standing nearby, Zoe frowns at the sound, looking in concern at the guy on top of the fire as the noises continue.)
On the motorcycle, Mary shows Sherlock the newest message: Stay of execution. you've got two more minutes Sherlock checks his mental map, which shows that if he continues by road, their ETA is 3 minutes. However, if he goes in a straight line it will only take 1 minute. He swerves the bike and heads straight down into a pedestrian underpass.
At the bonfire, Zoe's father – the one who tried to light the fire – comes back with a small can of petrol. Zoe turns to him plaintively.
ZOE: He doesn't like it, Daddy.
DAD: Eh?
ZOE: Guy Fawkes – he doesn't like it!
DAD (unscrewing the lid of the can): Stay back, Zoe. Back. Now. (She stares at him as he starts to splash fuel over the wood of the bonfire. Inside, Emma's cries are getting louder.)
The motorcycle charges on through the underpass.
Zoe's dad continues pouring petrol over the fire.
Sherlock forces the bike up a steep flight of steps and out onto the street again. They are finally driving along beside the fence surrounding the park. Mary receives one more text: What a shame Mr Holmes. Emma is quite a Guy! She holds the phone over Sherlock's shoulder to show him.
Mary: What does it mean?
(Smiling, Zoe's dad takes his flaming brand to the fire and tosses it onto the wood.
Sherlock's head whips round as the bonfire begins to blaze and all the onlookers cheer.)
Sherlock: Oh my God. (He accelerates around the square towards the only gap in the fence surrounding the park. The onlookers continue to celebrate the ignition of the fire. Emma's voice finally comes to her and she screams out.)
Emma: Help! (Zoe screams, and now others can hear the voice too and react with horror. Her father runs to comfort her. Sherlock races the bike into the park and hurls himself off.)
Sherlock (to Mary): Jump off! (She quickly steps off as he drops the bike onto its side. The fire is really taking hold now, and Emma wails as the heat increases.
Throwing his helmet off, Sherlock runs towards the fire, shoving people out of his way.)
Sherlock: Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! (He reaches the front of the crowd and races on towards the bonfire.) Emma!
Mary (running behind him): Emma! Get out, Emma! (Sherlock crouches down, peering through the flames and trying to see where Emma is while throwing some of the wood aside. He and Mary continue to cry Emma's name and he hears them.)
Emma: Help! (Now Sherlock has a location and he plunges his arms into the inferno, throwing pieces of the bonfire aside and creating a path into it. At last he reaches in and grabs Emma's arms and hauls her out, pulling her across the ground to safety before rolling her over onto her back. Emma lies there, looking extremely dazed as Sherlock looms over her.)
Sherlock: Emma? Emma! (He gently pats Emma's face.)
Mary (covering her mouth and crying): Emma.
Sherlock (softly): Hey, Emma, baby. (As Emma gazes blankly up at them, their faces fade out for a moment and she slowly closes her eyes.)
Emma wakes hours later in the now familiar hospital room. Groaning slightly she turns her head and sees Sherlock asleep on the couch with Christopher on his bare chest. Turning the opposite way Mycroft is once again sat at her bedside. He presses a finger to his lips and smiles. She smiles back at him before drifting off back to sleep.
221B. DAY TIME.
Wearing a suit but without the usual dressing gown over it, Sherlock sits in his armchair with his eyes closed, sighing quietly and occasionally drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair.
A grey-haired couple are sitting on the sofa and the woman appears to have talking for some time.
Mummy: ... which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, "Have you checked down the back of the sofa?" (Sherlock screws his face up, then tilts his head forward a little, almost nodding off to sleep until his head jerks back up again. He steeples his fingers in front of his face as the woman looks round at her husband.) He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear? MAN: 'Fraid so. (Sherlock is glaring towards the kitchen.) Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses.
Pa: Glasses.
Mummy: Blooming things. I said, "Why don't you get a chain – wear 'em round your neck?" And he says, "What – like Larry Grayson?"
Pa (almost simultaneously): Larry Grayson. (Sherlock rises quickly to his feet, buttoning his jacket as he walks towards the couple.)
Sherlock: So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket? (He steps onto the coffee table and then onto the sofa between the couple. The woman leans to the side, getting out of his way, and the man stares up at him as he starts idly flicking through the paperwork stuck to the wall.)
Mummy: Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament. (Sherlock frowns and looks down at her.) Some big debate going on. (The living room door opens and John walks in. Sherlock looks round in surprise.)
Sherlock: John!
John: Sorry – you're busy.
Sherlock (stepping off the sofa and reaching down to pull the woman to her feet): Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving.
Mummy: Oh, were we?
Sherlock: Yes.
John: No, no, if you've got a case ...
Sherlock: No, not a case, no-no-no. (To the woman) Go. 'Bye.
Mummy: Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember.
Sherlock: Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out. (He herds the couple towards the door.)
Mummy: Well, give us a ring.
Sherlock: Very nice, yes, good. Get out. (Bundling them onto the landing, he tries to close the door but the woman turns and sticks her heavy shoe into the doorway to stop the door from shutting. Sherlock pulls the door open a little, staring down at her foot.)
Mummy (quietly): I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you. (Sherlock glances round at John, who has walked over to the window and is deliberately keeping his back to the others.) We're just so pleased it's all over. (Grimacing, Sherlock tries to slam the door on her foot to make her remove it. She doesn't budge.)
Pa: Ring up more often, won't you?
Sherlock (hurriedly): Mm-hmm.
Pa: She worries.
Mummy: Promise? (Again Sherlock glances round towards John as if to ascertain that he can't hear him, then he leans close to the woman.)
Sherlock (quietly): Promise.
Mummy: And do keep my future daughter in law safe will you. (Smiling, she reaches up to stroke his cheek. He blushes)
Sherlock: Oh, for God... (He shoves the door closed and lets out a deep sigh before turning to John.) Sorry about that.
John: No, it's fine. Clients?
Sherlock (hesitating briefly): ... Just my parents.
John: Your parents?
Sherlock: In town for a few days.
John: Your parents?
Sherlock Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of "Les Mis". Tried to talk me into doing it.
John: Those were your parents? (He goes to the window to look out.)
Sherlock: Yes.
John: Well ... (He chuckles briefly.) That is not what I ... (He turns to look at Sherlock, then looks out of the window again.)
Sherlock: What?
John: I-I mean they're just ... so ... (He looks at Sherlock who directs a hard gaze at him, narrowing his eyes.) : ... ordinary. (He smiles. Sherlock tuts disparagingly.)
Sherlock: It's a cross I have to bear. (John chuckles, then slowly takes a few steps across the room before turning back.)
John: Did they know, too? (Sherlock won't meet his eyes.)
Sherlock: Hmm?
John: That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek. (Sherlock picks an imaginary piece of fluff off the keyboard of his laptop which is open on the dining table.)
Sherlock: Maybe.
John: Ah! So that's why they weren't at the funeral.
Sherlock (defensively): Sorry. Sorry again.
John (cynically): Mm. (He slowly steps towards the door. Sherlock watches him go for a moment, then lowers his head.)
Sherlock (softly): Sorry. (Drawing in a deep breath, John meets his eyes for a second and then looks down, breathing out slowly.) See you've shaved it off, then.
John: Yeah. Wasn't working for me.
Sherlock: Mm, I'm glad.
John: What, you didn't like it?
Sherlock (smiling): No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven.
John: That's not a sentence you hear every day!
(He has been slowly walking across the room again and is now in front of his old chair. He sits down in it, grunting a little. Emma walks into the room behind him and promptly walks to Sherlock.)
Emma: Will you two quit flirting and help me please.
Sherlock gently takes his son from her arms. Christopher, at three months old is now much more inquisitive of the world, his curly black hair bouncing. Sherloc grins at him, raising him into the air and kissing his cheek until he lets out a giggle. Sherlock turns him in his arms so he is facing lout at the others and leaning against his chest.
Sherlock: How are you feeling?
Emma: Yeah, not bad. Bit ... smoked.
Sherlock: Right. ( scowls) Emma: Last night – who did that? And why did they target me?
Sherlock: I don't know.
Emma: Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?
Sherlock: I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous. (He walks towards his wall of information.) Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange.
John: "Give his life"?
Sherlock: According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know. These are my rats, John.
John: Rats?
Sherlock: My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth ... (He points to the relevant photograph.)
John (pointing to that photo): I know him, don't I?
Sherlock: Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment.
John: Yes!
Sherlock: He's been working for North Korea since 1996.
John: What?
Sherlock: He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed.
Later, Sherlock is showing Howard's footage of the mysterious Tube train disappearance to John, who has taken his coat off. Emma has since taken Christopher and is putting him to bed.
John (looking at the screen): Yeah, that's ... odd. There's nowhere he could have got off?
Sherlock: Not according to the maps.
John: Mm.
Sherlock: There's something – something, something I'm missing, something staring me in the face. (He turns to the wall again but then his phone beeps. He takes it out of his pocket.)
John (sitting down in front of the computer): Any idea who they are – this underground network? (Sherlock looks at a sequence of photos taken of Lord Moran walking along a road next to the Houses of Parliament. The sequence seems to indicate that he has just come up from Westminster Tube station.) JOHN (looking at the computer screen): Intelligence must have a-a list of the most obvious ones.
Sherlock: Our rat's just come out of his den.
John: Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again – maybe they're gonna make an appearance ...
Sherlock (triumphantly): Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I've been an idiot – a blind idiot!
John: What?
Sherlock (pacing across the room): Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant.
John: What are you on about?
Sherlock: Mycroft's intelligence – it's not nebulous at all. It's specific – incredibly specific.
John (firmly): What do you mean?
Sherlock: Not an underground network, John. It's an Underground network.
John: Right. ... What?
Sherlock: Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face. (He leans over to replay the Tube footage of the lone passenger – Lord Moran – getting into the train at Westminster.) Look – seven carriages leave Westminster ... (the footage switches to show the next station) ... but only six carriages arrive at St James's Park.
John: But that's ... I ... it's-it's impossible.
Sherlock: Moran didn't disappear – the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage. JOHN: Detached it where?! You said there was nothing between those stations. Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth. (He points at the screen.) That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere.
John: But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?
Sherlock (pacing): It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. Emma's kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks par... (He stops. He's got it.) (turning to John): What's the date, John – today's date?
John: Hmm? November the ... My God. (Sherlock looks at the information wall and walks slowly towards it.)
Sherlock: Lord Moran – he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill. (He stops in front of the sofa and smiles.) But he won't be there. Not tonight. (He turns to look down at John.) Not the fifth of November.
John: "Remember, remember."
Sherlock: "Gunpowder, treason and plot."
Shortly afterwards Howard Shilcott – sitting in his living room and wearing his bobble hat – is Skypeing with the boys on the laptop while Sherlock and John frantically search through maps and papers on the kitchen table at 221B.
HOWARD: There's nothing down there, Mr Holmes, I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations.
Sherlock (turning the laptop around so that John can see the screen): There has to be. Check again. (Howard leans offscreen. John is looking through a book.)
John: Look – this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand ...
Sherlock: No, it's none of those. We've accounted for those. (He looks closer at an old map.) : St Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street ...
HOWARD (taking the pom pom that he's been chewing out of his mouth): Hang on, hang on. Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr Holmes. (He leans offscreen.) There is something. I knew it rang a bell. (Muttering) Where is it? (He comes back into view.) There was a station down there.
John: Well, why isn't it on the maps?
HOWARD: 'Cause it was closed before it ever opened.
John: What?
HOWARD (holding up a book to the camera to show the relevant page): They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface. (Grinning, he points to the appropriate spot on the page. Sherlock has been slowly straightening up while Howard spoke.)
Sherlock: It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster.
John: And so what's down there? A bomb? (Sherlock walks away.)
John: Oh ... (He hurries after him, grabbing his coat as he goes.)
Sherlock walks over to Emma who is asleep on the couch. Smiling softly he picks up the Afghan on the back and gently covers her with it, leaning down he kisses her cheek gently. She stirs, still half asleep.
Emma: Lock?
Sherlock: Shh, go back to sleep, John and i are going out.
Emma: Come home safe Mr Holmes.
She sighs softly and drifts back off. Sherlock strokes her cheek before turning swiftly, motioning for John (who had been waiting in the hall) to follow him.
Sherlock and John walk briskly along the road near the Houses of Parliament and head to the stairs leading down into Westminster station. They walk across the concourse, past the fangirls, through the ticket barriers and along the corridors.
John: So it's a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb.
Sherlock: Must be.
John: Right. (Taking his glove off, he takes his phone from his pocket.)
Sherlock: What are you doing?
John: Calling the police.
Sherlock: What? No!
John: Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament.
Sherlock: They'll get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient. (Stopping at a locked maintenance entrance, he reaches into his coat, takes out a crowbar and starts to force the gate open.)
John: And illegal.
Sherlock: A bit. (The gate opens and the boys go inside. Sherlock pulls the gate closed behind them and they take out flashlights and start to walk down into the maintenance tunnels. John checks his phone, which reads, "NO SERVICE".)
Sherlock (not even looking round to him): What are you doing?
John (sighing): Coming. (He puts his phone away.) (They continue onwards for a long time, walking along narrow tunnels and walkways and climbing down steep metal ladders. At long last they walk onto the platform of Sumatra Road station. Sherlock shines his torch along the length of the track beside the platform but there is no sign of a train.)
Sherlock: I don't understand.
John: Well, that's a first!
Sherlock: There's nowhere else it could be. (He turns to face the track and brings his hands up to either side of his head, screwing his eyes shut and concentrating. In his mind, he finds himself sitting on a seat inside the missing Tube car/carriage. He is the only passenger. At the far end, smoke comes under the bottom of the door and pours towards him. He turns his head to look and a fireball ignites behind the smoke and then races along the carriage, engulfing Sherlock's position and continuing onwards. Sherlock's mental image of himself relocates to the tunnel about a hundred yards away from the carriage. The inferno billows out of the carriage towards him but just before it reaches him it is sucked up a large open vent in the ceiling. At ground level above the Tube line, heated gas shimmers as it is forced through various air vents inside the Houses of Parliament. The perspective shifts to the opposite side of the River Thames ... and the entire Palace of Westminster goes up in a massive explosion. Sherlock's eyes snap open.) SHERLOCK: Oh! (Turning to the left, he runs towards the end of the platform.)
John (chasing after him): What? (Sherlock jumps carefully off the end of the platform onto the tracks.) Hang on. Sherlock?
Sherlock (turning back): What?
John: That's ... Isn't it live?
Sherlock (setting off along the tracks): Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails.
John: 'Course, yeah(!) Avoid the rails. Great(!) (He jumps down onto the tracks.)
Sherlock: This way. JOHN: You sure? SHERLOCK: Sure. (They don't have to walk far before the missing carriage is revealed partway round a gentle bend.) JOHN: Ah. Look at that. (They continue on, then Sherlock looks up and sees the large open vent which he just saw in his mind. He shines his flashlight into it.) SHERLOCK: John. JOHN: Hmm? (They both stop and shine their torches upwards, realising that there are several small explosive devices attached to the sides of the vent.) JOHN: Demolition charges. (They continue towards the carriage, John ducking down and shining his light underneath and around it as they approach. He blows out a long breath as they get close and again he squats down to check the underside while Sherlock looks along the side. Sherlock opens the door to the driver's cab and they climb in and then go carefully through the opposite door into the carriage itself. Slowly they work their way along it, looking at every seat, every corner, shining their torches along the ceiling and the floor. At the second set of side doors, Sherlock slows down, paying particular attention to something. John progresses on to the very end.) JOHN: It's empty. There's nothing. (Unfortunately, he's wrong. Sherlock has already spotted a pair of intertwined black and red cables strung along the wall and down to one of the seat backs.) SHERLOCK: Isn't there? (John turns back and points his torch where Sherlock is gently lifting the cushion, bending low to shine his light underneath. Sherlock lifts his head and looks round at him.) SHERLOCK: This is the bomb. JOHN: What? (Sherlock stands up and lifts the cushion all the way up. The cavity underneath is full of wired-up explosives.) SHERLOCK: It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb. (He and John work their way along the carriage, lifting other cushions at random. Each one has an identical explosive device under it.) In his hotel room, Moran opens a briefcase and lifts the lid. Inside is what is clearly a detonator – it has a small screen, a number pad, a slot for a key, and a Let'sSendTheWorldToHell button which almost disappointingly is neither very big nor painted red. A couple of keys lie beside the device. While John continues lifting seat cushions, Sherlock looks around the carriage and then takes a few steps along the aisle before realising that a floor panel is loose. As John looks down at the latest batch of explosives, Sherlock takes his gloves off and bends to the panel, forcing his fingers into the gap and lifting it. Underneath is what can only be described as the 'mother bomb' – a device massively larger than the ones under the cushions. While John takes several deep nervous breaths, Sherlock props the panel up against the wall of the train. They both look down at the massive device, then John looks up at Sherlock. JOHN: We need bomb disposal. SHERLOCK: There may not be time for that now. JOHN: So what do we do? SHERLOCK (after a brief pause): I have no idea. JOHN (sternly): Well, think of something. SHERLOCK: Why d'you think I know what to do? JOHN: Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets. SHERLOCK: Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you? JOHN: I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor. SHERLOCK (angrily pointing his torch at him): And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all. (John looks down at the countdown clock currently frozen at 2:30.)
John: Can't-can't we rip the timer off, or something?
Sherlock: That would set it off.
John: You see? You know things. (Sherlock turns away, sighing.) All the lights come on and the countdown clock on the mother bomb begins to tick down. The boys look around in shock, and John groans.
Sherlock: Er ...
John (breathing fast): My God! (Sherlock paces away from him.)
Sherlock: Er ...
John: Why didn't you call the police?
Sherlock: Please just ...
John (furiously): Why do you never call the police?
Sherlock: Well, it's no use now. 2:15
John (angrily): So you can't switch the bomb off? You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police. (He turns away for a moment, then turns back again.)
Sherlock: Go, John. (He points towards the driver's cab.) Go now.
John: There's no point now, is there, because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this ... (he gestures down to the mother bomb) ... other people will die! 1:57 (He looks down at the clock for a moment, then points at Sherlock.)
John: Mind Palace.
Sherlock: Hmm?
John: Use your Mind Palace.
Sherlock: How will that help?
John: You've salted away every fact under the sun!
Sherlock: Oh, and you think I've just got "How To Defuse A Bomb" tucked away in there somewhere?
John: Yes! (Sherlock thinks about it for a second.)
Sherlock: Maybe. (He brings his fingers up to the sides of his face and screws his eyes shut.)
John (intensely): Think. (Sherlock lifts his head a little, still concentrating.) (softly): Think. Please think. (Sherlock groans.): Think! (Sherlock's hands come away from his face and flail, while his eyes remain closed and he continues to make groaning noises. John closes his eyes, shaking his head as the noises get louder and finally Sherlock lets out a cry and opens his eyes. He breathes heavily for a moment, then he lowers his hands and looks at John with a blank but apologetic look on his face. John stares at him in disbelief.) Oh my God. (He turns away. Sherlock tears his scarf from around his neck and doubles over, burying his head in his hands, still making incoherent groaning noises. He drops to his knees next to the bomb as John wanders a little way down the carriage.) This is it. (Behind him, Sherlock is flailing uselessly over the bomb.)
Sherlock: Um, er ... (John stops and stares into space.)
John (softly): Oh my God.
Sherlock (still patting around the device and mumbling vaguely): Turn that off. Oh God! Er, um, er ... 1:29 (John turns back towards him, and Sherlock raises his head.) (softly): I'm sorry. (John screws his eyes closed for a moment, then looks at him again.)
John: What?
Sherlock (softly, his eyes starting to fill with tears): I can't ... I can't do it, John. I don't know how. (He straightens up on his knees.) Forgive me? JOHN (tightly, furiously): What? (bringing his hands up into a praying position): Please, John, forgive me ... for all the hurt that I caused you.
John (waving a finger at him): No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick.
Sherlock: No.
John: Another one of your bloody tricks.
Sherlock: No.
John: You're just trying to make me say something nice. (Sherlock chuckles briefly.)
Sherlock: Not this time.
John: It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like ... (He grimaces, fighting back tears, and turns away as he tries to steady his breathing. Sherlock moves away from the bomb and sits on the edge of one of the nearby tip-up seats. John grips one of the handrails, looking down at the floor, then stamps his foot furiously. His voice is low but savage as he speaks.)
John: I wanted you not to be dead.
Sherlock: Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for. (John sighs.) If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and ... (Baring his teeth, John turns away, shaking his head.) ... you'd still have a future ... with Mary.
John: (turning and pointing at him): Yeah. I know. (He grimaces and turns away again. Sherlock clenches his fist against his mouth, then wipes his nose, his face full of despair. Finally John turns back.)
John: Sherlock how could you do this to Emma(his voice low and tight)
Sherlock grimaced, a look of genuine pain on his face.
Sherlock: She has everyone else.
John (shouting) But it's you she wants! She almost died Sherlock because she felt alone! She didn't ask for help and Mary and i almost found her dead in your bed!
Sherlock stood there, he didn't know that.
John: And what about Christopher? He gets three months with his father and then nothing? ...(taking a deep breathe and then speaking hard) Look, I find it difficult. (Sherlock nods, his head lowered.) I find it difficult, this sort of stuff.
Sherlock: (looking up at him): I know. (John blows out a breath, lowering his head, then he straightens up and looks at Sherlock.)
John (his voice not much more than a whisper): You were the best and the wisest man ... (he sniffs) ... that I have ever known. (Sherlock looks at him, his eyes wide and tear-filled. John sighs, lowering his head again before raising it once more.) Yes, of course I forgive you.
He grips the handrail and lowers his head, blowing out a long breath. Nearby it sounds as if Sherlock is crying. His head is lowered and the back of his hand is across his mouth as his body shakes with what seem to be sobs. John screws his eyes even more tightly closed. Sherlock lowers his hand and turns his head away, then turns back, hooting with laughter. John opens his eyes and looks across to him as Sherlock giggles in high-pitched hilarity. Staring at him, John steps forward and looks down at the countdown clock on the mother bomb. It is repeatedly flicking back and forth between 1:28 and 1:29. John turns away as if he can't believe it. John turns back to look at the clock again and then stares upwards in disbelief.
John: You ... (Sherlock stands up, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks.)
Sherlock (laughing hysterically): Oh, your face!
John: ... utter ...
Sherlock: Your face!
John: You ... (Sherlock grins.)
Sherlock: I totally had you.
John: You cock! I knew it! I knew it! You f...
Sherlock (simultaneously): Oh, those things you said – such sweet things! I-I never knew you cared(!)
John (glaring at him): I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this ...
Sherlock (grinning while holding up two fingers in a Boy Scout's salute): Scout's honour.
John: ... to anyone. You KNEW!
Sherlock: Ahh. (He squats down to the bomb.)
John (furiously): You knew how to turn it off!
Sherlock: There's an Off switch.
John: What?
Sherlock: There's always an Off switch. (John bends down to look at the switch.) (standing up again): Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an Off switch.
John (tightly): So why did you let me go through all that?
Sherlock: I didn't lie altogether. I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off. (He chuckles and wipes the tears off his cheeks.) Oh! (Through the open door of the driver's cab, a voice over a walkie-talkie radio can be heard, and flashlight beams are approaching. John stares, then points towards them.)
John: And you did call the police.
Sherlock: 'Course I called the police. (Three armed officers are approaching, flashlights shining from their raised rifles.)
John: I'm definitely gonna kill you.
Sherlock: Oh, please(!) Killing me – that's so 9 months ago. (Quirking a smile at John, he turns and heads towards the driver's cab. Despite himself, John lets out a silent laugh. Sherlock chuckles as he continues on, and John lets out an exasperated sigh.) They wake their way back out of the tunnel and up to the street. Just as John goes to get into his own cab to go home Sherlock stops him, face serious.
Sherlock: John?
John: Yeah?
Sherlock: Did Emma really... did she deliberately... did she try and die alone?
John looks at him sadly He shakes his head.
John: I don't know Sherlock. (John got into the cab and drove off. Sherlock stared after him for a moment and then set off for home. )
He arrived to find Emma sat on the couch with the Afghan wrapped round her, looking out the window, he saw a baby bottle on the table, ah she's just fed Christopher and he should now be down for the night.
She smiled at him as he stood in front of her. He knelt down, taking her face into his hands, she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands there. He leant in, he kissed her so tenderly. Responding with her own gentleness, it didn't take long for Sherlock to deepen the kiss, sticking his tongue down her mouth. She groaned into him. Pulling her to her feet, he ran his finger across the gap between her pyjama top and her breasts. Still kissing her he pulled down the fabric, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck until he reached her breast he took her nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard and Emma groaned. Although Emma wasn't breastfeeding she was pumping which meant a small amount of breastmilk squirted into his mouth. He sucked harder. I was erotic and forbidden and it was making Emma pant in want. Once he'd finished he bit the side of her boob, sucking hard enough that a bruise immediately bloomed when it popped back out of his mouth.
Emma: Fuck!
Sherlock kissed her and she scrunched her nose at the unfamiliar taste on his tongue. She curled her fingers through his hair as his hands explored her body. As his fingers travelled towards her sex she suddenly grabbed his wrist.
Emma: I... i don't look the same anymore.. I've put on weight.. ( she looked away, shame on her features)
He pulled her cheek back towards him and kissed her again, pulling away an inch he whispered
Sherlock: You have never been more beautiful to me.
He bit her lip making her moan again. He gently pulled down her shorts, still kissing her tenderly, She did the same with his trousers, taking his member out of his boxers. She pushed him onto the couch and climbed on top of him. She hovered over his hardened cock, hesitating only a moment before she impaled herself with him. She hissed in slight pain ( she hadn't had sex for a year after all, and had a baby during that time) He let her become re-accustomed to his length and girth, She'd never taken the lead before, usually preferring him to. But she started to move up and down, slowly at first before he tightened her grip in his hair, his hands automatically clenching her hips. She rode him, getting faster and faster, her walls starting to quiver as she climbed higher and higher. Sherlock was so close, so close that he was concerned he would finish before her, he had missed this, missed being inside of her. He held her tightly to him, his tongue down her throat, with one hand he reached down to her clit and rubbed. Only a few moments later she came hard round him, clenching him painfully and pulling his orgasm from him. Causing him to groan and say her name into her ear.
Sherlock: I love you so much. I missed you so much.
Emma: I love you too.
They sat like that until Emma pulled off of him, turned round and sat in his lap, pulling the blanket over them both. She lay her head into his neck, taking in his scent as he held her tightly in his arms. They listened to the fire crackling in the fireplace. A while later they dressed and made their way into the bedroom, Emma giving Christopher a peck on his forehead and Sherlock gently stroked his cheek. They climbed into bed and Sherlock put his arm round her, pulling her towards him. Slowly they drifted off into a calm, restful sleep.
BAKER STREET. DAY TIME.
Sherlock walks out of his bedroom grinning, Sherlock ends the call he was on and turns to John who is approaching along the corridor.)
John: Come on. You'll have to go down. They want the story. (Rolling his eyes, Sherlock walks past him.)
Sherlock: In a minute. (They walk into the living room where Mary is sitting on the sofa holding a glass of champagne. Mrs Hudson sits in the nearby chair and Greg is sitting in John's chair, also holding a champagne glass, Sally sat in his lap with her legs over the side side, her own glass in her hand. Sherlock pops the cork on a new bottle and walks across the room with the bottle and a glass, kneeling down beside the coffee table to pour. Emma sits at the far end on the floor trying to encourage Christopher to roll over by holding a toy to his side.
MRS HUDSON: Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?
Mary: Er, well we thought October.
MRS HUDSON: Oh! Fall wedding!
Mary: Yeah. Well, once we've actually got engaged.
Greg: Well, I can't wait. (He raises his glass in a toast. John, who has just put his jacket on, smiles round at him. Putting down the glass he just poured, Sherlock stands up and walks across towards the far window.)
Mary: You will be there, Sherlock?
Sherlock: Weddings – not really my thing.
Simultaneously
Emma: He will be.
(He looks across and winks at her. She smiles. The door opens.)
MOLLY: Hello, everyone.
John: Hey, Molly.
MOLLY (holding hands with the man accompanying her): This is Tom. (John stares at her boyfriend, almost does a double-take and then looks across the room to where Sherlock is looking out of the window.) Tom, this is everyone.
TOM: Hi. (John continues to look at him in surprise. The man could practically cosplay Sherlock at any respectable fandom convention. He is tall and slender, has dark curly hair – a little shorter than Sherlock's – and has large pale blue eyes and prominent cheekbones. He is wearing a dark coat with the collar turned up and the scarf around his neck is tied the same way that Sherlock ties his.)
Greg: Hi. TOM: It's really nice to meet you all. (He looks at John.) Hi. (John looks him up and down, grinning, then finally pulls himself together.)
John: Wow. Yeah, hi. I'm John. (He shakes his hand.) Good to meet you. (He looks across to Sherlock, who turns round from the window.)
Sherlock: Ready?
John: Ready. (Tom turns to meet Sherlock, who smiles down at Greg as he walks past him, then catches sight of Tom for the first time. He stops dead and his eyes widen. Tom looks at him equally wide-eyed as Sherlock gives him the once-over from his feet upwards.)
Greg ( moving Sally off him and walking across the room behind them): Champagne?
MOLLY: Yes. (Sherlock's jaw drops open a little and he turns his eyes towards John, who grins back at him expectantly. Finally Sherlock holds out his hand to Tom, and they shake hands. Glancing down at Molly, Sherlock walks in between the couple and out of the door. Tom turns to watch him go. Greg hands Molly a glass of champagne.) Thanks. (John starts to follow Sherlock, but stops briefly to take another look at Tom, who is taking a glass from Greg.)
TOM: Thank you. (Still apparently not quite able to take in the similarity, John heads out of the room and closes the door behind him. Mrs Hudson gestures Tom towards the sofa.)
MRS HUDSON: Sit down, love.
TOM: Oh, thanks. (As he walks over there, Greg turns to Molly.)
Greg: So, um, is it serious, you two?
MOLLY (smiling): Yeah! I've moved on! (A little doubtfully, Greg looks across to Tom who is already being chatted to by Mary and Mrs H. Outside on the landing, John walks over to Sherlock, who is looping his scarf around his neck. John points back towards the door.)
John (quietly): Did you, er ...?
Sherlock (quietly): I'm not saying a word.
John: No, best not. (Sherlock looks down at how he has just tied his scarf, then throws up his hands with an exasperated expression and sighs. John looks at the door again, then turns back to Sherlock.) I'm still waiting.
Sherlock: Hmm?
John: Why did they try and kill Emma? If they knew you were on to them, why go after her – put her in the bonfire?
Sherlock (picking up his coat): I don't know. I don't like not knowing. (He trots down the stairs, John following.) Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat. (He stops at the bottom of the stairs to put his coat on. John stops a couple of steps from the bottom.) I don't know who was behind all this, but I will find out, I promise you.
John: Don't pretend you're not enjoying this.
Sherlock (not looking round): Hmm?
John: Being back. Being a hero again.
Sherlock: Oh, don't be stupid.
John: You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it.
Sherlock (turning to face him): Love what?
John: Being Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock: I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. (He turns and walks down the hall, putting his gloves on.)
Sherlock (stopping but not turning round): You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible.
John: No, but seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave.
Sherlock: I should hope so.
John: I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you.
Sherlock (turning to look at him): I know. I was there.
John: I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead.
Sherlock (softly): I heard you. (They look at each other for a moment, then Sherlock draws in a sharp breath and turns round.) Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes. (He smiles and starts towards the door, then hesitates for a moment and reaches to the coat rack. Taking his deerstalker from its peg, he puts it onto his head and tugs it into position, then opens the front door and goes out to meet the reporters as they gather round him, taking photos and shouting questions. John closes the door and steps to his side.)