Sherlock

- Who are you? - Jim Moriarty.

Bye.

Consulting criminal.

I have loved this, this little game of ours.

- People have died. - That's what people do!

I will stop you.

If you don't stop prying...

I'll burn you.

I will burn the heart out of you.

Catch you later.

No, you won't.

Sorry, boys. I'm so changeable.

It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself,

it is my only weakness.

You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't.

I would try to convince you,

but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.

Probably my answer has crossed yours.

Do you mind if I get that?

Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life.

Hello?

Yes, of course it is. What do you want?

Say that again!

Say that again and know that if you're lying to me,

I will find you and I will skin you.

Wait.

Sorry,

wrong day to die.

Oh. Did you get a better offer?

You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock.

So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich.

If you don't,

I'll make you into shoes.

What happened there?

Someone changed his mind.

The question is, who?

Well, now, have you been wicked, Your Highness?

Yes, Miss Adler.

- What are you typing? - A blog.

- About? - Us.

- You mean me. - Why?

Well, you're typing a lot.

Right, then. So, what have we got?

My wife seems to be spending

- a very long time at the office. - Boring.

I think my husband

- might be having an affair. - Yes.

She's not my real aunt, she's been replaced. I know she has.

- I know human ash. - Leave.

We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention

- for the recovery of these files. - Boring!

We have this website, it explains the true meaning of comic books,

'cause people miss a lot of the themes.

Uh, but then all the comic books started coming true.

Oh, interesting.

"Geek Interpreter", what's that?

- That's the title. - What does it need a title for?

Do people actually read your blog?

Where do you think our clients come from?

I have a website.

In which you enumerate 240 different types of tobacco ash.

Nobody's reading your website.

Right, then, dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death

except for these speckles, whatever they are.

Oh, for God's sakes!

- What? - "The Speckled Blonde"?

They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead.

Is that 'cause he'd gone to heaven?

People don't really go to heaven when they die,

they're taken to a special room and burned.

Sherlock...

There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday.

- Everyone dead. - Suspected terrorist bomb.

- We do watch the news. - You said "boring" and turned over.

Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board.

Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass,

napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits.

Here's his passport, stamped in Berlin airport.

So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday,

but instead he's in a car boot in Southwark.

Lucky escape.

- Any ideas? - Eight so far.

Okay, four ideas.

Maybe two ideas.

No, no, no, don't mention the unsolved ones.

People want to know you're human.

- Why? - Because they're interested.

- No, they're not. Why are they? - Hmm, look at that.

One thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five.

- Sorry, what? - I reset that counter last night.

This blog has had nearly 2,000 hits in the last eight hours.

This is your living, Sherlock,

not 240 different types of tobacco ash.

Two hundred and forty-three.

So what's this one?

- "Bellybutton Murders"? - "The Navel Treatment"?

There's a lot of press outside, guys.

Well, they won't be interested in us.

Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon.

Couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you two.

For God's sake!

- John. - Hmm?

Cover your face and walk fast.

Still, it's good for the public image,

big case like this.

I'm a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image!

Hello. I think it's time, don't you?

Oh!

Ugh!

Oh.

Oh, dear! Thumbs?

The door was... The door was...

Boys! You've got another one!

Oh!

Tell us from the start, don't be boring.

Hey, are you okay?

Excuse me!

Are you all right?

Sir, phone call for you.

Carter.

Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?

- Who? - Well, you're about to meet him now.

This is your case, it's entirely up to you,

this is just friendly advice, but give Sherlock five minutes

on your crime scene and listen to everything that he has to say.

And as far as possible,

try not to punch him.

Okay.

Sir, this gentleman says he needs to speak to you.

Yes, I know. Sherlock Holmes.

John Watson. Are you set up for Wi-Fi?

You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?

It's okay, I'm fine. Now, show me to the stream.

I didn't really mean for you.

Look, this is a six.

There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven,

we agreed.

Now, go back, show me the grass.

- When did we agree that? - We agreed it yesterday.

Stop.

Closer.

I wasn't even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin.

It's hardly my fault you weren't listening.

Shut up!

Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?

I don't know, how often are you away?

Now, show me the car that backfired.

It's there.

That's the one that made the noise, yes?

Yeah. If you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one.

He wasn't shot, he was killed by a single blow

to the back of the head from a blunt instrument,

which then magically disappeared, along with the killer.

It's got to be an eight, at least.

You've got two more minutes, they want to know more about the driver.

Oh, forget him, he's an idiot.

Why else would he think himself a suspect?

I think he's a suspect.

- Pass me over. - All right, but there's a mute button

and I will use it.

Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here!

Okay. Just take it, take it.

Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime

without a single witness, why would he then call the police

and consult a detective? Fair play?

He's trying to be clever. It's over-confidence.

Did you see him?

Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man

living on his own. The right sleeve of an internet porn addict

and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition,

low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy

and you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?

Don't worry, this is just stupid.

What did you say? Heart what?

- Go to the stream. - What's in the stream?

- Go and see. - Sherlock!

You weren't answering your doorbell.

His room's through the back, get him some clothes.

- Who the hell are you? - Sorry, Mr Holmes...

- Sherlock, what's going on? - You're coming with us.

I've lost him. I don't know what...

- Dr Watson? - Yeah.

- It's for you. - Okay, thanks.

Uh, no, sir, the helicopter.

Please, Mr Holmes, where you're going you'll want to be dressed.

I know exactly where I'm going.

- Are you wearing any pants? - No.

Okay.

At Buckingham Palace. Right.

I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.

What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?

- I don't know. - Here to see the Queen?

Oh, apparently, yes.

Just once can you two behave like grownups?

We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants.

I wouldn't hold out too much hope.

I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.

What, the hiker and the backfire?

I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?

Transparent.