Sherlock

How's your blog going?

Yeah, good. Very good.

You haven't written a word, have you?

You just wrote "still has trust issues".

And you read my writing upside down.

You see what I mean?

John, you're a soldier,

and it's going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life,

and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.

Nothing happens to me.

What do you mean, there's no ruddy car?

He went to Waterloo, I'm sorry.

- Get a cab! - I never get cabs!

- I love you. - When?

Get a cab!

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.

Yes, yes! Taxi!

- I'll be back in two minutes, mate. - What?

- I'm just going home to get my umbrella. - You can share mine.

Two minutes, all right?

She still dancing?

Yeah, if you can call it that.

- Did you get the car keys off her? - Got them out of her bag.

Where is she?

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.

Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?

Well, they all took the same poison.

They were all found in places they had no reason to be.

None of them had shown

- any prior indication. - But you can't have serial suicides.

Well, apparently you can.

These three people, there's nothing that links them?

There's no link we've found yet,

but we're looking for it - there has to be one.

If you've all got texts,

- please ignore them. - It just says "wrong".

Well, just ignore that.

If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade,

I'm going to bring this session to an end.

If they're suicides, what are you investigating?

As I say, these suicides are clearly linked.

It's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating.

- Says "wrong" again. - One more question.

Is there any chance that these are murders?

And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?

I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides.

We know the difference. The poison was clearly self-administered.

Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?

Well, don't commit suicide.

Daily Mail.

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.

Thank you.

You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots.

If you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him.

John!

John Watson!

Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Barts together.

Yes, sorry, yes, Mike, hello.

- Yeah, I know, I got fat. - No, no.

I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?

I got shot.

Are you still at Barts, then?

Teaching now, yeah. Bright young things like we used to be.

God, I hate them.

What about you? Just staying in town till you get yourself sorted?

I can't afford London on an Army pension.

You couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know.

Yeah, I'm not the John Watson...

Couldn't Harry help?

Yeah, like that's going to happen

I don't know, get a flat share or something?

Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?

What?

You're the second person to say that to me today.

Who was the first?

How fresh?

Just in. 67, natural causes.

Used to work here. I knew him, he was nice.

Fine.

We'll start with the riding crop.

So, bad day, was it?

I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes.

A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.

Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished...

You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before.

I, er... I refreshed it a bit.

Sorry, you were saying?

I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee.

Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs.

OK.

- Bit different from my day. - You've no idea!

Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.

- And what's wrong with the landline? - I prefer to text.

Sorry, it's in my coat.

Er, here... use mine.

Oh, thank you.

This is an old friend of mine, John Watson.

Afghanistan or Iraq?

- Sorry? - Which was it, in Afghanistan or Iraq?

Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you...?

Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you.

What happened to the lipstick?

It wasn't working for me.

Really? I thought it was a big improvement.

Your mouth's too small now.

OK.

How do you feel about the violin?

I'm sorry, what?

I play the violin when I'm thinking

and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?

Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.

- You told him about me? - Not a word.

Who said anything about flatmates?

I did. Told Mike this morning 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 a difficult leap. - How did you know about Afghanistan?

Got my eye on a nice little place in central London.

We ought to be able to afford it.

We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock.

Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.

Is that it?

Is that what?

We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat?

Problem?

We don't know a thing about each other.

I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name.

I know you're an Army doctor

and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan.

You've got a brother 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 your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic,

quite correctly, I'm afraid.

That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?

The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon.

He's always like that.

Hello.

- Ah, Mr Holmes. - Sherlock, please.

Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.

Mrs Hudson, the landlady - she's given me a special deal.

Owes me a favour. A few years back,

her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.

Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?

Oh, no, I ensured it.

Sherlock!

Mrs Hudson, Dr John Watson.

- Hello. Come in. - Thank you.

Shall we...?

Well, this could be very nice.

Very nice indeed.

Yes.

Yes, I think so, my thoughts precisely.

- So I went straight ahead and moved in. - Soon as we get this rubbish cleaned up.

Oh.

So this is all...

Well, obviously I can straighten things up a bit.

- That's a skull. - Friend of mine.

When I say friend...

What do you think, then, Dr Watson?

There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms.

Of course we'll be needing two.

Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here.

Mrs Turner next door's got married ones.

Oh... Sherlock! The mess you've made.

I looked you up on the internet last night.

Anything interesting?

Found your website. The Science Of Deduction.

What did you think?

You said you could identify a software designer by his tie

and an airline pilot by his left thumb?

Yes.

And I can read your military career in your face and your leg,

and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone.

How?

What about these suicides, then, Sherlock?

I thought that'd be right up your street.

Three exactly the same.

Four.

There's been a fourth. And there's something different

- this time. - A fourth?

- Where? - Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.

What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to me otherwise.

You know how they never leave notes? This one did.

- Will you come? - Who's on forensics?

- Anderson. - He doesn't work well with me.