Sherlock , Series 1

Sherlock is a British television crime drama series, broadcast on BBC One. It is a contemporary update of Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes detective stories, starring Benedict Cumberbatch as Holmes and Martin Freeman as Dr. John Watson.

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John:
[Looking around at the morgue's lab equipment] Bit different from my day.

Mike:
You've no idea.

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

Mike:
And what's wrong with the landline?

Sherlock:
I prefer to text.

Mike:
Sorry, it's in my coat.

John:
Er, here, use mine.

Sherlock:
Oh, thank you.

Mike:
This is an old friend of mine, John Watson.

Sherlock:
Afghanistan or Iraq?

John:
Sorry?

Sherlock:
Which one was it? In Afghanistan or Iraq?

John:
Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you...?

[Molly enters]

Sherlock:
Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you. What happened to the lipstick?

Molly:
It wasn't working for me.

Sherlock:
Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.

Molly:
...Okay.

Sherlock:
How do you feel about the violin?

John:
I'm sorry, what?

Sherlock:
I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometime I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.

John:
You told him about me?

Mike:
Not a word.

John:
Then who says anything about flatmates?

Sherlock:
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.

John:
How did you know about Afghanistan?

Sherlock:
Got my eyes 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.

John:
Is that it?

Sherlock:
Is that what?

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

Sherlock:
Problem?

John:
We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name.

Sherlock:
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 is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon.

[He leaves. John glances at Mike.]

Mike:
Yeah, he's always like that.

[In the back of a taxi]

Sherlock:
Okay, you've got questions.

John:
Yeah. Where are we going?

Sherlock:
Crime scene. Next?

John:
Who are you? What do you do?

Sherlock:
What do you think?

John:
I'd say private detective...

Sherlock:
But...

John:
But the police don't go to private detectives.

Sherlock:
I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job.

John:
What does that mean?

Sherlock:
It means whenever the police are out of their depth-which is always-they consult me.

John:
[scoffs] The police don't consult amateurs. [Sherlock looks at him askance, then gives a sly smile.]

Sherlock:
When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised.

John:
Yes. How did you know?

Sherlock:
I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq.

John:
You said I had a therapist.

Sherlock:
You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone-it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're looking for a flat-share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches-not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already. [the back of the phone has been engraved "Harry Watson - from Clara xxx"]

John:
The engraving?

Sherlock:
Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara: who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently; this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then-six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it-he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. [beat] You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking.

John:
How can you possibly know about the drinking?

Sherlock:
Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see? You were right.

John:
I was right? Right about what?

Sherlock:
The police don't consult amateurs.

[Long beat]

John:
[slowly] That was amazing.

Sherlock:
[deadpan] You think so?

John:
Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary.

Sherlock:
That's not what people normally say.

John:
What do people normally say?

Sherlock:
"Piss off!"

[Sherlock and John reach Eddie Van Coon's apartment building. Sherlock buzzes Van Coon's apartment, but no one answers]

John:
What are we gonna do now, then? Sit here and wait for him to come back? [Sherlock notices the label of Ms. Wintle, who lives directly above Van Coon]

Sherlock:
Just moved in.

John:
What?

Sherlock:
Floor above. New label.

John:
Could've just replaced it.

Sherlock:
No one ever does that. [presses button]

Ms. Wintle:
Hello?

Sherlock:
Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. Yeah, I don't think we've met!

Ms. Wintle:
No, well, er, I've just moved in.

Sherlock:
[grimaces] Actually, I just locked my keys in my flat!

Ms. Wintle:
Do you want me to buzz you in?

Sherlock:
Yeah. And can I use your balcony?

Ms. Wintle:
What?

[Cuts to Sherlock jumping off her balcony onto the one just below it. He then enters through the unlocked patio door. As he looks around, John buzzes the intercom.]

John:
Sherlock? [Sherlock continues to search] Sherlock? You okay? Any time you feel like letting me in? [Sherlock sees Van Coon's dead body. Cut to crime scene technicians taking photos of the body, as Sherlock and John stand by]

John:
You think he lost a lot of money? Suicide is common among city boys.

Sherlock:
It never was suicide.

John:
Come on. The door was locked from the inside. You had to climb down the balcony. [Sherlock looks at Van Coon's suitcase]

Sherlock:
Been away three days, judging by the laundry. [gets up] Look at the case, there was something tightly packed inside it.

John:
Thanks. I'll take your word for that.

Sherlock:
Problem?

John:
Yeah. I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear.

John:
Anything in? I'm starving.

[John opens the refrigerator and finds a human head inside, does a double take]

John:
Oh, f… It's a head. A severed head!

Sherlock:
Just tea for me, thanks.

John:
No, there's a head in the fridge!

Sherlock:
Yes?

John:
A bloody head!

Sherlock:
Where else am I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you? I got it from the Barts morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. See you've written up the taxi driver case.

John:
Um, yes.

Sherlock:
"A Study In Pink". Nice.

John:
Well, you know. A pink lady, pink case, pink phone. There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?

Sherlock:
Um, no!

John:
Why not? I thought you'd be flattered.

Sherlock:
Flattered? "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."

John:
Now hang on a minute, I didn't mean that-

Sherlock:
[sarcastic] Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister, or who's sleeping with whom-

John:
[somewhat bitterly] Or that the earth goes around the sun.

Sherlock:
Oh God, that again! It's not important!

John:
Not important? It's primary school stuff! How can you not know that?

Sherlock:
Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it.

John:
"Deleted it"?

Sherlock:
Listen: [points to his head] This is my hard-drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters! Do you see?

John:
[brief silence; looks at Sherlock incredulously] But it's the solar system!

Sherlock:
[extremely irritated] Oh, hell! What does that matter?! So we go around the sun! If we went around the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference! All that matters to me is the work! Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog-or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world!

[Sherlock goes to the pool where Carl Powers died, and holds up the memory stick.]

Sherlock:
Brought you a little getting to know you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance... all to distract me from this.

[John steps out from the shadows]

John:
[being dictated by the bomber] Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?

Sherlock:
John... What the hell-

John:
Bet you never saw this coming. [John opens his coat and reveals his explosive vest] What would you like me to make him say next? Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o-

Sherlock:
Stop it.

John:
Nice touch, this the pool... where little Carl died. I stopped him and I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.

Sherlock:
Who are you?

Jim Moriarty:
[Enters through a side door] I gave you my number. I thought you might call. Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?

Sherlock:
[Draws the gun, points it at Moriarty] Both.

Moriarty:
Jim Moriarty... Hi. Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose that was rather the point.

[Sherlock looks at the red laser pointing at John]

Moriarty:
Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see... like you!

Sherlock:
"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" "Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

Moriarty:
Just so.

Sherlock:
Consulting criminal. Brilliant.

Moriarty:
Isn't it? No one ever gets to me... and no one ever will.

Sherlock:
I did.

Moriarty:
You've come the closest. Now you're in my way.

Sherlock:
Thank you.

Moriarty:
Didn't mean it as a compliment.

Sherlock:
Yes you did.

Moriarty:
[shrugs] Yeah okay, I did. But the flirting's over now, Sherlock; Daddy's had enough now! I've shown you what I can do, I cut loose all those people. All those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear: back off. Although I have loved this, this little game of ours, playing Jim from IT, playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?

Sherlock:
People have died.

Moriarty:
That's what people DO!

Sherlock:
I will stop you.

Moriarty:
No you won't.

Sherlock:
[To John] You all right?

Moriarty:
[To John] You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead.

[John nods his head. Sherlock holds out the memory stick to Jim]

Sherlock:
Take it.

Moriarty:
Ah, that. The missile plans. Boring. I could have got them anywhere.

[Throws it into the swimming pool. John grabs Moriarty]

John:
Sherlock, Run!

Moriarty:
[laughs] Good! Very Good.

John:
Your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.

Moriarty:
[To Sherlock] Mm, he's sweet. I can see why you like having him around. But then, people get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. Oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr Watson.

[The sniper changes his aim to Sherlock instead. John lets Moriarty go. Moriarty pats his suit down.]

Moriarty:
Westwood. Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?

Sherlock:
[Dryly] Oh, let me guess, I get killed.

Moriarty:
Kill you? Um, no. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no no, if you don't stop prying... I'll burn you. I will burn... the heart out of you.

Sherlock:
I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.

Moriarty:
But we both know that's not quite true. Well, I better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat.

Sherlock:
What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?

Moriarty:
Well, then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would, and just a little bit... disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock:
Catch... you... later.

Moriarty:
[High pitched, sing-song voice] No, you won't!

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