There are Mysteries worth Solving and Stories worth Telling

"....There are Mysteries 

worth solving and 

Stories worth telling.

 

The Best and Bravest 

Man I know – and on 

top of that he actually 

knows How to Do Stuff.

(John lowers his head and 

chuckles with embarrassment.)

... except Wedding-

planning and serviettes – 

he’s rubbish at those --"

Merry Christmas, Leo McGarry | The West Wing

A recent college graduate, 

Aaron Sorkin was working as 

a bartender at NY Broadway 

shows, and wrote 

A Few Good Men 

entirely on cocktail napkins 

during Act 1 of 

"La Cage Aux Folles."

According to Sorkin, "...you work 

during the walk-in, and 

you work during intermission. 

But you're not doing anything 

during the first act, and there's 

an unlimited supply 

of cocktail napkins."

Not My Favourite Play

Like Gloucester at the end 

of his cliff, eh, Watson?

"The Universe — the entire space-time continuum, from big bang to heat death, no less — was not a linear stream of events 

with beginning, middle, and end. 

That was only how it felt from the inside. 

In fact, the totality of existence looked more like a ball of sphincters, constantly moving through itself in a way that was hypnotic and awe inspiring to observe. There was Shakespeare scribbling King Lear 

on one wrinkled fold, and just around the corner from him, 

forever out of his line of sight, was the Cretaceous period and tyrannosaurs padding past his wife Anne Hathaway’s cottage.

And, as if to confirm that ours was not the only universe, it was explained to me that what I was seeing was a nursery of some kind. In order to grow their “offspring,” the chrome angels had to “make” time, because, as they pointed out reasonably, only in time were things able to grow as I understood it. Time was a kind of incubator, and all life on Earth was one thing, a single weird anemone-like mega-Hydra with its single-celled immortal root in the Precambrian tides and its billions of sensory branches, from ferns to people, with every single detail having its own part to play in the life cycle of a slowly complexifying, increasingly self-aware super-organism. It was as if I had been shown an infant god, attached to a placental support system called Earth, where it could grow bigger, more elaborate, more connected, and more intelligent. 

Growing at its tips were machine parts; 

cyborg tools made from the planet’s mineral resources. 

It seemed to be constructing around itself a part-mechanical shell, like armor or a spacesuit. “It” was us, all life seen as one from the perspective of a higher dimension.

I was told to return and take up my duties as a “midwife” to this gargantuan raw nervous system. It was important to ensure the proper growth and development of the larva and to make certain it didn’t panic or struggle too much when it woke up to its true nature as a singular life form. Incidentally, what we experienced as “evil” was simply the effects of inoculation against some cosmic disease, so I wasn’t to worry much.

Sigmund Freud: 

Who am I, that your friends should wish us to meet? 

Sherlock Holmes: 

Beyond the fact that you are a brilliant Jewish physician 

who was born in Hungary and studied for a while in Paris, 

and that certain radical theories of yours 

have alienated the respectable medical community, 

so that you have severed your connections with various hospitals 

and branches of the medical fraternity, 

beyond this I can deduce little. 

You're married, with a child of five. 

You enjoy Shakespeare and possess 

a keen sense of honour.

Sherlock Holmes: 

I never guess : it is an appalling habit, 

destructive to the logical faculty. 

A private study is an ideal place for 

observing facets of a man's character --

That the study belongs to you exclusively 

is evident from the dust : 

not even The Maid is permitted here, 

else she would scarcely have ventured 

to let matters come to this pass. 

Sigmund Freud: 

Go on. 

Sherlock Holmes: 

Very well. Now, when a man collects books on a subject, 

they're usually grouped together, but notice, 

your King James Bible, your Book of Mormon, 

and Koran are separate, across the room in fact, 

from your Hebrew Bible and Talmud, 

which sit on your desk. 

Now these books have a special importance for you 

not connected with a general study of religion, obviously. 

The nine-branched candelabra on your desk 

confirms my suspicion that you are of the Jewish faith; 

it is called a menorah, is it not? 

Sigmund Freud: 

Ja. 

Sherlock Holmes: 

That you studied medicine in Paris is to be inferred 

from the great number of medical texts in that language. 

Where else should a German use French textbooks but in France, 

and who but a brilliant German could understand 

the complexities of medicine in a foreign tongue? 

That you're fond of Shakespeare is to be deduced 

from this book, which is lying face downwards. 

The fact that you have not adjusted the volume 

suggests to my mind that you no doubt intended 

referring to it again in the near future. (Hm, not my favorite play.) 

The absence of dust on the cover 

would tend to confirm this hypothesis. 

That you're a physician is evident when 

I observe you maintain a consulting room. 

Your separation from various societies 

is indicated by these blank spaces 

surrounding your diploma, 

clearly used at one time to display 

additional certificates. 

Now, what can it be that forces a man to remove 

these testimonials to his success? 

Why, only that he has ceased to affiliate himself 

with these various societies and hospitals and so forth, 

and why do this, having once troubled to join them all? 

It is possible that he became disenchanted 

with one or two of them, 

but NOT likely that his disillusionment 

extended to all. Rather, I postulate 

it is THEY who became disenchanted 

with YOU, Doctor, and asked you 

to resign, from all of them. 

Why, I've no idea. But some position 

you have taken, evidently a medical one, 

has discredited you in their eyes. 

I take the liberty of inferring a theory of some sort, 

too radical or shocking to gain ready acceptance 

in current medical thinking. 

Your wedding ring tells me of your marriage, 

your Balkanized accent hints Hungary or Moravia, 

the toy soldier on the floor here ought, I think, 

to belong to a... small boy of five? 

Have I omitted anything of importance? 

Sigmund Freud: 

My sense of Honour. 

Sherlock Holmes: 

Oh, it is implied by the fact that you have removed the plaques 

from the societies to which you no longer belong. 

In the privacy of your study, only 

you would know the difference.

Today We Have To Be Soldiers

Listen to your Gut - 
Even though your gut has shit for brains.


Listen to your Heart - 
You will find there's nothing left to Sacrifice. 
You can't tell me it's not worth fighting for; 
You can't tell me, it's not worth dying for.



Listen to your Head - 
It notices EVERYTHING.

And never fall out of Grace with your Self.

When I Find My Self in Times of Trouble,

Mother-Mary Comes to Me


P.S.

I know You Two

And if I’m gone, I know what you could become.

... because I know who you really are.

A junkie who solves crimes to get high ...

 ... and The Doctor who never came home from the war.

Well, you listen to me: 

Who You Really Are,

It Doesn’t Matter.

It’s all about 

The Legend 

The Stories 

The Adventures.

There is a Last Refuge for 

The Desperate 

The Unloved

The Persecuted

There is a Final Court of Appeal for everyone.

When life gets 

Too Strange

Too Impossible

Too Frightening, 

There is always One Last Hope.

When all else fails ...

... there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat ...
 ... like they’ve always been there ...

 ... and they always will.

The Best and Wisest Men I have ever known.

My Baker Street boys.

 Sherlock Holmes 

and 

Doctor Watson.

SHERLOCK (reassuringly): I’m here, Eurus.
(Still wearing the clothes she wore in Sherrinford, Eurus is sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up in front of her and her hands wrapped around them. Her eyes are closed.
The footage of the girl on the plane goes into fast reverse back through all the scenes we’ve seen of her until she’s back in her seat, looking uneasily out of the window. The footage rapidly reverses even further and slows down to the very first moment where, in reverse of what we first saw, we see a close-up of her eye closing.
Flashback of young Eurus running around the beach with her toy aeroplane.
In her bedroom, adult Eurus keeps her eyes closed and speaks with a child-like voice.)
EURUS: You’re playing with me, Sherlock. We’re playing the game.
SHERLOCK: The game, yes. I get it now. (He steps closer to her.) The song was never a set of directions.
EURUS (her eyes still closed and her voice child-like and frightened): I’m in the plane, and I’m going to crash.
(Sherlock crouches down in front of her.)
EURUS (child-like): And you’re going to save me.
SHERLOCK: Look how brilliant you are. Your mind has created the perfect metaphor. You’re high above us, all alone in the sky, and you understand everything except how to land. (He shifts round and sits down in front of her, breathless and anxious.) Now, I’m just an idiot, but I’m on the ground. (He reaches out and puts his fingers onto her hands.) I can bring you home.
EURUS (her eyes still closed, plaintively): No.
(Her voice reverts to its adult tone.)
EURUS: No, no. (She shivers.) It’s too late now.
SHERLOCK (shifting closer to her and lowering his hand): No it’s not. It’s not too late.
(She cries, her eyes screwed tight and her face twisted with fear.)
EURUS: Every time I close my eyes, I’m on the plane. I’m lost, lost in the sky and ... no-one can hear me.
(She pulls her knees closer to herself, crying silently. Sherlock reaches out and gently puts his hand onto hers again.)
SHERLOCK (in a whisper): Open your eyes. I’m here.
(She opens her eyes and slowly raises her head.)
SHERLOCK (in a whisper): You’re not lost any more.
(He shifts even closer and reaches out to embrace her. She shuffles forward and wraps her arms around him and they hug each other tightly while she cries.)
SHERLOCK (softly, stroking her hair): Now, you ... you just ... you just went the wrong way last time, that’s all. (His voice becomes tearful.) This time, get it right. (Still softly but more clearly) Tell me how to save my friend.
(In the well, John groans with the effort of trying to keep his head above the water.
In the bedroom Sherlock pulls back a little.)
SHERLOCK: Eurus ...
(He cradles his sister’s head with one hand and gazes pleadingly into her eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Help me save John Watson.
(She stares at him, trembling and tearful as he gently strokes her hair.
In the well, John grimaces and then groans, tilting his chin up out of the water as he strains with the effort of trying to pull the chains free. Then a light shines down onto him from the top of the well and a rope is thrown down to him. Gasping with relief, he takes hold of it.)
[Your transcriber butts in here – sorry for the interruption – to frown sternly at the many people online who bitched about what possible use the rope could be and asked snidely whether John was about to rip off his feet and climb up the rope. Even on first viewing it seemed obvious to me that (1) someone was then going to climb down the rope with a bloody great set of bolt cutters and (2) John grabbed the rope because he now had some support to pull himself up just a little – i.e. to the full extent of the chains – and keep above the water until his rescuer arrived. Anyway, moving on ...]

Later, Eurus is being led away from the house by two police officers. She still looks tearful. Police cars and vans are parked all around and a helicopter’s rotors can be heard nearby. Some distance away, Sherlock watches her. John is beside him, wrapped in a grey blanket. Greg walks over to them.
LESTRADE: I just spoke to your brother.
SHERLOCK (as he and John turn to him): How is he?
LESTRADE: He’s a bit shaken up, that’s all. She didn’t hurt him; she just locked him in her old cell.
JOHN: What goes around comes around.
LESTRADE: Yeah. Give me a moment, boys.
(He starts to walk past them but turns back when Sherlock speaks quietly.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, um. Mycroft – make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is.
LESTRADE (nodding): Yeah, I’ll take care of it.
(He turns to walk away again, while Mystrade fans squee so loudly that nearby dogs cower and cover their ears with their paws.)
SHERLOCK: Thanks, Greg.
(John, who has been huddling into his blanket, lifts his head and Greg turns back again and looks at him in surprise before walking away.
Eurus has been loaded into a reinforced cell inside one of the police vans. She sits on a side bench as a police officer closes the door.)
LESTRADE (to a nearby male police officer): The helicopter ready?
POLICE OFFICER: Mm-hm.
LESTRADE: Let’s move her, then.
(The officer nods in the direction of Sherlock.)
POLICE OFFICER: Is that him, sir? Sherlock Holmes?
(Greg looks back to where Sherlock has turned to face John, who looks round at him.)
LESTRADE: Fan, are you?
POLICE OFFICER: Well, he’s a great man, sir.
LESTRADE: No, he’s better than that. (He looks towards Sherlock for a moment.) He’s a good one.
[Your transcriber bursts into tears.]
(The two officers look towards our boys for a little longer, then turn and walk away.)
JOHN (quietly to Sherlock): You okay?
SHERLOCK (quietly, thoughtfully): I said I’d bring her home. I can’t, can I?
JOHN: Well, you gave her what she was looking for: context.
SHERLOCK (looking round at him): Is that good?
JOHN: It’s not good, it’s not bad. It’s ...
(He looks away and screws up his face, searching for the right words, then turns back to his friend.)
JOHN: It is what it is.

MRS HOLMES (offscreen, sounding shocked): Alive?! For all these years?
(She and her husband are in Mycroft’s Diogenes office. Mycroft sits behind his desk and his father is sitting on a chair on the other side while Mrs Holmes stands at the other end of the desk staring in shock at her oldest son. Her younger son is standing at the far end of the room leaning against the closed office door with his arms folded and his head lowered.)
MRS HOLMES (to Mycroft): How is that even possible?!
MYCROFT: What Uncle Rudy began ... (he hesitates slightly, his eyes lowered) ... I thought it best to continue.
MRS HOLMES (angrily): I’m not asking how you did it, idiot boy, I’m asking how could you?
MYCROFT: I was trying to be kind.
(He raises his eyes to hers at the end of his sentence.)
MRS HOLMES: Kind?! (She gasps in a pained breath.) Kind? (She becomes tearful as she continues.) You told us that our daughter was dead.
MYCROFT: Better that than tell you what she had become.
(She stares at him wide-eyed.)
MYCROFT: I’m sorry.
(His father stands up and leans his hands on the table.)
MR HOLMES: Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mycroft ...
(Cut-away of a helicopter flying towards Sherrinford Island.)
MR HOLMES (offscreen): ... she remains our daughter.
MYCROFT: And my sister.
MRS HOLMES: Then you should have done better.
SHERLOCK (quietly): He did his best.
MRS HOLMES: Then he’s very limited.
(Mycroft looks towards his brother, unable to meet his parents’ eyes.)
MR HOLMES: Where is she?
(Cut-away of the helicopter coming in to land on the beach of the island.)
MYCROFT: Back in Sherrinford; secure, this time. (He looks at his father.) People have died.
(Sherlock gets out of the helicopter, carrying a holdall, and walks away across the beach.)
MYCROFT (offscreen): Without doubt she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There’s no possibility she’ll ever be able to leave.
(Mr Holmes has straightened up a little but now leans down again and speaks firmly.)
MR HOLMES: When can we see her?
(Mycroft looks at him.
At Sherrinford, Sherlock comes out of the lift on the upper level of the Control Room and trots down the stairs.)
MYCROFT (offscreen): There’s no point.
MRS HOLMES (upset): How dare you say that?
MYCROFT (closing his eyes and speaking more firmly): She won’t talk. She won’t communicate with anyone in any way.
(At Sherrinford, Sherlock swipes a card through a card reader and the door in front of him opens. He walks through.)
MYCROFT: She has passed beyond our view.
(Still leaning against Mycroft’s office door, Sherlock gazes down at the floor in front of him.)
MYCROFT (looking at his mother): There are no words that can reach her now.
(She turns to look at her other son.
At Sherrinford, Sherlock walks out of another lift.)
MRS HOLMES (offscreen): Sherlock.
(In Mycroft’s office, Sherlock raises his head.
At Sherrinford, he walks along the long corridor towards the Secure Unit.
In the office, Mrs Holmes shrugs questioningly at Sherlock.)
MRS HOLMES: Well?
(At Sherrinford, Sherlock stops at the end of the corridor and the lights on the scanner above his head begin to oscillate back and forth.)
MRS HOLMES (offscreen): You were always the grown-up.
(Mycroft raises his head a little and looks towards his brother.)
MRS HOLMES (offscreen): What do we do now?
(Sherlock turns his head away slightly, looking thoughtful.
At Sherrinford, the lift door at the front of Eurus’ cell slides open and Sherlock, having presumably left his coat upstairs, walks out. He walks a few paces forward, looking at his sister inside the glass-walled cell. Her face is turned away from him and she doesn’t react to the sound of his footsteps. He bends down and puts the holdall on the floor. Behind him the lift door closes and the green lights in the room turn white. Sitting on the seat at the side of the room, she still doesn’t react. Sherlock unzips the bag and then stands up holding his violin and bow. He plucks at the strings and Eurus blinks. Once he’s sure the violin is tuned properly, he lifts his bow and plays a simple tune. He stops at the end of the first phrase and lifts his bow a little, looking towards Eurus. She doesn’t respond or move in any way.
In the burnt-out living room of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock – in shirt and trousers – walks across the floor, stepping over the ruined books and debris. The sound of him playing the same tune in Eurus’ cell can be heard offscreen as he starts it again and this time continues the tune. In 221B he picks up a random item from the floor, then walks across to where the skull which is usually on the wall between the windows is lying on the burnt rug. John turns around from where he’s standing near the fireplace and holds up what he’s just found – the earphones which usually adorn the skull’s head. Sherlock lifts the skull so that John can put the earphones back onto it and then loop the cable over the top. Sherlock turns away with it and looks for somewhere to put it.
In the cell Sherlock continues playing. After a while, Eurus stands up and turns to face him. Sherlock stops playing, and the two of them look at each other for a long while.
In 221B Sherlock, still holding the skull and headphones, lifts his overturned chair with the other hand and sets it upright. As he gazes upwards, the violin starts up again offscreen.
A helicopter heads towards Sherrinford Island again and, in the cell, Sherlock plays on. Eurus stands silently, watching him with a trace of interest on her face.
In 221B Sherlock picks up one of the dining chairs and sets it on its feet. John is over near the right-hand window.
Sherlock gets out of the helicopter again on the beach at Sherrinford with his holdall in one hand. We start to realise that he is making repeated visits to play to his sister.
In the cell, while he continues to play, Eurus picks up her own violin and bow and walks towards the glass wall. Sherlock stops in mid-phrase. She puts the violin to her chin. Sherlock watches her, and she begins to play the same piece from the beginning. The sound from her violin is richer – either she’s a better player or she has her Strad back. Or possibly it’s a bit of both because she plays the first phrase with more flair than her brother, running the notes together differently at one point. Sherlock blinks rapidly as she ends the phrase and stops, lowering her bow. He lifts his own bow and plays the phrase again, still using his own interpretation of the notes.
While the music continues offscreen, John is standing in his own living room sorting through his mail. He stops when he gets to a white padded envelope sent by Special Delivery.
Shortly afterwards he walks aimlessly around the room while he speaks into his phone.)
JOHN: Uh, yeah, I-I think you’d better get round here.
(In his other hand he is holding what he found in the envelope. Inside a clear plastic wallet is a white DVD. Handwritten on the disc are the words “MISS YOU”.
In the cell, Eurus closes her eyes and begins to play the tune again but this time Sherlock joins in with a counterpart. They stand either side of the glass, harmonising with each other.
At John’s home, the disc slides into the DVD player. Sherlock has now arrived and stands near the sofa, still wearing his coat, while John sits down. They look at each other for a moment, then Sherlock turns away to look towards the TV while John lifts the remote control and starts the playback. Mary’s face smiles at them from the screen. Sherlock blinks and John stares at the TV in surprise, his mouth falling open a little.)
MARY: P.S.
(As the music from the violin duet continues, Sherlock again walks along the corridor towards the Special Unit.)
MARY (voiceover initially, then on the screen): I know you two; and if I’m gone, I know what you could become.
(Sherlock turns to look down at John. John smiles briefly at the screen, his eyes full of tears, and Sherlock turns back to the TV as Mary continues.)
MARY (voiceover): ... because I know who you really are.
(Flashback to our very first sight of Sherlock all those years ago, his face upside down on the screen as he unzips a body bag and looks inside.)
MARY (voiceover): A junkie who solves crimes to get high ...
(In the flashback Sherlock looks down at the body and wrinkles his nose a little as he sniffs.
Flashback to our very first sight of John, jolting up in bed in his lonely bedsit after his latest nightmare.)
MARY (voiceover): ... and the doctor who never came home from the war.
(Sherlock walks to the door of the Secure Unit and swipes his card through the reader.
In the cell, the siblings’ duet becomes more complicated and intricate.)
MARY (on the TV screen): Well, you listen to me: who you really are, it doesn’t matter.
(In the dark burnt ruin of 221B, a workman is sweeping up while another one stuffs rubbish into a black plastic bag. Standing in front of the fireplace, John looks around the room and tiredly rubs the back of his neck as if despairing of ever getting the place back to normal. Oblivious to what’s going on around him, Sherlock is sitting in his chair texting.)
MARY (voiceover): It’s all about the legend, the stories, the adventures.
(At Sherrinford, Sherlock comes out of the lift and walks across the green-lit room towards where his sister is sitting on the seat with her back to the room.
The Holmes siblings face each other through the glass, playing together beautifully.
In 221B, Mrs Hudson comes through the door and looks across the room. While the workmen tidy up and John stands at the fireplace, Sherlock types onto his phone “You know where to find me.” and adds underneath “SH”.)
MARY (voiceover): There is a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted.
(Again Sherlock walks along the corridor towards the Secure Unit.
In the cell, Eurus and Sherlock play on.)
MARY (voiceover): There is a final court of appeal for everyone.
(In 221B, most of the burnt debris has been removed and workmen are now redecorating. Our boys have decided to restore the flat exactly as it was, and the wallpaper on the fireplace wall is the same as it was before. Sherlock, wearing his camel dressing gown, is standing facing the fireplace. At the sofa wall, John sprays a circle of yellow paint onto the wallpaper and then adds two dots inside near the top of the circle. He turns round and we see that the wallpaper on that wall is also the same as it was before and John has now added the smiley face to it. He looks across expectantly towards Sherlock and then walks out of the way. Sherlock, now facing into the room, raises his long-muzzled pistol, spins the chamber and then flicks it into place, then aims towards the spray-painted face and fires twice. He smiles, then lifts the muzzle and blows across the top.
The siblings’ tune resolves into the familiar “Pursuit” music, now played offscreen by an ensemble of stringed instruments.
Sherlock, now wearing his blue dressing gown, stabs his knife down into an open letter on the mantelpiece as John stands beside him holding the piece of paper in position. They turn as Mrs Hudson comes into the room and looks at them in exasperation. The room is now fully restored to its former glory and all the familiar items have either been repaired or replaced with identical copies.
Sherlock and Eurus play on. Without stopping, he raises his eyes to hers and she looks back at him. For the first time, there is emotion in her eyes as she gazes at her brother. She smiles just a little and they continue their duet.
In 221B a montage of scenes rolls out. Even though there is no segue between them, they clearly take place over a period of time. Sherlock, in his camel dressing gown, walks around behind the client chair. Sitting in the chair is an old-fashioned ventriloquist’s dummy dressed in a black and red jacket with a white shirt and black bowtie. Its operator seems to be crouched behind the chair, as evidenced by a black-sleeved arm poking round from the back of the chair and disappearing into the dummy’s back. John walks through the living room door wearing his jacket and carrying his briefcase. He frowns briefly at the scene as he goes across the room. Sitting down in his chair he looks up at a blackboard set up on an easel in front of the fireplace and frowns at the ‘dancing men’ figures chalked on it [see here for the translation].)
 
MARY (voiceover): When life gets too strange, too impossible ...
(At the other side of the blackboard, sitting in his chair wearing his suit jacket, Sherlock frowns across the room and gets up to walk over and stand at the feet of a man lying on his back in the middle of the floor in front of the door. The man is dressed in Viking costume. His eyes are closed. John, wearing a brown cardigan, is on his knees beside the man, patting his face with one hand and peeling one eyelid open with his other thumb. [For anyone who missed the end credits, the man is played by musician Paul Weller.])
MARY (voiceover): ... too frightening, there is always one last hope.
(Mrs Hudson comes to the living room door holding a can of air freshener. Pulling a face, she sprays the can into the air and then turns to spray another blast towards John’s chair.)
MARY (voiceover): When all else fails ...
(Sitting in his chair and looking down in disgust at something grubby and possibly vomit-soaked in his hands, John – still in his brown cardigan – raises his head as Sherlock picks up Rosie and straightens up. She now has a full head of hair and is dressed in a pink top with denim short-legged dungarees over the top. Her mouth is grubby, so presumably she has just thrown up into whatever John is holding.)
MARY (voiceover): ... there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat ...
(Tucking his goddaughter closely into his body with one hand while she makes a valiant attempt to stick her finger up her nose, Sherlock smiles and points across the room with the other.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, there’s Daddy!
(The music resolves into a fuller, slower and even more orchestral version of “Pursuit”.
Sherlock waves across the room and then walks forward to hand Rosie down to John, who is kneeling on the floor and wearing a pale grey shirt. John smiles in delight as he takes hold of his daughter and kisses her cheek.)
MARY (voiceover): ... like they’ve always been there ...
(Nearby, Greg stands looking towards Sherlock with one hand raised to his head and a harassed look on his face. He gestures beckoningly towards him as he turns to the door.)
MARY (voiceover): ... and they always will.
(In the doorway as Greg leaves, Molly comes in smiling happily and walks across the room.)
MARY (voiceover): The best and wisest men I have ever known.
(In the cell, Sherlock smiles at his sister as he continues to duet with her. Their parents and big brother are sitting on chairs to one side of Sherlock. With her eyes lowered while she listens to her children play, their mother reaches across to take Mycroft’s hand. He looks down at their hands and then turns to look at her.)
MARY (voiceover): My Baker Street boys.
(She smiles from the TV screen.)
MARY: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.
(And in slow motion Sherlock and John – our Baker Street boys – run side-by-side out of the entrance of a large stone building, identified by plaques either side of the porch as “Rathbone Place,” and race off towards their next adventure.)

Transcript and Detailedcommentary courtesy of https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/92287.html

-Many Thanks and Maximum Love

Deadly Smallness

 Narcicism, Cruelty and Emotional Sadism are actually a Learned set of Habits of Mind and Behaviour that are the direct result of Maladaptive Empathy and Emotional Openness -

EMPATHY + BETRAYAL = RESENTMENT + CRUELTY

NIGHT TIME. COUNTY HALL, SOUTH BANK. Inside the Sea Life London Aquarium housed inside County Hall, Sherlock makes his way along the blue-lit corridors and through the glass tunnels under the water.
 
TANNOY ANNOUNCEMENT: 
Ladies and gentlemen, the Aquarium will be closing in five minutes. 
Please make your way to the exit. Thank you.
 
(He continues onwards until he reaches an enclosed area with benches where people can sit and look at the various tanks all around. A woman is sitting on one of the benches with her back to him.)
 
SHERLOCK: 
Your office said I’d find you here.

VIVIAN: 
This was always my favourite spot for agents to meet.  
(She continues looking forward into a tank of sharks and other smaller fish.) 
We’re like them: ghostly, living in the shadows.
(She turns to look at him. Behind him, fluorescent jellyfish swim in another tank.)
 
SHERLOCK: 
Predatory.

VIVIAN: 
Well, it depends which side you’re on. 
(She turns away to look into the shark tank again.) 
Also, we have to keep moving or we die.
 
SHERLOCK: 
Nice location for the final act. Couldn’t have chosen it better myself. 
 But then I never could resist a touch of the dramatic.
 
VIVIAN: 
I just come here to look at the fish.
 
(She stands up and takes a few steps closer to the tank.)
 
VIVIAN: 
I knew this would happen one day.

(She turns to face him, her handbag hanging from her elbow.)
 
VIVIAN: 
It’s like that old story.
 
SHERLOCK: 
I really am a very busy man. Would you mind cutting to the chase?
 
VIVIAN: 
You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?
 
SHERLOCK (precisely): 
With good reason.
 
VIVIAN: 
There was once a merchant in a famous market in Baghdad.
 
(Sherlock closes his eyes and lowers his head a little.)
 
SHERLOCK: 
I really have never liked this story.
 
VIVIAN: 
I’m just like the merchant in the story. I thought I could outrun the inevitable. I’ve always been looking over my shoulder; always expecting to see the grim figure of ...
 
MARY: 
... Death.

(She comes into the room and stops at Sherlock’s side a couple of feet away from him.)
 
SHERLOCK (not looking round): 
Hello, Mary.
 
MARY: 
Hey.
 

SHERLOCK: 
John?
 
MARY: 
On his way.
 
SHERLOCK: 
Let me introduce Amo.
 
MARY (staring at Vivian):  
You were Amo? (Sherlock looks round to her.) 
 You were the person on the phone that time?
 
SHERLOCK: 
Using AGRA as her private assassination unit.
 
MARY  (to Vivian): 
Why did you betray us?
 
VIVIAN: Why does anyone do anything?
 
SHERLOCK: Oh, let me guess. Selling secrets?
 

VIVIAN: 
 Well, it would be churlish to refuse. Worked very well for a few years. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it. But the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I’d had it. 
 (She looks towards Mary before returning her gaze to Sherlock.) 
 Then she was taken hostage in that coup.  
(She laughs.) 
I couldn’t believe my luck! That bought me a little time.
 

SHERLOCK: 
But then you found out your boss had sent AGRA in.
 
VIVIAN: 
Very handy. They were always such reliable killers.
 
SHERLOCK: 
What you didn’t know, Mary, was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers.
(Mary turns and stares at him.)
 
 VIVIAN
 (sitting back down and resting her handbag on her lap): 
Lady Smallwood gave the order, but I sent another one to the terrorists with a nice little clue about her code name should anyone have an enquiring mind. Seemed to do the trick.
 
MARY: 
And you thought your troubles were over.
 
VIVIAN: 
I was tired; tired of the mess of it all. 
(She sighs.) 
I just wanted some peace, some clarity. 
The hostages were killed, AGRA too ... 
(she looks across to Mary) 
... or so I thought. 

 My secret was safe. 
But apparently not. 
Just a little peace. 

That’s all you wanted too, wasn’t it? 
A family, home. Really, I understand.

(Mary glances across to Sherlock but his gaze is fixed on Vivian, who lifts her handbag as if in preparation to stand, and rests one hand on the open top of it.)
 
VIVIAN: 
So just let me get out of here, right? 
Let me just walk away. I’ll vanish. 
I’ll go forever. 

What d’you say?

MARY (furiously): 
After what you did?!

(She starts towards the older woman.)
 
SHERLOCK 
(beginning to follow her): 
Mary, no!

(In a fluid movement Vivian stands, pulling a pistol from her handbag and aiming it at Mary, who stops and backs away.)
 
MARY: 
Okay.

(She moves back to stand the other side of Sherlock.)

John is in the back of a cab with a phone to his ear.
 
JOHN (into phone): 
London Aquarium. ... Yes, now.
 
(He hangs up.)

In the Aquarium, Vivian looks down at her pistol which she’s no longer pointing at anyone.
 
VIVIAN: 
I was never a field agent. 
I always thought I’d be rather good.
 
(Mary scoffs.)
SHERLOCK: 
Well, you handled the operation in Tbilisi very well.
 
VIVIAN: 
Thanks.

SHERLOCK: 
... for a secretary.
 
VIVIAN: 
What?

SHERLOCK: 
Can’t have been easy all those years, sitting in the back keeping your mouth shut when you knew you were cleverer than most of the people in the room.
 
VIVIAN: 
I didn’t do this out of jealousy!
SHERLOCK: 
No? Same old drudge, day in, day out, never getting out there where all the excitement was. 
Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street.
 
(Vivian gapes.)
 
SHERLOCK: 
They’ve taken up the pavement outside the Post Office there. 
The local clay on your shoes is very distinctive.
 
(Close-up of Vivian’s dusty shoes.)
 
SHERLOCK: 
Yes, your little flat.
 
VIVIAN: 
How do you know?
 
SHERLOCK (quick fire): 
Well, on your salary it would have to be modest and you spent all the money on that cottage, didn’t you, and what are you, widowed or divorced? 

(He focuses in on a plain gold band on the index finger of her left hand.)
  
Wedding ring’s at least thirty years old and you’ve moved it to another finger. 
That means you’re sentimentally attached to it but you’re not still married. 
I favour widowed, given the number of cats you share your life with.
 
MARY  
(nervously, watching Vivian closely): 
Sherlock ... 

SHERLOCK: 
Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell, 
judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan.
 
(Close-up of those hairs.)
 
SHERLOCK (quick fire): 
A divorcee’s more likely to look for a new partner; 
a widow to fill the void left by her dead husband.
 

MARY: 
Sherlock, don’t.
 
SHERLOCK
(quick fire, his voice rising as he gets fully into his stride): 
Pets do that, or so I’m told,
 and there’s clearly no-one new in your life, 
otherwise you wouldn’t be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium. 

That probably accounts for the drink problem, too: 
the slight tremor in your hand ... 

(there’s a close-up of her slightly shaking gun hand, then a close-up of her mouth) 

... the red wine stain ghosting your top lip. 

So yes. I say jealousy was your motive after all – 

To prove how good you are ...


(Vivian’s gaze turns to look towards the entrance as Mycroft walks in.)
 
SHERLOCK: 
... to make up for the inadequacies of your little life.

(Vivian is still looking to where Greg now comes in followed by three uniformed police officers.)
 
MYCROFT: 
Well, Mrs Norbury. 
I must admit this is unexpected.

SHERLOCK (his voice dripping with sarcasm): 
Vivian Norbury, who outsmarted them all. 
 All except Sherlock Holmes.

(He takes a step forward, holding out his left hand. Mary and the police officers behind her also step forward.)
 
SHERLOCK (softly): 
There’s no way out.

VIVIAN: 
So it would seem. 
  
(She smiles a little.)
  
You’ve seen right through me, Mr Holmes.

SHERLOCK: 
It’s what I do.

(She tilts her head to one side.)
 
VIVIAN: 
Maybe I can still surprise you.

(Swiftly she brings up the gun and aims it at Sherlock.)
 
LESTRADE: 
Come on. 
 (He points at her.) 
Be sensible.

(Sherlock holds his hands out to the side. Vivian shakes her head.)
 
VIVIAN: 
No, I don’t think so.

(She fires. In super-slow motion the bullet heads towards Sherlock who stands there unmoving. Mary, who had no doubt anticipated that this was going to happen, hurls herself sideways in front of him and the bullet impacts her lower chest. Blood sprays outward and immediately there is a large bloodstain on her shirt. Crying out, she falls to the floor against a nearby bench.)
 

VIVIAN (spitefully): 
Surprise.

Transcript courtesy of Ariane DeVere

https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/88515.html

"Meals at eight and five. 

Toilet privileges twice a day. 

Raise your voice, zap. 

Touch the glass, zap. 

You step out of line, you deal with me. 

Please, step out of line. 

Hmm? So how does it feel? 

To spend all that time, all that effort... and, to see it fail so spectacularly?"

"Did it...?" 

―Everett Ross and Helmut Zemo