A Scandal in Belgravia

Previously…

Moriarty: Sorry boys! I’m soooo 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. Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.
Sherlock: Probably my answer has crossed yours. He aims the gun at Moriarty and then down to the bomb-laden jacket…

A Staying Alive ring tone goes off.
Jim Moriarty (Andrew Scott): Do you mind if I get that?
Sherlock Holmes (Benedict Cumberbatch): Oh no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.
Moriarty: Hello? Yes of course it is. What do you want? {he mouths “Sorry”} Say that again! Say that again and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you.

Moriarty: Sorry. Wrong day to die.
Sherlock: Oh. Did you get a better offer?
Moriarty: You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock. {he returns to his phone call} So if you have what you say you have, I’ll make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes. {he snaps his fingers and the snipers disappear}

John Watson (Martin Freeman): What happened there?
Sherlock: Someone changed his mind. The question is, who?

Sherlock: What are you typing?
Watson: Blog.
Sherlock: About?
Watson: Us.
Sherlock: You mean me.
Watson: Why?
Sherlock: Well you’re typing a lot. {the doorbell rings} Right then. So, what have we got?

Potential Client 1: My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office.
Sherlock: Boring!
Potential Client 2: I think my husband might be having an affair.
Sherlock: Yes.

Comic Book Web site Guy: We have this web site. It explains the true meaning of comic books, ’cause people miss a lot of the themes. {Sherlock prepares to leave} But then all of the comic books start coming true.
Sherlock: Oh. Interesting.

Sherlock: Geek Interpreter. What’s that?
Watson: That’s the title.
Sherlock: What does it need a title for?

Sherlock: Do people actually read your blog?
Watson: Where do you think our clients come from.
Sherlock: I have a web site.
Watson: In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco. Which is why nobody’s reading your web site. Right then. Dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death except for these speckles. Whatever they are.

Sherlock: Oh for gods sakes! The Speckled Blonde?

DI Lestrade (Rupert Graves): There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead.
Sherlock: Suspected terrorist bomb. {to John} I do watch the news.
Watson: You said, “boring” and turned over.
Lestrade: 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 these special biscuits. Here’s his passport, stamped from Berlin airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday, but instead he’s in a car boot in Suffolk.

Lestrade: Any ideas?
Sherlock: Eight so far… Okay, four ideas… Maybe two ideas.

Sherlock: No no, don’t mention the unsolved ones.
Watson: People want to know you’re human.
Sherlock: Why?
Watson: Because they’re interested.
Sherlock: No they’re not. Why are they?

Hat-man and Robin: The web detectives

Sherlock: Tell us from the start. Don’t be boring!

14 Hours Earlier

Lestrade: This is just friendly advice, but give Sherlock five minutes on your crime scene and listen to everything he has to say. And as far as possible, try not to punch him.

Watson: You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating.
Sherlock: It’s okay, I’m fine. Now, show me to the stream.
Watson: I didn’t really mean for you.
Sherlock: Look, this is a six. There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Alright go back, show me the grass.
Watson: When did we agree that?
Sherlock: We agreed it yesterday. Stop! Closer.
Watson: I wasn’t even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin.
Sherlock: It’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening. {the doorbell rings} Shut up!
Watson: Do you just carry on talking when I’m away?
Sherlock: I don’t know. How often are you away?

Sherlock: Pass me over.
Watson: Alright, but there’s a mute button and I will use it.

Sherlock: 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?
Inspector Carter (Danny Webb): He’s trying to be clever. It’s over-confidence.
Sherlock: 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? {turning to his client} Don’t worry, this is just stupid.
Client: What did you just say? Heart what?

Watson checks out the surroundings
Watson: Are you wearing any pants?
Sherlock: No.
Watson: Okay. {they start laughing} Buckingham Palace. Right. I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.

Watson: What are we doing here? Sherlock, no, seriously. What?
Sherlock: I don’t know.
Watson: Here to see the Queen? {Mycroft appears}
Sherlock: Oh! Apparently, yes.

Mycroft: Just once can you two behave like grown-ups?
Watson: We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.

Mycroft: We are in Buckingham Palace. The very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.
Sherlock: What for?
Mycroft: Your client.
Sherlock: And my client is?
Harry (Andrew Havill): Illustrious. In the extreme. And remaining, I’ll have to inform you, entirely anonymous.

Mycroft: May I just apologize for the state of my little brother.
Harry: Full time occupation I imagine.

Harry: You look taller in your photographs.
Sherlock: Take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.

Sherlock: Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work. Good morning.
Mycroft: This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!
Sherlock: Get off my sheet!
Mycroft: Or what?
Sherlock: Or I’ll just walk away.
Mycroft: I’ll let you.
Watson: Boys, please. Not here.

Mycroft: I’ll be mother.
Sherlock: And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.

Sherlock: You have a police force of sorts. Even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?
Harry: People do come to you for help, don’t they Mr. Holmes?
Sherlock: Mm… not to date anyone with a navy.
Mycroft: This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust.
Watson: You don’t trust your own Secret Service?
Mycroft: Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.

Mycroft: What do you know about this woman? {he shows her a photograph}
Sherlock: Nothing whatsoever.
Mycroft: Then you should be paying more attention.

Sherlock: Who is she?
Mycroft: Irene Adler. Professionally known as The Woman.
Watson: Professionally?
Mycroft: There are many names for what she does. She prefers dominatrix.
Sherlock: Dominatrix.
Mycroft: Don’t be alarmed. It has to do with sex.
Sherlock: Sex doesn’t alarm me.
Mycroft: How would you know?

Harry: Will you take the case?
Sherlock: What case? Pay her. Now. And in full. As Ms. Adler remarks in her masthead, “know when you are beaten.”
Mycroft: She doesn’t want anything. She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed. She indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor.
Sherlock: Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Oo, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it.

Sherlock: Text me the details. I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.
Harry: Do you really think you’ll have news by then?
Sherlock: No, I think I’ll have the photographs.
Harry: One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think.

Sherlock: Can I have a box of matches?
Harry: I’m sorry?
Sherlock: Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do.
Harry: I don’t smoke.
Sherlock: No, I know you don’t. But your employer does.
Harry: We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes.
Sherlock: I’m not the Commonwealth.
Watson: And that’s as modest as he gets.

Watson: Okay. The smoking. How did you know?
Sherlock: The evidence is right under your nose, John. As ever you see but do not observe.
Watson: Observe what?
Sherlock: The ashtray. {he pulls it from his pocket}

Irene Adler (Lara Pulver): Kate, we’re going to have a visitor. I’ll need a bit of time to get ready.
Kate (Rosalind Halstead): A long time?
Irene Adler: Ages.

Watson: Punch you?
Sherlock: Yes. Punch me. In the face. Didn’t you hear me?
Watson: I always hear “punch me in the face” when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.

Sherlock: Okay, I think we’ve done now, John.
Watson: You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people.
Sherlock: You were a doctor!
Watson: I had bad days!

Kate: What are you going to wear?
Irene Adler: My battle dress.
Kate: Lucky boy.

Irene Adler: I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been hurt. I don’t think Kate caught your name.
Sherlock: I’m so sorry, I’m—
Irene Adler: Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fright. Isn’t it? {she snatches his clerical collar} There now. We’re both defrocked. Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock: Ms. Adler, I presume.

Irene Adler: Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. would you like me to try?

Irene Adler: Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.
Sherlock: You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face?
Irene Adler: No, I think you’re damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case it’s yourself.

Irene Adler: Somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.
Watson: Could you put something on please? Ah, anything at all. Napkin?
Irene Adler: Why? Are you feeling exposed?
Sherlock: I don’t think John knows where to look.
Irene Adler: No. I think he knows exactly where. Not sure about you.

Irene Adler: The hiker with the bashed in head, how was he killed?
Sherlock: That’s not why I’m here.
Irene Adler: No no no, you’re here for the photographs but that’s never going to happen. And since we’re here just chatting anyway…

Irene Adler: I thought you were looking for the photos now.
Sherlock: No. Looking takes ages. I’m just going to find them. But you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment so let’s pass the time.

Sherlock: Upon hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look to her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities. {he reveals the safe} Really hope you don’t have a baby in here.

Irene Adler: I’d tell you the code right now, but you know what? I already have. Think.

Neilson (Todd Boyce): I’m assuming I missed something. From your reputation I’m assuming you didn’t, Mr. Holmes.

Neilson: Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please.
Holmes realizing: Vatican Cameos. {Watson ducks}

Irene Adler referring to the combination: Thank you. You were very observant.
Watson: Observant?
Irene Adler: I’m flattered.
Sherlock: Don’t be.

Sherlock: All the photographs are on here, I presume.
Irene Adler: I have copies of course.
Sherlock: No you don’t.

Irene Adler: Now tell that sweet little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. But not for blackmail. Just for insurance. Besides, I might want to see her again. {Holmes tries to respond} Oh. No no no no. It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it. This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you.

Irene Adler: You know I was wrong about him. He did know where to look.

Watson: I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone.

Sherlock: The photographs are perfectly safe.
Mycroft: In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.
Sherlock: She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants… protection for some reason. I take it you stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house.
Mycroft: How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.
Sherlock: She’d applaud your choice of words.

Sherlock: Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.
Watson: Though not the way she treats royalty.

Mrs. Hudson (Una Stubbs): It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft: Oh shut up, Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock: Mycroft!
Mycroft: Apologies.
Mrs. Hudson: Thank you.
Sherlock: Though do in fact shut up.

Sherlock: There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see.
Mycroft: I can put maximum surveillance on her.
Sherlock: Why bother. You can follow her on Twitter.

Watson: See I’m wondering who could have got ahold of your phone because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?
Sherlock: I leave you to your deductions.
Watson: I’m not stupid, you know.
Sherlock: I do get that idea.

Sherlock: What else does she have? {Mycroft feigns ignorance} Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more. Much more. Something big’s coming, isn’t it?
Mycroft: Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this.
Sherlock: Oh, will I?
Mycroft: Yes Sherlock. You will.

Sherlock: Sarah was the doctor and then there was the one with the spots and then the one with the nose and then who was after the boring teacher?
Jeanette (Oona Chaplin): Nobody.
Sherlock: Jeanette! Ah. Process of elimination.

Molly: Having our Christmas drinkies then?
Sherlock: No stopping them, apparently.
Mrs. Hudson: It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me so it’s always worth it.

Sherlock: How’s the hip?
Mrs. Hudson: Oh it’s atrocious. Thanks for asking.
Sherlock: I’ve seen much worse. But then I do post-mortems.

Sherlock: I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.
Molly: What? Sorry what?
Sherlock: In fact you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.
Watson: Take a day off.
Lestrade: Sherlock, have a drink.
Sherlock: Oh come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag. Perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best. Must be someone special then. Shade of red echoes the lipstick. Either a subsonscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact that she’s giving him a gift at all. That all suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn. And that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from the make-up and what she’s wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts.
Molly: You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always…
Sherlock: I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.

Mycroft: Oh dear lord. We’re not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?
Sherlock: I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.
Mycroft: We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.
Sherlock: No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.

Sherlock: You didn’t need to come in, Molly.
Molly: That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with… Christmas. Ah, the face is a bit sort of bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.
Mycroft: That’s her, isn’t it?
Sherlock: Show me the rest of her. {Molly pulls the sheet} That’s her.
Mycroft: Thank you, Miss Hooper.
Molly: Who is she? How did Sherlock recognize her from… not her face?

Sherlock: Smoking indoors. Isn’t that one of those “law” things?
Mycroft: We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.

Sherlock: Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?
Mycroft: All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.
Sherlock: This is low tar.
Mycroft: Well. You barely knew her.

Mycroft: Have you found anything?
Watson: No. Did he take the cigarette?
Mycroft: Yes.
Watson: Shit.

Watson: Looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?
Mycroft: No. But then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.
Watson: I’ve got plans.
Mycroft: No.

Jeanette: You know my friends are so wrong about you. You’re a great boyfriend.
Watson: Okay, that’s good. I mean I always thought I was great.
Jeanette: And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.

Sherlock: The count on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.
Watson: Yes, it’s faulty. Can’t seem to fix it.
Sherlock: Faulty. Or you’ve been hacked and it’s a message.

Watson: Has he ever had any kind of girlfriend, boyfriend—a relationship—ever?
Mrs. Hudson: I don’t know.
Watson: How can we not know?
Mrs. Hudson: He’s Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head.

Watson: You know Mycroft could just phone me if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.

[Jenny]: He’s on his way. You were right. He thinks it’s Mycroft.

Watson: He’s writing sad music. Doesn’t eat. Barely talks. Only to correct the television. I’d say he was heartbroken, but, ah, he’s Sherlock. He does all that anywa— {he sees Irene}
Irene Adler: Hello Dr. Watson.
Watson: Tell him you’re alive.
Irene Adler: He’d come after me.
Watson: I’ll come after you if you don’t.
Irene Adler: Oh, I believe you.

Irene Adler: Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.
Watson: No.
Irene Adler: It’s for his own safety.
Watson: So’s this: tell him you’re alive.
Irene Adler: I can’t.
Watson: Fine. I’ll tell him. And I still won’t help you.
Irene Adler: What do I say?
Watson: What do you normally say?! You’ve texted him a lot!
Irene Adler: Just the usual stuff.
Watson: There is no usual in this case.

Watson: You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?
Irene Adler: At him. He never replies.
Watson: No, Sherlock always replies. To everything. He’s Mr. Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word.
Irene Adler: Does that make me special?
Watson: I don’t know, maybe.
Irene Adler: You jealous?
Watson: We’re not a couple.
Irene Adler: Yes you are. {she sends a test} There. “I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.”

Watson: For the record, if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.
Irene Adler: Well I am. Look at us both. {they hear Sherlock’s phone in the distance}

Sherlock: Don’t snivel, Mrs. Hudson. It’ll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet. What a tender world that would be.

Neilson: But you know what I’m asking for, don’t you Mr. Holmes.
Sherlock: I believe I do. First get rid of your boys.
Neilson: Why?
Holmes: I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room.

Crime in progress. Please disturb.

Watson: What the hell is happening?
Sherlock: Mrs. Hudson’s been attacked by an American. I’m restoring the balance to the universe.

Watson: Are you going to tell me what’s going on?
Sherlock: I expect so, now go.

Lestrade: And exactly how many times did he fall out of the window?
Sherlock: It’s all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count.

Watson: She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her.
Mrs. Hudson: No.
Sherlock: She’s fine.
Watson: No, she’s not. Look at her. She’s got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor’s orders.
Sherlock: Don’t be absurd.
Watson: She’s in shock, for God’s sake! And all over some stupid bloody camera phone. Where is it anyway?
Sherlock: Safest place I know.
Mrs. Hudson: He left it in the pocket of his second best dressing gown, you clot. I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry.

Sherlock: Shame on you, John Watson.
Watson: Shame on me?
Sherlock: Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall!

Sherlock: I think we have a client.
Watson: What, in your bedroom? Oh.

Irene Adler: I make my way in the world. I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be.
Sherlock: So how do you acquire this information?
Irene Adler: I told you. I misbehave.
Sherlock: But you’ve acquired something that’s more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?
Irene Adler: Yes. But I don’t understand it.
Sherlock: Assumed. Show me.

Sherlock: You’re rather good.
Irene Adler: You’re not so bad.
Watson: Hamish! {they look startled} John Hamish Watson, just if you’re looking for baby names.

Sherlock: Where’s John?
Irene Adler: He went out. A couple of hours ago.
Sherlock: I was just talking to him.
Irene Adler: He said you do that.

Irene Adler: Have you ever had anyone?
Sherlock: Sorry.
Irene Adler: And when I say “had” I’m being indelicate.
Sherlock: I don’t understand.
Irene Adler: I’ll be delicate. Let’s have dinner.
Sherlock: Why?
Irene Adler: You might be hungry.
Sherlock: I’m not.
Irene Adler: Good.
Sherlock: Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry.
Irene Adler: Oh, Mr. Holmes, if it was the end of the world—if this was the very last night—would you have dinner with me?
Mrs. Hudson: Sherlock!
Irene Adler: Too late.
Sherlock: It’s not the end of the world, it’s Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock: There’s going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. British and American governments know about it but rather than expose the source of their information they’re going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns, nothing is ever new.

Mycroft: The Coventry Conundrum. What do you think of my solution? The Flight of the Dead.
Sherlock: The plane blows up midair. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties but nobody dies.
Mycroft: Neat, don’t you think? You’ve been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too bored to notice the pattern?

Mycroft: The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email. And months and years of planning. Finished.
Sherlock: Your MOD man.
Mycroft: That’s all it takes. One lonely naive man, desperate to show off. And a woman clever enough to make him feel special.
Sherlock: You need to screen your defence people more carefully.
Mycroft: I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock, I’m talking about you!

Irene Adler: Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.
Sherlock: So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on.
Irene Adler: Not you, Junior. You’re done now.

Irene Adler: I imagine you’d like to sleep on it.
Mycroft: Thank you, yes.
Irene Adler: Too bad. Off you pop and talk to people.

Mycroft: You’ve been very… thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.
Irene Adler: I can’t take all the credit. Had a bit of help. {to Sherlock} Jim Moriarty sends his love.
Mycroft: Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention. Which I’m sure can be arranged.

Mycroft: Here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played.
Sherlock: No.
Irene Adler: Sorry?
Sherlock: I said, no. Very very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.
Irene Adler: No such thing as too much.
Sherlock: Oh enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But sentiment, sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.
Irene Adler: Sentiment. What are you talking about?
Sherlock: You.
Irene Adler: Oh dear god, look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes? The clever detective in the funny hat?
Sherlock: No. Because I took your pulse.

Sherlock: When we first met you told me that disguise is always a self portrait—how true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements. But this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart. And you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you worked for. But you just couldn’t resist it, could you? I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.
Irene Adler: Everything I said, it’s not real. I was just playing the game.
Sherlock: I know. And this is just losing. {I AM SHERLOCKED}.

Sherlock: There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.
Mycroft: I’m certain they will.
Sherlock: If you’re feeling kind, lock her up. Otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long without her protection.
Irene Adler: Are you expecting me to beg?
Sherlock: Yes.
Irene Adler: Please. You’re right. I won’t even last six months.
Sherlock: Sorry about dinner.

Watson: Is that the file on Irene Adler?
Mycroft: Closed forever. I am about to go and inform my brother—or if you prefer, you are—that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive—and thrive. But he will never see her again.
Watson: Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won’t even mention her by name. Just The Woman.
Mycroft: Is that loathing or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters.
Watson: He’s not like that. He doesn’t feel things that way. I don’t think.

Mycroft: My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?
Watson: I don’t know.
Mycroft: Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate.

Watson: He’ll be okay with this. Witness protection, never seeing her again. He’ll be fine.
Mycroft: I agree. That’s why I decided to tell him that.
Watson: Instead of what?
Mycroft: She’s dead. She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded.
Watson: It’s definitely her? She’s done this before.
Mycroft: I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me. And I don’t think he was on hand. Do you? So. {he pushes over the file} What should we tell Sherlock?

Watson: Did she ever text you again, after all that?
Sherlock: Once. A few months ago.
Watson: What did she say?
Sherlock: “Goodbye Mr Holmes”.

Sherlock: When I say run, run.

Sherlock: The Woman.