5 Fine Lines Between Gratitude And Fury


"Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart"-Sherlock Holmes

It took two years for Sherlock to dismantle Moriarty’s terrorist cell, and with the help of Mycroft he once again returns to London with another terrorist threat in the horizon.

#1. Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft: A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.
Sherlock: What for?
Mycroft: For wading in.
Mycroft: In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.
Sherlock: “Wading in”? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp.
Mycroft: I got you out. 
Sherlock: No – I got me out. Why didn’t you intervene sooner?
Mycroft: Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything.
Sherlock: You were enjoying it.
Mycroft: Nonsense.
Sherlock: Definitely enjoying it.

#2.John Watson

Sherlock couldn’t be more pleased, and despite his well-meaning ‘I-want-to-jump-out-of-a-cake-and-surprise-John’, he clearly has a lesson to learn about ‘human nature’. After delivering a split lip and a broken nose.

Sherlock Holmes: I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted.
Mycroft Holmes: You think so?
Sherlock Holmes: Mm, pop into Baker Street and - who knows? - jump out of a cake.
Mycroft Holmes: Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. Why would he be? It's been two years. He's got on with his life.
Sherlock Holmes: What life? I've been away.

John: Two years.
He shakes his head, dragging in another long breath and blowing it out again before starting to straighten 
John: Two years.
He moans and slumps down over his hands again. Sherlock has the decency to look awkward. John glances up at him momentarily.
John: I thought ...
He groans, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly. Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock.
John: I thought ... you were dead. 
His face begins to fill with anger again. Hmm?
He breathes rapidly and shallowly.
John: Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?
Sherlock looks down, biting his lip.
John: How?
As John’s breathing becomes more intense
Sherlovk: Wait – before you do anything that you might regret ...
John half-groans again.
Sherlock: ... um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um ...
John looks at him, his eyes still full of fury.
Sherlock almost giggling as he gestures towards his own top lip
Sherlock: Are you really gonna keep that?!
He grins as he turns his head to look at Mary. She laughs in disbelief. John draws in one more long breath, then hurls himself at Sherlock, grabbing his lapels and bundling him back across the floor until Sherlock loses his footing and they both fall to the floor, John on top of Sherlock and trying to throttle him. Mary and various waiters run to pull John off.

#3.Greg Lastrade

In an underground car park, Greg Lestrade walks across the area searching his pockets as he goes. Behind him, Sherlock’s distinctive silhouette quickly walks past and disappears into the shadows of an unlit area of the car park. Unaware of this, Greg continues rummaging in various pockets. Something metallic clinks noisily in the darkness. Greg looks around but can see nothing and he resumes his search through his pockets until he finally finds what he was looking for. Tipping a cigarette out of the pack, he sticks it into his mouth, puts the rest of the pack back into his pocket and then flicks his lighter and raises it towards the end of the cigarette.

Sherlock: (voiced from the darkness as Lestrade lights a cigarette): Those things’ll kill you.
Greg freezes, the flame not quite reaching the end of his cigarette as he stares into the distance while his brain catches up with what – and who – he just heard. Finally he lowers his lighter and takes his fag out of his mouth.)
Lestrade: Ooh, you bastard!


After burying Sherlock, John seems to have left Baker Street behind. We understand that, anyone would want to get away from all those memories.

Mrs Hudson, carrying a tray of tea things, walks into the room with her traditional “Ooh-ooh!”)
MYCROFT: Speaking of which ...
(Sherlock smiles.)
MRS HUDSON (happily, putting the tray on the dining table): I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again!
(She looks at Mycroft.)
MRS HUDSON: Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Mr Holmes?
MYCROFT: I can barely contain myself(!)
SHERLOCK: Oh, he really can, you know.
MRS HUDSON: He’s secretly pleased to see you underneath all that ... (she pulls a sour face).
MYCROFT: Sorry – which of us?
MRS HUDSON: Both of you

Sherlock: Of course you’ve wasted police time, perverted the course of justice, risked distracting me from a massive terrorist assault that could have both destroyed Parliament and caused the death of hundreds of people.
Anderson(tearfully): Oh, God.
He breaks down in tears, grabbing Sherlock and pulling him close.
Anderson: Oh, God, I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m so sorry.
He hangs on to him and weeps against his coat. Looking uncomfortable, Sherlock tentatively pats him on the shoulder a couple of times.
Anderson abruptly stopping crying and looking round
Anderson:  Hang on.
He stands up and walks over to his wall of papers.
Anderson: That doesn’t make sense.
Behind him Sherlock rolls his eyes and quietly sighs with an exasperated sound.)
Anderson: How could you be sure John would stand on that exact spot? I mean, what if he’d moved
Sherlock turns and quietly leaves the room.

Anderson : Hey – how did you do it all so quickly? What if the bike hadn’t hit him? And anyway, why are you telling me all this? If you’d pulled that off, I’m the last person you’d tell the truth ...
Turning around, he trails off when he realises that he’s alone in the room. He stares for a moment, then chuckles. He switches between looking at all his paperwork and looking to where Sherlock had been standing.
Anderson : Sherlock Holmes!
He chuckles again, pointing to the spot where Sherlock had just been standing.
Even softer, with a combination of amusement and exasperation
Anderson: Sherlock!
His chuckle slowly develops into laughter, and then into hysterical laughter as he starts tearing at the papers on the wall, ripping them off and whooping and giggling. Eventually he collapses in the corner, rising up onto his knees to continue clawing at the papers and still laughing hysterically until he slumps back down again.


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