by Arkytior » Sun Aug 05, 2012 12:39 pm
Sherlock: Bored!
John: What?
Sherlock(who is shooting the wall): *BANG* Bored! *BANG* *BANG* Bored! Not much got in to the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them.
John: So you take it out on the wall.
Sherlock: Ah, the wall had it coming.
John: Is that a head?
Sherlock: Just tea for me, thanks.
John: No, there's a head in the fridge.
Sherlock: Yes.
John: A bloody head!
Sherlock: Well where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind do you? Got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.
Sherlock: I see you've written up the taxi driver case.
John: Uh, 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 everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible though is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."
John: Now hang on minute, I didn't mean that in a—
Sherlock: 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 who.
John: Whether the Earth goes around the sun.
Sherlock: Oh, 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 deleted it.
John: Deleted it?
Sherlock: Listen. 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: But it's the solar system!
Sherlock: Oh! How? What does that matter? So we go 'round the sun. If we went 'round 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: Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Isn't it hateful.
Mrs. Hudson: Oh, I'm sure something will turn up Sherlock. A nice murder. That'll cheer you up.
Sherlock: Can't come too soon.
Mrs. Hudson(Noticing the wall): Hey! What have you done to my bloody wall? {Sherlock admires his handiwork} I'm putting this on your rent, young man.
Sherlock: Lestrade. I've been summoned. Are you coming?
John: If you want me to.
Sherlock: Of course. I'd be lost without my blogger.
Lestrade: That explosion.
Sherlock: Gas leak, yes?
Lestrade: No.
Sherlock: No?
Lestrade: No. Made to look like one.
John: What?
Lestrade: Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box. A very strong box. And inside of it is this.
Sherlock: You haven't opened it?
Lestrade: It's addressed to you, isn't it. We've x-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped.
Sherlock: How reassuring.
John: That's the phone— the pink phone.
Lestrade: What, from A Study in Pink?
Sherlock: Well, obviously, it' s not the same phone. But it's supposed to look like— "A Study in Pink"? You read his blog?
Lestrade: Of course I read his blog. We all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the sun?
Molly: What do you mean gay? We're together.
Sherlock: And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you.
Molly: Two and a half.
Sherlock: Mm. Three.
John: Sherlock—
Molly: He's not gay! Why'd you have to spoil— ? He's not.
Sherlock: With that level of personal grooming?
John: Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair.
Sherlock: You wash your hair. There's a difference. No, no. Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear.
Molly: His underwear?
Sherlock: Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here and I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain. {She runs off}.
John: Charming. Well done.
Sherlock: Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?
John: Kinder? No. No, Sherlock. That wasn't kind.
Sherlock: That could be anybody.
John: Well it could be, yeah. Lucky for you I've been more than a little unemployed.
Sherlock: How do you mean?
John: Lucky for you Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly.
Lestrade: There's something else that we haven't thought of.
Sherlock: Is there?
Lestrade: Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber? If this woman's death was suspicious why point it out?
Sherlock: Good Samaritan.
Lestrade: Who press-gangs suicide bombers?
Sherlock: Bad Samaritan.
John: There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives. Just so I know, do you care about that at all?
Sherlock: Will caring about them help save them?
John: Nope.
Sherlock: Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.
John: You find that easy, do you?
Sherlock: Yes. Very. Is that news to you?
John: No. No.
Sherlock: I've disappointed you.
John: That's a good— good deduction. Yeah.
Sherlock: Don't make people into heroes John. Heroes don't exist and if they did I wouldn't be one of them.
Lestrade: You reckon this is connected then, the bomber?
Sherlock: Must be. Odd though. He hasn't been in touch.
Lestrade: Then we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?
Sherlock: Yes.
Lestrade: Any ideas?
Sherlock: Seven. So far.
Lestrade: Seven?
Lestrade: So this is a hit?
Sherlock: Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.
Lestrade: But what has this got to do with that painting. I don't see wh—
Sherlock: You do see, you just don't observe.
John: Alright, alright. Girls. Calm down.
Sherlock: Tonight they unveil the rediscovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it. Something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake.
John: Fantastic.
Sherlock: Meretricious.
Lestrade: And a happy new year.
Lestrade: I better get my feelers out for this Golem character.
Sherlock: Pointless. You'll never find him. But I know a man who can.
Lestrade: Who?
Sherlock: Me.
Ms. Wenceslas: It's not a fake.
Sherlock: It is a fake. I don't know why, but there's something wrong with it. There has to be.
Ms. Wenceslas: What are you on about? You know, I could have you sacked on the spot.
Sherlock: Not a problem.
Ms. Wenceslas: No?
Sherlock: No. I don't work here, you see. I just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice.
Ms. Wenceslas: Who are you?
Sherlock: Sherlock Holmes.
Ms. Wenceslas: Am I supposed to be impressed?
Sherlock: You should be. Have a nice day.
Sherlock: No! No no! Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!
John: Knew it was dangerous.
Sherlock: Hm?
John: Getting you into crap telly.
John: You give Mycroft the memory stick yet?
Sherlock: Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood. Again.
John: You know I'm still waiting.
Sherlock: Hm?
John: For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker.
Sherlock: Didn't do you any good, did it?
John: No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective.
Sherlock: True.
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(walking out): Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?
Sherlock: John. What the hell?
John: Bet you never saw this coming. What would you like me to make him say next? Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' Geer. Gottle o' g—
Sherlock: Stop it.
John: Nice touch this, the pool. Where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.
Sherlock: Who are you?
Jim Moriarty(Appearing across the pool): 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: Both.
Moriarty: Jim Moriarty. Hi. {no reaction} Jim? Jim from the hospital? Huh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose that was rather the point. 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: Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock. {sing song} Daddy's had enough now! I've shown you what I can do. I've 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: You can talk, Johnny Boy. Go ahead.
Sherlock(Offering the memory stick): Take it.
Moriarty: Hm? Oh, that. The missile plans. {kisses the memory stick} Boring! I could have got them anywhere. {he tosses it in the pool}
John(Grabbing Moriarty): Sherlock, run!
Moriarty: Oh! Good. Very good.
John: Just like that. Pull that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, and we both go up.
Moriarty: He's sweet, I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touching and loyal. But oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson. Gotcha!
Moriarty(unruffling his suit): Westwood. Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you.
Sherlock: Oh let me guess, I get killed.
Moriarty: Kill you? Eh, no. Don't be obvious. I mean I'm going to kill you anyway someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no. If you don't stop prying I will 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'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat.
Sherlock: What if I was to shoot you now? Right now.
Moriarty: Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock: Catch...you...later.
Moriarty: No, you won't!
Sherlock(frantically ripping the jacket off of John): Alright? Are you all right?!
John: Yeah, I'm fine. Sherlock— Sherlock! Are you okay?
Sherlock: Me? Yeah. Fine. Fine. That, ah— thing that you did. That you, um, you offered to do. That was, um... good.
John: I'm glad no one saw that.
Sherlock: Hm?
John: You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.
Sherlock: People do little else.
They both notice the red laser sights have returned, as has:
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 moves it down to the bomb-laden jacket}...
End of episode(Dun dun DUNN!)
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All from BBC's Sherlock, episode three, season one, The Great Game.