we'll sleep until the sun goes down

You named a bee after me.

Sun, 19 May 2013 13:40:02 -0500

You named a bee after me.

"Moriarty underestimating Joan, to whom she referred as Sherlock’s “mascot,” is what leads to her..."

Sun, 19 May 2013 12:14:45 -0500

“Moriarty underestimating Joan, to whom she referred as Sherlock’s “mascot,” is what leads to her undoing. Sherlock and Watson, in effect, turn their weaknesses into strengths: for Holmes, it’s his addiction; for Watson, it’s her novice status. In “The Woman,” Watson feared she wasn’t ready to handle investigations without Sherlock, though he’s quick to assure her that she’s simply underestimating her own abilities. In “Heroine,” Watson is every bit Sherlock’s equal, though Moriarty lacks Sherlock’s ability to see it. Ultimately, it’s Watson who serves as the true catalyst for Moriarty’s downfall, which is fitting, since Joan is the true human connection Holmes has made, not “Irene Adler.” This is solidified in the episode’s conclusion, as Sherlock names a rare species of bee after Watson: Newglassia Watsonia, the product of a bee thought incapable of pairing with other species. Not unlike Holmes, who initially resisted Watson’s partnership, yet now couldn’t possibly be without it. It’s a metaphor for their relationship that’s equal parts overt and beautiful.”

- Elementary finale recap at rickey.org (via 22drunkb)

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Sun, 19 May 2013 12:10:36 -0500

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Sun, 19 May 2013 12:08:00 -0500

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Sat, 18 May 2013 21:41:46 -0500

Moriarty is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. She is the organizer...

Sat, 18 May 2013 21:37:55 -0500

Moriarty is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. She is the organizer of half that is evil and nearly all that is undetected in this great city. She is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. She has a brain of the first order.

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Sat, 18 May 2013 21:36:06 -0500

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Sat, 18 May 2013 21:33:00 -0500

elementarystan: Bring on Season 2!

Sat, 18 May 2013 20:02:01 -0500

elementarystan:

Bring on Season 2!

hannimentary au: “perhaps we have more in common than we...

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:32:37 -0500

hannimentary au: “perhaps we have more in common than we thought.”

Transcript: Elementary 1x04 "Rat Race"

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:25:00 -0500

Enjoy! Use it however you’d like.
If you do find it useful, a like or reblog would be greatly appreciated.
If you find a typo, want to make a correction (especially for names, technical terms, and New York or British slang), or a have suggestions or improvements, please message me. I’ll be sure to update it!

Joan strides through the police station, alone. She intercepts Gregson and Bell, talking about a case, just outside Gregson’s office.
GREGSON (surprised): Miss Watson. (He checks his watch.) Didn’t know you and Holmes were stopping by.
JOAN: He’s not here, just me.
GREGSON: Everything okay?
JOAN: Ah, could we talk privately? (They go to Gregson’s office. Joan paces up and down.) I haven’t heard from him in over three hours. He’s not responding to texts, he’s not answering his phone.
GREGSON: All due respect, but you do know your boss is a weirdo, right? (Joan shoots him a glance, still pacing.) He’s probably out trying to find Jimmy Hoffa in some subway tunnel.
JOAN: You don’t understand. We have an… arrangement. We’re not supposed to be apart for more than two hours, and he’s never supposed to be unreachable. (She turns her phone over in her hand and checks it again.)
GREGSON: I know you two are pretty close for an assistant and a boss, but how is that even possible? You both have to sleep, right?
JOAN (stopping in front of Gregson’s desk): I’m not his assistant, I’m… (She struggles, conflicted.) Okay, the only reason we’re together all the time is because I live at his place. (She starts pacing again.)
GREGSON (surprised, sarcastic): Okay. Don’t know why you guys couldn’t have just told me that, but… fine.
JOAN: Okay, it’s not like that, it’s… We’re not together together.
GREGSON: Okay, what is it like?
JOAN (flexing her fingers, troubled): I… I—I can’t say, I’m sorry.
GREGSON: Well Miss Watson, if you want me to help you, you’re going to have to tell me what the story is, all right? (Joan stops and nods, then paces across the room one more time, checking her phone again. Suddenly, she walks towards Gregson.)
JOAN (urgently): I am a sober companion, I work with recovering drug addicts. Sherlock is my client. His father hired me to help him stay clean. The only reason I am telling you this is because I think he may have relapsed. I need your help to find him.

A DARK CAR. Sherlock, unconscious, shifts with the movement of the car. His head hits the back of the seat and he wakes, groaning and grimacing uncomfortably. He looks down and wrings his wrists, which he finds are handcuffed in front of him. He wriggles his ankles, which are zip-tied.

Opening credits thingy.

TWO DAYS EARLIER, A CAFÉ. Joan has coffee with a friend at a table outside.
JOAN: Speaking of which, how’s my favorite six-year-old?
EMILY: She’s good.
JOAN: That’s great.
EMILY: Enough about her, how about you?
JOAN: I’m good.
EMILY: Yeah? Any new men in your life?
JOAN: Ah, sort of. Eh—but it’s work. Not dating anyone.
EMILY: Good. Maybe you won’t be as mad at me.
JOAN (confused): What are you talking about?
EMILY: You split up with Ty a while ago, and you never let me set you up, so… (She looks over Joan’s head, smiles, and waves.) Oh—Aaron! Hi! Over here! (Aaron turns and starts towards them.)
JOAN (incredulous): Are you serious?
EMILY: Shut up.
JOAN: I’m gonna kill you. (Emily stands up to greet Aaron.)
AARON: Hey, Em.
EMILY: Hi!
AARON: I didn’t realize you were meeting someone else.
EMILY: No, it’s okay, she didn’t know either. This is Aaron, from work. (She guides him into her seat across from Joan.) This is Joan, my oldest friend.
JOAN (sideways, sarcastically): Was.
EMILY (picking up her bag): Okay, I’ve got water aerobics in twenty minutes.
JOAN: Wait, wait, I—
EMILY: I know you two are strangers, but you’re both fantastic. And single. So… start with that. See where it goes. My treat. (As she speaks, Joan and Aaron make awkward confused faces. Emily gestures the coffee on the table, pats Aaron on the shoulder, and walks away.)
JOAN: I think this is what you call an ambush set up?
AARON: Well the good news is I don’t have to buy you a drink.
JOAN: That’s true.
AARON: Although I could go for a double vodka rocks right now.
JOAN (jokingly, checking her watch): You normally drink spirits before, um, what—ten in the morning?
AARON: … No, but go easy on me, I’ve just been ambushed. (Joan chuckles.)
BARISTA: One latte for Aaron?
AARON: Excuse me, that’s me. (He stands and walks into the café to pick up his drink. Joan sits at the table and fixes her hair into a ponytail. Her cell phone pings and she checks it as Aaron walks back, eyeing the text before he sits down.) Sorry to snoop, but “YT ND U ASAP”? What, are you texting with a teenager? (The text reads:

Sherlock Holmes:
YT? ND U ASAP

(Joan keys her answer to the text)

Still at coffee. Can it wait?

JOAN (chuckling): Fully grown adult, actually. (She sets the phone down.) I haven’t done this in a while. Um… (She shakes her head.) I don’t know where to start.
AARON (inhaling dramatically): Me neither. (Joan’s phone pings again. It reads:

Me: Still at coffee. Can it wait?
Sherlock Holmes: IMLTHO: No. Important. CUS!!!

AARON: “CUS”? I’m guessing that’s “see you soon,” but what is “IMLTHO?”

THE BROWNSTONE. Sherlock stars intently at his computer screen.
SHERLOCK: It means “in my less than humble opinion.”
JOAN (stepping into the room): Your abbreviations are becoming borderline indecipherable. I don’t know why, because you are obviously capable of being articulate.
SHERLOCK: Language is evolving, Watson, becoming a more efficient version of itself. I love text shorthand. It allows you to convey content and tone without losing velocity. (He closes out of the browser that shows an article titled “Investment Spotlight: Canon Ebersole.” He spins around in the chair to look at Joan.) Met a man, I see. (Joan furrows her eyebrows.) Handsome one, at that. (He stands up and strides to the table.)
JOAN: Um, this is the part where I ask you how you knew that, right?
SHERLOCK: You put your hair up when you want to look your best. You think it’s more flattering. (He pulls a sweater over his head.) You’re wrong, of course. It’s a draw. But it was down when you left for coffee, and now it’s up. (Joan pulls the ponytail holder, letting her hair down.) Ergo, you unexpectedly met a man you found attractive. (He crosses to the chair in front of the other computer and starts pulling on his shoes.)
JOAN: Okay, what am I doing here, anyway? You said it couldn’t wait?
SHERLOCK (lacing his shoe): I’m just trying to stick to the terms of our agreement. You said we’re not supposed to be apart for more than two hours, and I have a mysterious errand to run and I have no idea how long it’s going to take. (He starts on the other shoe.)
JOAN (tilting her head curiously): What kind of errand?
SHERLOCK (shoes on, standing up): We have been summoned to the board of directors of Canon Ebersole.
JOAN: The investment firm. What do they want to see you about?
SHERLOCK: I have no idea. Hence my use of the word “mysterious.” (He reaches back and snags his phone from the desk.) Apparently Gregson recommended my services and, ah, they won’t tell me anything else until I’ve signed a confidentiality agreement. (He strides past Joan towards the front door.)
JOAN: Um, is that what you’re gonna wear?
SHERLOCK: What’s wrong with it?
JOAN: I’m pretty sure that you slept in that t-shirt last night, and, um, the guys on Wall Street are a little more… formal in the way they dress. (She pulls on her cardigan.)
SHERLOCK (pulling on his coat): Those are costumes. I loathe bankers. They rig the roulette wheel of commerce, very nearly destroy the world economy, and they still think if they wear suits they’ll be treated like respectable folk instead of the crooks that they are. (As they leave, Joan shakes her head exasperatedly.)

LATER, CONFERENCE ROOM AT CANON EBERSOLE. Sherlock smacks his gum unabashedly while an important-looking man introduces some other important-looking people. Joan sits to the side, making exasperated faces pretty much whenever Sherlock says something.
FOWKES: My name’s Jim Fowkes. I’m the chief investment officer. This is Daniel Cho, our chief financial officer and other in house board member—
SHERLOCK: Yep, you’re all chief of something. What do you want? (Joan rolls her eyes and shakes her head slightly.)
FOWKES: This is our COO, Peter Talbott. (An important-looking woman hands Sherlock a brochure. Sherlock holds it up very close to his face.) Every quarter, he fields a conference call with our institutional investors. These people control huge pension funds. As far as they’re concerned, Peter is the voice of the company. This quarter’s call was supposed to happen yesterday. We had to reschedule because Peter didn’t show up. Nobody has any idea where he is.
SHERLOCK (closing the brochure and slapping it back on the table): And if you don’t get this call back on the books soon, people will start to whisper.
FOWKES: When these people whisper, Mr. Holmes, millions of dollars disappear. The gentleman we spoke to, a, ah, Captain Gregson, he said that the NYPD couldn’t get involved until Peter had been missing for two days. He also said that you were the finest investigator he’d ever known. We’d like to hire you and your, ah… associate.
SHERLOCK: Bodyguard. (Joan throws him another look.) Luckily for you, Mr. Fowkes, I have a hole in my schedule. My usual private consulting rates will apply, of course, multiplied by a factor of twelve, shall we say. (The chief important people glance and murmur among themselves.) You’re wondering if I’m worth it. I could provide a demonstration, if you’d like. I’m fairly sure for example, that these two are sleeping with each other. (Sherlock points, and two important people shift uncomfortably.) You really should be more careful of your body language. (He points again.) And you, for some reason, have recently used a solvent to remove fingernail polish from your hands. (One of the important people glances at his fingers. Joan guards a smile.)
FOWKES: Twelve times your usual rate will be just fine.
SHERLOCK: I will need access to Peter Talbott’s office, his computer.
FOWKES: My secretary will be happy to take you down there right now. (Sherlock turns and stands up sort of slouching at the same time, if that’s possible. Joan stands and joins him.)

PETER TALBOTT’S OFFICE. Fowkes’s secretary shows them Talbott’s office. Sherlock looks around the room while Joan inspects the bookshelf.
JOAN: Cute couple.
DONNA: Everyone here calls Peter and Alyssa, Taylor and Burton. You know, after the movie stars.
SHERLOCK (brusquely): Fascinating.
DONNA: I’ll be outside if you need me. (She steps out.)
JOAN: I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy, back in the conference room. Mastering the masters of the universe.
SHERLOCK: Bit of a letdown, actually. I think I could’ve got twenty times my normal rate.
JOAN: What is your normal rate?
SHERLOCK: Oh, I don’t have one. Remind me to make one up before I leave. (He turns to look at the bookshelf.) Typical. Every stuffed shirt who wants to pass for erudite has shelves full of unread books. None of the spines on these have ever been cracked. Except… (He walks to the shelf and pulls out a book.) … for this one. (He opens the front cover.) Which apparently Mr. Talbott consults all the time. (From inside the front cover he pulls out a smaller black book. Joan frowns. Sherlock sets down the outer book and riffles through the first pages of the black book.) Ah. I’ve never been a fan of John Maynard Keyenes, but this I could sink my teeth into. (Joan walks to stand next to Sherlock and see that the pages he flips through are all pictures of prostitutes.)
JOAN: I don’t understand, what is that?
SHERLOCK: It’s a menu. Each of these girls is available for a price. See the ring symbols at the bottom? The more rings, the more expensive prostitute. (He hands the book to Joan.)
JOAN: So you’re speaking from experience? (She opens the book and glances at it again.)
SHERLOCK: It’s just a deduction. Though I am on an expense account. (He strides across the room.)
JOAN (riffling through the pages): Almost all of these pages are turned down.
SHERLOCK (settling himself in Talbott’s chair in front of the computer): The more pricey girls were his favorites. But you can’t just tell the IRS that you spend six figures a year on slappers. (He shakes the mouse to waken the computer and begins clicking through Talbott’s things.) No, you need to hide the expense. So… (He pulls up Talbott’s organizer.) Let’s see, calendar, contacts… (He clicks through the contacts.) Yeah. (Joan looks up and comes to stand behind him and look over his shoulder.) You see? Talbott has contact addresses for two separate accountants. This one is for a rep for DDB, that’s big five firm, nothing untoward there, probably handled the family books. But this one is an independent accountant by the name of Martin Rydell. Handled something Peter calls his executive private account. (He raises his voice.) Excuse me! Secretary! (Donna walks in.) What did Fowkes say your name was?
DONNA: He didn’t. It’s Donna.
SHERLOCK: Well before we leave, Donna, would you mind calling us in a reservation for three at Villa Pacri? (Donna nods and leaves.)
JOAN (as they walk from the office): We’re not dressed for Villa Pacri.
SHERLOCK: We’re not dressed for Canon Ebersole, either. When I invite Martin Rydell to lunch, it’ll help if I drop the name of one of the most expensive restaurants in the city.

VILLA PACRI. Sherlock and Joan sit at a table as they wait for Martin Rydell.
JOAN: So you loathe Canon Ebersole and everything they stand for, but you love to spend their money? You don’t see any inconsistency with there?
SHERLOCK: I’m redistributing as many of their assets as I can. If I’m going to get in bed with the croupiers of a rigged game, I’m gonna make damn sure their wallets are lighter in the morning. (A waiter comes to stand next to Sherlock’s shoulder, offering a bottle of wine.)
WAITER: Sir?
SHERLOCK: Mm.
JOAN (incredulous): And that is for…?
SHERLOCK: It’s the most expensive bottle they’ve got.
JOAN (severely): I don’t care if it comes in a box. You’re not drinking it.
SHERLOCK: It’s not for me. You see that couple over there? (A couple behind Sherlock shares a piece of cake.) I observed them while you were in the bathroom. The man’s suit is frayed from dry cleaning. I’d wager it’s the only one he’s got. Therefore, he’s saved to come here for a special occasion. Also, he keeps touching his inside pocket of his suit coat, like he’s checking to see that something valuable still there. (The man touches his inside coat pocket as Sherlock speaks.) He’s about to propose. And I’m going to send this wine over as congratulations. Or condolences. (He turns to the waiter.) It’s lovely, thank you. (The waiter leaves with the wine.)
RYDELL: Mr. Holmes? (Rydell approaches the table, confused and somewhat suspicious.)
SHERLOCK (standing up): Mr. Rydell. (He shakes his hand and sits back down.) Won’t you sit down? (Rydell sits down slowly.) Confession. I told a couple of white lies on the phone. I don’t actually work at Canon Ebersole and I have no intention of opening a private executive account with you. What I would like is to discuss the work you did concealing Peter Talbott’s predilection for expensive hookers. (Joan raises her eyebrows, giving Rydell a z-snap-formation look with her eyeballs.)
RYDELL: I’m sorry, I think maybe this is a mistake. (He starts to stand up.)
SHERLOCK: This is strictly legal, the private executive accounting business? (Rydell sits down again.) I bet not. Yet you seemed very eager to take this meeting with me, so… I’m quite sure that Peter Talbott’s not the only rich man to avail himself of your services. But by all means leave. (He picks up his phone.) I’m sure that any number of magazines would love to publish a story about the man who hides the dirty secrets of Wall Street. The press is so base these days. (He nods at Joan, who plays along. Sherlock hits a button on his phone.) Excuse me. (He holds the phone to his face.) Hello, is this The Post?
RYDELL (urgently): Wait! (Sherlock raises his eyebrows invitingly.) I work with Peter. (Sherlock hangs up and sets the phone down.) I set up a shell corporation and we steer a little bit of his paycheck into it. Quiet little slush fund. He can do whatever he wants with it.
SHERLOCK: And if he were using this slush fund to binge on his favorite bad habit, where do you suppose we might find him?
RYDELL (sighing reluctantly): I rented an apartment in Tribeca under the name of a dummy corp.
WOMAN (who has just been proposed to): Yes! I will! Oh of course I will! (She shares a kiss with her new fiancée. Joan and Sherlock exchange a sort of awkward look.)
SHERLOCK: It’s lovely, isn’t it? Hm? This apartment. We’ll need the address?

TRIBECA. Sherlock and Joan walk to Peter Talbott’s secret apartment to investigate.
SHERLOCK: The man you met this morning. His name’s Aaron, yes? (Joan looks at him severely.) He sent a text while you were in the bathroom at lunch, asked if you wanted to have dinner tonight.
JOAN: Didn’t we already have this conversation? You don’t touch my stuff.
SHERLOCK: You said yes, by the way.
JOAN: And you definitely don’t accept dates on my behalf.
SHERLOCK: Why not? We’re both equally aware that you’re attracted to this man.
JOAN (loudly, rebuffing): No, we are both not equally aware of my feelings. (They stop in front of a building and Sherlock hits the buzzer.)
DOORMAN: [?]’s office.
SHERLOCK (in the most amazing hilarious Jersey accent): Yeah, this is Detective Donnovich of the NYPD. We got a warrant to look inside apartment, ah, 2G?
DOORMAN: Hold on.
JOAN: We don’t have a warrant.
SHERLOCK: I was never asked to see it. (They are buzzed in, and they enter the building.)
JOAN (as they walk into Talbott’s apartment): This is the apartment he kept on the side? This place is amazing.
SHERLOCK (spotting something and clearing his throat loudly): Mr. Talbott. (They approach the living room, where a man’s figure can be seen slouched in a chair.) Your bosses would like a word. (They walk around to the front side of the man to see that he is sprawled, quite dead. On the table beside him is a spoon, a glass of water, a lighter, and crumbles of heroin. Talbott’s fingers have slipped from a needle that he holds in the crook of his arm that he used to overdose. Sherlock stares, and Joan looks at him in horror.)

LATER, PETER TALBOTT’S APARTMENT. Gregson, Bell, and the police team inspect the scene. Sherlock stares at the investigation while Joan observes him concernedly.
JOAN: You all right? I’m sure you already know that at the support meetings, you’re not even allowed to name the drug you’ve abused. Just saying it out loud might be enough to make someone relapse.
SHERLOCK: I’ve told you, I don’t pay attention at those meetings.
JOAN: Heroin was one of the drugs that landed you in rehab. You’re not just hearing the word, you’re in an apartment where it’s laid out in front of you. Do you want to get away from this? We can go outside and talk.
SHERLOCK (testily, turning to her for the first time): I’m—I’m fine. I have to be, I’m working a case. And talking about my feelings is not going to get it solved. All right?
JOAN: Peter Talbott is right there. Your job is over.
SHERLOCK (incredulously): Over? (He glances to the kitchen.) Do you see that salad sitting there? (He turns and starts towards where Gregson is taking notes over the body.) Captain. You’re classifying this as an accidental overdose, yeah?
GREGSON (taking photographs): Well, we’ll wait on the ME to make the final determination, but you’re looking at the same picture we are.
SHERLOCK: Indeed. But I don’t think we need to wait on the examiner to get started. I think there’s a good chance Peter Talbott was murdered.
BELL: Murdered? The guy’s holding the needle he used to shoot himself up.
SHERLOCK: He’s holding the needle that someone used to shoot him up. Look—look at his arm. There’s –there’s no track marks on it.
BELL: That doesn’t mean anything. A junkie can find a vein anywhere.
SHERLOCK (rubbing his face impatiently): Look around you. Does this—does this look like the typical apartment of a hardcore heroin user? It’s… it’s pristine! (There’s a nervous laugh in his voice.) I—I’d wager even the food is perfectly arranged. (He strides to the kitchen and opens the fridge.) Ha. (Gregson comes to look at it. Inside the fridge are boxes and bottles of food meticulously stacked.) Does that look like the typical fridge of a heroin addict?
GREGSON: No. Not a typical one.
SHERLOCK (walking back to the living room): Heroin users are typically looking for oblivion. They want the drug to dull their senses. That’s why when they overdose, usually you find them in—in squalid apartments or alleyways. They don’t often keep apartments like this. And it’s rare… ish, that they hold jobs as the COO of a billion-dollar corporation. (He leans over to look at the body.)
BELL: So you’re saying that someone gave Peter Talbott that shot. (He holds out his hands expectantly.) How? There’s no sign of a struggle here. You can’t walk up to someone and stick a syringe in their arm.
SHERLOCK (walking back to the kitchen): No, you would need them to be unconscious first. (He stops in front of the counter and stares into the open box of salad.)
BELL (sarcastically): Okay. Granted, I’ve never been hit with a salad container, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t knock you out.
SHERLOCK (still staring at the salad): The killer would need Peter to be insensate before delivering the fatal shot. But a drug other than heroin would surely show up on tox screens. So what’s the most efficient solution? If Peter Talbott was murdered, I’d imagine the first dose of heroin came from here. After he passed out, the killer dragged him to the chair, where he delivered the fatal shot. (He takes several paces to the living room and indicates the chair.)
GREGSON (skeptically): You think someone dosed his salad dressing?
SHERLOCK (agitatedly): I think it’s worth exploring. It’s easy enough to find out if I’m right, just we just—just test—test the salad for the presence of heroin.
BELL: I’ll hold my breath on that. Meantime, I gotta notify Talbott’s wife of all… this. (He starts away.)
SHERLOCK: I’m coming. (No one answers.) He—he keeps a special apartment for prostitutes. If he was murdered, surely his wife had motive.
GREGSON (firmly): You can watch. She just lost her husband. The last thing she needs to deal with right now is you.

THE STATION. Gregson and Bell break the news to Mrs. Talbott. Sherlock and Joan sit to the side and watch.
MRS. TALBOTT: Oh my god. Peter said he was done with it all. The girls, the partying. He just told me he was ready for kids, and you’re saying he was using heroin?
JOAN (to Sherlock): Everything cool? (Sherlock doesn’t answer.) You’re staring.
SHERLOCK (turning to Mrs. Talbott): Mrs. Talbott. (Gregson and Bell give him exasperated looks.) Sorry to interrupt. Would you mind telling us were you were two nights ago between the hours of six and midnight?
MRS. TALBOTT (disbelievingly): What?
SHERLOCK: Medical examiner estimates that’s when your husband died. I was wondering where you were.
BELL: No—
MRS. TALBOTT: You—you think I’d hurt my husband?
BELL: No, no. Everything we’ve seen so far says accidental death.
SHERLOCK: Even so. Your whereabouts?
BELL: You don’t have to answer that.
MRS. TALBOTT: I—I volunteer at Habitat for Humanity. I was at a silent auction. There—there must have been two hundred people who saw me there.
BELL (nodding): Thank you. (Gregson turns around to give Sherlock a look.) And… until today, you had no idea your husband was using heroin?
MRS. TALBOTT: I told you, no. I’m shocked. But… I… can’t say I’m totally surprised. He’s been overwhelmed, ever since they named him COO. Peter used to say the last guy dropped dead just to get out of going into work.
SHERLOCK (starting): Sorry—sorry, sorry. Did you just say the previous chief operating officer of Canon Ebersole also died?
MRS. TALBOTT: He was allergic to peanuts. He died when some restaurant put the wrong oil in his lunch.
SHERLOCK: How long ago was that?
MRS. TALBOTT: Last October—why? What does this have to do with Peter?
GREGSON (glancing at Bell): Nothing at all. We’re finished. (He and Bell stand up. He shakes Mrs. Talbott’s hand.) Thank you very much for coming in and again we’re very, very sorry for your loss. (Bell leads her out and closes the door behind her. Gregson and Bell turn accusingly towards Sherlock, giving him the wtf look.)
BELL: Peanut allergies? Seriously?
SHERLOCK: Canon Ebersole has lost two COOs in a year. That seems like a dangerous job!

THE BROWNSTONE. Sherlock sits at the dining room table. He tinkers with locks and mechanical looking things while speaking on the phone.
SHERLOCK (in Mandarin): 不用啊,謝謝. 下次有機會再講您的菜. / Bu yong a, xie xie. Xia ci you ji hui zai jiang ni de cai. / No need, thank you. Next time we have the opportunity we can talk more about your food. (He hangs up. Joan sets down a tray of tea on the table.)
JOAN: You speak Mandarin?
SHERLOCK (picking up a mechanical thing and fiddling with it.) Not as well as I’d like. You? (Joan begins pouring tea.)
JOAN: Not as well as my mother would like. Who was that?
SHERLOCK: The chef that prepared the meal that killed Peter Talbott’s predecessor at Canon Ebersole.
JOAN: Any particular reason?
SHERLOCK: I won’t get the test results back from Peter Talbott’s salad for a couple of hours. In the meantime I suppose I’m just curious. The previous COO of Canon Ebersole was a man named Gary Norris. Terrible allergies.
JOAN: Yes. Noted earlier. (She sets a mug of tea next to Sherlock’s elbow.)
SHERLOCK: Did you know, he was fanatical about avoiding peanut products. He had every single takeout meal from the same Chinese restaurant. He had a special arrangement with the chef, who knew never to have peanut oil around when he was preparing Gary Norris’s meals.
JOAN (stirring her tea): Well it only takes one slip-up.
SHERLOCK: The chef swears he didn’t slip up. He prepared that meal personally. He believes that someone put the peanut oil in Gary Norris’s food after it left his kitchen. I’m starting to think he could be right.
JOAN (sitting down): Death by peanut oil. That would be a brilliant way to kill someone.
SHERLOCK: Mm. (He tinkers with the parts, struggling to fit pieces together.) If Peter Talbott was murdered, the MO is consistent. Eliminate your target in a way the world thinks is an accident. (He throws the pieces on the table.) Damn it! (Joan bites her lip as she watches him. Sherlock flexes his fingers.)
JOAN: Earlier when I asked you about being around heroin again, you wanted to say something. I could tell.
SHERLOCK (avoiding her gaze): I’d forgotten what it smells like. (He glances at her.) Cooked heroin. Brought back memories.
JOAN: You also said that heroin users want to dull their senses. That they crave oblivion. Is that what you wanted?
SHERLOCK: It’s nearly seven. You’re going to miss your dinner date.
JOAN: I’m not going, you need me tonight.
SHERLOCK: Actually, what I need, I believe, is privacy tonight. I’m not going to relapse. Besides, if I wanted drugs, I could always just climb out the window, whether you’re here or not. (Joan hesitates, conflicted.) Go. If it makes you happy, I’ll take a spit test when you get back.
JOAN (after considering it): All right. (She sets her tea down at goes upstairs. Sherlock shifts restlessly.)

LATER, SOMEWHERE ACROSS TOWN PROBABLY. Joan and Aaron walk and chat after dinner.
JOAN: Hey, I’m officially calling it. Foam is—is not a category of food! It just isn’t! (She and Aaron laugh.)
AARON: I feel like I should take you to a restaurant that provides actual sustenance.
JOAN (still laughing): It’s all right. After all the bubbles subsided, there was food underneath.
AARON: No, you’re missing my point. Can’t you see, that’s my stealthy way of asking you out on another date.
JOAN (playfully): Oh, smooth!
AARON: Yeah. (Joan laughs.) So smooth you didn’t even notice.
JOAN: No, I didn’t notice. (She laughs again.)
AARON: Seriously, though. I—I had fun. Most of my date these days are spent talking about ex-husbands. You didn’t go there.
JOAN: Oh, that’s easy, I’ve never been married. What about you?
AARON: No. (He steps off the curb and hails a taxi.) Your chariot. (He clears his throat.) So, uh, like I said… this was fun. (He steps really kind of close to Joan.)
JOAN: It was. (He leans in, obviously wanting a kiss, but Joan swiftly and adeptly deflects it by extending her hand out to shake. They shake hands. The transcriber spends the next three million years laughing about their awkwardness.)
AARON: Thank you. (They both laugh, and Joan gets into the taxi.)

THE BROWNSTONE. Joan walks into the study, where Sherlock looks at the many photographs and other pieces of evidence that have been attached to the wall above the fireplace.
JOAN: Who are they?
SHERLOCK: Employees of Canon Ebersole who have died over the last ten years.
JOAN: It is a big company. Odds are they’re gonna lose some people along the way.
SHERLOCK (nodding): And some of these, no doubt, are random. But there could be a pattern hidden in there. (He pulls the wand from a spit test and swabs it through his mouth.) How was your date? (He takes the wand out of his mouth and sticks it back in the cup.)
JOAN: Good. Fun. (Sherlock closes the cup and hands it smoothly to Joan.) I think he lied to me. (Sherlock looks at her.) It was the end of the night and we were talking about whether or not we’d been married, and when he said he hadn’t—and this isn’t something I would’ve noticed before I started working with you, but I could swear he wasn’t telling the truth
SHERLOCK: Flexing our deductive muscles, are we? I could burst with pride. (Joan walks towards the fireplace to take a closer look at the evidence.) The next step is confirmation. (He reaches into his butt pocket to pull out of his phone.) It’s easy enough to find out if he was married. What was his last name?
JOAN (turning around and spotting what he is doing): Woah, hold on. Not a cyber-stalker.
SHERLOCK: Do you want to find out if you were right, or don’t you? (Joan opens her mouth to retort, then reconsiders. She sighs exasperatedly.)
JOAN: His last name is Ward.
SHERLOCK (hitting buttons on his phone): Quick visit to maritalrecords.com tells us that Aaron Ward of New York City was… (He opens the page and raises his eyebrows, surprised.) Oh.
JOAN: “Oh?” Oh, what does that mean?
SHERLOCK: He wasn’t married.
JOAN (flippantly): Oh.
SHERLOCK: He is married. (Joan starts to mouth an incredulous “What?”.) To a woman called Grace Arbor. (He hands the phone to Joan.) They just celebrated their anniversary.
JOAN (indignantly): How could Emily set me up with a married guy?
SHERLOCK: Well, look at it this way. Your instincts were right. (Joan makes a “Are you kidding me” face.) And you’re home early, so I assume you haven’t become an unwitting adultress. (Joan hands the phone back to Sherlock just as it pings. Sherlock checks the message.) I knew it!
JOAN: Knew what?
SHERLOCK: That’s the NYPD lab. And they agreed to rush the tests of Peter Talbott’s salad, and there were trace amounts of heroin in it.
JOAN (mildly interested): Oh.
SHERLOCK: My advice? Don’t dwell on that man’s petty deceptions. You need your rest. We’re going to Canon Ebersole tomorrow. I’m going to call another meeting of their board of directors.
JOAN: Can you do that? You don’t even work there anymore.
SHERLOCK: Not technically. But I think they’re gonna want my help in trying to figure out whether there’s a murderer working there.

THE NEXT DAY, CONFERENCE ROOM AT CANON EBERSOLE. Sherlock stands at the front of the room, presenting his theories.
SHERLOCK (displaying a picture): Miles Durham. Former head trader in your Denver office. Mr. Durham was a volunteer with wilderness search and rescue. He always filed his travel plans with the ranger office whenever he went camping.
CHO: We’re busy people, Mr. Holmes. What’re we doing here?
SHERLOCK (hitting the remote to display another picture.) Maria Filipello. She ran your equities division in Dallas. She suffocated in 2005 when a natural gas line running into her house ruptured. Never been another problem with that brand of piping before or since. (He hits the remote again to display another picture.) Jason Parmer. He works in the New York office. Got a five million dollar bonus in 2009. Then drowned when swimming in a lake near his home in the Catskills. The odd thing is, when Jason Parmer was in college, he was a beach lifeguard at Martha’s Vineyard.
FOWKES: Ah, respectfully, Mr. Holmes, you, ah, found Peter, he OD’d, we’re done.
SHERLOCK: Peter Talbott was murdered. The police are investigating now. I believe the man who killed him also killed your previous COO, Gary Norris. (He hits the remote to display a fourth picture. He gestures to the four pictures.) And these three unfortunate souls. Possibly one or two others, as well. Now, I can’t find a plausible motive for anyone outside the company to have committed these murders. These are not crimes of passion, they’re too well-concealed for that. They’re crimes of opportunity. I think you may have a sociopath in your midst. (Fowkes raises his eyebrows.) A particularly cunning, methodical killer. If I’m right, they wait, they analyze, and when the time is right, give themselves a leg up, they pounce.
BOARDWOMAN: You’re saying someone is killing their way up the ladder? (She chuckles nervously.) That sounds insane to me.
SHERLOCK: I’d love to be wrong. But someone did dose Peter Talbott’s salad with heroin. As for the rest, you let me do my work. I’ll need access to your records. If this person is here, I’ll find them.
FOWKES: We control billions of dollars worth of assets, Mr. Holmes. We can’t give you access to these files, they’re confidential.
SHERLOCK: I don’t need to audit you, I just need to do some simple maths. There can’t be that many people who worked in Denver in 2003, Dallas in 2005, New York since 2009. If I can find this person quickly, I can wrap this up with the minimum of scandal.
FOWKES: All right, enough. This is not necessary!
SHERLOCK: Are you listening to me? There may be a murderer at Canon Ebersole.
FOWKES: There’s not a killer. You know how I know that? Because the only person with the career path that you’re describing is me! What are you saying, that I murdered, like what, like five people? (Daniel Cho gives him a funny look.)
SHERLOCK: Well, this is a bit awkward, but I—I’d say you were a damn good suspect.

THE BROWNSTONE. The doorbell rings, and Sherlock goes to answer it with a bowl of scrambled eggs in his hand. Jim Fowkes steps inside.
FOWKES: I thought I’d bring you your check personally. (He strides to the living room.) Also, we need to talk.
SHERLOCK: Do we? (He follows Fowkes to the living room, stopping directly in front of him. He holds out his bowl of scrambled eggs.) Eggs? I’m sure I could find another fork.
FOWKES: I’m not hungry. I came here to end this.
SHERLOCK: Well that should be simple enough, just confess. Saves us both a great deal of time and trouble.
FOWKES: Do you have any idea what you did to me today? Do you know what it takes just to survive at a place like Canon Ebersole?
SHERLOCK: I’d think avoiding you would be a good start. (He backs up and sits on the sofa, sassily crossing his legs at the knee and chewing his eggs.)
FOWKES: I never killed anyone. (Looking around, he sits down in a chair opposite Sherlock.) I went to parochial school, Mr. Holmes. (He sighs.) Pretty much broke every commandment they ever taught me. Father Ray probably isn’t very proud of me, but then again Father Ray doesn’t have a country house. I was inches away from becoming COO, which everybody knows is where they groom you for the big chair. And you accuse me of murder. You think everybody in that place isn’t talking? (Sherlock forks some eggs into his mouth, unimpressed.) Gossip’s poison in that place. Doesn’t matter that I’m completely innocent. I’m never gonna get that job.
SHERLOCK (starting): Sorry, are you done? Every time you say “innocent” I tune out.
FOWKES: In that case, I’m just going to have to prove it to you, aren’t I? Miles Durham, the first of these so-called murders. He disappeared during a camping trip. August 2003, right? (Sherlock nods once.) Left August 7^th. Was supposed to return August 9^th. (He opens a folder, removes an orange envelope, and hands it to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK (taking it): What is this?
FOWKES: Medical records. Mine. I had elective surgery August 6^th, 2003. There were, ah, complications. I wasn’t released until August 12^th.
SHERLOCK (flipping through the files): Liposuction. Rhytidoplasty. You had a face lift.
FOWKES: See many jowly men on the cover of Barron’s, Mr. Holmes? My point is, I couldn’t have murdered Miles Durham. (Sherlock looks up.) I’ll tell you something else. Dan Cho? The arrogant little… piss-ant? No, he didn’t work for Canon Ebersole in 2003. Because he had a summer internship with us while he was in business school. Worked at our Denver office. (He opens the folder again and pulls out a white folder. Sherlock takes it and flips through it.) Here’s his file. We hired him in 2005, sent him to Dallas. You think there’s a sociopath working for us? Let me let you in on a little secret, Mr. Holmes. We’re all sociopaths.

LATER. Sherlock sits in a chair and bounces a basketball repeatedly on the files that were given to him by Mr. Fowkes on the floor.
JOAN: Hey. Hey, I’m trying to read up there!
SHERLOCK (holding on to the basketball): This doesn’t make any sense. (Joan puts a hand on her hip.) Yes, Dan Cho interned in Denver during the summer of 2003. But he didn’t benefit from the first murder. Company didn’t even hire him until two years later.
JOAN: First of all, you’re not even sure Miles Durham’s disappearance was a murder. Okay, let’s say it was. Maybe this guy Dan Cho killed him to get a charge out of it. The murder was the benefit.
SHERLOCK: People who enjoy killing like to share their enthusiasm with others. They want everyone to know there’s a murderer out there. And anyway. Even after he was hired, he didn’t benefit from the deaths nearly as much as Jim Fowkes. (He begins bouncing the basketball on the floor again, more vigorously.)
JOAN: But Jim Fowkes—(She stops, then starts again louder.) Jim Fowkes didn’t do the first one!
SHERLOCK (loudly over the sound of the basketball): It would appear not! (Joan’s phone pings, and she pulls it out of her butt pocket to check it. Sherlock bounces the ball a few more times before holding it.) Marrying man?
JOAN: He just won’t quit. He says he is married, but he wants to meet me to explain himself.
SHERLOCK: You should go.
JOAN: Coffee with a creep? No thanks.
SHERLOCK: If nothing else, it would be an interesting experiment in deduction for you. Spot the lie. Besides, I need time to think, which means it’s not going to get any quieter around here. (He begins dribbling the basketball again.)
JOAN: I… (She stops. She rolls her eyes and raises her hands in surrender as she leaves. Sherlock continues dribbling the ball, which knocks off one of the photographs to reveal Fowkes’s medical files. Sherlock picks up the sheet of paper and holds it up. He reads the emergency contact.)
SHERLOCK: Donna.

COFFEE WITH A CREEP. Joan and Aaron sit down at a table.
AARON: Can I get you something?
JOAN: Ah, I’m good.
AARON (after a hesitation): How did you find out I’m married?
JOAN: Um, I thought you wanted to explain yourself, not the other way around.
AARON: Okay, wait. I did lie to you. I did. But it’s not what you think. I volunteer for a place called Shoreline Community Services. It’s a legal aid thing. Work with people who are seeking political asylum. A while back, I helped out with a woman from Kosovo. Her father was a general in the war, the losing side, and when it ended, he was shot in the street. She would’ve been killed had she returned home. But… the US wouldn’t give her asylum.
JOAN: So you married her to keep her in the country. Do you have a relationship?
AARON (shaking his head slightly): She lives in Hoboken. I check in on her sometimes. That’s it. We can get a divorce in a year without the government crawling all over us. (Joan nods slightly.) I would’ve told you eventually. If there was an eventually. But now I’m just… I’m sorry.
JOAN (sighing): Helping her was a really compassionate thing to do.
AARON: Thank you. But if you don’t mind my asking, how did you find out about it? (Joan glances around uncomfortably.)

CANON EBERSOLE. Donna Kaplan the secretary hits a button on the elevator. Sherlock approaches her.
SHERLOCK: Excuse me. Donna. It is Donna, right? (She looks at him, then turns back to the elevator.) No one ever remembers the secretary, do they, Donna?
DONNA: Excuse me, what?
SHERLOCK: As a career choice it has its limits. But then it does afford one a certain cloak of invisibility.
DONNA: I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I’m pretty sure that Mr. Fowkes had you banned from the building.
SHERLOCK: You’ve been with him a long time, haven’t you? Until tonight I just assumed that you’d come to work with him after he’d moved to New York. But then I saw your name as the emergency contact for a surgical procedure he’d had in Denver. (Sherlock nods to himself.) You followed him to Dallas, too, didn’t you?
DONNA: Mr. Fowkes is a good boss. We’re loyal to each other.
SHERLOCK: He certainly had a meteoric rise. And he probably owes some of that to you, doesn’t he Donna? (He nods again, while Donna stares at him.) Jim Fowkes wasn’t the only one to benefit from the deaths at Canon Ebersole, was he?
DONNA: Do I need to call security?
SHERLOCK: By all means. Hmm. Let us loop them into the conversation. (He smiles. Donna doesn’t respond. The elevator arrives and she steps towards it.) No? Didn’t think so. (Sherlock follows her into the elevator. He continues speaking to her as they walk through the garage.) Quite obvious when you look at it in the proper light. Every time Jim got promoted, you had something to gain. A pay raise. Stock options. Company even contributes to your retirement plan now.
DONNA: So? I’ve given them years of my life.
SHERLOCK: Must be quite a feeling, steering the fate of a giant company from your tiny little cubicle.
DONNA (stopping and turning to him): Get away from me.
SHERLOCK: Question is, did your boss know or were you working alone? If you collaborated, it would behoove you to start talking. (He claps his hands once for emphasis.) First one to [?] gets a shorter sentence.
DONNA: I’ve seen executives like you come and go. A little bit of smarts, a whole lot of ego.
SHERLOCK (stepping forward): Well take my word, you’ve never seen anyone like me.
DONNA: Oh sure I have. My bosses use five-thousand-dollar suits to get attention. You use a scarf and an old t-shirt. (Sherlock chuckles once, as does Donna.) You’re so proud of yourself for what you think you discovered. You just couldn’t wait to tell me. Even if it meant following me into an empty parking garage. (From her bag, she pulls out a concealed Taser and shocks Sherlock, who falls against a nearby car and collapses on the ground.)

DONNA’S CAR. Donna drives a car. The same mysterious scene from before: Sherlock, unconscious in the backseat, shifts with the movement of the car. His head hits the back of the seat and he wakes, groaning and grimacing.
DONNA: You’re awake. Good.
SHERLOCK: You know, I’ve pursued my fair share of killers, Ms. Kaplan. (He wriggles his ankles.) Most of them—most of them are dreary people, but you I—I have a certain fascination with. You have… such initiative. Such patience. I don’t think this is going to work out for you though. (He reaches to a packet of papers tucked into the compartment on the car door.) Too rash.
DONNA: Did you tell anyone about me? Or did you just rush right down to grandstand?
SHERLOCK: Oh I e-mailed several colleagues.
DONNA (interrupting him): No, you didn’t. (Sherlock snags the binder clip off the packet of papers.) We’re going to be at Mr. Fowkes’s country estate in a couple of minutes. In a week or two, after someone calls in an anonymous tip, the police are going to find your body buried on the property. (Sherlock begins working on the lock with the binder clip.) And then everyone will know that you were right, and that Mr. Fowkes killed you before you could prove it.
SHERLOCK: You’re going to frame your boss. Daniel Cho is going to get that promotion. I imagine he’ll need an experienced executive secretary to watch his back as he rises to the top.
DONNA: I was wrong about you. You are smart.
SHERLOCK: Oh that’s quite a compliment, coming from you. Canon Ebersole should make you the managing director.
DONNA: They don’t have the kind of imagination for that kind of move. (The car stops. Sherlock’s phone pings and Donna picks it up.) Joan. That’s the woman that you’re always with, right? That’s the fifth time she texted in the last twenty minutes. (The texts read:

Joan Watson: where are you (19 minutes ago)
Joan Watson: call me (13 minutes ago)
Joan Watson: ? (6 minutes ago)
Joan Watson: Getting nervous (3 minutes ago)
Joan Watson: Are you OK

SHERLOCK: She won’t stop, you know. Very high-strung. Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets the police involved.
DONNA: Well in that case we should let her know that everything is okay. (She keys in a text reply to Joan.)

THE STATION. The scene from the beginning. Joan expresses her concern to Gregson.
JOAN: I am a sober companion, I work with recovering drug addicts. Sherlock is my client. His father hired me to help him stay clean. The only reason I am telling you this is because I think he may have relapsed. I need your help to find him.
GREGSON: What makes you think he relapsed?
JOAN: The heroin from the crime scene the other day. It affected him. I think it brought some things back. (Gregson crosses his arms. Joan’s phone pings. They both look at it like they’ve never seen a cell phone before.) It’s Sherlock. He says he’s fine, he’s heading back.
GREGSON: See? There you go. Nothing to worry about.
JOAN (reading the message out loud): “See you soon.” (The text reads:

Sherlock Holmes:
Everything’s fine.
Phone was off, my mistake.
Heading back, see you soon.

FOWKES’S COUNTRY HOME. Donna holds Sherlock at gunpoint.
SHERLOCK: You’re not serious, you honestly expect me to dig my own grave?
DONNA: Have you ever been gut shot?
SHERLOCK: No. I imagine it makes it difficult to do manual labor. Shoot me, yank my fingernails out, the answer’s still no. I categorically refuse to dig a hole for you to bury me in, sorry. (In front of him, he works the handcuffs lock with the binder clip.)
DONNA: Fine. I’ll do it myself. It’s not supposed to be that deep, they’re supposed to find you. (She walks forward and holds the gun to Sherlock’s head.)
SHERLOCK: Tell me something. How did you get started with all this? You must be very proud of your projects. It must kill you to have to keep it all to yourself. Mm? I—I’m about to die, so now’s your chance to share. It’s good to share. Yeah. Tell me. What launched the career of Donna Kaplan, corporate sociopath?
DONNA: Mr. Fowkes was a bond salesman back in Denver. The company was downsizing. They were either going to cut his job—(A siren goes off and lights flash behind them. Donna turns around in surprise to police cars arriving.) What are they doing here?
SHERLOCK: I’m not really sure. Bought me some time, though. (Donna spins around to shoot him. Sherlock catches her arm and holds it away.) Did you know I pick locks? (He takes the Taser and shocks Donna.) Pockets, too! (Donna falls to the ground.)

THE NEXT MORNING. Sherlock sits on a stretcher. An EMT removes the blood pressure pump from his arm.
SHERLOCK: I can’t take a tranquilizer, but if it’s not too much trouble, I’d love ten minutes hooked up to your oxygen rig. (The EMT gives him a funny look for a second before walking away.) I’ll just help myself then!
JOAN (walking towards him): There’s plenty of oxygen out here, you know.
SHERLOCK: Pure stuff’s better. It invigorates and restores. Haven’t you heard? I’ve been through a trauma. (Joan smiles and comes to sit on the stretcher next to him.) That was, ah, very convenient, the local police showing up when they did. Too convenient to be a coincidence. It was the text message that Donna sent from my phone, wasn’t it?
JOAN: “Everything’s fine. Phone was off, my mistake. See You soon.” That’s it. No emoticons, no indecipherable acronyms. It didn’t read like a teenager on a sugar high. Which meant you didn’t write it.
SHERLOCK: I manipulated her into writing it for me. I knew she’d never be able to duplicate my flair for our revolving mother tongue. I also knew—I—I hoped that once you realized the message wasn’t from me, you’d know I was in trouble. (He shares a glance with Joan.) From there it’s relatively simple for the police to run a cellular interceptor on my phone, find my location. Quick call to the local authorities—
JOAN: I’m sorry, are you trying to take credit for the fact that I saved your life? And so soon after you promoted me to bodyguard.
SHERLOCK: It was a collaboration. (He nods slightly and pumps an awkward halfhearted enthusiastic fist.) Well done, Watson. Your deductive skills are not unworthy of further development.
JOAN: I think that was a compliment… buried in a double negative? So… thanks. (A moment passes.) Look, you should know, I went to Captain Gregson when I couldn’t find you. I had to… explain some things to him. (Sherlock stares into the air, considering.) I’m sorry. (Sherlock looks at her.) You might want to have a talk with him.

LATER, THE STATION. Sherlock walks to the doorframe of Gregson’s office and knocks on the open door.
GREGSON: Come in. (Sherlock walks, shoulders slumped, across the office to sit in the chair across from Gregson. He sighs.)
SHERLOCK: Hm. You were busy at Jim Fowkes’s house and I didn’t get a chance to pull you aside. But I didn’t want to let more time pass without having a word.
GREGSON (pulling off his glasses): We have something to talk about?
SHERLOCK (hesitating, haltingly): There are any number of reasons why I didn’t tell you about my history. Um… I’ve told myself dozens. All of them specious. (He pauses, considering.) In the end, ah, it’s… it’s simple. I was em—I was em—I was embarrassed. (Gregson nods.) Since we first collaborated, you’ve always held m and my work in a certain esteem. I guess I’m—I’m ah—I’m more vain about that than I would care to admit. Now I’m sorry. ‘Cause you—you deserved to know.
GREGSON: I did know.
SHERLOCK (taken aback): I beg your pardon?
GREGSON: Do you honestly think I’d let you consult for the NYPD without doing my homework? You told me Joan was your personal valet. Do you think I’m an idiot?
SHERLOCK (shaking his head once): No. You are above average in intelligence. And for a policeman I would say… top tier.
GREGSON: I’ve known about your problem for a while now.
SHERLOCK: Why didn’t you say anything?
GREGSON: I did. Sort of. While back, I asked you out for a drink, you said no. I figured you’d talk about it when you were ready to talk about it. Was I happy that you didn’t tell me? No. (He sighs and shakes his head.) But your work hasn’t slipped one bit since Scotland Yard.
SHERLOCK (nodding slightly): Thank you.
GREGSON (tapping his pen in conclusion): Now not everyone is going to see it my way, so… I’m gonna do us both a favor and keep a lid on this. (He slides his folder into his briefcase and exits the office. Sherlock looks after him.)

THE BROWNSTONE. Sherlock sits in at the dining room table, hands handcuffed behind him. He works at the lock with a pick. In the front room, Joan laces on her running shoes. Joan’s phone pings, and she checks it.
JOAN: Unbelievable. (She sticks the phone behind her and concentrates on tying her shoes.)
SHERLOCK: What is?
JOAN: It’s just that green card marriage guy? Emily’s having this dinner party thing next week and we talked about maybe going together and I think now maybe he’s blowing me off. (She finishes one shoe and starts on the next.) You know, the irony is I don’t even want to be in a relationship right now. It’s just—(She laughs irritatedly once.) It’s just that Emily went through so much trouble.
SHERLOCK: Yet his apparent mutual disinterest irks you.
JOAN: It’s crazy, I know.
SHERLOCK: If I had to guess, and by sitting there talking about it you’re forcing me to, I would say he finds your analytical skills intimidating.
JOAN: Yeah, he was a little weirded out when I told him I looked him up online, but he lied about being married, so we are square. Right?
SHERLOCK: He might not see it that way. Doesn’t, apparently. (Joan sighs indignantly and pulls her earphone cord over her neck.) It has its costs.
JOAN: What does?
SHERLOCK: Learning to see the puzzle in everything. They’re everywhere. Once you start looking, it’s impossible to stop. (Joan stands up and walks to the table in front of him.) It just so happens that people, and all deceits and delusions that inform everything they do, tend to be the most fascinating puzzles of all. Of course, they don’t always appreciate being seen as such.
JOAN: Seems like a lonely way to live.
SHERLOCK: As I said. It has its costs. (Joan walks away. Sherlock snaps the handcuffs off as she leaves. He rests his elbows on the table, flexing his wrists pensively.)

i am very proud of you for waking up today. you are very brave. existing can be hard sometimes and...

Sat, 18 May 2013 13:12:11 -0500

i am very proud of you for waking up today. you are very brave. existing can be hard sometimes and that is okay. i am proud of you even if all you did today was exist. i am proud of you for existing.

practically done with tests + weekend = transcripts! see you in a few hours with rat race. owo

Sat, 18 May 2013 08:29:34 -0500

practically done with tests + weekend = transcripts!

see you in a few hours with rat race. owo

hi hello if you’re reading this i hope something good happens to you today

Sat, 18 May 2013 08:26:43 -0500

hi hello if you’re reading this i hope something good happens to you today

definitelydope: By Sushi Bird

Sat, 18 May 2013 08:25:20 -0500

definitelydope:

By Sushi Bird

Photo

Fri, 17 May 2013 23:17:27 -0500

You named a bee after me.

Fri, 17 May 2013 13:34:39 -0500

You named a bee after me.

Several hours later, I think I’m coherent enough to talk about things coherently. Maybe. And...

Fri, 17 May 2013 10:35:58 -0500

Several hours later, I think I’m coherent enough to talk about things coherently. Maybe. And explain why I was 184% thrilled with The Woman/Heroine last night (this morning?).

To be honest, I was terrified at the beginning of the episode. It looked like the Irene storyline might go a scary path of the “Sherlock’s lover” trope and especially her trauma made her incredibly susceptible to having Sherlock co-opt whatever identity/agency/sense of self she had and that scared me to death.

Our beloved Elementary writers, however, did not disappoint. But after I was able to calm down after a thrilled bout of screaming, I realized that I was in a bit of an awkward situation.

At the beginning of the episode, there were only two things that I wanted from the story:

for Irene to defeat Sherlock. Like you do not understand how much I wanted it. If nothing else happened, that is what had to happen, Sherlock having the rug pulled out from under him by a woman he underestimated, The Woman.
for Sherlock to defeat Moriarty, hopefully temporarily. I didn’t want the Moriarty storyline to end forever after finding who she was for only one episode, but I didn’t want Sherlock to be decimated a la Reichenbach for us to cliffhang until season two.

When the big reveal happened and Irene turned out to be Moriarty, I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which Sherlock could defeat Irene/Moriarty and Irene/Moriarty could also defeat Sherlock. I spent most of the rest of the episode agonizing over which one we would get.

I made the same mistake that Moriarty did. To my embarrassment, I underestimated Joan Watson.

But I was so pleasantly surprised. It was a bajillion times better than anything I could have wanted. Irene defeated Sherlock. She tore him into pieces, and I spent like ten minutes pausing the show to cry over the “disappointment” argument between Sherlock and Joan that showed just how destroyed he was. Irene was the fantastic badass I had always dreamed for her to be.

Moriarty was subdued (for now. I am 97% confident that our beloved writers will return her to us with a fury). But it wasn’t the brilliance of Sherlock that did it - it was the careful, subtle maneuvering of Watson. Watson, who is usually shoved aside when it comes to detective work, who is the moral appendage of Holmes (nice to have, but essentially unnecessary), who is the “ordinary” player in a battle traditionally between the “geniuses” Holmes and Moriarty.

Ultimately the story was not one of two clever dudes duking it out intellectually. It was one of Sherlock being outsmarted by a masterminded woman. It was one of Joan’s development as a fan-fricking-tastic character. And it was one of Sherlock’s trials of his moral and emotional character and strength and his fan-fricking-tastic relationship with Joan.

It was really satisfying, to say the least. Over and beyond anything I had expected and could have wished for.

Just two things I want in the next season:

for Moriarty to return. With a flair. And awesomeness. So much awesomeness.
Sherlock and Joan. Forever and ever and I want them to solve awesome crimes in awesome ways and I want them to bicker and I want them to make each other better and I want them to keep doing whatever they’re doing because they’re doing it right and I want them to keep loving one another take that however you want romantically or platonically I don’t care I just Joan and Sherlock and Sherlock and Joan.

"But the final hour is called “Heroine” for a reason, as this is also a story about Joan Watson at..."

Fri, 17 May 2013 09:25:42 -0500

“But the final hour is called “Heroine” for a reason, as this is also a story about Joan Watson at the end of the day. In a case where Sherlock is at his weakest, and when he is unable to realize that the path to victory is failure because it means acknowledging that failure is even a possibility, it is Joan who sees more clearly. Joan isn’t afraid of Moriarty, but is rather protective of Sherlock (as both his sober companion and his partner), and the confusion that Moriarty’s emergence creates within Sherlock creates surety for Joan. If Sherlock only sees puzzles and Moriarty only sees games, Watson sees actual people: her interest in Sherlock is human, the kind of relationship that Moriarty can’t even imagine (referring to her as a mascot at one point in their lunch date). While the truth about Moriarty robs Sherlock of the most striking, human connection he believed he had ever made, the resulting investigation reaffirms a more powerful connection in his partnership with Joan, the newly discovered species of Newglassia Watsonia a metaphor for what happens when an extremely rare bee miraculously unexpectedly finds a compatible partner.”

- “The Woman”/“Heroine” Recap: The A.V. Club (via mycrofttholmes)

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Fri, 17 May 2013 09:17:17 -0500