Lestrade leads the boys up a circular staircase. He and John are wearing coveralls together with white cotton coverings over their shoes, and latex gloves. Sherlock is putting latex gloves on as they go up the stairs.
LESTRADE: I can give you two minutes.
SHERLOCK (casually): May need longer.
LESTRADE: Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.
(He leads them into a room two storeys above the ground floor. The room is empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting has been set up, presumably by the police. Scaffolding poles hold up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls. A woman’s body is lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She is wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands are flat on the floor either side of her head. Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focuses on the corpse. Behind him, John looks at the woman’s body and his face fills with pain and sadness. The three of them stand there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade.)
SHERLOCK: Shut up.
LESTRADE (startled): I didn’t say anything.
SHERLOCK: You were thinking. It’s annoying.
(Lestrade and John exchange a surprised look as Sherlock steps slowly forward until he reaches the side of the corpse. His attention is immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards by the woman’s left hand is the word “Rache”. His eyes flick to her fingernails where the index and middle nails are broken and ragged at the ends with the nail polish chipped, in stark comparison to her other nails which are still immaculate. The woman’s index finger rests at the bottom of the ‘e’ as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. Sherlock makes an instant deduction:
left handed
He looks back to the word carved into the floorboards and an immediate suggestion springs into his mind:
RACHE
German (n.) revenge
Instantly he shakes his head in a tiny dismissive movement and the suggestion disappears. He looks at the carved word again and overlays the five letters with a clearer type. Next to the ‘e’ a rapid progression of letters appear and disappear as he tries to complete the word, then the correct letter settles into place to form the word:
Rachel
He squats down beside the body and runs his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifts his hand again to look at his fingers:
wet
He reaches into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he then inspects his glove again:
dry
Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, he moves up to the collar of her coat and runs his fingers underneath it before once again looking at his fingers:
wet
Reaching into his pocket he takes out a small magnifier, clicks it open and closely inspects the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist ...
clean
... then the gold earring attached to her left ear ...
clean
... and then the gold chain around her neck ...
clean
... before moving on to look at the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring flag a different message to him:
dirty
Sherlock blinks as a rapid succession of conclusions appear in front of his eyes:
married
unhappily married
unhappily married 10+ years
Carefully Sherlock works the wedding ring off the woman’s finger and holds it up to look at the inside of the ring. While the outside of the ring is still showing
dirty
the inside registers as
clean
As Sherlock lowers the ring and slides it back onto the woman’s finger, he has already reached a conclusion about the ring:
regularly removed
Lifting his hands away from the woman, he looks down at her and makes his final deduction about her:
serial adulterer
He smiles slightly in satisfaction.)
LESTRADE: Got anything?
SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Not much.
(Standing up, he takes the gloves off and then gets his mobile phone from his pocket and begins typing on it.)
ANDERSON (from where he is leaning casually against the doorway): She’s German. ‘Rache’: it’s German for ‘revenge’. She could be trying to tell us something …
(As he has been speaking, Sherlock has walked quickly towards the door and now begins to close it in Anderson’s face.)
SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Yes, thank you for your input.
(Slamming the door shut, he turns and walks back into the room. On his phone, he has called up a menu for “UK Weather”. The menu offers five options:
Maps
Local
Warnings
Next 24 hrs
7 day forecast
He selects the Maps option.)
LESTRADE: So she’s German?
SHERLOCK (still looking at his phone): Of course she’s not. She’s from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ... (he smiles smugly as he apparently finds the information he needed) ... before returning home to Cardiff.
(He pockets his phone.)
SHERLOCK: So far, so obvious.
JOHN: Sorry – obvious?
LESTRADE: What about the message, though?
SHERLOCK (ignoring him and looking at John): Doctor Watson, what do you think?
JOHN: Of the message?
SHERLOCK: Of the body. You’re a medical man.
LESTRADE: Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside.
SHERLOCK: They won’t work with me.
LESTRADE: I’m breaking every rule letting you in here.
SHERLOCK: Yes ... because you need me.
(Lestrade stares at him for a moment, then lowers his eyes helplessly.)
LESTRADE: Yes, I do. God help me.
SHERLOCK: Doctor Watson.
JOHN: Hm?
(He looks up from the body to Sherlock and then turns his head towards Lestrade, silently seeking his permission.)
LESTRADE (a little tetchily): Oh, do as he says. Help yourself.
(He turns and opens the door, going outside.)
LESTRADE: Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.
(Sherlock and John walk over to the body. Sherlock squats down on one side of it and John painfully lowers himself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself.)
SHERLOCK: Well?
JOHN (softly): What am I doing here?
SHERLOCK (softly): Helping me make a point.
JOHN (softly): I’m supposed to be helping you pay the rent.
SHERLOCK (softly): Yeah, well, this is more fun.
JOHN: Fun? There’s a woman lying dead.
SHERLOCK: Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.
(As Lestrade comes back into the room and stands just inside the doorway, John drags his other leg down into a kneeling position and then leans forward to look more closely at the woman’s body. He puts his head close to hers and sniffs, then straightens a little before lifting her right hand and looking at the skin. He kneels up and looks across to Sherlock.)
JOHN: Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.
SHERLOCK: You know what it was. You’ve read the papers.
JOHN: What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth ...?
LESTRADE: Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got.
SHERLOCK (standing up as John struggles to get to his feet): Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.
LESTRADE: Suitcase?
(John looks around the room but can’t see a suitcase anywhere.)
SHERLOCK: Suitcase, yes. She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.
LESTRADE: Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up ...
SHERLOCK (pointing down to her left hand): Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.
JOHN (admiringly): That’s brilliant.
(Sherlock looks round at him.)
JOHN (apologetically): Sorry.
LESTRADE: Cardiff?
SHERLOCK: It’s obvious, isn’t it?
JOHN: It’s not obvious to me.
SHERLOCK (pausing as he looks at the other two): Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.
(He turns back to the body.)
SHERLOCK: Her coat: it’s slightly damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She’s turned it up against the wind. She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just wind,strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? (He gets his phone from his pocket and shows to the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying today’s weather for the southern part of Britain.) Cardiff.
JOHN: That’s fantastic!
SHERLOCK (turning to him and speaking in a low voice): D’you know you do that out loud?
JOHN: Sorry. I’ll shut up.
SHERLOCK: No, it’s ... fine.
LESTRADE: Why d’you keep saying suitcase?
SHERLOCK (spinning around in a circle to look around the room): Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is.
LESTRADE: She was writing ‘Rachel’?
SHERLOCK (sarcastically): No, she was leaving an angry note in German(!) Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?
LESTRADE: How d’you know she had a suitcase?
SHERLOCK (pointing down to the body, where her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg): Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.
(He squats down by the woman’s body and examines the backs of her legs more closely.)
SHERLOCK: Now, where is it? What have you done with it?
LESTRADE: There wasn’t a case.
(Slowly Sherlock raises his head and frowns up at Lestrade.)
SHERLOCK: Say that again.
LESTRADE: There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.
(Immediately Sherlock straightens up and heads for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he begins to hurry down the stairs.)
SHERLOCK: Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?
(Lestrade and John follow him out and stop on the landing. Lestrade calls down the stairs.)
LESTRADE: Sherlock, there was no case!
SHERLOCK (slowing down, but still making his way down the stairs): But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn’t miss them.
LESTRADE: Right, yeah, thanks(!) And ...?
SHERLOCK: It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings – serial killings.
(He holds his hands up in front of his face in delight.)
SHERLOCK: We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.
LESTRADE: Why are you saying that?
SHERLOCK (stopping and calling up to the others): Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?(!) Someone else was here, and they took her case. (More quietly, as if talking to himself) So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.
JOHN: She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there.
SHERLOCK (looking up the stairs again): No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ...
(He stops talking as he makes a realisation.)
SHERLOCK: Oh.
(His eyes widen and his face lights up.)
SHERLOCK: Oh!
(He claps his hands in delight.)
JOHN: Sherlock?
LESTRADE (leaning over the railings): What is it, what?
SHERLOCK (smiling cheerfully to himself): Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.
LESTRADE: We can’t just wait!
SHERLOCK: Oh, we’re done waiting!
(He starts to hurry down the stairs again.)
SHERLOCK: Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!
(He reaches the bottom of the stairs and disappears from view.)
LESTRADE (calling after him): Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!
(Sherlock comes back into view and runs up a couple of stairs so that he can be seen before he yells up to Lestrade.)
SHERLOCK: PINK!
(He hurries off again. Lestrade, baffled, turns and goes back into the room while Anderson and his team, who had been waiting on the next landing down, hurry up the stairs and follow him into the room.)
ANDERSON: Let’s get on with it.
(Forgotten by everyone else, John hesitates on the landing for a moment and then slowly starts making his way down the stairs. A couple more police officers hurry up and one of them bumps against him, throwing him off-balance and making him lurch heavily against the bannisters. The man hurries on without a word, although his colleague does at least look apologetically at John as he passes. John regains his balance and continues down the stairs.)
(Shortly afterwards he has removed his coverall and put his jacket back on, and now walks out onto the street. Looking all around, he can see no sign of Sherlock. He walks towards the police tape, still looking around. Donovan, standing at the tape, sees him.)
DONOVAN: He’s gone.
JOHN: Who, Sherlock Holmes?
DONOVAN: Yeah, he just took off. He does that.
JOHN: Is he coming back?
DONOVAN: Didn’t look like it.
JOHN: Right.
(He looks around the area again thoughtfully, unsure what to do.)
JOHN: Right ... Yes.
(He turns to Donovan again.)
JOHN: Sorry, where am I?
DONOVAN: Brixton.
JOHN: Right. Er, d’you know where I could get a cab? It’s just, er ... well ... (he looks down awkwardly at his walking stick) ... my leg.
DONOVAN: Er ... (she steps over to the tape and lifts it for him) ... try the main road.
JOHN (ducking under the tape): Thanks.
DONOVAN: But you’re not his friend.
(John turns back towards her.)
DONOVAN: He doesn’t have friends. So who are you?
JOHN: I’m ... I’m nobody. I just met him.
DONOVAN: Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy.
JOHN: Why?
DONOVAN: You know why he’s here? He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes’ll be the one that put it there.
JOHN: Why would he do that?
DONOVAN: Because he’s a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored.
LESTRADE (calling from the entrance to the house): Donovan!
DONOVAN (turning and calling to him): Coming.
(She turns back towards John as she walks towards the house.)
DONOVAN: Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.
(John watches her go for a moment, then turns and begins to limp off down the road. To his right, the phone in a public telephone box begins to ring. He stops and looks at it for a few seconds but then looks down at his watch, shakes his head and continues down the road. The phone stops ringing.)
Not long afterwards, John is walking down what may well be Brixton High Road. He tries to hail a passing taxi.
JOHN: Taxi! Taxi ...
(The taxi passes him by. In Chicken Cottage, the fast food restaurant outside which John is standing, the payphone on the wall begins to ring. John turns and looks as one of the serving staff walks over to it but as he reaches for the phone, it stops. John walks on down the road and shortly afterwards approaches another public telephone box. The phone inside starts to ring. Mystified by this, he pulls open the door, goes inside and lifts the phone.)
JOHN: Hello?
(A man’s voice speaks down the phone.)
MAN’s VOICE: There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?
JOHN (frowning): Who’s this? Who’s speaking?
MAN’s VOICE: Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?
(John looks through the window of the phone box at the CCTV camera high up on the wall of a nearby building.)
JOHN: Yeah, I see it.
MAN’s VOICE: Watch.
(The camera, which was pointing directly at the phone box, now swivels away.)
MAN’s VOICE: There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?
(John looks across to the second camera, which is also pointed towards the phone box.)
JOHN: Mmm-hmm.
(The camera immediately swivels away.)
MAN’s VOICE: And finally, at the top of the building on your right.
(John stares up into the third camera which is watching him but which now turns away.)
JOHN (into phone): How are you doing this?
MAN’s VOICE: Get into the car, Doctor Watson.
(A black car pulls up at the kerbside near the phone. The male driver gets out and opens the rear door.)
MAN’s VOICE: I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.
(The phone goes dead. John puts it down and looks thoughtful for a long moment, then apparently decides that there’s not much else he can do and turns to leave the phone box.)
A few moments later he is sitting in the back seat of the car as it pulls away and drives off. An attractive young woman is sitting beside him, her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry as she types on it. She is pretty much ignoring him.
JOHN: Hello.
WOMAN (smiling brightly at him for a moment before returning her gaze to her phone): Hi.
JOHN: What’s your name, then?
WOMAN: Er ... Anthea.
JOHN: Is that your real name?
WOMAN (smiling): No.
(John nods, then twists to look out of the rear window briefly before turning back again.)
JOHN: I’m John.
NOT-ANTHEA: Yes. I know.
JOHN: Any point in asking where I’m going?
NOT-ANTHEA: None at all ...
(She turns and smiles briefly at him, then looks back at her phone again.)
NOT-ANTHEA: ... John.
JOHN: Okay.
Some time later, the car pulls into an almost-empty warehouse. A man in a suit is standing in the centre of the area, leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella as he watches the car stop and John get out.
[Transcriber’s note: Now, I know that the vast majority of people who read this transcript will have already seen the episode, but for the benefit of the very few people who may be reading this having never watched the show, and because at this point in the episode we are not told who this man is, I’m going to refer to him as ‘M’, which is short for ... um, ‘Man’, okay? {transcriber inserts winky face here...}]
In front of the man is a straight-backed armless chair facing him. He gestures to it with the point of his umbrella as John limps towards him leaning heavily on his cane.
M: Have a seat, John.
(John continues towards him, his voice calm.)
JOHN: You know, I’ve got a phone.
(He looks round the warehouse.)
JOHN: I mean, very clever and all that, but er ... you could just phone me. On my phone.
(He walks straight past the chair and stops a few paces away from the man.)
M: When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.
(His voice, which has had a pleasant smile in it so far, now becomes a little more stern towards the end of the next phrase.)
M: The leg must be hurting you. Sit down.
JOHN: I don’t wanna sit down.
(The man looks at him curiously.)
M: You don’t seem very afraid.
JOHN: You don’t seem very frightening.
(The man chuckles.)
M: Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think?
(He looks at John sternly.)
M: What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?
JOHN: I don’t have one. I barely know him. I met him ...
(He looks away thoughtfully, then appears surprised as if he hadn’t realised until now how little time has passed.)
JOHN: ... yesterday.
M: Mmm, and since yesterday you’ve moved in with him and now you’re solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?
JOHN: Who are you?
M: An interested party.
JOHN: Interested in Sherlock? Why? I’m guessing you’re not friends.
M: You’ve met him. How many ‘friends’ do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having.
JOHN: And what’s that?
M: An enemy.
JOHN: An enemy?
M: In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he’d probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic.
(John looks pointedly around the warehouse.)
JOHN (sarcastically): Well, thank God you’re above all that.
(The man frowns at him. Just then John’s phone trills a text alert. He immediately digs into his jacket pocket, takes out the phone and activates it, looking at the message while ignoring the man in front of him. The message reads:
Baker Street.
Come at once
if convenient.
SH
M: I hope I’m not distracting you.
JOHN (casually): Not distracting me at all.
(He takes his time looking up from the phone before he pockets it.)
M: Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?
JOHN: I could be wrong ... but I think that’s none of your business.
M (a little ominously): It could be.
JOHN: It really couldn’t.
(The man takes a notebook from his inside pocket, then opens it and consults it as he speaks.)
M: If you do move into, um ... two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.
(He closes the notebook and puts it away again.)
JOHN: Why?
M: Because you’re not a wealthy man.
JOHN: In exchange for what?
M: Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you’d feel ... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.
JOHN: Why?
M: I worry about him. Constantly.
JOHN (insincerely): That’s nice of you.
M: But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship.
(John’s phone sounds another text alert. Again he immediately fishes the phone out and looks at the message which reads:
If inconvenient,
come anyway.
SH
JOHN (in response to the man’s offer): No.
M: But I haven’t mentioned a figure.
JOHN (putting his phone away again): Don’t bother.
M (laughing briefly): You’re very loyal, very quickly.
JOHN: No, I’m not. I’m just not interested.
(The man looks at him closely for a moment, then takes out his notebook and opens it again.)
M (gesturing slightly to make it clear that he is reading a note from the book): “Trust issues,” it says here.
(For the first time since their encounter began, John looks a little unnerved.)
JOHN: What’s that?
M (still looking down at his book): Could it be that you’ve decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?
JOHN: Who says I trust him?
M: You don’t seem the kind to make friends easily.
JOHN: Are we done?
(The man raises his head and looks into John’s eyes.)
M: You tell me.
(John looks at him for a long moment, then turns his back on him and starts to walk away.)
M: I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that’s not going to happen.
(John stops dead. His shoulders tense and drop and he angrily shakes his head a little. He is clearly furious as he turns back around to face the man.)
JOHN (savagely, through bared teeth): My wot?
M (calmly): Show me.
(He has nodded towards John’s left hand as he speaks, and now he plants the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leans casually on it like a man who is used to having his orders obeyed. John, however, is not going to be intimidated and deliberately shifts his feet under him as if digging in. He raises his left hand, bending it at the elbow, and stands still. His message is clear: if the man wants to look at his hand, he’ll have to come to him. Apparently unperturbed by this belligerence, the man strolls forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reaches for John’s hand. John instantly pulls his hand back a little.)
JOHN (tensely): Don’t.
(The man lowers his head and raises his eyebrows at John, almost as if saying, ‘Did I mention trust issues?!’ John very reluctantly lowers his hand, holding it out flat with the palm down. The man takes it in both of his own hands and looks at it closely.)
M: Remarkable.
JOHN (snatching his hand away): What is?
M (turning and walking a few paces away): Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. (He turns towards John again.) You’ve seen it already, haven’t you?
JOHN: What’s wrong with my hand?
M: You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.
(Perhaps unintentionally, John nods his head.)
M: Your therapist thinks it’s post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you’re haunted by memories of your military service.
(John almost flinches as the man accurately fires off these facts at him. His gaze is fixed ahead of him and a muscle in his cheek twitches repeatedly.)
JOHN (angry and distressed): Who the hell are you? How do you know that?
M: Fire her. She’s got it the wrong way round. You’re under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.
(John’s eyes flicker down towards his hand before returning to stare ahead of himself, his face set and struggling to hold back his anger.)
M: You’re not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson ... you miss it.
(He leans closer to him. Reluctantly John’s eyes rise up to meet his.)
M (in a whisper): Welcome back.
(He turns and starts to walk away just as John’s phone trills another text alert.)
M (casually twirling his umbrella as he goes): Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson.
(John stands fixed to the spot for a few seconds, then turns and glances towards the departing man as, behind John, the car door opens and not-Anthea gets out and walks a few paces towards him, her attention still riveted to the BlackBerry held in front of her in both hands.)
NOT-ANTHEA: I’m to take you home.
(John half-turns towards her, then stops and takes out his phone to look at the new message. It reads:
Could be dangerous.
SH
Putting the phone back into his pocket, John holds out his left hand in front of him and studies the lack of tremor coming from it. He smiles wryly.)
NOT-ANTHEA: Address?
JOHN (turning and walking towards her): Er, Baker Street. Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first.
Later, John opens the door into his bedsit and switches on the light. Walking inside and closing the door behind him, he goes across to the desk and opens the drawer, taking out his pistol. Checking the clip, he tucks the gun into the back of the waistband of his jeans and turns to leave again.
Later again, the car pulls up outside 221B Baker Street. Not-Anthea is still rivetted by whatever she’s typing on her phone [that must be oneheck of a running blog that she’s writing]. John looks across to her.
JOHN: Listen, your boss – any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?
NOT-ANTHEA (nonchalantly): Sure.
JOHN: You’ve told him already, haven’t you?
(She smiles across to him briefly.)
NOT-ANTHEA: Yeah.
(John nods in resignation and turns to get out of the car but just as he has opened the door, he turns back to her.)
JOHN: Hey, um ... do you ever get any free time?
(She chuckles.)
NOT-ANTHEA (sarcastically) : Oh, yeah. Lots.
(John waits expectantly. She continues working her phone for a long moment, then turns and looks at him before allowing her gaze to drift past him to the door of 221B.)
NOT-ANTHEA: ’Bye.
JOHN: Okay.
(He gets out and closes the door, then watches the car pull away before turning and walking across the pavement to the front door of 221B. He knocks on the door.)
