Downstairs, Sherlock opens the front door and stands on the doorstep for a moment as he shrugs himself into his coat. A taxi is parked at the kerb and the driver, Jeff Hope, is leaning casually against the side of the cab.
JEFF: Taxi for Sherlock ’olmes.
(Sherlock steps forward, closing the door behind him.)
SHERLOCK: I didn’t order a taxi.
JEFF: Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.
SHERLOCK: You’re the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street.
(In flashback, the American man sits in the back of the cab outside the restaurant and turns his head to the front. In the driver’s seat, Jeff looks over his shoulder and through the rear window of the cab before turning around again and starting to drive away.)
SHERLOCK: It was you, not your passenger.
JEFF: See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of an ’ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer.
(Sherlock takes a few more steps forward and looks up towards the windows of his flat.)
SHERLOCK: Is this a confession?
JEFF: Oh, yeah. An’ I’ll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.
SHERLOCK: Why?
JEFF: ’Cause you’re not gonna do that.
SHERLOCK: Am I not?
JEFF: I didn’t kill those four people, Mr. ’olmes. I spoke to ’em ... and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing.
(He leans forward.)
JEFF: I will never tell you what I said.
(Sherlock stares at him. After a moment, Jeff straightens up and starts to walk around the front of the cab.)
SHERLOCK: No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result.
(Jeff stops and turns back towards him.)
JEFF: An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?
(He turns again and continues around to the driver’s door. Getting in, he sits down and closes the door, settling into his seat and ignoring Sherlock. Biting his lip, Sherlock walks closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat windows, then he bends and looks into the open side window of the cab.)
SHERLOCK: If I wanted to understand, what would I do?
JEFF (turning to look at him): Let me take you for a ride.
SHERLOCK: So you can kill me too?
JEFF: I don’t wanna kill you, Mr. ’olmes. I’m gonna talk to yer ... and then you’re gonna kill yourself.
(He turns to face the front again. Sherlock straightens up, his eyes lost in thought as he considers the situation. Jeff calmly sits gazing out of the front window, then smiles in satisfaction as the rear door opens. The cab dips as Sherlock gets in and then the door slams shut. Jeff starts the engine.)
(Upstairs, John has his phone held to his ear as he looks out of the window. The cab can be heard as it pulls away.)
JOHN: He just got in a cab.
(He turns to Lestrade.)
JOHN: It’s Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab.
(Donovan, standing beside Lestrade, tuts in irritation.)
