NEW SCOTLAND YARD. D.I. Dimmock sits at his desk and folds his arms in exasperation as Sherlock stands on the other side of the desk and types onto a laptop.
SHERLOCK: Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat ...
(He turns the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page which John was looking at earlier.)
SHERLOCK: ... doors locked from the inside.
JOHN: You’ve gotta admit, it’s similar.
(Dimmock scowls at the computer.)
JOHN: Both men killed by someone who can ... (he hesitates momentarily as if unable to believe what he’s about to say, but perseveres onwards) ... walk through solid walls.
SHERLOCK: Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?
(Dimmock squirms, not meeting his eyes. Sherlock looks up, exasperated, and sighs pointedly.)
SHERLOCK: You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?
DIMMOCK (nodding): Mmm.
SHERLOCK: And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?
DIMMOCK (reluctantly): No.
SHERLOCK: No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel.
(Dimmock looks back at him silently. Sherlock leans forward over the desk and speaks quietly but intensely into his face.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry. (Louder, nodding towards the picture of Lukis on the computer) Five minutes in his flat.
LUKIS’ FLAT. Sherlock ducks under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs inside the door of the flat. He goes upstairs, followed by Dimmock and John. Looking around at everything as he goes, he walks into the living room. There’s an open empty suitcase on the floor. Nearby on the carpet is a black origami flower, similar to the one that Sherlock pulled from Van Coon’s mouth. There are books everywhere on the desk and on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. Several open newspapers are also lying on the floor. He walks over to the kitchen area and looks through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. Pushing the net curtain back for a better look, he smirks.)
SHERLOCK: Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they’re impregnable.
(He walks into the middle of the room again.)
SHERLOCK: They don’t reckon for one second that there’s another way in.
(He turns back towards the stairs and sees a skylight above the landing.)
DIMMOCK: I don’t understand.
SHERLOCK (going out onto the landing): You’re dealing with a killer who can climb.
(He hops up on something – maybe a step stool or a box – to get closer to the skylight which is high up on the angled roof.)
DIMMOCK: What are you doing?
SHERLOCK: He clings to the walls like an insect.
(He unhooks the latch and pushes the window upwards.)
SHERLOCK (softly): That’s how he got in.
DIMMOCK: What?!
SHERLOCK: Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight.
