Some time later, Kenny is primping in front of the mirror near the fireplace when the entrance door shuts. John puts down his teacup.
JOHN: That’ll be him.
KENNY: What?
(Raoul shows Sherlock into the room. Sherlock has a large bag over his shoulder and is carrying a long narrow case which is designed to hold a photographic tripod. He walks over to Kenny.)
SHERLOCK: Ah, Mr. Prince, isn’t it?
KENNY: Yes.
SHERLOCK: Very good to meet you.
KENNY: Yes; thank you.
(They shake hands, Sherlock looking closely at Kenny’s hand as he does so.)
SHERLOCK: So sorry to hear about ...
KENNY: Yes, yes, very kind.
JOHN: Shall we, er ...
(Sherlock walks over to the sofa, puts the case down and starts rummaging in his bag. Kenny turns back to the mirror and fiddles with his hair again.)
JOHN (quietly): You were right. The bacteria got into her another way.
SHERLOCK (smirking): Oh yes?
JOHN: Yes.
KENNY (turning towards them): Right. We all set?
JOHN: Um, yes.
(He looks at Sherlock, who has taken a camera and flashgun out of his bag, and jerks his head towards Kenny.)
JOHN: Can you ...?
(As Kenny leans one arm on the mantelpiece and poses, Sherlock walks over to him and starts taking photographs of him.)
KENNY: Not too close. I’m raw from crying.
(The cat meows at Sherlock’s feet. He looks down.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, who’s this?
KENNY: Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess.
SHERLOCK: How nice(!) Was she Connie’s?
KENNY: Yes.
(John reaches down towards the cat but Kenny beats him to it, picking the cat up.)
KENNY: Little present from yours truly.
(Frustrated, John straightens up, then looks at his flatmate.)
JOHN: Sherlock? Uh, light reading?
SHERLOCK: Oh, um ...
(He lifts a second flashgun which he is holding in his other hand and holds it towards Kenny, firing it straight into his face.)
SHERLOCK: Two point eight.
(Kenny squinches his eyes shut against the light.)
KENNY: Bloody hell. What do you think you’re playing at?!
(John immediately reaches out and rubs his fingers over one of the cat’s front paws. Sherlock keeps firing the flashgun to keep Kenny’s eyes closed.)
SHERLOCK: Sorry.
(John lifts his fingers away and sniffs them as Sherlock continues to fire the flashgun.)
KENNY: You’re like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two. What’s going on?
JOHN: Actually, I think we’ve got what we came for. Excuse us.
KENNY: What?
JOHN: Sherlock.
SHERLOCK: What?
