MORNING. HICKMAN GALLERY. Sherlock is standing in front of the Vermeer painting, looking up information on his phone. He calls up subjects such as “Vermeer brush strokes”, “Pigment analysis”, “Canvas degradation”, “UV Light damage”, “Delft Skyline, 1600”, and “Vermeer influences”. John, Lestrade and Miss Wenceslas are standing behind him.
SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. It has to be.
MISS WENCESLAS: That painting has been subjected to every test known to science.
SHERLOCK: It’s a very good fake, then.
(He spins around and glares at her.)
SHERLOCK: You know about this, don’t you? This is you, isn’t it?
(Miss Wenceslas turns to Lestrade, looking exasperated.)
MISS WENCESLAS: Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?
(The pink phone rings. Sherlock snatches it from his pocket and switches on the speaker.)
SHERLOCK: The painting is a fake.
(There’s a faint sound of breathing over the speaker but otherwise there is no response.)
SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. That’s why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed.
(Still there’s nothing more than breathing.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Proving it’s just the detail. The painting is a fake. I’ve solved it. I’ve figured it out. It’s a fake! That’s the answer. That’s why they were killed.
(When the phone remains silent, Sherlock takes a deep breath to calm himself.)
SHERLOCK: Okay, I’ll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?
(After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy comes over the phone’s speaker.)
BOY’s VOICE: Ten ...
(Instantly Sherlock spins and looks closely at the painting.)
LESTRADE (shocked): It’s a kid. Oh, God, it’s a kid!
JOHN: What did he say?
SHERLOCK: “Ten.”
BOY’s VOICE: Nine ...
SHERLOCK (narrowing his eyes as he scans every inch of the painting): It’s a countdown. He’s giving me time.
LESTRADE: Jesus!
SHERLOCK: The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?
BOY’s VOICE: Eight ...
SHERLOCK (turning and glaring at Miss Wenceslas): This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!
(Miss Wenceslas flinches and opens her mouth, but Sherlock immediately holds up his hand to stop her.)
BOY’s VOICE: Seven ...
SHERLOCK: No, shut up. Don’t say anything. It only works if I figure it out.
(He turns back to the painting again. Unable to stand the tension, John turns and walks away a few paces. Lestrade turns to watch him, probably wanting to join in the pacing as well.)
SHERLOCK (to himself, as he continues to scan the painting): Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face.
BOY’s VOICE: Six ...
JOHN (urgently under his breath as he turns back): Come on.
SHERLOCK: Woodbridge knew, but how?
