At 221B, Sherlock’s phone begins to ring. His eyes snap open. Outside the court, John is hurrying along the pavement.
JOHN (into phone): Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty. No defence, and Moriarty’s walked free.
(Sherlock lowers his phone.)
JOHN (into phone): Sherlock. Are you listening? He’s out. You-you know he’ll be coming after you. Sher...
(Sherlock switches the phone off and gets up off the sofa. In the kitchen he switches on the kettle and slams down a small tray beside it, putting a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a teapot and two cups and saucers with teaspoons onto the tray. The kettle comes to the boil and switches off and Sherlock, now wearing a jacket in place of the dressing gown, makes the tea and takes the tray to the table beside John’s chair, then walks over to his own chair and picks up his violin and bow. As he begins to play Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor, downstairs the front door is expertly lockpicked and pushed open. Jim’s easily-recognisable shadow precedes him as he slowly walks along the hall and up the stairs. Partway up, one of the stairs creaks noisily and Jim pauses for a moment, as does Sherlock’s playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumes from a few notes before where he stopped and Jim starts to climb the stairs again. Sherlock, standing with his back to the living room door, keeps playing until Jim pushes open the door, then he stops but doesn’t yet turn around.)
SHERLOCK: Most people knock. (He shrugs.) But then you’re not most people, I suppose.
(He gestures over his shoulder with his bow towards the table.)
SHERLOCK: Kettle’s just boiled.
(Jim walks further into the room and bends to pick up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table.)
JIM: Johann Sebastian would be appalled.
(Tossing the apple and catching it [in an Arthur Shappey-like attempt to be really happy for a brief moment], he looks around the living room as if searching for a seat.)
JIM: May I?
SHERLOCK (turning to face him): Please.
(He gestures with the end of his bow towards John’s chair. Jim immediately walks over to Sherlock’s chair and sits in that one instead. Sherlock looks slightly unnerved. Jim takes out a small penknife and starts to cut into the apple as Sherlock puts down the violin and begins to pour tea into the cups.)
JIM: You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ...
SHERLOCK: ... and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.
JIM: Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.
SHERLOCK: Neither can you. That’s why you’ve come.
JIM: But be honest: you’re just a tiny bit pleased.
SHERLOCK: What, with the verdict?
(He picks up one of the teacups, adds a splash of milk and turns and offers the cup to Jim, who sits up straighter and takes it.)
JIM: With me ... (softly) ... back on the streets. (He gazes up into Sherlock’s eyes, smiling.) Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.
(He grins. Sherlock turns away and adds milk to his own cup.)
JIM: You need me, or you’re nothing. Because we’re just alike, you and I – except you’re boring.
(He shakes his head in disappointment.)
