BART’S LAB. The lights are now on. Sherlock sits alone on the floor with his back against the bench. He is bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard in front of him and catching it before repeating the movement constantly. John comes in.
JOHN: Got your message.
(Sherlock catches the ball and holds on to it.)
SHERLOCK: The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it – beat Moriarty at his own game.
JOHN: What d’you mean, “use it”?
SHERLOCK: He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook.
JOHN: And bring back Jim Moriarty again.
SHERLOCK (standing up): Somewhere in 221B, somewhere – on the day of the verdict – he left it hidden.
(He turns and faces the bench, putting both hands on the work surface. John walks to stand beside him, unconsciously mimicking his stance.)
JOHN: Uh-huh.
(Both of them stare ahead of them, thinking. John purses his lips, then looks at Sherlock.)
JOHN: What did he touch?
SHERLOCK: An apple. Nothing else.
(He briefly drums his fingers on the bench.)
JOHN: Did he write anything down?
SHERLOCK: No.
(John hisses in a breath and looks away, racking his brains and again unconsciously mimicking his friend by drumming his own fingers on the bench. After a moment, he turns and walks across the lab, blowing the breath out again. Sherlock lifts the fingers of his right hand, hesitates for a moment, then begins to drum them again but now he’s beating out a specific rhythm as, in his mind, binary code begins to stream out from his fingers. He lifts his head as John sighs heavily, unaware of Sherlock’s sharpened expression. Straightening up, Sherlock turns his back to John, takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to type a text message:
Come and play.
Bart’s Hospital rooftop.
SH
He pauses for a moment, then adds:
PS. Got something
of yours you might
want back.
Sending the message, he tucks his phone away into his jacket and then turns back towards the bench, his eyes full of thought.)
Some hours later, dawn is breaking. Sherlock is still in the same place, although he’s now sitting down with his feet up on the bench. He is rapidly rolling the rubber ball from side to side across the bench, his fingers flickering rapidly over the top of the ball. John has sat on a stool at a nearby bench and has his head down on his folded arms, asleep. His phone rings. Lifting his head tiredly, he groans and answers the phone.
JOHN: Yeah, speaking.
(He listens for a moment.)
JOHN (shocked): Er, what?
(He gets to his feet.)
JOHN: What happened? Is she okay? (He listens.) Oh my God. Right, yes, I’m coming.
(He switches the phone off.)
SHERLOCK: What is it?
JOHN: Paramedics. Mrs Hudson – she’s been shot.
