01x18 - Déjà Vu All Over Again

[bunniefuu]

(violin plays classical music)

(subway train approaching)

(indistinct announcement over P.A.)

(passing train clattering)

Roses, a dozen.

(laughing): I know.

He said he was heading to his girlfriend's house and she cancelled on him.

No, didn't even tell me his name.

Just said he didn't want them to go to waste.

(train approaching)

It was nice.

It's been a lousy week.

Maybe things are finally turning around.

(woman screams, train horn blasts)

Tragic news out of Manhattan this evening, where a young woman was pushed in front of a subway train.

JOAN: Seriously, you guys have, like, the cutest kids in New York.

KEN: It's true.

(laughing)

Who knew these guys back in college would be such a baby factory?

Me, I did.

Right after I caught them having sex in my bed.

One time, freshman year.

You must move on.

Yeah, and let's be honest, that is the most action that bed saw all year.

Ouch.

Are you going to be able to make it to Sammy's birthday party on Saturday?

2:00, yes.

I am wrapping up with my client on Friday and I may be able to help and come set up.

How is that going, by the way?

The companionship thing.

If by "thing", you mean career, it is going really well.

I-I-I don't know, I've worked with some amazing people.

I think it's incredible, what you're doing.

I mean, you walk away from being a doctor, find a new way to help people?

Same old Jo.

Sweet.

To Joan. To Joan.

And the baby.

OTHERS: And the baby!

(ringtone playing)

Oh, sorry, guys, this is, um, one of the rehab facilities that, um, refers me to other clients.

I should take it.

I'll be right back.

This is Joan Watson.

Joan, this is Dr. Caruso at Hemdale.

I sent you a case file a little while ago.

I was wondering if you had a chance to look at it?

JOAN: I'm just opening it right now.

DR. CARUSO: The patient in question completes his stay with us on Monday.

His father expressed some concerns about life post-rehab, so, I recommended a companion.

He looked at some resumes and chose you.

So, can I tell him the interest is mutual?

Sure, I just have one question.

Uh, what kind of name is Sherlock?

(car alarm blaring)

(sighs)

(sighs heavily)

(car alarm continues)

(sighs)

(quietly): I can't do this.

Ah, just shut it off.

(car alarm chirps, wailing stops)

Can't let the noise get to you.

You know this. I know.

But you did better with the lock this time.

It only took you six seconds.

How weird is this?

You're Sherlock's sponsor and I'm his sober-- well, I was his sober companion-- until recently.

And now you're teaching me how to break into cars.

You want to do the kind of work he does.

Besides, every hour I spend with you, he's got to do two with me.

How's that going?

He's good.

He's in a good place.

Happier since you decided to work with him.

(phone blips)

Hey, I gotta go.

I'll give you a ride.

HOLMES: Dreadful news: I heard from my father this morning.

Really?

Not the man himself, of course.

One of his minions.

Apparently, he's holding me to the bargain that we struck when I borrowed that pittance from him.

If you're referring to the $2.2 million that you borrowed to pay off the kidnapping ransom, I'd say that's a little more than a pittance.

I foiled that kidnapper.

Every penny was accounted for and returned.

Yeah, but still.

You're off his teats now, Watson, you can stop taking his side.

What did he want?

Uh, to meet with one of his many attorneys this morning and discuss work of an investigative nature.

Knowing Father, the man is a shyster's shyster.

You know, Dad once helped defending a client who was equal parts Adolf h*tler and Bernie Madoff.

Hey, does your father know that I'm still here and that we're working together now?

Why would he care?

I don't know, I was just curious.

You're an aspiring detective now, Watson.

Apply your curiosity to your cases.

Impressive.

I know; I could look at this all day.

No, I was talking about the glass.

It's... b*llet-proof.

Six-inch glass-clad polycarbonate, hmm.

ATTORNEY: Mr. Holmes.

Philip Armistead.

Do you know that "shyster" is German for "one who defecates"?

And this is my assistant Rebecca.

So, let's cut to the proverbial chase, shall we?

How much slime will my associate and I have to wade through in order to help you?

My father said you were in need of my services.

You're an attorney, you work for him, he values you: three good reasons to assume that the work we will have to do will be vile.

Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help Rebecca.

My sister Callie... she went missing almost six months ago.

I'm worried her husband may have done something to her.

Uh, I guess I should start with "I'm sorry."

I hate that I can't say these things to you face-to-face.

It's just...

I don't love you anymore, Drew.

And it hurts to say that, you don't know how much.

I care about you, I want you to be happy, but I need to be happy, too.

And I thought that I could tough it out and give us both a little more time.

But then that woman got pushed in front of a subway train the other day-- the woman with the flowers-- and, I don't know, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Life is too short to stay with someone who doesn't make you happy.

So, uh, I'm going to go away for a little while.

I don't know where and I-I don't know for how long.

I just know that I need some time.

Maybe, someday, you'll find it in your heart to forgive me.

When my brother-in-law Drew first showed me the video, I didn't question it.

Callie had always been a little fragile.

Packing up her stuff and hiding out for a while, that sounded like her.

But then after the days started turning into weeks, I got suspicious.

The marriage was... troubled?

Callie had left him once before.

That was about a year and a half ago.

What happened?

I don't know. Callie didn't even tell me she'd done it till a few weeks later, and by then, she and Drew were back together.

And I tried to get her to talk about it, but she said it was all in the past.

She was like that-- she kept everything bottled up; private.

So, when she didn't return my phone calls after Drew showed me the video, I wasn't surprised.

After a few weeks, Rebecca went to the police.

They tried to locate Callie via her cell phone, credit card, e-mail records, but they came up empty.

She hadn't used any of them since before she disappeared.

They questioned Drew, but he managed to convince them the video was authentic.

Oh, you-you think it's a fake?

I think things were bad between Drew and my sister.

He could've forced her to make the video so that, after he k*lled her, he could show it to the police and convince them that she'd run away.

Which he did.

There's also the trunk.

It was our grandmother's.

My father willed it to me before he d*ed.

My apartment is tiny, so I let Callie keep it at her place.

The deal was, she would give it to me if I ever moved.

The first time that I went to see Drew after she disappeared, I realized that the trunk was gone, too.

He claimed that she took it with her, but I know that she would never do that.

I told the police that I think he did what he did.

And he used the trunk to get rid of her.

I've had the firm's top investigators on this for months.

They haven't managed to come up with anything.

I happened to speak with your father the other day, and he recommended I reach out to you.

Would you excuse us for just one moment?

Come on.

That woman could not be more wrong about her sister's video.

It was most certainly not made under duress.

Tell me.

The human face, Watson, is like the penis.

Or so said the great personality theorist Silvan Tomkins.

The point being: the face, like the male member, has a mind of its own; it betrays us on an almost daily basis; advertises our secrets to those who know that to look for.

The woman in that video was utterly calm when she filmed it.

More than that, I think she was excited to move on.

You and I were not looking at the same video.

Her jaw muscles were relaxed, not tight.

Her nose wings were not dilated.

She wasn't going off some script, she meant every word she was saying.

Nose wings.

We have an opportunity here, Watson.

More precisely, you do.

I think this would make an excellent first case for you.

You want me to find Callie Burrell on my own?

Every good investigator needs to be able to find people who do not wish to be found.

More often than not, those are dangerous criminals.

Ms. Burrell is merely a wife grown tired of her husband.

It's a case with training wheels.

You can't be sure that Callie is okay.

And, you know what, th-th-there might be something to what her sister is saying.

Maybe, maybe not. Your job to find out.

Is this because the case came through your father?

No, it's because the case suits you.

Besides, I have one of my own which I wish to take up.

Oh, that's the woman that Callie mentioned in her video.

She was m*rder*d just days before Callie quote-unquote vanished.

The man who pushed her was never found.

I lost a valued informant to a pusher back in London Ugly business, yeah.

As horrific a death as you can imagine.

Now, I found that k*ller.

I suspect I can find this one as well.

Hey, aren't you going to tell your father's friend what we're doing? Your case now, Watson.

You tell him.

♪ Elementary 1x18 ♪
Déjà Vu All Over Again Original Air Date on March 14, 2013

HOLMES: I must confess, I'm quite embarrassed this m*rder escaped my attention when it first transpired.

I was still locked away in Hemdale at the time.

"Locked away" is a little exaggerated.

When in days of my arrival, the staff forbade me access to newspapers.

Something about police blotters riling me.

No, you? Curious case, this one.

Man approaches woman.

Man gives woman flowers.

And walks away, only to return moments later and push woman in front of train.

It's pretty obvious the guy's a psychopath.

Likely, yeah.

Obvious, no.

He takes great care to keep his face angled away from the platform security cameras.

Speaks to premeditation.

He'd been to the platform before and cased it.

Psychopaths can't premeditate? No, of course they can.

But tube pushers tend to be lunatics of the raving variety.

They're sloppy.

This man was the opposite.

Good news is...

...I know exactly what he looks like.

Look, I can't tell if you're kidding right now or not.

I reached out to the witnesses who helped generate that sketch-- completely useless, especially with regards to the patch he has on his jacket here-- looks like some sort of logo.

I can't tell what it is.

You think you can find the guy from a patch?

(sighs) Stranger things, Watson.

How goes the search for father's lawyer's assistant's sister?

(sighs) Well... I went through everything that the firm's investigators have put together, and so far, nothing.

I mean, if she's really hiding from her husband, she's doing a bang-up job.

I can see why the police called off the search.

Have you spoken to the husband yet?

No, I called his art gallery today, and he's out of town.

I'm gonna pop in tomorrow and do my best Columbo impression.

He was a...

Never mind.

I'm excited for you.

When you talk to him, you'll identify yourself as a "consulting detective."

You haven't done that before. I...

(ringtone playing)

(whispers): Oh, no.

(groans): Carver and Sons.

8:00, I was supposed to meet you.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you forgot.

It's okay. It's not like Look, Em, I... you forgot to meet me the last time we made plans.

Oh, no, wait, you did.

Let me make it up to you-- uh, tomorrow, my treat.

I don't know, Joan. Come on. I feel awful.

(rock music playing)

Know what? Yeah.

Tomorrow should work. I'll see you at 8:00.

Okay, great. I'll see you then.

(hangs up)

(sighs)

Mr. Gardner? Hi. I'm Joan Watson.

I'm consulting, uh...

I-I'm assisting with an investigation into the disappearance of your wife.

I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?

Of course. Come in.

I thought Callie leaving me was the worst thing that could ever happen.

I was wrong-- the worst part was... realizing Rebecca thought I'd hurt her.

Do you think it's strange that Callie hasn't tried to contact you or Rebecca since she left?

Yeah. (soft chuckle)

I guess I do.

But... do I find it stranger than her packing her things and sending me a Dear John letter in the form of a video? No.

She's always been a very... complicated person.

Rebecca mentioned that Callie left you once before?

About a year and half ago.

It was just for a couple of days, but still... it was devastating.

That time she called me.

I begged her to come home. I told her whatever was bothering her, we could work it out.

I guess I got through to her, because... she came back.

If you don't mind me asking, what were the problems between you?

I don't know.

The first time she left, it was like being hit over the head with a club.

I thought things were good between us.

I thought we were in a good place.

Obviously, I was... wrong.

And what about the second time?

She seemed a little distant of late.

A little depressed. Do you know why?

Something to do with that woman who got pushed in front of the subway car.

The one she talked about in the video.

Rebecca also mentioned something about a trunk that went missing. It didn't go missing; Callie took it.

I don't know how many times Rebecca has to hear it until she believes it.

I just wish I could make her understand that I want Callie back, too.

Not because I think our marriage can be saved--

I know that... ship has sailed-- but... because I'm worried about her.

I want to tell her that it's okay, that I want her to be happy.

Even if being happy means... being with somebody else.

(phone auto-dials, line rings)

HOLMES: Watson? Remember how you said yesterday you thought Callie Burrell was probably okay?

I do. I'm pretty sure that's not right.

I'm pretty sure her husband k*lled her.

DREW (recorded): ...but because I'm worried about her.

I want to tell that it's okay, that I want her to be happy.

Even if being happy means... being with somebody else.

That was recorded by the police the first time they interviewed Drew Gardner five months ago.

He said the same exact thing to me this morning.

Verbatim.

And because he repeated himself, you think he's a m*rder*r.

No, it's not because he repeated himself, it's just that what he said sounded rehearsed-- like... like he came up with his story and then stuck with it.

Perhaps it's lodged in his brain because he's had to repeat it so often.

To his sister-in-law, to the police, to his friends, to his colleagues, to you.

I'm not poking holes; you may very well be right.

I just want to be certain that you've thought this through.

There's just something about this guy, something I didn't like.

Let's say your assessment of the man is correct.

He is a cad and a k*ller-- that would mean the stakes of this investigation have just been raised.

Would you like me to tag in?

No.

No, not yet.

If you were working this case, what would your next step be?

Do you have Mr. Gardner's cell number handy?

Gaslighting.

A form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented with the intention of disorienting a victim... and/or steering them on a certain course of action.

The name derives from the 1938 stage play Gaslight, also known as Angel Street.

Why do you have so many phones?

Well, why do you have only one?

These are burners.

They are utterly discardable, virtually untraceable.

Uh, what are you doing?

I know... that you k*lled her.

I know... what you did with her body.

(beep)

Mr. Gardner's gas has just been lit.

Now it's just a question of surveilling him, observing where he goes, what he does.

You'll need to rent a car for that.

If Gardner is a m*rder*r, our message may throw him off his game.

He may reveal something to you which he otherwise would have not.

Where are you going?

Police station to question a suspect.

You're not the only one who's made progress on their investigation.

Yeah, I recognize her.

She was in the news a few months ago.

She got pushed in front of a train or something.

Yeah.

But that's not... how you know her, though, is it, Mr. Samuels?

I mean, you... you worked in the same office building together.

Before she d*ed.

She was a secretary; you were a custodial engineer.

(sighing): That's right.

We used to see each other around the building sometimes.

Yeah. Yeah.

Do you remember seeing her around the subway platform?

I arrived at a theory last night.

The man who k*lled Ms. Tully, he'd been on that platform before.

He'd studied it.

He knew where the security cameras were. Hm?

So I began to look at footage from the days and weeks preceding her m*rder.

You'll never guess who I saw following her... on more than one occasion.

Now, this was recorded ten days before her m*rder.

There's Ms. Tully.

There's you.

Now, if I'm not mistaken, that's a cell phone that you're carrying?

You're being discreet, but you are recording her.

You have a record, Mr. Samuels?

You were arrested on a stalking charge in Florida in 2009.

That was a misunderstanding.

Was this a misunderstanding, too? What are you, six feet, about 185?

So was this guy.

Put a fake beard on you, some sunglasses, be hard to tell the difference.

What do you think?

I think you make an excellent point.

I would never have hurt Vivian.

Course you wouldn't. Nor would you have stalked her, nor would you record images of her on your phone.

All right, fine.

You're right, I was there that night.

And I was in disguise.

But I didn't k*ll her.

I thought she'd seen me following her a few nights before.

So I started wearing a hat and a scarf that covered my mouth.

I'm there.

I just, I'm not in frame.

Well, that's convenient.

You don't get it. I was recording her that night, too. I can prove that I wasn't the one that pushed her.

(Tully screams)

SAMUELS: Oh, my God, no!

(door opens, closes)

GREGSON: So, what do you think?

It's Anson Samuels' voice, that much is certain.

The question is, has the video been manipulated in some way.

If it hasn't, did Samuels orchestrate the pushing.

Did he hire an equally mad associate to m*rder the object of his obsession so that he could record it for posterity?

Well, we're holding on to him either way, but eventually, we're gonna have to charge him or cut him loose.

I was hoping that this new angle would shed some light on the identity of the pusher, but... as luck would have it, his face isn't seen by this camera, either.

Nor was the patch on his jacket.

(phone ringing)

Patch?

Excuse me.

Watson. Still surveilling?

If by "surveilling," you mean sitting on my butt watching a man do absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, it's going great.

The text I sent had no effect.

Drew Gardner has not left the gallery all day.

Well, patience, Watson.

There is no branch of detective work which is as important nor as neglected as the art of tracing footsteps.

It's okay, I've still got a few good hours left.

Actually... you're not-- at least you're not good between the hours of 8:00 and approximately 10:00 p.m.

What are you talking about?

I overheard you making plans with a friend last night. Em.

Short for "Emily," if my memory serves.

Oh, no, I can't believe I forgot again.

Well, I did not, so I reached out to Alfredo earlier on, and he is standing by to relieve you.

Are you serious?

Thank you.

The busker.

Excuse me?

The busker. The fiddler.

He's playing Paganini's, uh, 24 Caprices, Opus 1, Number 11.

Rewind it.

There.

I don't hear anything over the subway. Yeah, neither do I.

Then how can you tell he's playing Paganini's whatever?

I can see it-- I know the piece from... the bowing, fingering, double-stop trills.

You don't know I play the violin?

Before today I didn't even know you ate food.

I don't get it.

Why does it matter what song the guy's playing?

Oh, it doesn't. What matters is, he stops in the middle.

Watch.

He stops halfway through the andante, doesn't even touch the presto.

Question is: why?

Why does he stop so suddenly and leave the platform?

The answer is... he sees our pusher.

He knows him.

He might even have known what he was about to do.

We find our busker... we find the pusher.

Hey.

Hey, I didn't know you guys were gonna be here, too.

It was sort of a last second thing. Hey.

How is everything? What's going on?

There's a reason why I asked Hope and Ken to join us.

Uh, can I get a beer?

Uh, your mother called me the other day.

Yeah?

We got to talking. Thanks.

I told her how you and I kept missing each other.

She said you're working as some sort of detective now.

And she's so proud of you, excited.

But when I heard, I just...

What?

I don't know. I...

Well, in a way, on the one hand, it explained a lot.

You know, the way you've fallen out of touch these last few months?

How you've made and broken so many plans with me.

With Hope and Ken.

With others.

We were worried about you, Joan. I guess we still are.

(laughs)

Is this is an intervention?

Wow. No, it's not.

It's just a few friends expressing concern for another.

That's an intervention. Trust me.

I have helped organize plenty of them.

Back when you were still a sober companion, right?

After you were a surgeon, but before you decided to become a private eye?

I'm sorry, but you seem lost.

You have ever since you stopped practicing medicine.

We know that your new mentor is your last sober client.

And...?

"And...?"

Joan, you quit your job and moved out of your apartment so you could live full-time with a recovering drug addict who's going to teach you how to be some sort of gumshoe?

Are you involved with him?

Because that would explain a lot.

You know what?

I am gonna see you guys later.

What? Joan!

I didn't think that I would have to explain my life to you, Emily. Come on.

I mean, what would you say to me if I told you I was quitting journalism to become a...

I don't know-- a windsurfer?

(phone chimes)

Or if Hope told you she was giving up teaching to join the Marines.

Would you really just congratulate us?

Or would you pull us aside and make sure everything was okay?

So, do you think what I do is like windsurfing?

I don't know what it's like.

I just know you.

And I know you're not a detective.

One of those self-storage places.

The guy you wanted me to watch talked to the manager, walked in that unit right there.

That trunk.

It belonged to his sister-in-law.

She thought he might he used it to get rid of his wife.

Hold up. Are you trying to tell me there's a person in there?

Sherlock sent him an anonymous text this morning, said he knew where the body was. And now, he's getting that trunk out the storage.

We need to call the cops. No, no, not yet.

What do you mean "not yet". I want to do this myself.

Do you still have that slim Jim? Yeah.

Look, I didn't hear a alarm trip on, so all I have to do is get past that door lock.

Joan... What?

You don't think I can do this?

Oh, I know you can do this, 'cause after everything I taught, you could jack that car in your sleep-- Joan!

MAN: Hey!

That's enough, ma'am.

Step away from the car, please.

Hey, is there a problem?

Is this your vehicle, sir? Yeah.

I'm the guard here. I saw this woman breaking into your car in one of my monitors.

You-- You're the one who came to ask me questions about Callie.

I'm investigating this man.

I have reason to believe that he m*rder*d his wife and hid her body in this trunk.

What?! That's a lie.

There's an easy way to see if I'm right.

Just ask him to open it.

Excuse me? I don't have to open a damn thing.

His name is Drew Gardner.

You can look it up on your phone.

There are articles on the disappearance of his wife.

She went missing six months ago, same time as this trunk.

(sirens approaching) Would you open up this trunk, please?

Are you kidding me?!

If she's wrong, you ain't got nothing to hide.

You can either open up that trunk for me, or open it up for them.

Happy now?

(lock buzzes, door creaks open)

(door slams shut)

I have the very strongest sensation of déjà vu.

I paid your bail.

Paperwork's being processed.

You'll be released back into society shortly.

Thank you.

I spoke with Alfredo before I came here.

He told me what transpired tonight.

You took a chance. Yeah?

Fortune often favors the bold.

But not tonight. Mm.

You were right.

The trunk was the same one that Rebecca Burrell mentioned to us the other day.

If Drew Gardner wasn't using that to get rid of his wife's body, what was he doing with it?

Well, I didn't speak to the man himself, but I did speak to the officers who arrested you.

According to the statement that he gave them, he sold the trunk shortly after he received the video from his wife.

Partly out of spite, partly because his gallery was struggling.

He knew it was worth several thousand dollars.

Sold it to a client.

He could have told Rebecca that months ago.

Mm. Well, he was afraid.

He knew what he'd done was wrong.

The trunk was not his to sell.

Apparently, your visit yesterday inspired him to come clean.

The idea that Rebecca thought he'd used the trunk to dispose of Callie was more troubling to him than the idea of being punished for his actual transgression.

So he reached out to the guy he sold it to and made an offer to buy it back.

The storage space that he accessed tonight was the collector's, not his.

He was merely picking up the trunk so he could return it to Rebecca.

Apparently, there is a paper trail which confirms this series of events.

I was so sure she was in that trunk.

Given the many givens, your hypothesis was good.

But I was wrong.

You were wrong about a trunk.

That does not mean that you were wrong about the man being a m*rder*r.

I just keep thinking that if you were the one to break into that car, she would have been there.

But because it was me...

(sighs)

I have another errand to run before tonight is through.

In the morning, I propose that we begin working both cases together.

After you've helped me find my subway pusher, perhaps I can help you find Callie Burrell.

(playing a lively classical melody)

Bach? Why, Thaddeus, you've gone commercial.

How do you know my name?

Your many citations for performing on subway platforms.

I'm assuming those are the reasons you're now performing above ground.

Oh, you're the cops.

No, no, he is. I'm a concerned citizen.

Name Vivian Tully mean anything to you?

No.

Well, maybe her picture will.

No. HOLMES: You were there the night a madman pushed her in front of a subway train.

There's no use in denying it.

We've got you on video.

Yeah, okay, I was there.

But I only heard about what happened on the news.

I wasn't there when it actually went down.

Of course you were, 'cause the minute you saw the pusher, you picked up your stuff, and you left.

Why? 'Cause you know him. I'd like to know how.

Sorry, man, I don't know what you're talking about.

You do know what I'm talking about, and the sooner you tell me the connection, the less likely I'll be to tell Detective Bell here that you're also a pickpocket.

I was studying you from across the street.

You're actually very good.

Fiddling must keep those fingers nimble, hmm?

Detective, would you give us a moment, please?

Look, I didn't know the guy, okay?

I just knew his face.

I'd seen him on the platform a few nights before, tried to lift his wallet, he caught me.

Grabbed my wrist, I panicked, hauled off and punched him.

He fell, I took off.

When I saw him the night he k*lled the girl, I was just worried he might recognize me and call the transit cops, so I left.

You're checking out my coat right now, aren't you?

Thinking of where you can infiltrate it.

Sorry, okay? It's a force of habit.

Ah, of course.

I mean, a coat to a picker of pockets is like a vault to a safecracker, isn't it?

You've got to study it, find a way in without being detected.

So... the pusher.

He had a patch on his jacket right here.

Perhaps you'd be able to tell me what it was.

If you feel like you have to, don't.

So your busker was able to pick out this patch from an image search. Now what?

We bring it to the public's attention, see if it, in conjunction with the sketch, shakes anything loose.

(door opens)

I thought you both should know: I invited Drew Gardner to the station a little while ago.

If you apologize, promise to pay for the damage you did to his car, and refrain from any further harassment, he'll drop the charges against you.

I wouldn't accept Mr. Gardner's terms under any circumstances.

Yeah, well, she's not you.

Miss Watson's instincts have been telling her that the man is a m*rder*r.

He's right. I'm not like you. I'm not like you.

I... (sighs)

I've never had a record before.

Well...

Me and Mr. Gardner will be in my office.

Think about what you're saying.

I am. I have.

Last night was a wake-up call.

You made a mistake.

No, it wasn't just what happened at the storage facility.

My friends found out what I've been doing.

I didn't realize you'd been keeping it a secret.

They don't get it.

Opinions are like anine, Watson.

Everyone has one.

You know what, maybe what you do is not something that you can teach.

Maybe it's something that just has to come naturally.

I-I just... I have a lot to think about, that's all.

(doorbell rings)

Ms. Burrell? Joan Watson.

We met the other day.

Please.

Have a seat.

Thank you.

Did you want to ask me more questions about Callie?

Actually, I came to apologize.

I got a little too aggressive with the investigation last night, and...

I'm afraid that Mr. Holmes and I will not be able to remain on the case.

Ms. Watson?

Callie's jacket-- that patch.

You mean Drew's jacket.

It was cold that day.

He let her wear it.

She called it his "hippie coat.

He got it at a concert in college or something.

This is gonna sound strange, but has Drew ever had a beard?

Yeah, for a while.

He shaved it off around the same time that Callie disappeared.

Why?

Let's start with what we know, shall we?

Vivian Tully was m*rder*d six months ago by a bearded individual.

We know that Drew Gardner wore a beard at approximately that time.

He also owned a jacket identical to the one worn by the k*ller.

Several days later, Callie Burrell records a video in which she says the m*rder has affected her, it's made her think.

She leaves Drew.

Thanks to you, we now have reason to believe that Drew Gardner was the man that pushed Vivian Tully in front of the subway train.

Question is, why?

What are the odds that it would affect his wife so much that she leaves him?

Is it possible that's what he was counting on?

If he was, what kind of plan is that?

I mean, how could he know that k*lling Vivian Tully would affect Callie the way that it did?

I don't know.

Maybe I'm wrong about this, too.

Maybe it's just a coincidence that he has that jacket with a patch.

Have I... have I told you how distracting I find self-doubt?

If you must wallow, I ask that you do it in the privacy of your room.

Do I need to remind you that I made a mistake last night that got me arrested?

Do I need to remind you that you made a discovery today that may ultimately solve both cases?

Do you wish to mourn the former or celebrate the latter?

'Cause I, for one, am fully engaged.

I want to solve this.

Oh!

Two events.

One m*rder by subway train, one disappearance.

Event "A" cannot reasonably be said to have any effect on Event "B."

Yet it defies reason to think that the two are not connected.

We know Vivian Tully is dead.

We strongly suspect Callie Burrell is dead.

Drew Gardner, he has no discernible link to Vivian Tully, and therefore, no discernible motive for her m*rder.

He does, meanwhile, have motive for his wife's m*rder.

The marriage was in trouble; she had left him once before.

The question remains: What are the odds that the m*rder we think he is responsible for on the subway platform would compel his wife to leave the marriage for a second time?

How, in this case, does "A" lead to "B"?

Maybe "A" didn't lead to "B."

Maybe "B" led to "A".

I don't know how many times I have to tell you people: I didn't k*ll Callie.

Well, as a matter of fact, that's only one of the murders that we're accusing you of.

This is the other.

This is the woman Callie talked about in her video.

You think I had something to do with this?

Six months ago, you had a beard like the one in that sketch.

You also owned an army jacket with a distinctive patch on the right arm.

I gave that jacket to Goodwill a long time ago.

Did you give them your beard as well?

Or did you shave it off, so you would look less like the man who m*rder*d Vivian Tully?

Last night, when Ms. Watson suggested you that you might also be the pusher, I was confused.

And that doesn't happen very often.

But in my defense, the sequence of events, as I understood them, just didn't make any sense.

You choose a woman at random and you shove her to her death.

Several days later, the crime inspires your wife to leave you.

Now, the odds that the first leads to the second-- astronomical.

Then Ms. Watson recalled that your wife had left you once before.

The video.

You claimed that Callie left it for you six months ago, but that was a lie.

She made it for you a year and a half ago... the first time she left you.

That's ridiculous.

WATSON: Pretend for a second that I'm right.

The video is 18 months old.

In it, Callie references a woman that was pushed in front of a train.

"The woman with the flowers," to use her exact words.

That would mean 18 months ago another woman was pushed in front of a train.

Another woman holding flowers.

Her name was Anna Peters.

She was standing on a platform in Harlem when two teenagers on their way to school got into a shoving match.

One of them bumped her over the edge by accident.

It was a big story.

A lot of the media outlets that covered it mentioned that Anna was on her way to the hospital to visit a sick friend.

WATSON: When she fell, she was holding flowers that she had picked from her own garden.

Flowers that she was planning to give to her friend. HOLMES: Hmm.

That's interesting, isn't it?

The man who m*rder*d Vivian Tully six months ago inexplicably gave her a bouquet of flowers right before he pushed her.

You gave her those flowers.

Why?

You thought you had figured out a way to k*ll your wife and get away with it.

You'd use the video that she sent you the first time she left you to explain her disappearance.

All you needed now

was a subway pushing in the present so that the video would make sense.

A pushing involving a woman holding flowers.

(chuckles)

This is insane.

You're just some woman with a crazy story.

You want me to be guilty, so you've constructed this elaborate fiction to accommodate your theory.

So, you're sticking to your story, then?

On the record, you're saying that you received that video from your wife six months ago?

I am repeating that on the record.

Well, we rather hoped that you would.

We were granted access to Callie's e-mails this morning.

Obviously, you also had access to those e-mails, because you needed to prove to anyone who might ask that the video came from her.

GREGSON: You deleted the original e-mail from her account-- the one she sent a year and a half ago.

You then re-sent it when the time was right.

The thing is... we found it archived and stored in the server.

WATSON: We know and can prove, that you received that e-mail 18 months ago, a few days after Anna Peters was m*rder*d.

But... don't take my word for it.

I'm just a woman with a crazy story.

(ringtone plays)

Hey.

You picked up.

I'm glad. I wasn't sure you would.

I wasn't sure I would, either.

About the other night.

You were out of line?

I'm not gonna apologize for worrying about you.

Listen, Em...

I am, however, going to apologize for doubting you.

My editor just assigned me the craziest story.

"Man Pushes Woman In Front of Train to Cover Up m*rder of Wife."

Sound familiar?

(knocking insistently)

SHERLOCK: Watson?

Oh, hold on a second.

Oh, uh... when you're finished, if you could, uh, join me downstairs to peruse some files?

An old colleague of mine in London asked for my thoughts on a homicide investigation.

I was able to identify the m*rder*r in a matter of seconds.

I would like to see how long it takes you.

You enjoyed a modicum of success today, Watson.

Let's not let it go our heads, now, shall we?

Hey, uh, Emily, something just came up work-related.

Another time?

Yeah, another time, okay?

Bye.

♪