05x08 - How the Sausage is Made

[bunniefuu]

Holmes: Watson, I've gone to a meeting.

Please review the matter of the Six Napoleons, as the client has asked for an update.

I'll join you when I return.

I advise you not to use the refrigerator this morning.

My experiments in fermentation find themselves at a critical stage.

(doorbell buzzes)

Good morning.

I'm calling on Sherlock Holmes.

He's not here right now.

I'm his partner, Joan Watson.

Can I help you with something?

You look familiar.

Are you a friend of Bill W?

More like a friend of a friend.

But you've been to meetings at St. Olaf's with Sherlock?

My name is Holder.

I was wondering if I might leave something with you.

Sherlock's not really big on hats, so I'm not sure he's gonna want a crown.

It's a coronet, technically.

Holmes calls it my "beryl coronet."

Uh, the stones are replicas, of course.

The entire thing's a simulacrum.

I'm certain it'll be very well received.

He says it reminds him of a case from London.

Um, if you don't mind me asking, why are you giving him a beryl coronet?

Holmes did a favor for me.

I have a recovering addict's hatred for owing favors.

I mailed several checks to compensate him for his time, but they went uncashed.

This, perhaps, will settle the matter between us.

Mm-hmm.

Well, you're welcome to leave it here, but if you'd rather give it to him in person, uh, Sherlock is actually at a meeting at St. Olaf's right now.

St. Olaf's-- you sure?

I'm positive. Why?

We haven't seen Sherlock there in ages.

In fact, he told us specifically he was going to another regular session in Greenpoint.

Variety, you know.

Really? Are you sure?

Well, I don't live there, but I am a regular.

I'd put it at a month since we've seen Sherlock.

(cell phone chimes)

Is everything all right, my dear?

Yes, yes. I just...

I didn't realize he had made the switch.

Mm.

Anyway, I'm happy to keep an eye on your crown.

Um, your coronet.

Did Hawes tell you what we're doing here?

I did not ask.

He knows we discriminate in the work we take on, so I trust his judgment.

How was the meeting?

Oh, capital.

The usual, St. Olaf's?

Yeah, that's right.

Morning, sir.

Morning.

This is Efraim Albright, He d*ed last night from an allergic reaction to romifidine hydrochloride.

They market that as a product called Equithesia.

Animal tranquilizer used primarily in equine surgery.

It's potent stuff.

I think Mr. Albright here took it by accident, but there's a lot more I'd like to know before I issue the autopsy report.

Man ingests horse tranquilizer and dies.

That's hardly a problem for the ages.

Why did you contact us?

You didn't let me finish.

I'm pretty sure there's foul play here.

I don't think Mr. Albright ingested the horse tranquilizer directly.

There appear to be sausage casings inside Efraim Albright's stomach.

According to the toxicology report, the meat in those casings contains human remains.

That meat is tainted with Equithesia.

So he didn't die from taking a horse sedative.

He d*ed from eating someone who took a horse sedative?

I think so. Yes.

♪ Elementary 5x08 ♪
How the Sausage is Made

♪ ♪

I'll spend some time over in Missing Persons, but I'm pretty sure they won't be looking for anyone who matches the description of a hot dog.

Holmes: Sausage.

Oh, a sausage.

That'll clear things up.

So the question is did Albright know he was eating someone?

Bell: We've already put him under a microscope.

He donated big chunks of his salary to charity, sings tenor in the Brooklyn Gay Men's Choir.

I'm not ruling anything out yet, but so far, Albright doesn't strike me as a cannibal.

Oh, he is a cannibal.

But is he a witting one or an unwitting one?

These are the contents of his stomach.

Sausage casings and all.

(sniffs deeply)

(gagging)

Are you okay?

The trick is to suppress the gag reflex.

It was an illuminating whiff.

I'm sensing strong notes of anise-- you might recall...

Watson: Oh, yeah, we traced all the major buyers of anise in the city when we were looking into what's his name?

Musgrave.

As it happens... (pants) there is one such consumer who seems of particular interest in this case.

Man: Sorry, I'm confused.

You think I sold a sausage with a person in it?

Anise is your trademark ingredient, is it not?

Yeah, but my meat comes from cruelty-free sources.

Meat which you then grind on the premises, if your sign outside is to be believed.

Of course it is.

Wait, you think I ground somebody up?

That's crazy.

Do you have any proof?

Other than the smell of anise in a dead guy's stomach?

No, but we would like to investigate.

Nothing happened in my shop.

Does anyone else have access to this place?

Employees with keys?

I open and close the place myself every day.

We did have a break-in last week.

Somebody snapped the padlock off the storm doors outside.

They never got upstairs, though.

I keep a deadbolt on the basement doors.

The grinder's downstairs, isn't it?

Okay, so someone k*lled the man who Efraim Albright ate.

Or woman.

The victim could as easily been female.

Fine, the cannibal was equal-opportunity.

Whoever the victim was, he, or she, was k*lled, dragged here, dropped into the basement, and then ground up?

That's more or less my theory, yes.

And this is all based on the fact that you smelled anise in Albright's stomach?

It's pretty thin, don't you think?

I think that a unique set of circumstances calls for a flexible intellect to act as interpreter.

Well, I-I assume we're gonna have to make our way to that meat grinder, eventually.

Yeah.

You know, it's been a while since we talked about your recovery.

I mean, we used to talk about it all the time, and now it's just something you do.

Well, we used to talk about it all the time because you were my sober companion.

And now we're partners in the consulting detective concern.

We're also friends. It wouldn't be so weird if we checked in with each other once in a while.

My recovery's part of my routine.

I don't discuss it with you any more than I discuss my, uh... inhalations.

Wait...

What, did you find something?

That's skin and hair.

That is less than ten days old.

So if someone unconscious, or barely conscious was dragged down here, they might have banged their head and left this behind.

Both skin and hair are entirely without pigment.

Yet both are robust and springy.

So whoever left this behind wasn't old.

You think he was an albino?

Or she.

Albinism is equally common between both sexes.

I think we should call Marcus.

The parameters of our missing persons search may just have narrowed considerably.

Watson.

Hmm?

It's morning. You fell, you fell asleep.

Mm, yeah.

I just, uh...

I know that Benson Durant did not maintain his security cameras outside his meat shop.

They were all down.

But I noticed there were shops on either side that had working cameras, so I called them and asked them to send me footage.

And you checked for albinos?

Well, until I fell asleep.

I didn't find anything.

I did.

I've been up here for 40 minutes looking at the footage you procured.

Alas, no albinos.

However, protestors had begun to frequent the meat shop we visited yesterday.

Apparently, its owner, Mr. Durant, had been giving a few lessons on how to butcher your own meat, and that attracted the attention of the animal rights movement.

None of the protestors suffered from albinism, however...

That guy has vitiligo.

Yeah, we're not looking for an albino.

We're looking for this fellow here.

And who is he?

Got no idea.

The woman he's having a heated discussion with, however, that's a nurse at Mountview Hospital in Bayside.

I see the scrubs, but there's no way to read the I.D. tag from this angle.

Don't need to read it.

It's orange.

Mountview Hospital is the only hospital in the five boroughs that has orange identification badges.

I sent a still from this to Marcus, and he's trying to see if she works there.

While he's doing that, I'm going to go out.

You should wait for his call.

Are you going to St. Olaf's.

I find it best to tick that particular box first thing in the morning.

Quick bite to eat, and then I'm gone.

(dog barking in distance)

♪ ♪

(musicians tuning up)

(phone chimes)

Hey.

Hey.

I sent a message to Sherlock, too-- he coming?

Yeah, he'll be along after he checks his phone.

We can get started.

So, the guy we think wound up in that sausage was arguing with a woman named Alma Cabrera.

She's a nurse in the oncology department at Mountview.

Woman: Sure.

That's Joaq.

Joaq?

Joaquin Pereya.

He's a great guy, we hang out sometimes.

Kind of an off and on thing.

Have you seen him in the past week or so?

No, but that's not unusual.

He gets really caught up in his work.

Is everything okay?

Do you have anything of Mr. Pereya's here?

Toothbrush, comb, anything that might have a DNA sample on it?

"DNA sample"?

What happened to Joaq?

We're not sure yet.

They finally got him, didn't they?

Who are "they"?

Joaquin was a biotechnologist.

He called himself a tissue engineer.

If you listen to his colleagues, he was a genius, his work was gonna change everything.

If Joaquin is really gone and you want to know what happened, I'd start right here.

I'm not exactly sure what you're talking about, but I really hope that didn't used to be a person.

Bell: So it isn't actually meat, it's some kind of fake meat?

No, it's actually meat.

It's 100% American beef.

We just... grow it here in the lab instead of on a cow.

You do see how those ideas don't go together.

Well, muscle is made of cells, right?

We harvest those cells humanely from living animals and replicate them here.

Holmes: Obviating barbaric industry practices, animal slaughter, and... climate-destroying methane.

Well, that is our hope.

Big Meat must be quaking in their boots.

"Big Meat"?

The cattle industry at large.

May I?

Mm.

(sniffs)

It's a bit antiseptic.

We're still perfecting texture.

Fat to protein ratio.

And what the cell's grown in, that must affect the flavor as well, yeah?

It's a solution of amino acids, mineral supplements.

Mostly sugar.

So, it's what a cow would taste like if it was raised on, um... breakfast cereal.

It's a work in progress.

And Joaquin Pereya's role in all this?

(cell phone buzzes)

(phone clicks)

(typing on phone)

We haven't told the rest of the team that he might be dead.

I... I still can't believe it myself.

He is dead, I just got a message from the forensic lab.

The DNA that we found was Mr. Pereya's.

Sorry.

Well, we'll gather everyone this afternoon and let them know.

Now, Brendan knows that something might be up.

He was second in command to Joaquin.

He stepped up when we thought that Joaquin had... flaked.

This was his desk.

Joaquin was our lead bioengineer.

He was a genius.

He, uh, worked out most of the science that made this possible.

Our Mozart of Meat.

Bell: So, girlfriend, Alma, may have been on to something.

If someone wanted to hurt their chances of succeeding, k*lling Joaquin was a good place to start.

That lady in the white coat, does she have any reason to use this desk?

Corrine? No.

Why?

Corrine, this is Detective Bell and his consultant, Mr. Holmes.

We just re-checked your references.

Care to explain why the phone numbers you gave for your last two employers are now disconnected?

Excuse me?

I could explain.

Your recent work history's a fiction.

You're a spy sent here to gather intelligence on Next Century Meats' linchpin scientist, Joaquin Pereya.

But Werner, I have no idea why the numbers aren't working.

Holmes: Your shoes, Ms. Brighton, are the creation of celebrated French designer, Christian Louboutin.

Yes.

And?

Early in his career, Monsieur Louboutin, in a fit of artistic peak, used red nail polish to lacquer the soles of his shoes.

And that's been a trademark of the brand ever since, yeah.

Unfortunately for you, the soles scuff, so I quite literally followed your footprints over to Mr. Pereya's workstation where, judging by the copious scuffage, you've been a very busy bee.

Bell: Whoever placed you here, might've had Joaquin Pereya m*rder*d.

So unless you k*lled him yourself, you'd be smart to get in front of this.

Wait.

Joaquin is dead?

I was placed here by Midwest Cattle Ranchers.

Oh, my God.

They just said I was supposed to share information.

I never signed on for m*rder.

I don't know much.

But I'll help you if I can.

Any smoking g*ns from Ms. Brighton's communiqués with Big Meat?

You really love saying that, don't you?

Yeah, more than I enjoy sayin' "Midwest Cattle Ranchers."

Well, not yet, anyway.

Plenty on what we already know.

They faked her job history, they set her up to spy on Joaquin Pereya, but so far no e-mails saying "Great work.

We're gonna k*ll him, we'll take it from here."

You going out?

While you were perusing, uh, Ms. Brighton's correspondence, I was nosing about Midwest Cattle's computers, and I hit a firewall I couldn't cr*ck, so I asked Everyone for help.

Their task Du jour is that I deliver five minutes of observational comedy at open Mic night at a place called The Joke Hole.

I'd invite you to come, but my plan is to stink.

Oh, uh, your friend Holder came by yesterday.

He wanted me to give you this.

Doesn't really go with anything I own.

Yeah, I told him the same thing.

So I take it he informed you I've not been going to St. Olaf's in quite some time.

The man needs a lesson in the meaning of anonymity.

He said that you needed a change.

That you're going to a different meeting.

Is that what's going on?

Well, you followed me to Van Kirk Park this morning, so... I'm sure you know that it isn't.

I'm well versed in the art of detecting a tail, Watson.

Yeah, I probably should not have done that.

Well, I probably shouldn't have lied.

So let's put an an end to it, shall we?

The change that I needed to instate is that I'm not going to meetings anymore.

Why?

I needed to inject an element of derring-do into my sobriety.

Remove the safety net, if you will.

And you, even if no longer in an official capacity, are part of that safety net, so I kept you out of the loop.

The daily business of staying sober, of going to meetings with people not nearly my intellectual equal, has become a bore.

I've said before my mind rebels at stagnation.

The process of recovery has become stagnant, so I've increased the level of difficulty, in order to remain engaged.

What I have not done, I assure you, is waiver in my commitment one iota.

You're arrogant.

I beg your pardon?

Your problem is that you think you're smarter than everyone else.

I am smarter than everyone else, demonstrably.

I didn't say you weren't, you are.

I said you think you are, you think that being smarter makes you different.

Don't you think other people get bored at meetings, too?

It-it was one of the most common things I used to talk about with my clients.

Everyone gets bored at meetings.

It doesn't make you different, it makes you typical.

But you know what the ones who stay sober do?

They keep going to meetings.

Have you considered the possibility that I experience my boredom more acutely than others experience theirs?

I've been relating to my sobriety like a tourist who visits the Grand Canyon.

But doesn't go near the edge for fear of falling in.

Yes, and that's how you stay sober.

It is also how you lull yourself into a torpor.

If addiction is an abyss, shouldn't the addict tiptoe up to the edge once and a while?

Stare down into the gorge.

You know what?

The first thing you said was right.

I'm not officially anything to your sobriety other than your friend.

You have the right to do whatever you want.

My vote is sober and bored.

You know what? Uh, there's another... box of Corrine's files downstairs, I'm gonna go through it.

You got to your open Mic, I'm sure you'll k*ll.

Holmes: Two breakfast sandwiches.

One made with sausage from our own larder.

The other was concocted from "shmeat, which I brought home from Next Century Meats.

♪ ♪

"Shmeat"?

A term of art among scientists in the field, a "sheet of meat."

You're not interested in the blind taste test I devised?

No offense. I appreciate the gesture, or part of it, but...

I'm gonna pass on the lab-grown meat thing.

If you wanted a skin graft, you'd prefer cells grown in a lab over ones from a cadaver, no?

Why should what you put in your mouth be any different?

'Cause I don't eat my own skin.

I'm surprised. You're a woman of science.

Yeah. And I've been around plenty of labs.

It's not a place where you want to go shop for groceries.

Have you ever been around an industrial slaughterhouse?

(inhales)

How'd your comedy set go?

Oh, wonderfully. Boos abounded.

A gentleman backstage told me I needed to be more relatable.

The access I was granted by Everyone, however, proved much more fruitful.

According to Big Meat's accounting records, they recently paid $100,000 to a "performance consultant" named Thomas Cockburn.

Mm... What's a "performance consultant"?

I have no idea. And I'd bet no one at Big Meat does either.

Did a little digging into Thomas Cockburn.

He's attracted the attention of both federal and local authorities in multiple jurisdictions over the last six years, in connection with eight other murders.

In each case, a company with reason to want the victim dead paid Cockburn as a consultant around the same time.

So, he's a corporate hit man.

That is what the authorities believed, but they were never able to prove it.

Cockburn provided a definitive alibi for each of the murders, showing that he was in an entirely different city at the times they were committed.

But?

But I noticed something the authorities missed.

Cockburn has an adult daughter, named Grace.

The two are ostensibly estranged after Cockburn's divorce from her mother.

It's why she was never considered, but I think they're much closer than they let on.

So, she's been in each city when a m*rder happened.

You think they're partners.

Grace happens to live in New York.

Marcus is inviting her to the station as we speak.

So, make yourself an alternate breakfast.

We should have Joaquin Pereya's m*rder solved by the time you get dressed.

Bell: We get that you never expected anyone to connect you to these murders, but... it still would have been a good idea not to keep so much evidence in your apartment.

Our search turned up building plans, travel receipts and this coded log book that Mr. Holmes here cracked in no time.

I mean, it's really quite easy to break a cipher if you know what it's going to say.

Feds are picking up your dad in Miami, and a whole bunch of other cities are gonna want to talk to you, but we get you first.

And our D.A. is gonna want to close this quick, before the FBI takes over. So... help us wrap up Joaquin Pereya, and you're in a strong position to make a deal.

I would, honestly.

Except I didn't k*ll Joaquin Pereya.

Holmes: Is there a point in denying it now?

We have evidence that you k*lled nine people.

The game's lost.

You have proof that we k*lled eight people.

My father and I had nothing to do with Pereya's death.

You had his info in your apartment.

Records that you were tailing him.

Because Midwest Cattle Ranchers did hire us to k*ll him.

We had a plan. We were ready to go through with it.

But MCR canceled the contract before we did the job.

Why would they do that?

An FDA ruling came down, about the food Pereya was developing.

The government classified it as "meat substitute," instead of recognizing it as meat.

So, Next Century Meat's product will be relegated to the tofu aisle, along with veggie burgers, and other fringe foodstuffs.

So, Midwest Cattle's panic went from five-alarm fire to a minor annoyance.

They didn't need to k*ll him anymore, so they called us off.

Why would I bother lying?

You're right that I am screwed when the Feds get here.

But we didn't k*ll your guy.

Someone else did.

♪ ♪

(door opens)

Gregson: I understand congrats are in order.

You picked up a team of hit men that the FBI's been hunting for years? Unfortunately, neither one of them k*lled Joaquin Pereya.

Well, Holmes texted me.

"Big Meat innocent. Further suspects to come."

"Further suspects."

I guess that's what you're doing?

The people Pereya worked with?

They called him the Mozart of Meat.

Sherlock says he knows a little something about genius, and that... "No truly exceptional intellect would knowingly submit flawed work."

Now, the FDA has consistently ruled that if two products are genetically identical, then they're legally the same thing.

Even if one's natural and one's grown in a lab.

Now, Pereya obviously knew that.

So, Sherlock thinks there's no way he would've submitted bad research to the FDA.

So, he went to Next Century Meats, and got them to give us Pereya's undoctored research.

And you're comparing it to the work that was submitted to the FDA.

You think someone doctored Pereya's work?

Sherlock does.

I'm agnostic.

But right now I'm along for the ride.

Oh!

What?

This chart in the official report. It looks identical to the one in Pereya's research, except... couple numbers are different.

I'm sending pictures off to Sherlock.

I'm sure it'll be a minute before I hear back.

If you've got stuff to do...

Hmm.

(beeps)

That's him.

"Get here immediately."

He used an eight to make it easier to type out "immediately."

"Our so-called 'Mozart of Meat' had his very own Salieri."

Mr. Farley, you were Mr. Pereya's understudy.

If his work failed and then he disappeared in disgrace, n-no one stood to benefit more than you.

Whoa, Joaq was my boss, but he was also my friend.

I hope you're not suggesting I k*lled him.

Bell: We know someone sabotaged the data, Mr. Farley.

You had access to Joaquin Pereya's computer and you have the technical expertise alter his work.

We'll prove that, 'cause we've already been granted access to Pereya's hard drives. Your digital fingerprints are in there somewhere.

It's the only explanation that makes any sense.

Theoretically speaking, let's say you find the guy who fudged Joaq's research. That doesn't mean you found the guy who k*lled him.

Is that a theoretical admission to being the saboteur?

You guys have got messing around with Joaq's numbers all tied up with k*lling him.

One's a try at getting a leg up in the office. The other's life in prison.

It wasn't necessarily the same person.

So, convince us they're not tied together.

Okay, look.

You dig around enough, you're gonna see, it was me who fudged the data. I'm not proud of it, and I hope you don't tell my boss and ruin my career.

But Mr. Platz called your office to learn what he could about Joaq's m*rder.

Apparently, he was k*lled between Wednesday and Friday of last week?

That's what we think, yeah.

I was at a wedding in Curacao last week.

Left Monday, landed at JFK middle of the day Friday.

I'm telling the truth! I was at the ceremony!

You can ask the bridesmaids I hit on.

It's as we suspected.

Brendan Farley's three-quarter alibi is 100% percent true.

He was harassing bridesmaids in Curacao.

So, it wasn't him.

Who else wanted Joaquin Pereya dead because he made a lucrative breakthrough in the field of cultured meat?

Well, I'm already going through the company reports for Next Century Meats.

I think you're bored with recovery because you're not saying what's on your mind.

What's on my mind is that I'm bored.

And that's exactly what you need to be talking about.

That, and everything else you said yesterday.

Including the bit about being the smartest person in the room?

See, recovery only works if you say what you're thinking.

Those people in the room, whatever their I.Q. is, they've been through a lot.

They can handle you being an arrogant jerk.

I mean, will it be awkward?

Probably, but when's that ever stopped you?

It's a better way to re-engage.

I worked with a lot of clients before, and... every time sometimes tries to go it alone, it always ends badly.

S...

♪ ♪
♪ ♪

Holmes: Watson, you may want to compose yourself before coming downstairs.

A salon of sorts is in progress.

(man chuckles)

It's so new!

Aye, so true, so true.

Now, we eat, uh, eggs, yes?

These are cells taken from an animal.

The chicken is presumably still alive.

(laughter)

That's an interesting example.

Mm-hmm.

Man: Oh, good morning.

Now, if we could only find those chickens.

(laughter)

(laughter echoes)

(humming)

Watson: Why is there some sort of world peace convocation going on upstairs?

Those are leading scholars of their respective faiths.

We've had a very productive morning.

We reached conclusions on some knotty issues.

And now it's time to eat.

Jews and Muslims are united by more than conflict, Watson.

Both groups have labored under dietary restrictions for millennia.

Including very strict guidelines over the slaughter and consumption of meat.

Why would someone doctor research to prevent a lucrative breakthrough from being labeled as such?

Only, I now believe, if it was more profitable to have another label.

Are you familiar with the word pareve?

Uh, it's a kosher thing, right?

Mm. The laws of kashrut state that permissible foods are divided into groups-- dairy, meat.

But there's a third classification.

Pareve. Water is pareve.

Carrots are pareve.

Okay, so pareve is like... neutral?

Exactly, it's the Switzerland of food.

Now, if shmeat is ruled to be actual meat, that obviously opens up the carnivore market, but it also subjects it to the Gordian Knot of halal and kosher certification.

If it is a mere meat substitute, then it sits, forlorn, in the vegan aisle.

But if shmeat can thread the needle, if it can be actual lab-grown meat, but not be classified as such...

It would be pareve, neutral to the kosher and halal rules about meat.

Imagine, Watson.

Observant Jews finally being allowed a cheeseburger.

Religious Muslims indulging in pulled-pork Cubanos.

There is what?

Over a billion Muslims in the world.

It's a huge untapped market.

Probably way more profitable for them to not label shmeat as meat.

Hence the doctored research.

So, if Joaquin Pereya wasn't on board for faking the data, that would mean that whoever's in charge of that place would have reason to k*ll him.

And that would be...

Werner Platz, CEO of Next Century Meats.

Can we prove he was involved?

We can if his coconspirator will talk to us.

Mr. Farley, thank you so much for coming on short notice.

I thought I already answered your questions.

Well, we had one set of questions for you when we thought that you k*lled Joaquin Pereya.

We no longer think that.

Oh, okay.

Good.

We now think that you were part of a conspiracy to k*ll him.

After you.

Bell: This is the intersection of 65th street and Metropolitan Avenue.

Street racers use this stretch of Metropolitan.

A concerned citizen tried to catch some of their license plates on camera.

She overheard a patrolman asking for security camera footage, volunteered to share this.

Am I supposed to be looking at something?

Bell: That's your boss, Werner Platz.

So?

Mr. Farley, that intersection is a half block away from Brooklyn's Best Wurst.

This footage was gathered the same night someone broke into the store and ground Joaquin Pereya into so much mince.

We can place your boss right by the scene, on the night it happened.

I've also had an informal peek at your banking records.

"Informal peek"?

What does that mean?

It means I have friends who are digitally nimble.

Don't look at him.

He had nothing to do with it.

We'll get an authorized look soon enough.

They'll show a judge what we already know.

Someone recently paid your mortgage in full.

It was paid by a third party.

We're already trying to link that to your boss.

What does that have to do with Joaquin?

Bell: Werner Platz wanted Mr. Pereya to alter his... shmeat so the FDA would classify it as a meat substitute.

Then he could sell it to the kosher and halal markets.

Watson: But Pereya was a true believer.

He cared more about disrupting the meat industry than he did about the profits.

He wouldn't make the change.

So, Platz k*lled Pereya and found himself a cringing mediocrity who would take a fee to alter the data.

And that was you, Mr. Farley.

Bell: Testify against Werner Platz.

I already offered you one chance to get in front of this.

You won't get another.

And if I say no, what happens?

You take that video to a judge.

All that shows is Werner driving down the street.

Why'd he pay my mortgage?

'Cause I'm a great employee and I just got a promotion.

You guys have nothing on me and I'm pretty sure you've got nothing on Werner or you wouldn't be trying to get me to turn on him.

It was a nice try, guys, but I'm going to leave my lawyer's number.

Don't call me again.

So, Brendan Farley and Werner Platz k*lled a man and ground him into sausage... and not only do they get to walk free...

They'll both be rich the moment the shmeat hits the market.

God bless America.

We'll canvass the neighborhood near the meat shop again tomorrow.

Perhaps we missed someone who saw Werner Platz carrying a body down the stairs.

The patrolman went door to door twice.

It's my party. I'll clean up.

You should rest. You seem a little tense.

I'm frustrated.

Uh, we found the people who broke into the Leviathan.

We arrested half of Le Milieu to get your brother off the hook.

We brought down Moriarty.

I mean, these guys are not criminal geniuses.

They're just a couple of idiots who k*lled for money.

Granted, it's not the perfect crime, but occasionally, criminals walk free due to dumb luck.

It's not a... perfect universe, is it, Watson?

Well, that sounds like giving up. I mean, I know no one's quitting.

I-I just hate that these guys are getting away with it.

We might not be able to prove our case in court... but that doesn't mean we can't punish them.

What, are you gonna whip them with a cherry Danish?

No, I'm going to use this.

We need to reconvene the council of rabbis and imams.

Do you seriously think this is gonna work?

I have no earthly idea.

Morning.

We'd like to see the coconspirators in the m*rder of Joaquin Pereya.

Our lawyers are on their way here.

I'm gonna do everything I can to sue you two for harassment.

Gentlemen, we have unearthed no new evidence against you.

Despite our best efforts, we are unable to prove that the two of you m*rder*d Joaquin Pereya.

Then what are you doing here?

We can make a compelling circumstantial argument that you are guilty and we did last night... to the Convocation of Orthodox Rabbis and the I.C.H., their equivalent in the Muslim faith.

Are you familiar with those bodies?

They're the ones who will be deciding whether or not your shmeat can be sold to the halal and kosher communities.

They asked us to pass on a message.

m*rder is not kosher.

Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?

We demonstrated to the satisfaction of various religious worthies that your shmeat became eligible to be pareve by virtue of foul play.

The imams and the rabbis have got no intention of rewarding m*rder.

They're never gonna bless you with the labels that you seek and they're going to use their influence to see to it that other certifying bodies follow their lead.

You can still sell it in the vegan aisle, but good luck staying in business.

So, this is some kind of retribution.

You are going to rob the world of our product because you can't prove your insane theories.

Maybe your shmeat will go to market.

Maybe it won't.

The rabbis and imams have agreed to change their minds on one condition: someone has to be convicted of Joaquin Pereya's m*rder.

I don't understand.

But we don't need you to.

Our appeal is to Mr. Farley.

He committed the actual m*rder.

Ground a corpse into sausage meat.

All you did was fake some data.

Watson: When we explained that to our captain, he called the D.A.

They're willing to be flexible.

In exchange for your testimony, they will arrange a plea that sees you serve no jail time.

Holmes: He'll be convicted of Joaquin Pereya's m*rder.

The shmeat will be, uh, deemed kosher and halal and you can participate in the profits while he rots in jail.

Brendan, don't listen to them.

For all you know, they're bluffing.

Or you can remain united in relative penury.

I mean, you know, he's really good to his partners.

He skinned the last one and, uh... ground him into sausage.

It's your choice, Mr. Farley.

Newswoman: Details of a shocking crime continue to emerge as CEO, Werner Platz, is arrested for the m*rder of Joaquin Pereya, the chief scientist at his company.

So, one coconspirator gets off nearly Scot-free in exchange for which the other is imprisoned for m*rder.

Satisfactory outcome?

I'll take it.

It's a random universe.

...of the actual m*rder...

Where are you going?

A meeting.

Will you be following me to confirm?

Do I need to?

♪ Life is like a storm ♪
♪ When we find out, it's gone... ♪

If no one else wants to share, we'll wrap up for tonight.

Okay, then.

Yes. It's nice to see you again.

Please.

Thanks. Uh... (clears throat)

Hello, my name is Sherlock and I'm an addict.

All: Hello, Sherlock.

I'm also... I'm the cleverest person in the room.

Now, I'm... I'm so much cleverer than my peers that I've come to believe I feel boredom more acutely than everybody else...

♪ Would you care at all? ♪

...which leads me to my recent quandary... arrogance.

My-my own arrogance, you know, to be precise.

And the possibility that that might be an Achilles' heel to my recovery.

♪ Would you care at all? ♪