Sherlock (2002)

[bunniefuu]

Professor!

It's over.

Give yourself up.

It's been a long time.

You're a hard man to find.

I intend to keep it that way.

Oh, you've been practising?

Clearly not with your brother !

Where is he, by the way?

I hear he doesn't get out much.

This isn't going entirely according to my plan!

That's most invigorating.

This is your last chance to stay alive.

Whoa, there!

Steady!

Steady, now.

May I help you, gentlemen?

I'm arresting you in the name of the Queen.

On what charge?

m*rder.

Surname?

Holmes.

With an L.

Christian name?

Sherlock.

Occupation?

Detective.

You one of us?

A private detective.

Is that supposed to impress me?

Whatever you call yourself doesn't give you the right to go around sh**ting people!

I was undertaking a commission from a lady.

Who is this woman?

I am being blackmailed..by a man who claims to have evidence that my late husband was engaged in criminal activities.

If this should ever get out, my family name will be ruined!

Do you know the identity of the blackmailer?

He has others do his dirty work!

He wants £10,000.

It's everything I have.

Either way, I'll be ruined.

You must agree to pay.

If my plan succeeds, you'll be able to keep the good name of your family and your money, but you must trust me completely.

I want you to make an arrangement to pay this man, and I will go in your place.

Thank you, Mr Holmes.

It'll be my pleasure.

Yes, yes, very gallant of you, I'm sure !

Did you happen to tell the lady of your intention to k*ll this blackmailer?

I was acting in self-defence.

You were chasing HIM.

Well, my reasons will become clear when you learn the identity of the blackmailer.

Well, we can hardly wait !

Sir, it is a pleasure.

Till next time.

Yeah.

What were you in for?

m*rder.

Henry Coot, sir.

Journalist.

At your service.

So, let you off with a warning, did they?

Begrudging thanks, in fact, once they'd learnt the identity of the man I'd k*lled.

So who did you k*ll, then?

Anyone we know?

Professor Moriarty.

But the police have been after him forever!

He's responsible for the deaths of over 30 men.

Not to mention the countless others whose lives he's destroyed.

He's the most wanted man in England.

He WAS.

I've k*lled him.

Well, my readers will want to know everything about you, Mr erm...

Sherlock Holmes.

Congratulations, Sherlock Holmes.

You've just made the headlines.

Lady DeWinter!

Please, come in.

I wanted to thank you...personally for what you did.

You can't imagine what a weight it is off my shoulders to know that he's dead.

You are not alone.

There are many people who counted the Professor as their greatest enemy.

Mr Holmes, I want you to have this.

No, really, it's not necessary.

I had my own reasons for wanting Moriarty dead.

I absolutely insist.

Would you accept this payment?

Thank you once again, Mr Holmes.

Forgive me for having put you in such danger.

Please, don't hesitate to call again if there's any way I can be of any further assistance.

I shall remember that...the next time I'm being blackmailed.

I meant I would very much like to see you again.

I don't think that would be a good idea.

He was good, but...

You won.

He's dead.

A single sh*t through the heart.

Everyone wants to know more about you, Mr Holmes.

Do you live in London?

Baker Street.

And you live in Pimlico, don't you?

How did you know?

I'm a detective.

Wait a minute.

Anyone could've told you that.

That's not clever.

And you've just come back from Sicily.

Palermo.

Am I right?

How did you work that out?

I take care to not catch the sun!

Well, I couldn't help noticing your perfume.

An unusual blend of bergamot and Indian jasmine.

Very distinctive.

Unique, one might say.

It's made by an eccentric perfumer on the Via Santa Croce, No.17.

This particular scent was commissioned especially by the Harbottle family and isn't generally available.

That's so clever!

I simply must introduce you to some of my friends.

Victoria, this is Mr Sherlock Holmes.

Do Victoria.

You know - the detecting, deducing thing.

Yes, Sherlock.

What can you say about me?

Hm?

Mr Sherlock Holmes?

Ben Harrington.

So, what am I doing here?

I thought you were going to tell ME, you being the great detective !

Maybe you're losing your touch.

Mr Harrington, it's my job to bring men like yourself to justice, not to waste time playing parlour games with them.

So you know who I am?

Of course I know who you are.

Detained 14 times since 1875, one arrest for illegal importation...

Never proven, Mr Holmes.

Never proven.

I was, and still am, a respectable businessman.

Well, I don't think importing opium has ever been an entirely respectable business, Mr Harrington.

And it currently appears to be a rather dangerous one.

All these victims were your main competitors, if I am not mistaken.

I had nothing to do with this.

Well, then, it makes only logical sense that you're one of the next intended victims.

I suggest you take extra precautions.

I have, believe me!

But I won't sleep easily until the bastards that are doing this are caught and preferably hanged.

Then you should talk to the police.

I spend my life trying to avoid them.

I don't like the police, Mr Holmes, and they don't like me.

So what do you want from me, Mr Harrington?

You can track them down, the murderers.

Have you considered the idea that this could be the work of a single perpetrator?

That would make it even easier for you.

You could solve the whole case in one go.

I'm afraid working for a possible felon wouldn't be good for my reputation.

I know what you think of me, Mr Holmes.

But the business I'm in...

it's a social necessity.

A health service, if you like.

Having the greatest empire in the world means sending a lot of young men off to w*r.

The wounded get sh*t up with morphine.

The ones who survive come back here with a taste for the drug.

People like that need people like me.

Well, fortunately, I don't, and I'd be grateful if you'd close the door behind you when you leave.

Funny thing about newspapers, Mr Holmes.

One day you're all over them, the next day they've forgotten you and you're nobody, all over again.

But they need headlines just as much as you do, and the one I'm dying to see, the one the whole of London is dying to see: "Sherlock Holmes catches multiple m*rder*r." I prefer "serial k*ller".

I like it - and so would they.

They're cutting up the latest victim today.

Just go and see.

Show them this note and they'll let you in.

A certain judge owes me a couple of favours.

Hm!

Yes, well...

I'll think about it, Mr Harrington.

Come on, let's go.

This is a restricted area.

I'm here with an official commission to assist you.

We don't need your help, Mr Holmes!

"Need" or "want"?

Both.

This is an autopsy, Inspector, not a carnival side show.

And the presence of amateurs, however...celebrated, is outrageous.

Mr Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson.

It's not my intention to interfere.

Well, that's something, at least !

Shall we get on with this?

Mm.

Charlie Duggan.

Opium dealer.

"Goldie" to his friends.

Apparently, he got his nickname from his mouthful of false teeth.

Well, we shall find out what happened to them later.

There's something abnormal about the windpipe.

Yes, normally he'd be using it to breathe !

I mean the wound that k*lled him.

I'm making the first incision.

Well, Doctor, I've got a million things to do.

Bring the results up to my office before you leave.

You, stay here.

I need to take a lateral segment.

You'll notice the discolouration around the cerebellum.

That's most unusual.

Strychnine?

Or a form of opiate?

Well, could be.

Yes.

The same pathology was found in each of the victims.

See, I'm hoping to gather a sufficient sample for a detailed chemical analysis.

The substance was injected here.

Do you see?

That's an abnormally large puncture wound.

Probably an eighth-diameter needle.

Haven't seen one of those since I was at medical school.

The wound was 4½ inches long.

It severed the windpipe and the carotid artery.

Is the depth of the wound constant?

How could that possibly be relevant?

It isn't, if you're merely looking to determine cause of death, but my primary concern is to discover clues as to the methods and identity of the k*ller!

He could've used a butcher's Kn*fe.

Yes, but then the wound would've been deeper in the centre.

Which isn't the case here.

A scalpel?

No, the edges are too uneven.

Is it possibly a curved blade of some kind?

Which would account for these other wounds on the body.

What I don't understand is why the k*ller didn't put down his w*apon while he was manoeuvring the body.

Brilliant, Watson.

Mr Holmes!

Mr Holmes, any more...scoops for me?

Public Records Library, please.

I've just a wife and seven hundred children to feed - don't mind me !

Thank you.

Whoa!

Don't go away.

Thank you.

This is about to get interesting.

Have you solved another crime?

I'm sure the police will release an official statement in due course.

How about "Multiple m*rder Mystery Solved"?

That ought to sell a few papers.

Nice one, Sherlock.

Are we finished?

Yes.

Sir, pray tell us, what did we find out about our m*rder*r?

This is my report.

I think you'll find some of my conclusions interesting.

Anything you'd like to add, Mr Holmes?

Only that the perpetrator's name is Dr Geoffrey Cruickshank.

Address: 18, Frith Street, London W1.

I suggest we move quickly.

Let me get this straight: you got that from the victim?

I haven't missed anything, have I?

He is dead?

I thought he must have sat up in the morgue and told Mr Holmes who'd k*lled him !

If you'll permit me to explain, the att*ck took place on the street.

The victim was jammed in the leg with a thick needle.

A powerful opium-based narcotic was then injected into his bloodstream rendering him confused and disorientated.

He was dragged into an alley.

His throat was ripped apart, his valuables removed.

Have I missed anything out, Doctor?

This is all in my report.

Naturally.

Now, given the location of the needle wound - here, in the calf - it seems unlikely that the k*ller used a conventional syringe.

That would've been both conspicuous and inconvenient.

No, it's far more likely that the needle was disguised in, say, a walking stick.

The fact that the victim was jabbed in the leg, rather than the neck, suggests the work of someone of lower-than-average height.

Coupled with this, combining the angle of entry of the hypodermic needle can lead to only one conclusion: the k*ller's height was between 5' and 5'2".

The puncture wound: that was remarkably precise.

Wouldn't you say, Doctor?

It could've been luck.

Yes, but combine that fact with the precision of the neck wound and the fact that the victim's teeth were extracted in such a professional manner...

We have to assume we're dealing with someone with some kind of medical training!

Although this medic isn't in practice any more, as you so pertinently pointed out.

Our most important clue was also identified by Dr Watson.

He was able to determine that the victim's throat was cut using a w*apon with a hooked blade.

On each of the victims, the blade consistently entered the throat on the right side and exited on the left.

Similar wounds made while the body was being manhandled suggest that the blade was actually attached to the attacker's body.

Conclusion: the k*ller had a metal hook in place of his left hand.

But there must be other possibilities!

No, there are none as likely.

All of this allows us to narrow down our list of possible suspects.

We're looking for an unusually short, one-armed man with medical training.

Well, who is this Cruickshank?

A doctor?

A dentist?

Performs illegal abortions from his rooms in Soho.

Beyond that, he's five feet tall, served as a medic with the King's Own Borderers, dishonourably discharged for incompetence and a morphine addiction, which he formed soon after losing his left hand in the second Afghan w*r.

Of course, I could be mistaken, but I'd say it's worth bringing him in for questioning.

Unless you'd rather wait for another victim?

Well, since I've got nothing better to do tonight...

Whoa, there!

Sir?

And what do we deduce from this, Mr Holmes?

He's dead.

That's very funny !

Sir...

It appears to be a su1c1de note.

Sir...

It seems you were correct, Mr Holmes.

This is our k*ller.

No, there's something not right here.

A signed confession...

All these articles belonging to the victims...

I'd still like to autopsy the body.

Mr Holmes, we live in the most violent and dangerous city in the world.

There's lots of murderers out there.

When one of them hangs himself and saves me the trouble, I'm very grateful.

I won't waste any more valuable time and money on this case.

Get him down from there.

Of course, there's only really one way to be sure it was su1c1de.

It's a pity he didn't authorise the autopsy.

We should do one, anyway.

All we need to do is check the brain stem.

If it's the same as the others', then we know there's still a k*ller at large.

Forget it.

I could lose my job!

I'll take full responsibility.

Ha!

I've never seen one of those before.

It's my own design.

It's something of a hobby of mine, inventing.

You were right, Holmes.

This wasn't a su1c1de.

I knew he'd bloody do it!

Whoa!

Whoa!

It wasn't about stealing wallets and gold teeth.

It was a carefully-planned operation, and my guess is Cruickshank had become a liability.

You said the man was a morphine addict, but...

Well, I've never seen the like!

Is there a way to tell which is the most recent?

All right, everybody in.

Let's have a look.

What's going on here?

He came up at the last minute.

And who have you got there?

Road accident.

We'll be seeing a lot more of these, what with the congestion and the reckless driving we're seeing today!

Although, once the underground railway is completed, there will be no need for anyone to ever drive in London again.

Watson, that's not Cruickshank under there, is it?

You can't go around cutting up bodies on the basis of a...

What did you call it?

A hunch.

Right.

So you'd better have a damn good explanation to stay out of prison.

The presence of the same substance in each of the victims' brains provides incontrovertible proof that Cruickshank was m*rder*d and the k*ller is still at large.

What kind of substance?

A substance that no-one's ever seen before.

We're assuming it's a new form of opium alkaloid.

- I see.

So you're telling me a group of opium traders were found with opium on the brain !

Is that supposed to convince me?

We can prove that Cruickshank was injected with the same substance found in the men he supposedly k*lled.

He was a well-known addict, Doctor!

The only surprise here was that he had any brain left at all!

I'm, frankly, shocked at this abuse of privilege.

You can count yourselves lucky that I'm too damn busy to be bothered to press charges!

But it'll be a different story if this ever, EVER happens again.

My God!

Harrington's is the same as the others'.

You were right.

WE were right, Watson.

I'd like to see the autopsy reports on all the victims.

You're the doctor what cuts up the bodies, right?

I perform autopsies for the police, that's correct.

Who are you?

Coot, sir.

Henry Coot.

Pleased to meet you.

Yeah...

What can you tell me about this Cruickshank, the one who k*lled all these people?

Ha!

That's not altogether certain.

So you mean the k*ller might still be out there?

It's a possibility, yes.

What else can you tell me Mr Holmes got wrong?

I didn't say..

Mm-hm?

Waiter...

Absinthe.

Look at this!

You've had enough, now, sir.

What the hell...

There, get that down your neck!

Mr Holmes...

Oh, Mr Holmes...

It is him!

I knew it was you!

You're the man that k*lled Professor Moriarty.

At your service.

Ah!

Back in the land of the living !

Sorry, Holmes.

I spoke to your friend Coot.

He twisted everything I said.

Don't worry about it, Watson.

Most of it's true, anyway.

I need a cigarette.

Well, they will be illegal soon.

dr*gs such as cocaine and opium have a proven medicinal use.

But tobacco?

Well, that's known to be harmful.

The government will have to pass a law against it.

Do you see what I see?

A mess?

A business plan.

Someone's looking to create a monopoly in the opium business by eliminating the opposition one by one.

And as your newspaper quite rightly says, he's "still at large".

I suppose you're going to give me his name and address ?

Professor Moriarty.

Last known residence: the London sewer system.

Well, he's dead.

That's what I thought, Watson.

It seems I have just given him an alibi for all of this.

Well, how can you possibly think he's still alive?

The Professor signed his handiwork...

..and they never found the body.

Are you sure about this, Holmes?

If Moriarty is still alive and planning a new criminal venture, you have to go to the police!

My reputation is based solely on the fact that I k*lled Moriarty!

If I now tell them he's still alive, do you think they'll believe me?

They'll laugh!

Which is, of course, exactly what he planned all along.

He set me up from the very beginning, Watson.

When I first met you, Holmes, I took you for an arrogant publicity seeker, but now I've seen your work, I realise that I was wrong.

You are a great detective, Holmes!

It's good of you to say so, Watson.

Well...

I shall leave you to your tidying.

Another invention, Watson?

Yes.

You carry an ordinary sword-stick, but this is the future.

r*fle-stick.

Fires a single .45 calibre b*llet with incredible accuracy.

Cock it with a simple twist of the handle.

Press the trigger to fire.

Just one b*llet?

Yes.

So I think I'll stick with this.

Well, you may find a use for it.

Come on.

So where are you taking me, then, Watson?

Thought a family reunion might do you good.

We're going to see Mycroft.

How did you know about my brother?

You're not the only one around here with detectional skills, you know!

As your doctor, I needed to know who was your next of kin.

I checked some of your papers and found Mycroft.

Watson, I can't talk to him now.

I saw the whole thing happen.

I was 12 years old.

There's nothing you could've done for him, Holmes.

It's a miracle he survived.

But how can I now tell him that Professor Moriarty is still alive?

We are not here to talk about Moriarty.

I've spoken to your brother.

He's looking forward to seeing you and to playing your "old game", whatever that might be.

Mycroft!

Married, two children.

Lives in Southwark.

Born in Southwark.

Works in a public house.

The shoes?

Of course!

Husband has a drinking problem.

Invalided out of the army four years ago.

Not her.

Er, non-commissioned officer in the Royal a*tillery.

Served in India, recently discharged.

A child...

Children.

Oh, yes, of course.

I'm sorry.

At least two children.

One is over five years old, the other less than two months.

His wife d*ed giving birth to that child.

Oh, this is too much!

Watson, look at the way he holds himself and the colour of his skin.

Clearly, he's a soldier.

He's more than a private.

Recently been in India.

He's still wearing his amm*nit*on boots, which means he's only just left the Services.

Doesn't walk like a cavalryman, but he obviously wore his hat on one side.

You can see the lighter skin on the left half of his face.

Too stocky to have been a sapper, which leaves us with the a*tillery.

He's in mourning for someone close.

The fact that he's doing his own shopping suggests it's his wife.

He's been buying gifts for children, one of reading age, the other an infant.

It's most impressive!

So I understand from Dr Watson here that you believe that...

Moriarty is still alive?

Sorry, Holmes.

It was the only way I could think of to get you back to work.

Please.

You did the right thing, Doctor.

I feel perfectly safe here.

Anyway, I always thought the whole thing sounded a little too simple.

There was nothing simple about it, Mycroft, I can assure you.

Oh, I've no doubt the Professor put on a good show, Sherlock.

He's outwitted us all in his time.

I want you to tell me how you tracked him down from the very beginning.

Well, I was recently approached by a young lady by the name of Isabella DeWinter.

She told me she was being blackmailed...

..and that was the last I saw of him.

Brilliant.

Quite brilliant!

I have my moments.

I was referring to the Professor.

He stayed one step ahead of you all along.

Still, you mustn't be too down on yourself.

You came a darned sight closer to catching him than anyone else.

And I still failed.

His plan was flawless.

Almost.

The girl.

Precisely!

Charming, beautiful and utterly convincing.

Perhaps she was an actress.

Which means she can be easily found.

And then what?

Let myself be humiliated all over again?

This isn't that game any more, Mycroft!

You think I don't know that?

You don't think I haven't sat here every day and wondered what my life would've been like if things had been different all those years ago?

This is not what's stopped me going after him.

It's this.

I know my limitations.

I know what it is to be frightened, to run away from yourself.

You must not do the same!

After what happened?

Why on earth shouldn't I?

Because you're different.

You're better than he is.

You're much stronger than I ever was!

I know this is personal, Sherlock, but just for one minute I want you to forget about me...

..and consider the bigger picture.

This is a man who staged his own death to cover up a string of murders.

Imagine the time, effort and resources that must have taken!

The only possible explanation is that he's planning something that will change the face of crime for ever!

Maybe change the whole world.

He's already known as the most evil man in England.

Imagine what it would be like...

if he was a hundred times, a thousand times more powerful!

Nobody would be able to touch him!

He has to be stopped.

You're the only one that can do that, Sherlock.

The door is open.

Find the girl - find the man.

Finish off what you started!

You can be very persuasive.

I didn't know you still had it in you.

Thank you, Mycroft.

Mr Holmes?

How do you do?

Here's something for you.

Thank you, sir.

This way, sir.

Sit here, sir.

Next!

Next...

Thank you, ladies.

We'll be in touch.

Those are the last, Mr Holmes.

It could be you're talking about Rebecca Doyle.

Well, I'd like to get in touch with her by tomorrow.

Oh!

If you don't mind slumming, you might try the King's Arms in Whitechapel.

She normally goes there.

Well, when she's not working here.

Thank you...ladies.

Whisky, please.

I'll wait by the doorway.

I'm looking for Rebecca Doyle.

I might be able to offer her a job.

Harry...

Harry!

Excuse me.

What sort of job?

I'm putting on the new Wilde play at my theatre across the water and there might just be a part in it for you.

I got offered another job today.

I turned it down cos I didn't like the conditions.

The money?

Sleeping with the producer.

I haven't stooped that low...yet.

Well, you need have no worries there, Miss Doyle.

It's only your acting talents that I am interested in.

Have you seen me perform?

My Desdemona?

No, your Lady Isabella DeWinter !

It's not you.

All I need to know is who hired you.

I don't know what you're talking about.

The man who hired me never told me his name.

What did he look like?

Tall, nice clothes...

A gentleman.

And where did you meet?

Backstage at the Playhouse.

He came to see me.

What colour was his hair?

-I don't remember.

He was wearing a hat.

A grey one.

And his shoes?

Brown...I think.

You're lying, Miss Doyle.

About his shoes?

About everything.

That is a disgusting suggestion!

You bloody pervert!

Is this man bothering you, miss?

Yes!

Boxing blue at Cambridge.

So you think she was lying?

No gentleman wears brown shoes with a grey hat.

Of course.

Come on, Watson.

There's not much time.

Before what?

Before she dies.

Miss Doyle!

Go on!

Go on, get off!

Go on!

Get off!

You must come with me.

Don't worry.

You're perfectly safe here.

Now can you tell me anything at all about the man who hired you?

I was working at the Albany, in the chorus line.

Two men came up to me backstage, paid me half upfront.

They even let me keep the dresses.

You should get some sleep.

I'll send for your things and we'll go over everything in the morning.

Is that you, Mr Holmes?

Couldn't sleep.

Nor can I.

First thing tomorrow, I'll leave London.

I'll get out of your way.

I'm afraid he'll find you.

I can only protect you if you stay here.

I'm sorry I lied to you.

You're the only person who's trusted me and been honest all along.

If you want the truth, Miss Doyle, I want him to come after you.

If he reveals himself, then I can catch him.

Stay here.

It seems that rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated !

Of course, you knew that, didn't you?

You followed the clues I've left rather successfully.

You just couldn't help yourself, could you, Professor?

You couldn't resist emerging from the shadows.

We both owe it to our public to stay in the limelight.

I thought it was more appropriate when you were in the sewers !

No more games, Professor.

Please, Holmes, not the old sword-stick!

Get into the 19th century!

I didn't see that coming.

That's twice.

Let's go for a ride.

I'm sure you'll be interested in my latest discovery.

A new alkaloid of morphine, perhaps?

Again, I'm impressed.

Dr Watson found traces in the brain stems of each of your victims.

Seems your new-found friend is not as dull as he looks.

Did he tell you how the drug worked?

No, but I'm sure you're going to.

This is five times more powerful than morphine.

Ten times more addictive.

People k*ll for it.

They steal the food from their children's mouths for a single injection.

An interesting idea, Professor.

Building a criminal empire on a product that isn't even illegal.

Not yet, but one must always anticipate the future.

And when the government does ban the drug completely, prices will simply go through the roof and I'll still control the entire market.

What do you plan to call yourself, Professor?

A drug dealer?

I prefer the title "drug baron".

As we speak, a large shipment is on its way to America.

They're going to love it over there!

Unfortunately, we haven't had much time for clinical trials.

So you are going to help me...

..determine the precise fatal dose.

Oh, one last thing.

The clinical name for the drug is "dihydromorphine".

I am still looking for the right street name, so if you have any ideas before you die, I'd be grateful.

It needs to be something heroic!

Run along, Sherlock.

GO!

Do you have any proof that he's been abducted?

Well, not exactly, but it's the only possibility that makes any sense.

I see.

Tell me, Dr Watson, who would do such a thing?

Right.

I've got nothing to lose!

Oh...

I'd get out of his way.

God, that drunk!

Get him away.

Whoa!

Come on, then!

Whoa!

Baker Street.

Show me how to do this.

I want to be able to take care of him.

It's quite simple.

According to my colleague in Vienna, who has much experience in these matters, the idea is to lower the dosage slowly...

..to aid withdrawal.

All right?

Thank you.

My brother fought in the Boer campaigns.

He came back from the Cape with one leg...

..and a terrible craving for morphine.

What happened to him?

He left home after about a year.

I never saw him again.

No.

No more.

You should be in bed.

I'm fine.

We've got to find out that warehouse.

That's where he is.

It's hopeless, Watson.

Nothing's coming back.

I think we're getting close, Watson.

Take her away.

We cannot do this alone, Holmes!

There's no time, Watson.

I'm not letting him escape again.

This is not just about you and Moriarty!

Think of those dr*gs that you told me about.

We have to prevent any of them getting out onto the streets and we cannot do this on our own!

Let me fetch the police.

I need to get Lestrade.

All right, but be quick.

Mr Holmes, I can't see anything untoward here.

It all looks perfectly peaceful.

I'm not in the habit of lying, Inspector.

Professor Moriarty is in there.

So you say, but since you're the only one that's seen him, can I really be expected to believe you?

We cannot enter this building without a court order.

I've had a very busy day trying to keep up with you, Mr Holmes.

So, what's the story, then?

I have no comment.

We're about to arrest the most dangerous criminal g*ng in England.

Not without a court order, we're not!

"Police Miss Golden Opportunity Again"?

I can live with that.

Oh, can you ?

Even if it's not true?

We can always print a retraction next week.

We do this my way.

This is a complete waste of time and resources!

They won't find anything in this place.

As you were saying, Inspector ?

Watson...

This is outrageous!

We're in London, for God's sake - not the Wild West!

THIS IS THE POLICE!

YOU'RE ALL UNDER ARREST!

Always one step ahead...

Well, he can't have gone far.

So you were right about the dr*gs, but next time, with Moriarty, if you do find him...

..k*ll him again.

Mr Holmes!

This is the man you want to talk to.

Oh, very modest, Mr Holmes!

Well, I suppose you could do with a bit of good publicity for a change, Inspector!

Er...

Rebecca!

Rebecca!

Rebecca!

We're walking into a trap, Watson.

I think you should go back.

Huh!

Maybe we should split up.

Be careful.

Holmes!

Just the man.

Professor Moriarty!

It's time.

Put that revolver down in front of you.

And your stick.

Let her go.

This is between you and me.

No, this is an unexpected bonus.

Of course I knew you'd come running to the aid of a damsel in distress, but oh, did you care for her!

It's so...oh, touching, seeing two young people falling in love !

You've got me.

What else could you possibly want?

What do I want?

The rest of your life to be a living hell!

I want you to realise that she might have lived a very long life but because of you, that's not going to happen.

Just one thing.

Aargh!

Nice try, Holmes.

It's a little late for heroics.

Watch me carefully.

I want this image to live with you a long time.

Ugh!

Do you love him?

Well?

Yes.

No!

I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth!

Well, can't have that.

I'm afraid this is going to hurt.

What are you writing, Watson?

Oh, my casebook.

Recently it's started to make rather interesting reading.

I've updated this for you.

Thought you might like to remember recent events.

I think I'd rather trust posterity with that diary of yours, Watson.

I think I finally got this contraption to work.

Watson, have you noticed that people send the strangest gifts during a convalescence?

From my Aunt Agatha.

Quite mad...

..and convinced that the cure for any ill is to..."wrap up warm".

Oh, which reminds me.

I have something here that I've been meaning to give you for days.

Thank you, Watson.

You'll be doubly grateful when they make cigarettes illegal.

Here, put the hat on.

And look this way.