03x01 - The Empty House

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In 1891, at the Reichenbach Falls, near Marlington in Switzerland, Sherlock Holmes finally closed his account with Professor Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal of his generation.

The two men were alone in that dreadful place, but the outcome of their struggle was obvious to a trained observer.

Holmes had achieved the destruction of his archenemy, only at the cost of his own life.

It is now three long years since my dear friend plunged to his death.

There, deep down under the swirling water, the infamous Professor Moriarty and the foremost champion of law of his generation will lie together for all time.

Even now, there is hardly a corner of London that does not remind me of my old friend.

I never walk down Baker Street, where we shared rooms for so many eventful years, without it reminding me only too keenly of the past and the lost of one I shall ever regard as the best and wisest man I have ever known.

I've retained a keen interest in criminal matters and supplemented my meager practice by working as a police surgeon.

It was in the early spring of 1894 that I was called out early in the morning to an appointment in the west end.

Good morning, constable. Good morning, doctor.

Inspector Lestrade is waiting for you.

First floor, sir. Thank you.

Inspector?

Early call, I'm afraid, doctor.

I'm glad to see you.

The Honorable Ronald Adair.

Oh, not there, sir, if you please.

I'm sorry.

Age 23.

A second son of the Earl and Countess of Maynooth.

Father, governor of one of the Australian colonies.

Mother in London for the winter.

Son and daughter living in this house with her.

su1c1de?

No, no.

No w*apon.

Oh, this was found on the floor beside the corpse.

That's one of those soft-nosed revolver b*ll*ts.

Horrible things.

Yeah.

Must have gone right through the poor fellow's head.

It's unusual, isn't it, for a p*stol to have such velocity?

More like a r*fle.

Yes.

Well, it's m*rder, then, inspector.

Oh, yes.

Any idea who it was?

No.

It's early days yet, but this one looks to me as if it could turn out to be a bit of a puzzle.

Hmm...

Well, presumably, he was sitting in that chair.

I suppose counting that money.

Well, the m*rder*r doesn't appear to have been a thief.

Adair had spent the evening playing cards at his club.

Time for one last hand?

Oh, yes, indeed.

Now we can get our revenge.

Well, Ronald, uh, what's the damage?

Ronald.

Ronald?

Ronald.

I do believe Sir Ronald couldn't have gone out again.

No, milady.

I heard him come home at about half past 10.

And he hasn't gone out again.

Of that I'm sure.

Mr. Ronald!

Mr. Ronald, sir.

Best break it down, milady.

Well, from the condition of the body, death was instantaneous.

I suppose the m*rder*r came in through the window.

Well, the window was open.

Strangest part of the matter is that there were no signs of any intruder, nothing, inside or out.

I wouldn't like to climb up here at night.

Must have been a monkey.

As you say, doctor, an impossibility.

Huh, huh-uh.

Looks like the m*rder*r had wings.

This sort of case would have interested our old friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Yes, indeed.

What a loss he is, doctor.

Oh, I didn't always approve of his methods, but he was the best amateur there was or ever likely to be.

Well, there were times when he even got the better of me.

All right, inspector. If you arrange for our friend to be brought round to the mortuary, I'll conduct an autopsy this afternoon.

Yes, indeed, doctor.

Well, see you at the inquest.

Till then.

Adair mystery latest!

Adair mystery latest!

Adair mystery latest!

Adair mystery latest!

Dr. Watson.

You are a police surgeon?

Yes, sir.

You examined the deceased, Ronald Francis Adair, who is the subject of this inquest, and later conducted a postmortem on the corpse.

I did, sir.

Pray, what are your findings?

Death occurred as the result of a b*llet wound from a .45 revolver.

Dr. Watson, I beg you to keep to fact.

My business is to establish the facts of this case.

I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand.

You say that the b*llet came from a .45 revolver.

That is pure speculation on your part.

It is not your business to start guessing at the type of w*apon used.

That is a subject for the police.

I'm sorry, sir.

Pray continue.

Death occurred as the result of a wound from a soft-nosed lead b*llet.

The b*llet penetrated the skull above the left eye, traversing the left frontal lobe through the cerebellum and then exited from the skull at the back of the head by the left occipital-parietal suture.

In your opinion, when did death take place?

Well, it would have been instantaneous.

Have you any idea how far this b*llet had traveled before it entered the body?

I cannot be sure, but it would certainly be more than four or five feet.

Time of death?

Death occurred between 10:30 and 11:30 post meridian on the 20th of this month.

Thank you, Dr. Watson.

Ronald Adair and I were in the Harrow Eleven together.

He was a first-class bat.

Pretty effective leg spinner.

A good sportsman, in fact?

Absolutely first-class sportsman, sir.

Straight as a die.

One of the most popular fellows I know.

Thank you, Mr. Murray.

Sir John Hardy.

I was Ronald Adair's godfather and a trustee of the estate.

Of course, the family's absolutely devastated by this appalling tragedy.

I put the boy up for the Bagatelle Club, as a matter of fact.

He always enjoyed the game of cards.

Win or lose, would that affect Mr. Adair in any way, Sir John?

Good Lord, no, not in the least.

He never played such high stakes that could affect him at all.

The family fortune is a very considerable one.

Thank you, Sir John.

You have been a great help.

And may I say that evidence from such a distinguished person as yourself is greatly valued by the court.

Colonel Moran, you were the last person known to have seen Mr. Adair.

Did you know him well?

No, I wouldn't say that I knew Ronald Adair well.

I knew his father, Lord Maynooth, very well.

Used to play polo together in India.

But Ronald...

I've seen quite a good bit of him at our clubs over the past few months.

We played cards together from time to time.

Oh, charming boy.

Good manners, intelligent.

Matter of fact, he's just the stamp of young fellow I'd like to see joining my old regiment.

Did you notice anything unusual about him?

Did he seem worried or upset on the last evening you saw him?

Not in the least, quite the opposite, in fact.

Have you any idea why someone should choose to m*rder him?

No idea at all.

I doubt if he had an enemy in the world.

Thank you, Colonel Moran.

Inspector Lestrade, would you give me your opinion as to the cause of the Honorable Ronald Adair's death?

Yes, sir.

Willful m*rder by person or persons unknown.

Cab!

Willful m*rder by person or persons unknown.

Just wait, cab.

Hey. I'm sorry.

Should be not greatly damaged.

Luke's Road, Kensington, if you please, cabbie.

Yes?

Gentleman to see you, doctor.

Is it an urgent matter?

I don't know, doctor.

Well, did he give you his card?

No, doctor.

Ivy, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times.

My consulting hours are plainly displayed outside.

Now, please...

Oh, sir.

Dr. Watson?

Yes, indeed, sir.

You may go, lvy.

I am exceedingly busy, sir.

Yes, of course you are, doctor.

Of course, you're a man of considerable responsibilities.

But I heard you give your address to that cabdriver outside the court, and I said to myself, "I'll just hobble around and see that kind gentleman."

I have a conscience, sir.

And tell him if I was a little gruff in my manner, I meant no harm by it, and I'm much obliged to him for helping me pick up my books.

You make too much of a trifle, sir.

You should have spared yourself the journey.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

Oh, ho, ho! No great journey, sir.

I am a neighbor of yours.

You will find my little bookshop on the corner of Church Street.

May I sit down?

Very happy to see you and I'm sure doctor perhaps... you collect?

Why, I have British Birds.

Catullus Thunder.

Quite a rare volume of The Holy w*r.

Bargains, every one of them.

Just the books you need to fill up your bookcase.

Give it a little weight.

It does look a little untidy, does it not?

Watson, do you mind if I smoke a cigarette in your consulting room?

A thousand apologies, my dear Watson.

I had no idea that you'd be so affected.

Holmes, is it really you?

Can it really be that you're alive?

But are you really fit enough to discuss things?

I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance.

No, no, no. I'm all right.

I'm all right.

But indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes.

Good heavens!

To...to think that you...you, of all men, should be here in my consulting room.

Well, you're not a spirit at least, my dear chap.

I'm overjoyed to see you.

Sit down, sit down, and tell me how you came alive out of that awful chasm.

Oh, I'm glad to stretch myself.

It's no joke when a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end.

Oh, my dear fellow, we have a hard and dangerous night's work ahead of us.

Perhaps, it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole situation when that work is finished.

No, no, I'm full of curiosity.

I should much prefer to hear now.

But you will come with me tonight?

When you like, where you like.

Ha!

Ha, Watson.

This is just like the old days.

We might have chance for a mouthful of dinner before we need go.

Dinner, of course, but first, you must tell me everything.

You're sure you're all right?

L...I'm fine.

Well, then,

about that chasm.

I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it for the simple reason that I was never in it.

You were never in it? No, Watson.

I never was in it.

The note that I left on rock at the Reichenbach Falls was absolutely genuine.

I had little doubt that my career had come to an end when I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway that led to safety.

I read an inexorable purpose in his gray eyes.

I managed to obtain his courteous permission to write the note which you afterwards received.

It has remained my most treasured possession.

It was a few months later that I read with great interest your description of my death.

It was excellently done, a most picturesque and exciting piece of fiction.

Well, I'm certainly glad from the bottom of my heart that it was fiction.

But what did really happen?

When I reached the ledge, I stood at bay.

He drew no w*apon but rushed at me and threw his long arms around me.

He knew that his game was up and was only anxious to revenge himself upon me.

I have, however, some knowledge of Baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling, which has, on more than one occasion, been very useful to me.

My God.

But...but how did you get away from that place?

It was not a pleasant business.

Even as Professor Moriarty disappeared into oblivion, it struck me what an extraordinary lucky chance fate had placed in my way.

I knew that at least one of Moriarty's henchmen would seek my demise now in even keener determination to revenge their dead leader.

But if I could convince the world that I, too, was dead...

So, I decided to disappear then and there.

Heavens above.

But the tracks, Holmes.

I saw them with my own eyes.

Two went down the path, and none returned.

I'm not a fanciful person, Watson, but I give you my word, there were times during that climb when I seemed to hear Moriarty's voice screaming at me from out of the abyss.

At last, I reached a place where I was able to remain unseen.

Holmes!

Holmes!

Holmes!

Wat...

From my concealed place, I watched you and your followers investigating in the most sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of my death.

At last, when you had all formed your inevitable but totally erroneous conclusions, you departed.

It was time for me to be on my way.

Of course, the meaning of this was obvious.

Moriarty had not been alone.

A confederate, from a distance, had been witness to his friend's demise and my escape.

1 did not take long to think about it, Watson.

I took to my heels and covered 10 miles over the mountains in the pending darkness.

A week later, I found myself in Florence with the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me.

I had one confidant, my brother, Mycroft.

I had to confide in him in order to obtain the money I needed to live.

Of course.

I owe you many apologies, my dear Watson.

But it was all important that it should be thought I was dead.

And it is quite certain that you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you yourself not thought that it was true.

I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared that your affectionate regard might tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret.

I would have thought I was as trustworthy as your brother.

Of course you are, Watson!

But you have a kinder heart.

But what you done all these long years?

Well, you may have read of the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian called Sigerson. Mm-hmm.

Well, I'm sure it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend.

You...

For two years, I traveled to Tibet and amused myself by visiting Lhasa and spending some time with the head lama.

I then moved to Persia and paid a short but interesting visit to the Khalif a at Khartoum, the results of which I passed on to Lord Kitchener in the foreign office, anonymously, of course.

You mean, you actually saw the palace where Gordon was m*rder*d?

It was a sorry sight, a ruin.

His blood still upon the staircase.

Lately, I've been in France in Montpelier researching into the coal-tar derivatives.

Then came the news of this remarkable m*rder, which not only appealed to me by its own merits but would seem to offer some most peculiar personal opportunities.

So here I am.

Have you been to Baker Street?

Yes.

I called there this morning in my own person.

Ah...ah, ha, oh...

Oh, Mr. Holmes.

Mycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they had always been.

And so, it was that I found myself in my old rooms, sitting in my old chair, and only wishing that I could have seen my dear friend Watson sitting in the other chair which he has so often adorned.

And so, I hope I will be.

What...what a remarkable story.

Are you still in possession of your army revolver?

Well, I think I have it somewhere.

See that you bring it with you tonight.

For I have a piece of work for both of us, which, if we bring to a successful conclusion, will, in itself, justify a man's life on this planet.

I beg you to tell me about it.

Ah, you will see and hear enough before morning.

Watson, may I occupy your couch for a few hours?

The sea was exceedingly rough during the channel crossing, and the prospect of seeing London again and an imminent encounter with one of Moriarty's confederates, plus the added pleasure of seeing my old friend Watson quite prohibited any sleep on the railway train.

My dear, Holmes, please.

My bedroom is at your disposal.

No, no, no. This will suit me very well.

I have had harder beds than this over the past few years.

Ah-ha.

Do you know where we are?

Surely that is Baker Street.

Exactly.

We're in the empty house opposite our old quarters.

Why are we here?

Because it commands such an excellent view of that picturesque pile.

Might I trouble you, Watson, to be so kind as to draw a little nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to reveal yourself and then to look into our old rooms?

Let us see whether three years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise you.

Good heavens.

It's marvelous.

I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety.

Hmm.

It is rather like me, is it not?

I should be prepared to swear it was you.

The construction is due to a Monsieur Oscar Meunier of Grenoble.

The bust is in wax.

The rest I arranged during my visit to Baker Street earlier.

But why?

Because I had the strongest possible reason for wishing certain people to believe that I was there when I was really elsewhere.

You thought the rooms were watched.

I knew they were being watched.

By whom?

By the one remaining member of that charming society whose leader lies in the Reichenbach Falls.

Sooner or later, he believed that I would come back to my rooms, so he had them watched continuously.

I was observed when I arrived this morning.

I recognized the sentinel.

Parker by name, a garrotter by trade, and a remarkable expert upon the Jewish harp.

Now, I understand the reason for the old bookseller.

Hmm.

I care not a jot about Parker.

But I cared a great deal about the much more formidable person who is behind him, the bosom friend of Moriarty.

That is the man who is after me tonight.

And let us hope that he is also the man who is totally unaware that we are after him.

Holmes!

Look.

Just beyond the house.

A couple of shady characters in the doorway.

Yes, I see them.

Shouldn't we do something? No.

Holmes.

The shadows moved.

Certainly, it is moving.

I involved Mrs. Hudson.

We've been in this room two hours, and she has made some change in that figure eight times, or once every...

Mr. Holmes.

Lestrade, how nice to see you.

So it really is you.

I got your message.

I could scarce believe it.

You seem to want some unofficial help.

Three undetected murders in one year won't do, you know.

Holmes, I know this man.

Of course you do, Watson. So does the inspector.

Colonel Sebastian Moran, once of her majesty's Indian Army and the best heavy game sh*t our eastern empire has ever produced.

I believe I'm correct, Colonel, in saying that your bag of tigers still remains unrivaled.

I wonder that my simple stratagem could deceive so old a shikari.

How many times have you not tethered a young kid under a tree, laid above it with your r*fle, and waited for your bait to bring up your tiger?

This empty house is my tree, and you are my tiger!

The parallel is exact!

You may or may not have just cause for arresting me, but there can be no reason why I should be subjected to the jibes of this person.

If I am in the hands of the law, let things be done in a legal way.

Well, that sounds reasonable.

Anything further to say before we go?

Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer.

What charge, sir?

Well, of course, the attempted m*rder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Not so, Lestrade.

To you, and you only, belongs the credit of this remarkable arrest.

With your usual mixture of cunning and audacity, you have got him.

I don't understand you, Mr. Holmes.

Do you mean this man?

The man whom the entire police force has been seeking in vain, Colonel Sebastian Moran, who sh*t the young Adair through the open window of his parent's house upon the 20th of last month.

That is your charge, Lestrade.

You were quite the heroine of the occasion, Mrs. Hudson.

Oh, I don't know. I'm sure, sir.

I hope you observed all precautions.

Oh, yes, I went to it on my knees, just exactly as you told me, and a good crick in my back to prove it.

Oh, I was tough frightened, doctor.

And when that window shattered, I thought I should have d*ed.

Yes, you did it very well, Mrs. Hudson.

There's no sign of the b*llet.

Oh, excuse me, sir.

Uh, a moment if you please.

What is it?

I have it here.

I picked it up off the carpet.

Mrs. Hudson, you're becoming indispensable.

A soft revolver b*llet.

As you perceive, there's genius in that,

for who would expect such a thing to be fired from an air g*n.

That's no ordinary air g*n.

No, indeed, a remarkable and unique w*apon.

Noiseless and of tremendous par.

I knew Von Herder, the blind German mechanic who constructed it to the order of the late Professor James Moriarty.

Ha! Watson, look at this.

The old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness nor his eyes their keenness.

The results are appalling.

Yes, indeed.

Had you heard of the name Moran before Adair's m*rder?

No, I had not.

Well, well, well.

Such is the price of fame.

Would you be so kind as to hand me down my I to M index?

Of biographies, Watson.

My list of M's is a fine one.

Mind you, Moriarty's name is enough to make any letter illustrious.

I seem to remember Morgan the poisoner, Merridew of abominable memory.

And there was Mathews, who knocked out my left canine in Charing Cross Station.

Ah, there is our friend of last night.

Oh yeah.

Moran, Sebastian, colonel.

Son of Sir Augustus Moran, once British Minister to Persia.

Educated Eton, Oxford, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Served in Jowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign.

Sherpur, Kabul.

Mentioned in dispatches.

"The second most dangerous man in London."

This is astonishing, Holmes.

This is the career of an honorable soldier.

It's true.

Up to a certain point, he did well.

You know, there are some trees, Watson, which grow to a certain height and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity.

We'll often find it in humans.

Whatever the cause, Moran began to go wrong.

Without an open scandal, he still made India too hot to hold him.

He retired, came back to London, where, again, he acquired an evil name.

It was about this time that he was sought out by Professor Moriarty.

When we were in Switzerland, Watson, Moran followed us with Moriarty, and it was undoubtedly he who gave me those evil five minutes above the Reichenbach Falls.

Well, now I can understand why you disappeared.

With a fellow like this free in London, your life would not have been worth living.

All I could do was wait and watch the criminal news, knowing that if I was patient, sooner or later, he would make a mistake.

When I heard of the m*rder of Ronald Adair, I knew that, at last, my chance had come.

Knowing what I did, was it not certain that Colonel Moran had done it?

He played cards with the lad, followed him home from his club, and sh*t him through the open window from the rooftop opposite.

Watson, does anything else remain for me to explain?

Yes!

Oh.

You have not made clear what was Moran's motive in murdering the Honorable Ronald Adair.

There we move into the realms of conjecture.

Each may form his own hypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is as likely to be correct as mine.

Watson, have you formed one?

Mm.

I think so.

Let me hear.

Well, it's not difficult to explain the facts.

There must have been a considerable amount of money involved, and Moran had undoubtedly played foul.

I think that Adair had discovered that he was cheating.

Splendid.

Very likely he spoke to him privately and threatened to expose him, Moran, unless he voluntarily resigned membership of his club and promised not to play again.

Watson, this is excellent.

Exclusion from his club would mean ruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card gains.

Therefore, he m*rder*d Adair.

Will it pass?

I think, without doubt, that you have hit upon the truth.

Anyway, it will be verified or disproved at the trial.

Meanwhile, come what may, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more.

And the famous air g*n of Von Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard museum.

Come in!

Once again, Mr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complex life of London so plentifully presents.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.