"Sherlock, episode 1x02: The Blind Banker" Starring: Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Una Stubbs, Louise Brealey, Zoe Telford, Gemma Chan, Bertie Carvel, Paul Chequer, Olivia Poulet and Al Weaver. We open on a woman’s hand sprinkling tea leaves into a teeny clay pot and pouring water that doesn’t look anywhere near boiling on them while some sort of Asian music plays. The woman, who speaks English perfectly with only a slight Chinese accent (probably because the actress is as Chinese as I am British), explains to a group of school children that it is said that the more a teapot is used, the more beautiful it becomes. She overfills the pot so it spills all over the sides, then picks up another pot and deliberately pours more tea all over it for good measure. She says the deposits on the clay create a patina over time – sometimes hundreds of years. The camera backs up for a second to show that she’s giving a demonstration in a museum and then we cut right to the end of the day when she’s packing up her ancient tea making stuff while the PA announces that the museum is closing. A nerdy looking guy with a name tag wanders over to note that they let her make tea in pots that are at least 400 years old. She says some things aren’t meant to just sit behind glass. She notes that one of the pots is starting to crack, whereas another is so shiny with patina that it looks like it’s been shellacked. Basically: repeated application of tea over the centuries forms something like a layer of glue that keeps them from falling apart with age. The kid shrugs and awkwardly asks if she’d like to go out for a drink with him. She says he wouldn’t like her very much. He frowns and asks if he could maybe make that determination himself. She purses her lips and says apologetically that she can’t and he should stop asking. Later, she’s down in the archives somewhere when there’s a noise of somebody messing with a lock on a door. She creeps slowly out into the open and approaches what looks like a statue hidden under a sheet. She pulls the sheet down and the camera focuses on her face as she gapes at whatever it is in horror. Morning. John is going through a self check at the grocery store when the machine starts having one of those fits that blow away any fantasies one might harbor about machines taking over the world one day because OH MY GOD ARE THEY FRACKING STUPID. Chrissy: Particularly if they’re made by Apple, right? Diandra: Oh, we don’t have to worry if they’re made by Apple because they’ll just cease to function in about two years as they are unable to understand anything that “old”. They won’t even be able to run a calculator. It keeps refusing to scan items, registering phantom objects in the bagging area and then announces that his card is not “authorized” until he snaps OKAY, FINE and just walks away while it continues to demand an alternate form of payment. This is all intercut with Sherlock dueling with a sword- wielding Bedouin back at the flat because why the hell not? I’m not sure it can technically be called dueling, really, since Sherlock is unarmed, but he is somehow managing to avoid getting so much as a scratch – though the Bedouin puts a pretty long one in the kitchen table. The fight ends abruptly after Sherlock, apparently betting on the guy being a complete moron, shouts and points at a random wall, then punches him out when he proves he is, in fact, an idiot by looking to see what Sherlock’s pointing at. Then Sherlock takes a moment to check his clothes in the mirror and dust himself off because of course he does. He is calmly sitting in his chair reading – with no sign of the Bedouin anywhere - when John clomps up the stairs and grumbles that he didn’t get their groceries because he had an argument with the chip and pin machine. He asks if Sherlock has any cash. Sherlock nods at the wallet he left in the kitchen and tells him to just take his card. John starts toward it and then launches into a rant that goes something like ‘you know, you could always do the shopping once in a while instead of sitting around doing nothing all day like a spoiled poodle.’ Oh, is the honeymoon over already? Chrissy: Honestly, it’s like I do all the work around here and you can’t even be arsed to do one tiny thing. You could AT THE VERY LEAST show a little gratitude once in a while. Diandra: And I don’t mean that thing that you did last night. Speaking of which, it would have been nice if you hadn’t just rolled over and gone straight to sleep afterward. Chrissy: I thought we were taking it slow with the ho- yay. Diandra: Why the hell would we do that? Chrissy: Because it’s better that way. Nice and slow...really take your time with it instead of rushing into it like a twitchy teenager and having it over with too quickly. Diandra: I thought your definition of “better” included ball gags. Chrissy: Well, yes, but you need to work your way up to that. Diandra: Your prediction from last episode about this recap devolving quickly seems to have panned out. What were we talking about? Chrissy: Sherlock being a terrible housewife? Diandra: I thought John was the wife here. Chrissy: Eh, they can take turns. Anyway... Sherlock looks at John over his book like “yeah, I’ve just been sitting here all day reading. Uh-huh.” John asks what happened to that case he was offered...something about a Jaria diamond. Sherlock says he’s not interested, notices the Bedouin’s sword is still on the floor under his feet and quickly kicks it under the chair while John has his back turned. “I sent them a message.” Chrissy: What did he do with the body? Diandra: Pretty sure Mycroft takes care of those things. John fingers the gouge in the kitchen table, sighs, looks at Sherlock like “really? What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” and storms off. Chrissy: Did you want an answer to that question? Diandra: Not from you, no. We’re good. And we cut to sometime later again. Sherlock is frowning at the laptop on the desk when John returns with arms full of bags and loudly announces “don’t worry about me, I can manage.” Sherlock glances at him briefly, then goes back to the e-mail about an “incident” at a bank. We don’t see who it’s from, but whoever it is opens with “how’re things, buddy?” Before we can question who the HELL would attempt to address Sherlock like this, John asks “is that my computer?” Sherlock says yep, his was in the bedroom. John notes – in not so many words – that Sherlock’s bedroom is right on the other side of the kitchen, like, fifty feet away, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and instead just co-opted John’s password protected laptop. Sherlock scoffs that it’s “not exactly Fort Knox” since it took him less than a minute to guess the password. John reaches over, slams the lid shut almost before Sherlock can take his hands away, and carries it over to his chair. Sherlock blinks at the empty desk for a moment, then just steeples his hands under his chin. John flicks through the pile of bills on the table next to his chair and mutters “need to get a job”, though it’s not exactly clear which one of them he’s talking about. “Oh, dull,” Sherlock grumbles because that’s his answer to everything. John sighs and starts to ask if Sherlock can lend him some money, but trails off when he realizes that Sherlock is staring intently at the opposing wall. “Sherlock, are you listening?” Oh, if you had a pound for every time you had to say that you probably wouldn’t be having money problems, John. Chrissy: Honestly, it’s like you don’t even CARE about me anymore! I could parade around naked and you would just keep ignoring me! Hmm...I just realized you’re right, Dee. John is the wife. Diandra: Hmm, what? Sorry, my muse got a little distracted at the idea of John parading around the flat naked just to see if he can get Sherlock’s attention. Chrissy: Yeah, somehow that’s not surprising. Suggestions of nudity in a situation that also has a fair amount of ho-yay always seem to have that effect on you. Sherlock announces that he needs to go to the bank. Then he just grabs his coat and flounces off, leaving a dazed John to chase after him. We get a couple scenic shots of London, including a view of the 30 St. Mary Axe building, or as it’s known by most Londoner’s “The Gherkin”. Or as it’s known by me “The Giant Glass Buttplug”. Chrissy: Oh, I’m sure it’s not just you. Diandra: No, probably not. I just never heard anyone actually say it out loud. And, just to be absolutely sure we know where we are, a double decker bus drives past it. John follows Sherlock through the revolving door of “Shad Sanderson” bank, an annoyed look on his face, and says “yes, when you said we were going to the bank...” He doesn’t complete this thought, but it doesn’t matter because Sherlock is ignoring him again, too busy taking in random details like the times posted for New York and Hong Kong, the keycard entry panel and the number “42”, which is of course, the answer to life, the universe and everything. He gives his name to a woman behind a desk and is apparently immediately escorted into the office of a guy named Sebastian, who warmly greets him with “hiya, buddy” and babbles that he hasn’t seen him in something like eight years. Sherlock stares at him blankly and says “this is my friend, John Watson,” stopping very pointedly on the word “friend”. Sebastian’s like ‘friend? Really?’ John corrects that he’s a colleague. Sebastian looks back and forth between them and says “right”. Chrissy: Yeah, blah blah. Here’s what I’m hearing: “Hey, bastard who left me eight years ago. I just wanted you to know I’ve totally moved on with my life and my new boyfriend here is more of a man than you’ll ever be.” Diandra: Except John is basically saying “I am NOT!” Again. Chrissy: Oh, he’s just still in denial. Sebastian obviously doesn’t believe him either. Diandra: That or he thinks “colleague” is a new code word for “fuck buddy”. Chrissy: It isn’t? Sebastian sits behind his desk and Sherlock and John take the seats opposite while Sherlock launches into one of his “let me show you how smart I am by deducing random bullshit based on your sock color” routines. He says Sebastian is obviously doing well for himself now since he’s able to fly all the way around the globe twice in one month. Sebastian is familiar with this routine, though, and notes that Sherlock is doing “that thing” again. He explains to John that they went to university together “and this guy here had a trick he used to do...” Chrissy: Is it the one with the cherry stem or the one with the wine bottle? John says yes, he’s seen him do it before. Chrissy: Seriously, which one? Sebastian says everybody hated Sherlock’s little parlor trick because they’d come down to breakfast and “this freak” would know everything about who where and how long you’d been “shagging” the night before. Sherlock’s face sort of falls at the word “freak” and he stares at the desk, mumbling that he was just observing. Sebastian says okay, then, go ahead: how did he work out the two trips around the world in a month? Sherlock opens his mouth but Sebastian barrels on. “Are you going to tell me there’s a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?” “No, I...” “Is it the mud on my shoes?” Sherlock stares at him like “if you would let me TALK for once EVER you pompous jerk” and says he got that from talking to Sebastian’s secretary outside a couple minutes ago. Chrissy: You never did appreciate me the way John does. Always belittling me in front of people because it made you feel like more of a MAN. Well, I’m OVER YOU, you bastard! Diandra: The disturbing thing is that this way of reading this scene isn’t even that much of a stretch. Sherlock is obviously wounded by this guy calling him “freak” and made a point of introducing John – who praised him so often in the last episode that he was practically glowing – as his FRIEND. Chrissy: Now he just needs to talk to John about shit like this so he doesn’t brush him off and then utterly fail to come to his defense when the guy insults him. Diandra: I assume John can make that up to him later. As many times as necessary. Sebastian finally gets down to business: they’ve had a break in. We cut abruptly to him escorting them to the office of the bank’s former chairman who’s name was “Sir William”. Seriously? Was that a joking title or did he actually do something worthy of being knighted? He says the room has been left vacant as a sort of memorial and somebody broke in to it last night. John asks what they stole. Sebastian says they didn’t steal anything. They just left a message. They enter the room, which has a giant painting of, I assume, Sir William on the wall behind the desk and a big yellow line has been spray painted over his eyes. In the same paint, a dash and the number 8 are scrawled on the wall just beside it. Cut back to Sebastian’s office, where Sebastian shows them the security footage, which isn’t a video so much as a series of still images taken at one minute intervals. The “message” just appears suddenly with no sign of the ninja who broke into the office, sprayed it and ran away in less than a minute. Sherlock asks how many ways there are into the office. Sebastian says that’s where it gets interesting and takes them down to the main desk to show them the terminal that controls all the doors in the bank including toilets and walk in closets. Sherlock concludes that the system says the door never opened last night. Sebastian says obviously there’s a gaping hole in their security and if Sherlock can find it, he’s willing to pay him extremely well. Chrissy: Hopefully better than last time you offered to pay me to “plug a hole”. Diandra: Pfft. Like he charges for that. He holds out a check as an “advance”. Sherlock, hands clasped behind his back and barely looking Sebastian in the eye, haughtily says he doesn’t need incentives to work. He stalks away. John sidles up to Sebastian and babbles that Sherlock is obviously kidding and he’ll just hold that check for him... Sebastian hands it over and John goggles at the amount his idiot partner attempted to turn down after he JUST SAID they needed money. Chrissy: I doubt that’s stupidity so much as pride. I have a couple exes I wouldn’t want to take money from either. It would feel too dirty. Diandra: I thought you liked dirty. Chrissy: Context, dear. Sherlock goes back to the office and takes a few pictures of the scene with his smartphone. He looks around the office and seems to realize something as he notes the unobstructed view of the Giant Glass Buttplug through the window. Chrissy: That reminds me: I need to do some shopping later. Diandra: Please tell me you’re speaking as Sherlock and not yourself. Chrissy: Why would I need another sex toy? You’ve seen my stash. Diandra: Yeah, I’m still regretting whatever I said that prompted you to show me that. Chrissy: As I recall, you asked me for help with a fanfic you ended up not writing after I provided you with detailed descriptions of how to use a couple items from the Master series. Diandra: I didn’t write it because I couldn’t stop picturing you using them on your boyfriend. Also, one of them looked like a medieval torture device. Chrissy: I assume you haven’t noticed we seem to have strayed again? Diandra: Damnit. Apparently one of the “windows” opens onto a tiny balcony. Sherlock steps out onto it and looks at the sheer drop down to street level. He cocks his head in a couple directions, frowns and goes back inside. Everyone in the offices on the main floor gapes as Sherlock darts around, bobbing up and down for a while like he’s playing some demented game of peek-a-boo. He finds an office that apparently has the clear line-of-sight to the defaced painting he’s looking for and takes the occupants name off the door. As they’re leaving, John says Sherlock never got the whole “two trips around the world” from Sebastian’s secretary. He just said that to one-up him. So how did he really figure it out? We flash back to when Sebastian first entered the room so we can see Sherlock pointedly look at his watch. He tells John the time on it was right, but the date was two days ago, so obviously he crossed the date line twice and didn’t bother to fix it. Or, you know, was a little slow in changing the battery and didn’t bother to change the date. Chrissy: Nobody does that but you. Diandra: I do not. Chrissy: Right. You just happen to have all your clocks and watches set to random times – only one hour off if I’m lucky – and a calendar that is sometimes off by at least two months. Diandra: Have I mentioned I’m part Italian? My people have a saying: “I’ll do it tomorrow”. Chrissy: You said that two years ago. Diandra: Exactly. John says okay, but how did he figure he made both trips within the last month. Sherlock says that particular model of watch only came out back in February. This would also explain how the crossing-the-dateline thing is the only explanation that makes sense. John nods and asks if they should poke around the bank a bit more. Sherlock says there’s no need since he has everything he needs to know already. He says the message was meant for someone on the trading floor of the bank. If they can figure out who it was meant for, they can figure out who sent it. John says there are 300 people working on that floor. This is why he was doing that weird little ballet routine: there are only so many places the painting is visible from on the floor thanks to the architecture and furniture placement. Also, the message was left at 11:34 according to the security camera when any traders still working would have to have been the ones trading with places like Hong Kong where it’s already morning and “that message was intended for somebody who came in at midnight.” He waves the name plate he grabbed at John and postulates that there can’t be very many “Edward Van Coons” in the phone book. Doesn’t he have perfect memory? Why did he need to take that? He hails a taxi, which takes them to a building where one of the buzzers outside is labeled Edward Van Coons. He pushes it a couple times with no response. John asks what they should do now: just sit around waiting for him to come back? Sherlock points at the name on the floor above and announces that the occupant just moved in because there’s a new label on the buzzer. John points out that that could have just been replaced. “No one ever does that,” Sherlock dismisses. Er...okay. A woman’s voice comes over the speaker and he adopts a sugary affect complete with grinning facial expressions despite the fact that she can’t see him. This creates a fairly alarming display as the camera is practically perched on his nose and the extreme close up is creating a sort of fish bowl distortion. Chrissy: Oh, he’s still pretty. Diandra: No. NOBODY looks good from that angle. He says he just moved in below her and he doesn’t think they’ve met. She confirms that she’s just moved in too. He says he’s locked himself out. She offers to buzz him in. He asks if he can use her balcony. Cut to Sherlock swinging off a balcony onto the one below. Luckily, Edward didn’t bother locking the balcony door so he doesn’t have to break in. For some reason we focus on the pile of books stacked on Edward’s desk while Sherlock snoops around. It looks like a bunch of popular mystery novels (Dan Brown’s name jumps out immediately), some random business bullshit and a Miller’s Antiques. Sherlock opens the refrigerator to find, like, twelve bottles of champagne and nothing else. John starts buzzing the doorbell and calling his name. Sherlock just keeps exploring, peeking in the hotel-clean bathroom while John calls “are you okay?” Then, after a few more seconds of Sherlock completely ignoring him, he adds “yeah, any time you feel like letting me in.” Chrissy: Yeah, Sherlock, LET HIM IN. Don’t leave the poor man hanging! Diandra: You just never let any potential double entendres slip by, do you? Chrissy: I suppose you’re reading that as some sort of metaphor for Sherlock allowing John into his life or some touchy-feely bullshit. Diandra: Yes? Chrissy: You’re such a girl. Diandra: He asked if Sherlock is okay. He’s worried for Sherlock’s safety. Five minutes after that conversation with a former “friend” that obviously rattled him a bit. Excuse me for thinking that’s sweet enough as it is. Sherlock shoulders his way into a room that seems to be locked. It’s a bedroom and a man we can safely assume is Edward is laying sideways on the bed with a bullet hole in his right temple. The gun seems to have fallen onto the floor. And we jump ahead to the crime scene people crawling around, collecting evidence and taking photos. John hypothesizes that Edward lost a lot of money because that tends to be the leading cause of suicide among privileged rich boys. Sherlock says they don’t know it was suicide. John points out that the door was locked from the inside and that’s why Sherlock had to get in via the balcony. Sherlock is bent over a suitcase filled with clothing and announces that Edward was away for three days judging by the amount of laundry here. He asks John to come take a look because there was something packed inside the case. John says nah, that’s okay, he can take Sherlock’s word for it. Sherlock frowns and asks what the problem is. John says he’s just not all that eager to go digging around in some guy’s dirty underwear. There are about three comebacks that immediately spring to mind at this, but I’ll go with the most obvious. YOU’RE A DOCTOR, JOHN. An ARMY MEDIC. Chances are, at some point you were up to your wrists in some guy’s intestines, but you’re drawing the line at UNDERWEAR? Sherlock shrugs this off like ‘whatever’ and asks aloud why those symbols were graffitied onto the wall of the bank. John says maybe it’s some sort of code. Sherlock is like ‘well, duh, but why?’ If they wanted to send a message wouldn’t it have been easier and faster to use e-mail or something? John says maybe he wasn’t responding. Sherlock, poking and prodding at the body, says “oh, good, you follow.” John says no, actually, he doesn’t. Sherlock asks what sort of message anyone would try to avoid. Chrissy: We got your test results back. It’s herpes. Diandra: Okay, anyone other than you. Sherlock reminds John of the letters he was looking at earlier. John’s like ‘you mean the bills I can’t afford to pay without mooching off of you?’ Sherlock fishes what looks like a crumpled piece of paper out of Edward’s mouth and concludes that he was being threatened. John thinks this is hardly a message from “the gas board”. Chrissy: That’s what they want you to think. This is the cue for the lead officer on the case to breeze in and start throwing his weight around. Sherlock goes to shake his hand and he just puts his hands on his hips and says basically ‘yeah, I already know who you are and I would like you to get the hell out of my crime scene now’. Sherlock hands him the bag he put the paper in and asks if Lestrade is on his way. The guy snaps that Lestrade is BUSY and he’s in charge here. He identifies himself as Detective Inspector Dimmock, but I think I’ll just go ahead and call him Dick. Sherlock and John follow Dick into the living room while Dick announces that this is obviously a suicide. John agrees that that does seem to be the only explanation given all the facts. Sherlock, of course, snaps that no, it’s only ONE explanation based on SOME of the facts. He thinks the police have already decided they like this simple explanation and are just ignoring any evidence that doesn’t fit the theory. Like the fact that the bullet wound is on the right side of the victims head despite the fact that he was left handed. Dick wonders how he’s so sure the victim was left handed. Well, you could ask some of his co-workers. I’m sure some of them would have noticed. But that would be the easy way. Sherlock says he just had to look around the flat: everything is oriented for easy left-handed access including the coffee mug he left on the table with the handle pointed to the left. He lists several shakier clues like ‘the outlets on the left are used more’, then asks if he should go on. John grumbles that no, that’s okay, he’s covered it. Sherlock ignores him and adds one more detail about which side of the bread knife in the kitchen the butter is clinging to before summarizing that a left handed man is unlikely to shoot himself on the right side of his head. So the only explanation that fits ALL the facts is that somebody broke in and murdered him. “But the gun,” Dick protests. Sherlock says Edward was being threatened so he was lying in wait of the killer and fired a shot when he came in. Dick asks where that bullet went. Sherlock says through the open window. Dick reasonably scoffs that that sounds like an enormous coincidence. Sherlock, already putting his scarf back on, just predicts that the ballistics report will say that the bullet in Edward’s brain didn’t come from his gun. Dick asks how the killer could possibly have gotten in if the door was locked from the inside. “Good,” Sherlock practically purrs “You’re finally asking the right questions.” Then he just stalks out of the room. John looks at Dick and makes a few feeble gestures like ‘yeah, I should probably...um...’ and scampers after Sherlock. Sebastian is having dinner with some co-workers at an ultra- modern, probably ultra-expensive restaurant when Sherlock crashes their little party to tell him that the message was meant as a threat. Sebastain points out that he’s kind of in a meeting and why can’t Sherlock make an appointment with his secretary? Sherlock says this can’t wait because one of his co- workers was murdered. Sebastian, having no knowledge of what went on in the previous scene, splutters what? Who? What? John, hovering behind Sherlock, explains that the police are at Van Coons’ flat right now. Sherlock asks if he still needs him to make an appointment. Say...tomorrow morning at Scotland Yard? Sebastian tugs at his shirt collar nervously and apparently follows them into the bathroom for a more private discussion. Chrissy: Do guys do that in Europe? I thought that was a universally girl thing. Diandra: Pfft. European men are more enlightened than American men. They don’t have phobias that other people will make assumptions if they go to the bathroom in groups. Sebastian says Edward was a very bright guy. Ivy league. Just did some work in Asia recently. John concludes that this is why he was working the graveyard shift trading with Hong Kong. Sebastian says Edward lost five million pounds one morning and made it all back within a week because he was THAT good. John asks who would want to kill him. Sebastian thinks they all make enemies. Hazard of the job, you know. John points out that they don’t all end up with bullets in their temples. Well...probably more of them than your average person. Sebastian is interrupted by his phone beeping. He looks at it and reads a text message from his chairman, who has been questioned by the police regarding Edward’s suicide. Sherlock, who has been quietly glaring at him since they got to the bathroom apparently, sneers that they’ve got it wrong. Sebastain says well, nobody else seems to think this is anything other than a suicide, so maybe Sherlock should just get back to the job he’s actually paying him to do and stop getting distracted. He stomps off. “I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards,” John says. Night. A heavyset bald guy runs across a road – nearly getting run over – and into a building that doesn’t seem to be locked and barreling up to an apartment with the number 8 on the door. He turns, gaping at something with a similar look as the woman at the beginning of the show and we cut to black again without any further explanation. Morning. We’re in what any “Doctor Who” fan would recognize as the main hub of the planet-size library where we first met River Song. For the record, this library is actually in Swansea, which is in Wales, not England. Chrissy: I’m not sure how you would remember exactly what the library in an episode you saw two years ago looked like – other than an occupational hazard of you being a librarian – but since it took you all of five seconds to pull up a screen shot that looks exactly like this I believe you. Diandra: Yeah. Don’t mess with librarians. Apparently we’re passing it off as part of the museum from earlier because there are people working with artifacts at various tables on the main floor. A woman strides up to one of these people and says she needs him to “get over to Crispians” because they have a couple Ming vases up for auction that need appraisal. He says she should send Soo Lin because she’s the expert in this area. Boss lady reminds him that Soo Lin resigned. The guy – who I just realized is the dorky guy from earlier – looks back at the desk behind him where a bunch of little tea cups are arranged because Soo Lin is obviously the name of the Asian lady from the first scene. So the next scene is him visiting her apartment. Apparently she lives right smack in the middle of Chinatown over a “Lucky Cat” store that has those battery operated maneki nekos waving at the closed gate. He drops a note in the mail slot when she doesn’t answer. Elsewhere at some hospital, a woman is looking over John’s resume. When the hell did he find the time to put that together? Chrissy: After Sherlock rolled over and went to sleep that one night. Diandra: Yeah, thanks. That was supposed to be rhetorical. She says all they have is temporary/substitute work right now. He says that’s fine. She says he’s a bit over qualified for that. Isn’t everyone these days? She says they have a couple people on vacation this week and one who’s on maternity leave, but it might be a bit “mundane” for him. John thinks he could use a little dullness to counteract his other job acting as assistant to a crazy overgrown child who solves murders. She notes that his resume says he was a soldier. And a doctor, he adds. She asks if he does anything else. Chrissy: His flatmate, occasionally. He says he played the clarinet in school. Chrissy: Turns out those skills have broader applications. Again, feel free to ask my flatmate. It’s not like he’s BUSY or anything. Back at the flat, Sherlock is staring at the pictures of the “crime scene” plastered all over the fireplace mantle while random symbols flash in and out of Sherlockvision when John comes home. “I said, could you pass me a pen,” Sherlock says by way of greeting. John does a double take and asks when he said that. About an hour ago. And of course he didn’t bother getting up to find one himself in the meantime. John sighs and reaches for the pen on the table ten feet away from Sherlock (because his laziness is obviously getting worse just within this episode) and chucks it at him mumbling “didn’t notice I’d gone out then?” He says – not that Sherlock cares or anything, obviously – he interviewed for a job at the surgery. “How was it,” Sherlock asks. “She’s great,” John answers distractedly, looking at the pictures on the mantle. Sherlock frowns at him like ‘who is this SHE and should I be worried about this?’ Chrissy: Well, maybe if you would PAY ATTENTION to me once in a while, we wouldn’t have this problem! Diandra: Maybe if you would stop criticizing me all the time, I would! Chrissy: Oh, are you playing Sherlock now? Diandra: Might as well. You used to tell me I was brilliant, but now all I hear is “stop using my laptop, Sherlock”, “why don’t you ever do the shopping, Sherlock”, “stop putting body parts in the microwave, Sherlock.” Nag, nag, nag. John lamely tries to cover like ‘it. I meant IT!’ and Sherlock sighs and nods at the open laptop. John bends over it and reads an article in an online newspaper about a “ghost killer” who can “walk through walls”. Sherlock explains that a journalist was shot last night at his flat with his doors locked from the inside. Which can only mean one thing. You’re looking for Sylar. Chrissy: Only if Van Coons could fly and the journalist was a telepath. New Scotland Yard. Sherlock plops the laptop with the article still showing on Dick’s desk, announcing that the journalist’s name was Brian Lukis. John, hovering beside him, says the cases are inarguably similar: two people murdered by someone who can walk through walls. Dick just stares at them like ‘what will it take to get you out of here?’ Sherlock asks if he really thinks Edward was just a suicide. Dick stares. Sherlock sighs and asks if the ballistics report came back and whether the bullet came from his own weapon. Dick says no, it didn’t. Sherlock snaps that the investigation would move a whole lot quicker if he’s just “take my word as gospel.” He asks for five minutes at this new crime scene. Dick just grinds his teeth. Crime scene. This one is basically the exact opposite of Edward’s swanky, hotel clean flat. This one looks like a dorm room. Basically every square foot of the space is covered in something: books, electronics, empty beer bottles. He peeks out the window and smiles, muttering that the fact that they are four floors up explains why “they think they’re safe”. Apparently by “they” he means the occupants. They think if they lock the doors securely that there’s no way for someone to get in. Dick says he doesn’t understand. Sherlock neglects to point out that this can hardly be a first for him and says their killer can climb the walls. He climbs on top of something and opens a skylight window, announcing that this is how the killer got in after he climbed the wall and crossed the roof. Dick thinks this is ridiculous and he’s describing Spiderman. Chrissy: Sounds more like Ethan Hunt, actually. Diandra: Nah. The building isn’t tall enough. Chrissy: Neither is Ethan Hunt. Diandra: We’re resorting to jokes about Tom Cruise’s height now? Has the well run dry? Sherlock says this is also how he got into Edward’s building and the bank except those were higher up. He says they just need to figure out what the connection is between the two men. Then he picks up one specific book (of the approximately three dozen strewn everywhere) and looks at the stamp identifying it as belonging to the West Kensington Library. Do all the rest of those books have that or is this one of those ‘grab the first thing that jumps out at you and it will prove important’ scenarios procedural dramas are so fond of? Library. Sherlock explains to John that the date stamped on the book is the same day the victim died. The library still uses stamps for due dates? He locates the shelf the book came from and picks up an identical copy. Meanwhile, John grabs a couple random books from the shelf on the other side and finds the same yellow number eight and dash painted on the back of the shelf. Back at 221B, Sherlock is piecing together a timeline of events. First the killer went to the bank to leave the threatening note. Edward saw it and panicked, fleeing to his apartment, which is where the killer found him hours later. John adds that the killer found Lukis at the library and put the message on the shelf where he knew Lukis would find it and basically the same scenario played out. Oh, and Lukis was the bald guy who was running to apartment 8 earlier. I didn’t recognize him in the picture and I only notice this now because they do a little flashback of it during John’s explanation. So has anybody tried going into Soo Lin’s apartment to make sure she’s still alive? Trafalgar Square. About three red double decker buses drive past because in case you weren’t aware, this show takes place in England. Before I get to the actual conversation Sherlock and John are having I need to note some little details about this scene that could only have happened back in the days before this show became a phenomenon. The camera crew is on one side of the fountain and Benedict and Martin are walking past a small crowd of people on the other side, COMPLETELY UNRECOGNIZED. At least two guys clearly notice the camera and one of them stares at it for a few second before turning to see what the hell they’re filming, only he’s looking right past both actors to the spot they were standing a few seconds ago because he turned JUST as they walked past him. I like to think when this show aired, that guy recognized himself and thought “damnit. What a twat.” Okay, so dialogue. Sherlock is babbling that the world runs on codes and ciphers from the bank’s security system to the PIN machine John was arguing with. Those are all electronic codes, though. This one is different. They walk up the stairs to the National Gallery which is, as ever, LITTERED with people. John asks where they’re going. Chrissy: He should just make a recording of himself asking that so he doesn’t have to waste his breath doing it in every other scene. Sherlock says he needs to ask for advice. John’s like ‘what? What was that, oh brilliant one?’ Sherlock glances at his smug grin and mutters “you heard me perfectly. I’m not saying it again.” He says he needs to talk to a painting expert. Apparently the National Gallery was just a misdirect, because in the next scene they’re going down one of the nearby back alleys where a guy is spraying a silhouette of a police officer with a pig snout for a nose posed like some sort of dictator on a wall. It’s very subtle. The guy says it’s part of a new exhibition he calls “Urban Bloodlust Frenzy”. He says he has two minutes before a community support officer comes around so can he keep working while they do this? Sherlock hands him his phone with one of the pictures already displayed. The graffiti artist tosses a can to John so he can take the phone and scroll through the pictures. Sherlock asks if he knows whose work this is. He says no, but he recognizes the paint because it’s a hard core zinc variety. What? Sherlock asks if he recognizes the symbols. Um...no? “Two people have been murdered, Raz,” Sherlock snaps. He says the key to finding out who killed them is in deciphering that message. Raz points out that if this is all they have to go on they’re probably screwed then because this isn’t much. “Are you going to help us or not,” Sherlock asks testily. Raz says he’ll ask around. The community officer shows up just then and Sherlock grabs his phone and bolts. Raz drops the spray paint can in his hands and takes off a split second after him. John just stands there with the other can in his hands like the idiot Sherlock accuses him of being. The officers ask just what the hell he thinks he’s doing to a public art gallery here. John says he didn’t do anything, he was just holding this can for...and that’s when he notices he’s all alone. Chrissy: He may not be stupid, but he IS a bit slow. Library of the Forrest of the Dead. Or...museum archive. Whatever. Soo Lin’s would-be boyfriend is telling the boss that Soo Lin was right in the middle of an important piece of restoration so it’s unlikely she would have just resigned suddenly. Boss Lady says she said in the letter that she had “family problems”. The guy – whose name Boss Lady says is Andy – says yeah, but see: she doesn’t have a family. At least not in country. At any rate, he says those ceramic teapots were an obsession she was working on for WEEKS and it doesn’t seem likely she would just abandon them. Chrissy: Unless “family problems” is code for “the Chinese Mafia is after her and she needs to go underground FAST”. Boss Lady suggests she was getting some “unwanted attention” and gives Andy a pointed look before stalking off. Yes, she abandoned a project she felt very passionate about restoring ancient artifacts just because some guy was hitting on her. Yeah, escaping the mafia is actually more likely. 221b. Sherlock is standing at his evidence wall over the fireplace when John returns. Sherlock notes that it took him a while to get home. “Yeah, well, you know how it is,” John growls, obviously barely restraining the urge to throw things at Sherlock. “Custody sergeants don’t really like to be hurried, do they?” Oh, by the way, he has a court date next Tuesday now. Sherlock’s like ‘huh? What was that?’ although he’s barely listening because he has his face buried in some sort of book. “Me, Sherlock! In court! On Tuesday,” John practically shouts, over-enunciating to make sure every word is crystal clear. “They’re giving me an ASBO.” “Good, fine,” Sherlock mutters distractedly. Chrissy: You know, just ONCE it would be nice if you APPRECIATED everything I do for you, you bastard! Diandra: Pfft. It’s just a misdemeanor. It’s not even a very good one. Stick around and we can get you charged with indecent exposure and lewd behavior in a public place. Chrissy: I already have one of those. Diandra: We’re talking about JOHN here, not you. Chrissy: Oh, sorry. John starts to take his coat off but Sherlock spins around and pulls it back up over his shoulders, saying he needs John to go down to the police station to ask about the journalist, whose personal effects should have been impounded by now. Before John can protest that he just CAME from the police station, as Sherlock would know if he ever freaking LISTENED, Sherlock grabs his own coat and follows with some babbling about a diary or something that will tell them what Van Coons was doing. Outside, Sherlock says something about talking to Van Coons’ assistant and seeing where their paths coincided. He runs off and John hails a cab to take him to Scotland Yard. He notices somebody across the street taking pictures who seems to disappear between glances and is visibly unnerved. Because it’s been a few scenes since we reminded everybody of where this show takes place, we cut to a view of the Liverpool Street transit station and facing pub while a couple double decker buses drive by. Bank. Van Coons secretary Amanda is checking the schedule on his computer. In an interview this past season, Steven Moffat joked “people say there’s a problem with nepotism in television, but we have no problem with it whatsoever!” I mention this now because in what is only the first in a string of connections on this show, Amanda is played by a woman who was dating Benedict at the time. She lists the appointments and travel plans Edward had for the past week, but says there’s a big blank on the day he died. She offers to give Sherlock all the receipts she has. At the station, Dick is unpacking things from a box. “Your friend...” he begins and John interrupts to say whatever it is “I’m behind you 100%.” Chrissy: Well, it would be more fun if... Diandra: He were behind Sherlock. Yes, I think we can all agree on that point. “He’s an arrogant sod,” Dick finishes. John thinks that’s mild compared to the sort of descriptions most people would give of Sherlock. Dick hands him Lukis’ “diary”, which looks like a paper version of the planner the secretary pulled up on Edward’s computer. It has a plane ticket shoved inside for the same city in China that Edward came back from. Sherlock asks Amanda what sort of boss Edward was. “Appreciative?” Chrissy: Or did he totally take her for granted and ignore her when she tried to talk to him like SOME PEOPLE? Diandra: Well, maybe he would listen if she did something besides NAG all the time. And as long as we’re going down this road: appreciation goes both ways, you know. Chrissy: Oh, so this is my fault now? I’m not sufficiently worshipping the genius whose brilliance I am allowed to bask in? Diandra: Well, now that you mention it, your “worshipping” skills could use a little work. Chrissy: I didn’t hear you complaining about it the other night, but then most of what you were saying was pretty incoherent. ANYWAY. Amanda says no, the only things Edward “appreciated” came with a big price tag. Sherlock notes the fancy hand lotion on her desk and asks if that’s the sort of thing she’s referring to. He bought that for her, right? Chrissy: Well, he used it too sometimes when he...er... Diandra: Showed his appreciation? Sherlock shuffles the receipts around on the desk and hands her one for a £18.50 taxi ride on the day that he died. Can’t have gone very far then, unless British taxis are cheaper than American ones. I’d have to pay more than that to get to the airport that’s less than ten miles away. Amanda says that’s enough to get him to the office. Sherlock says yeah, maybe during rush hour, but the time on it isn’t rush hour. She says in that case, that price would get him to the West End, which she just now remembers him mentioning. Sherlock hands her a metro stub from Picadilly. Amanda wonders why he would take a taxi out to the West End and then take the subway back to the office. Sherlock thinks he was carrying something heavy he didn’t want to “lug” up the escalator. He delivered it to somebody near Picadilly station and stopped at an Italian coffee bar according to another receipt. We cut to another street in London just as a double decker bus drives by. I swear, this should be a drinking game. Do a shot every time you spot a big red bus. Chrissy: Yeah, but it’s hard to do a recap when you’re passed out drunk on the floor. Diandra: That hasn’t stopped us before. Sherlock is at the Italian place, muttering to himself/the ghost of Edward, trying to figure out where the taxi might have dropped him off and where he was coming from. As he’s paying more attention to this than where he’s walking, he backs right into John, who has his nose buried in Lukis’ planner. He just blinks and announces that this is where “Eddie” brought some sort of package the day he died. He starts babbling about piecing together what was in the case based on credit card activity and receipts and the fact that this was all after he came back from China. There’s something important somewhere nearby... John, who has been doing an impression of a fish for the last minute or so in a futile effort to get a word in edgewise, just points across the street and says “that shop. Over there.” Sherlock asks how he can tell. John points to the spot in Lukis’ diary where he wrote down the address and says the journalist was here too. He starts off in that direction. “Oh,” Sherlock says disappointedly before following him. Chinatown. They walk into the same shop Andy was in front of earlier. Now it’s open and an older Asian lady is standing at the counter. She tries to push one of the maneki nekos on John, saying it’s only ten pound and his wife would like it. Eh, no, he’s not really an animal person. Or a person person, for that matter. John picks up one of the tiny porcelain teacups and finds a sticker on the bottom with a slash, an eight and a little circle in the same handwriting as the graffiti. He shows it to Sherlock. Chrissy: Both the sticker and the cup. Because it’s never too early to look at china patterns. As they’re walking through the streets, Sherlock regains his upper hand in intelligence by explaining that the symbols are an ancient numbering system called Hang Zhou (which he mispronounces) that is only used by street traders now days. He stops at a market and rummages around the produce a bit. John says the number translates to fifteen. Sherlock says the slash through the eyes on the painting was a number too. He holds up one of the tags on the produce, which has the same single slash, and says it’s a “one”. Um...that symbol has meant “one” in basically every major Asian language for a millennia. You really didn’t need to remove the tag from some guy’s vegetable stand to make your point. From somewhere nearby, the same woman who was taking pictures of 221b earlier snaps one of the boys now. They sit in a restaurant across from the store and John summarizes what they know so far. Both men traveled to China recently and both, upon returning, headed straight for this Lucky Cat store. Sherlock jots the symbol that looks like an eight alongside the number fifteen on a piece of paper. Diandra: I’ve got it! Sir William was actually Charles Widmore using an alias to hide from someone who works for Mr. Paik and blames him for the crash of flight 815! His death was actually the first murder and the other murders are just deflection! Chrissy: I just realized something. Diandra: What’s that? Chrissy: “Lost” fans are insane. John wonders what the two men saw. Sherlock says it doesn’t have anything to do with what they SAW. It’s about whatever they were bringing back in their suitcases. The waitress brings John a plate of food, but again, he’s the only one eating. Sherlock reminds him of what Sebastian said about Edward somehow making back five million pounds in a week. “He was a smuggler,” John declares confidently. Sherlock says it’s the perfect cover: a businessman who makes frequent trips to China and a journalist who happens to be working on a story about China. The store is the drop point. We get little flashbacks of both men bringing suitcases into the store to confirm. John says it doesn’t quite explain why they were murdered though, since they both followed through on delivery. Who would kill them after they’d already finished the job? Sherlock thinks about this for a minute and suggests maybe one of them was skimming off the top. John follows this logic to assume the killer wouldn’t know which one of them did it and would therefore have threatened both of them. Sherlock frowns at the sidewalk outside and asks when the last time it was that it rained. Before John can answer, he jumps up and runs off. John, still chewing, reluctantly follows. Chrissy: So in answer to your question in the last episode about why John seems to constantly be eating and/or hungry: because he can only eat a few bites at a time. Sherlock fingers the edge of the phone book propped against Soo Lin’s door across the street where the plastic cover has ripped away and the pages are water-logged. He says it’s been there since Monday. He rings the doorbell, waits about five seconds and goes down the alley that runs alongside it because obviously nobody has been inside that apartment for at least three days. John suggests the occupant went on holiday. Sherlock nods at the back of the building on the other side of the tunnel and asks if John would leave his windows open if he was going on holiday. Chrissy: Well, since they’re also YOUR windows, that might not be a bad idea because it might keep the toxic fumes from one of your experiments from building to near lethal levels. Diandra: That was ONE TIME. Are you ever going to let that go? Sherlock pulls down the ladder on the fire escape and climbs on in while John protests impotently and then runs back to the front of the building. Inside, Sherlock knocks over a vase and barely catches it before it hits the floor. He looks at the puddle of water that spills out onto the rug and shouts back to John that somebody else has been here recently. The doorbell rings and John shouts “do you think maybe you could let me in this time?” Sherlock pokes through the contents of the washing machine and sniffs the milk in the fridge. John puts his face close to the mail slot and politely asks Sherlock to stop doing this. Sherlock just shouts back that he’s not the first person to break in here and judging by the imprints in the carpet the previous intruder had size eight shoes. He stops talking loud enough for John to hear and mutters that the person was “small, but athletic” with “small, strong hands”. Chrissy: What a coincidence. The same qualities you look for in a partner. Diandra: I said “capable”, not “strong”, thank you. Sherlock wonders why the intruder didn’t close the window when he left. He concludes it’s because he’s still in the flat. He creeps up to a folding partition and yanks it back to reveal...nothing because this is when the intruder jumps him from behind and tries to strangle him. Outside, John – who obviously can’t hear a damn thing - calls through the mail slot that Sherlock can include him in this little investigation ANY TIME NOW, but who is he kidding? “I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with my massive intellect!” Sherlock, meanwhile, is trying to shout his name, but it turns out this is difficult to do that when you can’t breathe. Once his eyes start rolling backward, the intruder lets go, briefly shoves a hand in his coat pocket and runs off. The doorbell rings again while Sherlock is gasping and spluttering back to consciousness. Chrissy: I suppose it would be too much for him to realize the stupidity of leaving his back up standing outside while somebody tried to kill him? Diandra: What was wrong with John using the fire escape too? He was running all over the tops of buildings in the last episode, but now he needs to be invited in through the front door? Was he bitten by a vampire? Sherlock finds a little origami flower made out of jet black paper in his pocket. He stumbles upright, fixes his scarf and stagers to the front door, where he informs John that the milk in the fridge has gone sour and the wash is starting to smell funny so Soo Lin obviously left in a hurry three days ago and they need to find her. John completely ignores the fact that his voice has suddenly gone hoarse and breathy and sort of catches at one point and asks how they’re going to do that. Sherlock finds the note Andy left on the floor of the entry, which he happened to write on stationary that says “National Antiques Museum” in big letters. He says they can start with this and marches past John. John, finally noticing the weird way he’s talking, asks if he’s coming down with a cold or something as he runs along beside him. Yes, John, he just suddenly developed symptoms in the last five minutes. Chrisy: Well, I mean, I know what you were doing the last time your voice sounded like that, but since I wasn’t in there I know that can’t be it. Apparently Sherlock has fully recovered by the time they get to the museum because his voice is back to normal as he asks Andy when he last saw Soo Lin. He says three days ago right here in the museum. And this morning they’re telling him she resigned, which he repeats is strange seeing as she left her projects unfinished. Sherlock asks what the last thing she did three days ago was. Andy takes them down to the storage room and explains that she does demonstrations of a tea ceremony for tourists. He opens the already still partly open vault where she stored the ancient tea set, but Sherlock ignores it and makes a bee line for the statue Soo Lin was uncovering. This time we actually see it. It has a Chinese one sprayed across its eyes and the old fifteen sprayed across its chest and upper abdomen. It’s already going dark as they leave the gallery and Sherlock repeats that they have to find Soo Lin. John says that’s if she’s still alive, anyway. Raz comes running up to intercept them and says he found something Sherlock will want to see. They follow him down the museum steps, John glaring daggers into his back. Some ways down the road he announces that all Raz has to do is show up on Tuesday morning and say that the bag was his. Sherlock grumbles at him to shut up about the damn court date. Chrissy: Well, that’s easy for YOU to say. You’re not the one who has to pay a fine with no income as of yet. Diandra: It wouldn’t be a problem if you had RUN AWAY instead of just standing there like a simpleton. Chrissy: Don’t call me a simpleton, cylon. Diandra: And since you just stood by cluelessly while somebody was trying to kill me, I’d say we’re even now. Chrissy: You’re the one who went running off without me! You can’t blame me for that! Besides, it was only a matter of time before somebody tried to strangle you. Raz leads them to some sort of underground...something so covered in graffiti that most of it is just an unintelligible mass of brightly colored squiggles covering more brightly colored squiggles. Sherlock mutters that if you want to hide a tree, the best place to do it is the forest. Raz points at one pillar where the most prominent symbol appears to have been meant to be a penis except the artist changed his mind after he had already drawn the scrotum and turned it into a lightning bolt. Chrissy: No, that’s his nickname for himself. Thundercock. Diandra: Oh, I would have guessed The Flash. Chrissy: That wouldn’t exactly be a flattering comparison. Diandra: No, but it’s a more honest one. Raz points out some of the seemingly random yellow slashes around the phallic bolt and Sherlock asks him to confirm that it is exactly the same paint. Because it’s a special shade of yellow that nobody else could possibly have used, I guess. He tells John that if they’re going to decipher the code, they’re going to need more evidence. To find this, they apparently have to split up and poke around different graffitied back alleys. It takes about two minutes for Sherlock to find a discarded can of yellow spray paint. He also rips a chunk off a poster advertising some sort of Asian...something. It’s not really clear. Elsewhere, John finds a trail of yellow paint near some train tracks that leads to a whole wall full of Chinese numbers. Cut to John running toward Sherlock, complaining that he’s been trying to reach him but he won’t ANSWER HIS DAMN PHONE. He says he found “it” and Sherlock follows him. Except when they arrive the wall is completely blank. John babbles that it was here ten minutes ago and somebody must have painted it over. Sherlock concludes that somebody doesn’t want him to see it and then whirls around and grabs John’s head, ordering him to close his eyes and concentrate. John asks what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Sherlock says he needs to “maximize your visual memory”, which is apparently accomplished by spinning him around like a teacup ride and directing him to picture what he saw and try to recall all the details and reciting statistics on just how fucking awful the average person is at remembering things. John says not to worry, he can remember everything. Or at least he could if Sherlock would stop spinning him and let him reach in his pocket because he took a picture with his phone. Sherlock looks at the proffered phone like ‘oh...well...that works too.’ Back home, Sherlockvision translates all the symbols in the various pictures into Arabic numbers. 36, 39, 127, 221, 112, 1, and of course the original 15 and 1. He points out to John that the numbers are always in pairs. John just blinks sluggishly and mumbles that he needs to sleep. Sherlock wonders aloud why the symbols were painted so close to the tracks where thousands of people would pass by every day. John says he just needs twenty minutes and then attempts to nap sitting up at the desk with his head in his hand. Chrissy: This is actually what Martin and Benedict do on set all the time. Diandra: It’s only a problem if he wakes up yelling for his tea towel. Sherlock stops on the picture John took, where he’s written all the Arabic numbers next to the symbols and says whoever did it is trying to communicate with somebody. He’s trying to get back whatever was stolen. He rips the pictures down and says they need Soo Lin to help them decipher this. “Oh, good,” John says, almost too tired to employ the appropriate level of sarcasm, and follows him out the door. Museum. Sherlock tells Adam about the murders and the messages left in ancient Chinese numbering. John cuts to the chase: Soo Lin is in danger because the pattern painted on that statue was the same as the others. Adam says he’s tried every way he knows of to reach her but she just disappeared and for all he knows she’s a thousand miles away already. John notices Sherlock staring at something and asks what it is. Sherlock asks Adam about the teapots in one of the glass display cases. Adam says they were Soo Lin’s baby and gives an abbreviated version of Soo Lin’s explanation that if they start drying out the clay will crumble. Sherlock notes that yesterday only one of them was shining and today two of them are. Night. Someone removes the grating in a tunnel or something from the inside and a shadow with distinctly feminine lines crosses the main floor of the museum. Back at her desk in the library of the forest of the dead, Soo Lin is going through the same steps as earlier to coat one of the pots with tea when Sherlock sneaks up on her and startles her into dropping it. He catches it before it can hit the floor and tuts at her for nearly breaking centuries old pottery. John appears on the other side of the table and turns on the light. Soo Lin says they must have seen the cipher, which means they know “he” is coming for her. Sherlock notes that she’s been clever enough to avoid being found so far. She says she just had to finish her work restoring the pots before he finds her because it’s only a matter of time before he does. Sherlock asks who this person is and if she’s met him before. She says yes, once in China when she was a little girl. She calls him Zhi Zhu, which Sherlock translates as “The Spider”. Holy shit, they *are* actually looking for Spider Man. Chrissy: Well, it was only a matter of time before all the personality changes and perpetual teenage hormones got to him. Soo Lin pulls her shoe down to expose what looks like a stylized flower with a broken circle frame tattooed on her ankle. Because Sherlock is a repository of random trivia, he recognizes this too as the mark of an ancient Chinese crime syndicate called “Tong”. She says all their “soldiers” bear that mark. She says they recruited her when she was fifteen because she was an orphan with no career alternatives other than working for the Black Lotus. Within a year, she was hauling thousands of pounds of drugs into Hong Kong. She escaped when she moved to England and got a legitimate job and a new life, but of course mob bosses never take people leaving the business well so The Spider eventually came after her. She wipes a couple tears and says he came to her flat to “ask” her to help track down something that had been stolen. John asks if she knows what it was. She says no because she refused to help him. John asks if she knew The Spider well back in China. She says she knew him pretty well considering he’s her brother. And you never thought to mention that little detail earlier? She reiterates that they were both orphans and their choices were to starve to death in the street or join the mafia and ...eventually be shot down in a back alley somewhere. She says her brother has become their yes man now and is totally controlled by a general of the Black Lotus called “Shan”. When Soo Lin refused to help him, he accused her of betrayal and she found the cipher waiting for her the next day at work. Elsewhere, feminine hands wearing black nail polish are folding a little black piece of origami paper into a lotus flower. So this is obviously the thing Sherlock found in Edward’s mouth, but it’s also the thing that was stuffed in his pocket. Which suggests this “killer” is about as consistent as any killer in a crime show who gets the opportunity to kill one of the main characters and is suddenly and inexplicably unable to finish the job. Sherlock spreads the pictures out on the table and asks if Soo Lin can decipher them. She explains that they’re numbers and points to the slash through Sir William’s eyes, declaring it a one. Sherlock impatiently says they know THAT, but what does the code mean? She says it’s a code all the smugglers use and it’s based on a book, but before she can say anything else all the lights go off. She gasps that he’s found her. Sherlock goes running off while John spits futile orders for him to WAIT, damnit. He gives up and helps Soo Lin hide. Sherlock is running down the halls totally in the open when Chinese Spider Man starts shooting at him. But of course since the rules state that you cannot kill the title character in a crime drama, he just ends up displaying a remarkable inability to hit the broad side of a barn. John hears the shots and tells Soo Lin he has to go rescue his idiot partner and she should bolt the door behind him. Chrissy: Honestly, if you could stop running off half- cocked I wouldn’t have so damn many headaches. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity and you keep crossing it and then I’m the one who has to save your stupid ass. Diandra: I’m pretty sure I never ASKED you to do that. I was perfectly fine before you showed up and decided you had to be my personal savior. Chrissy: Oh, so I should just let you take the probably poisonous pills and run directly toward the PROFESSIONAL HIT MEN who are SHOOTING AT YOU? Diandra: He’s hardly much of a professional if he can’t hit a target that’s standing in the open and not moving. Chrissy: This little exercise isn’t really working here is it? Diandra: No, because I’m actually agreeing with you: this was an incredibly stupid and dangerous move on Sherlock’s part. Sherlock runs upstairs and ducks behind a wall as Chinese Spider Man catches up and starts shooting again. Sherlock shouts that some of those skulls he’s firing projectiles around are 200,000 years old and he should have a bit of “respect”. Now that he is able to pinpoint Sherlock’s exact location by sound, the shooter rounds the corner and shoots him point blank in the chest. He bleeds out in seconds. Just seeing how many people are paying attention. Actually, the gunshots stop and he says “thank you” and then realizes that the shots have only stopped because Chinese Spider Man has disappeared. In the silence, Soo Lin slowly crawls out from behind the desk where she was hiding. This proves to be a terrible hiding spot because Chinese Spider Man comes up behind her. Nice one, JOHN. She turns and says a few words to her brother in unsubtitled Chinese. Chrissy: You were adopted. Diandra: Your real parents were carnival workers. Your mom was the bearded lady. Or maybe that was your dad. John hears a shot come from the other direction and runs back to find Soo Lin splayed on top of the desk, the origami black lotus laying on her palm. Sometime later, John is chewing out Dick for not taking this seriously. “That’s three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him.” Sherlock steps between him and Dick to fill Dick in on the international smuggling ring that the two men were working for. He stresses that the Black Lotus is operating right here in London under his nose. Dick is like yeah? Well, can you prove it? St. Barts. Oh, look! There’s a double decker bus going by. I think we might be in England. Molly is staring at buffet trays of mashed potatoes and some sort of meat covered in a congealed sauce when Sherlock appears beside her and nearly gives her a heart attack. He asks if she’s going to have the “pork” or the pasta and jokes that either way it’s hardly going to “trouble” Egon Ronay. Well, no, probably not since he died about four months before this episode aired. Anyway, Sherlock recommends the pasta because meat is hardly appetizing after a day spent in the morgue. She asks if he wants anything. He says he doesn’t eat when he’s working because the process of digestion slows him down. She asks if he’s working here tonight then. “I need to examine some bodies.” Chrissy: Oh, well, let me just freshen up a bit first and...that’s not what you meant. Never mind. Molly is like ‘wait...some? plural?’ Sherlock says specifically he needs to examine Edward Van Coons and Brian Lukis. She frowns and says those names were on her list. Sherlock does his best pathetic look and asks if she could please pull them back out for him. Apparently she’s grown a backbone since the last episode, though, as she says she can’t because the paperwork has already gone through. He blinks, visibly shifts gears and notes that she changed her hair. She is understandably baffled by this because her hair is basically bunched in a messy ponytail on the side of her head. He says she normally parts it down the middle and it looks nice brushed off to the side like this. She turns her back and smiles, all fluttery and blushing. So of course the next scene has her opening one of the body bags in the morgue. Because she’s not so much spineless as she is easily bought by obvious flattery. Chrissy: I believe con arists would call her an easy mark. Diandra: Because it sounds much nicer than “gullible idiot”. Sherlock enters the morgue with Dick in tow and announces that they’re only interested in the feet of the bodies. Chrissy: Okay, nobody needs to know about your weird fetishes. Diandra: That’s between you and your wife. I mean colleague. I mean...what are we calling John now? He smiles and flutters his eyelashes at her until she unzips the end of Brian’s body bag, exposing the Black Lotus tattoo on the bottom of his right heel. She does the same for Edward’s bag and Dick blinks at the same tattoo in the same spot on his foot while Sherlock explains that either they both just happened to get the same tattoo from the same Chinese tattoo shop for shits and giggles or Dick should start believing Sherlock when he says this is all connected. Dick sighs and asks what Sherlock wants. Sherlock says he needs all the books from both men’s apartments. 221B. John throws his coat over the back of his chair and sags into it while Sherlock neatly hangs his behind the door and babbles that the Black Lotus isn’t just a crime ring – it’s a cult. And Soo Lin’s brother was corrupted by one of its leaders. John points out that she said the name of that leader – General Shan – but that doesn’t get them any closer to actually finding him. Sherlock says no, she gave them almost all the information they need. John just stares at him, so he tries to talk him through a solution again. “Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need HER expertise?” John reasons that it probably has something to do with her working at a museum and being an expert in antiques. Sherlock says they’re probably dealing with valuable ancient Chinese relics bought from the black market. Something hidden after the Mao revolution. John concludes that the Black Lotus is selling these artifacts. Sherlock frowns and we cut to him scrolling through the inventory of “Crispian’s auction” on a laptop. He stops on a couple vases that arrived from China four days ago from an anonymous vendor. John, hovering over his shoulder, concludes that each of the two male victims carried one of them. Sherlock searches recent sold items from China and points to one that arrived a month ago and sold for 400,000 pounds. John points to a painting that arrived a month before that and sold for half a million. All of them say they were from an anonymous source. And John cross-checks them with both men’s schedules to confirm that the arrival dates coincide with trips they took to China. Sherlock says they’re stealing them in China and using mules to bring them to Britain. Except one of the mules got greedy and stole something they weren’t supposed to. They are interrupted by Mrs. Hudson, who knocks on the wide-open door and asks Sherlock if they’re collecting for charity because there’s a young man outside with crates full of books. As the police are hauling in boxes of books, Sherlock says that the numbers are references to specific words on specific pages of books. A conclusion he came to...when exactly? John rolls with it and says “so 15 and 1, that means?” Sherlock says well obviously it’s the first word on the fifteenth page. Of what book? Er...dunno, but it must have been a book that they both owned. Or, since the one guy was coming from the library, something he had borrowed/used at the library in which case it could be anything and you’re screwed. But let’s assume that’s not the case because mystery stories are rarely that true to life. John looks at the approximately one hundred boxes piled in their living room and mutters “this shouldn’t take too long, should it?” Sherlock starts digging through one of the boxes randomly, barely glancing at books before tossing them aside. John pulls a neat pile out and goes to stack them on the desk. Basically, this is all the opposite of the way they were dealing with their coats earlier. Dick stomps in and waves an evidence bag of the pictures Sherlock was showing Soo Lin earlier, announcing that they found these at the crime scene and is this his handwriting? John explains that they were asking Soo Lin to help them decipher the message. Dick says okay then...is there anything else he can do right now? “Some silence right now would be marvelous,” Sherlock says, not looking up at all. Dick looks at John, who subtly shakes his head, then purses his lips and walks away. Sherlock finds a matching book in two of the boxes and checks the first word on the fifteenth page. Cigarette. He hands them to John and keeps looking. The next duplicate book has the word “imagine”. He keeps looking and the scene blends to some time the next morning judging by the movement of the light through the windows. Several boxes have disappeared and there’s a pile of books on the floor beside the desk where John is working. His watch goes off, followed by the church bells in the distance and he groans and rubs at his eyes. Chrissy: Sorry, I’m a bit tired today. I was up all night with my flatmate. It’s the third time this week. I don’t know where he finds the energy, honestly. Diandra: Well, it wouldn’t have TAKEN all night if you didn’t have such a hard time finding what you were looking for. Chrissy: Well, excuse me for not wanting to make a mess. You’re cleaning up the flat, by the way. Diandra: Oh, that was your doing as much as mine. I told you the coffee table couldn’t take that much weight. Chrissy: Is this getting weird? Diandra: Is what getting weird? I thought we were talking about books. Chrissy: ...oh, honey. Office. The lady behind the desk apologizes to one of a long line of people and says they don’t have any appointments until next Thursday. The woman who was talking to John about a job earlier – and I’m not sure when we’ll ever get around to naming her, so I’ll just introduce her as Sarah here - walks by and asks what’s going on. The lady says “that new doctor you hired hasn’t buzzed the intercom for ages.” So Sarah goes to see what happened to John and finds him fast asleep behind his desk. Chrissy: I told you, Gavin, I...wait, where am I? Sometime later, John is putting his coat on and mumbling that he thought he had more patients to see. Sarah says she saw one or two of his. Or six. Maybe ten. John apologizes for the unprofessional behavior and says he had a “bit of a late one.” He starts to leave, but she holds him up to ask what, exactly, he was doing that kept him up so late. He says he was at a sort of “book event”. Sarah says oh, his girlfriend likes books? Chrissy: What? No! Ahaha! I was with a guy. Wait, I mean...HE’S NOT MY DATE! We just happen to live in the same flat and stay up all night together and...damnit. John says he wasn’t on a date and he doesn’t have one tonight either, which...is really presumptive. Chrissy: Yeah, you could have at least had the courtesy to ask him first. Meanwhile, Sherlock has given up looking through boxes and is looking at his own bookshelf, trying to figure out what books ANYONE would own. He pulls down a dictionary and a bible. This doesn’t work any better than anything else and he slams them down, frustrated. John gets home and Sherlock greets him with an announcement that he needs to get some air so they’re going out tonight. Chrissy: See? Told you you should have asked first. John says actually no, he has a date. Sherlock frowns at him like ‘a what?’ John says it’s what you call it when two people who like each other go out and have fun. “That’s what I was suggesting,” Sherlock splutters. John smiles and says “no, it wasn’t. At least I hope not.” Keep telling yourself that, John. Chrissy: See, in this case there’s a chance I will actually get laid. Diandra: I told you, I actually DID have a headache. Sherlock asks what he’s planning on doing with this girl then. Taking her to a fancy restaurant and then sneaking her upstairs and fucking her blind to prove a point? John says they’re going to a movie. Sherlock scoffs that this is dull and predictable. He hands John the part of the poster he ripped off earlier advertising a Chinese circus and suggests he try this instead. John chuckles a little and says no thanks, he’d rather not get dating advice from a psychopath with asperger’s. Cut to Sarah marveling that she hasn’t had anyone take her to a circus in YEARS. Chrissy: What was that about Molly being the pushover? John says a friend recommended it to him. Oh, so he’s a friend NOW, is he? He says he doesn’t know much about them. She notes the paper lanterns outside the entrance and says they’re probably Chinese. John goes up to the ticket window and says he has two tickets reserved under the name “Holmes”. The ticket agent says he has three tickets under that name. John says he only ordered two. Sherlock’s voice from off screen says he called back and booked another. Really? You put it in his name and you expected this WOULDN’T happen? Sherlock appears behind them and shakes Sarah’s hand, introducing himself. She just says “hi” and doesn’t give him HER name, but it’s not like that sort of thing would bother him so he just says “hello” and walks away. Well, that wasn’t awkward at all. “You couldn’t let me have just one night off,” John hisses when he catches up to him. Sherlock non-answers that this is the Yellow Dragon Circus and they’re only in town for one night and it totally fits. John says yes, the Tong sent an assassin disguised as a tightrope walker, sure. COME ON. Sherlock reminds him that they’re looking for someone who can climb walls, so yes, a circus performer would have the appropriate dexterity. Also, it’s difficult for Chinese citizens to get exit visas, so they needed to have a reason to travel to England. He says he just needs to have a look. John says okay then, while Sherlock is doing that, he’s going to go take Sarah to a pub or something. Sherlock protests that he NEEDS John’s help. “I do have a couple other things on my mind this evening,” John says. Like the condom that’s burning a hole in your back pocket? “Like what,” Sherlock scoffs. John blinks at him and says he’s kidding, right? He’s really interrupting John’s date and the possibility of sex with a real live woman to chase a Chinese acrobat who might possibly have killed three people for the mob? He doesn’t quite say it in those words though and he ends by explaining to the still baffled Sherlock that he is trying very hard to make sure he “gets off” with Sarah tonight. This is when Sarah comes up behind him and he does a flustered ‘oh, heeeeeyyyyy, we were just talking about somebody else who is totally not you’ act. Chrissy: He’s totally sabotaging John’s chances with someone else on purpose so he can have him all to himself. Inside, John notes the smallness of the crowd surrounding the “stage” and says this isn’t a circus so much as it is an art piece. Sherlock mutters that this isn’t their day job. John’s like oh, right, they’re actually international antique smugglers. Sorry. Forgot. Someone starts playing a drum and a heavily made up woman in Chinese clothing comes out and unveils an ancient looking bow. She loads it with an arrow, pulls a feather from her headdress and drops it on the trigger mechanism, sending the arrow into the “target” on the other side of the stage. A guy in a mask is then hauled over in front of the target. Sherlock explains to John and Sarah that this is a classic “Chinese escapology” routine: the “warrior” has to escape before the arrow fires. The lady loads the bow again while the guy makes a big show of grunting and yelling as chains are yanked around him to secure him to the target. The drums start again and Sarah jumps when somebody hits a gong, grabbing John’s arm and practically burying her face in his shoulder in embarrassment. John smiles like ‘yeah, I’m totally getting laid’. The Chinese lady pulls out a knife and stabs a sandbag holding a weight up off the trigger. The guy makes a big production of squirming and struggling with as much noise as possible and, of course, ducks free just as the arrow whizzes over his head. Chrissy: Yeah, we were told we couldn’t do another show with mob targets instead of professional escape artists. It got kind of messy last time. Everyone applauds and John suddenly notices that Sherlock has disappeared. Because he’s poking around backstage. The painted woman begins her ringmaster monologue. “From the distant moonlit shores of the Yangtze river, we present, for your pleasure, the deadly Chinese bird spider.” I’m pretty sure no good can come from those words being used in that order. She clears the stage and Chinese Spider Man (which I’m pretty sure is a better name than Bird Spider) comes tumbling from the rafters on a long strip of material. He starts swinging around on two strips of material in a way that is instantly familiar to anyone who has ever seen a Cirque du Soleil show. Sherlock peeks out at him from backstage and darts for cover when a door opens and the ring mistress comes in. She grabs something from a dressing table and frowns when one of the hangers on the rack Sherlock is hiding behind rattles. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to find the noise suspicious so she just walks out. Sherlock finds a duffel bag full of spray cans that just happened to be hidden in the same spot he chose to hide and pulls out the yellow one on top. He crawls out from behind the clothes rack and sprays a Chinese “one” on the nearest dressing mirror. This is when the piece of “scenery” that looked like the Chinese version of a suit of armor moves and rushes toward Sherlock with sword raised. What follows is basically a variation on the Bedouin scene at the beginning of the episode, except this time Sherlock is armed with a spray can, which is not all that useful at deflecting blows but the attacker does get a face full of paint. Also, John is on the other side of the curtain watching the Chinese acrobat with the rest of the audience. He is distracted from the performance by the curtain moving every so often as somebody swings wildly. Nobody else seems to notice until Sherlock comes flying through the curtain and lands on the stage, the acrobat attacker doing a handless flip out behind him. John runs over to body check him before he can reach Sherlock again and grapples for a few seconds before getting kicked aside. Chinese Spider Man takes off his mask and runs for it. Meanwhile, Sarah grabs what looks like a pipe from somewhere and – standing over Sherlock like some sort of avenging angel - wallops the armed Chinese assassin until he falls down groaning in pain. This woman is my new hero. Sherlock pulls the guy’s slipper off to expose the tattoo on his heel and says “come on, let’s go!” He stumbles away and John grabs Sarah’s hand and does his best to pretend that he’s pulling her after Sherlock and not the other way around. Police station. Dick says he sent some cars, but the “old hall” is completely deserted already. Sherlock tells him about the tattoo on the attacker’s foot that matches the victims. John butts in to explain their theory about one of the victims stealing something valuable from the smuggling operation. Sherlock adds that the circus performers are all gang members who were sent to get it back. “Get what back,” Dick asks. Sherlock makes frustrated faces and John admits they have no idea. Dick sighs and spits that he’s done everything Sherlock has asked because Lestrade trusts him for some damn reason, but now he needs to know that he won’t look like an idiot calling for a raid for no apparent reason. 221b. Sherlock heads right for his evidence wall. John trails after him, muttering that it’s useless because the “circus performers” will be back in China by tomorrow. Sarah wanders in after them, quite possibly nearly forgotten at this point. Sherlock says they won’t leave without whatever it is they came for and there MUST be some sort of hideout or meeting point whose location is hidden somewhere in the code. Sarah looks awkward and offers to “leave you to it.” John and Sherlock begin talking at the same time again. John: No, you don’t have to go. Stay. Sherlock: Yes, it’d be better if you left now. Chrissy: Well, now we know which one of them would be open to a threesome. Diandra: And which one selfishly wants the other all to himself. Sarah looks at both of them, baffled and John tries to dismiss what Sherlock said as a joke, begging her to stay. She tries to get back to some sort of neutral territory by asking if anyone else is really hungry right now. “Oh, god,” Sherlock mutters, not looking away from his evidence wall. John opens the refrigerator and finds the typical contents of a bachelor’s refrigerator: condiments and alcohol. He forages around in the kitchen while Sarah cocks her head at the evidence wall and tries to start some sort of friendly conversation with Sherlock. “So this is what you do. You and John. You solve puzzles for a living.” “Consulting detective,” he says shortly, shuffling papers and pictures of the cipher around on his desk. She reaches over his shoulder and points to one, asking what these “squiggles” are. He explains the ancient Chinese numbering thing through clenched teeth. In the kitchen, John is still scrounging for whatever he can find in the cupboards when Mrs. Hudson sneaks in with a tray of “punch” and snacks. She apologizes that she didn’t get to the supermarket today because it isn’t Monday, but he’s just thrilled to death that she brought anything that isn’t expired or possibly part of an experiment. Sarah picks up one of the papers on the desk and Sherlock gets a look like he is barely restraining himself from physically tossing her out the door. She says so...this is a cipher? Yes, he growls. “And each pair of numbers is a word?” He does a double take and asks how she could possibly know that. She says two of the words have already been translated and points to part of the picture. Sherlock jumps up and calls John over, showing him the picture and reminding him that Soo Lin had just started translating it for them when her brother interrupted. It’s the picture of the wall John found and Soo Lin wrote “nine” over the top left character and “mill” over the one to the right of it. John suggests that means “million” and Sherlock says they need to know what the rest of the sentence says, but apparently something was worth nine million quid. Or something else entirely because Chinese can be written vertically and I would assume that would be the case of someone writing in ancient code but whatever. He goes to grab his coat and tells John he’s going to the museum restoration room because they were probably “staring right at it”. John asks what “it” is. Sherlock impatiently explains that she probably used the book that is the key to solve that part of the code while they were “running around the gallery”. He runs outside, frantically waving for a taxi and knocks a guide book from the hands of a tourist. He turns and picks it up, apologizing in German as he hands it back. The taxi sails by and he gives up and starts walking, not getting very far before he notices another couple of tourists consulting a similar guide. We get a flash of a London guide sitting on Brian’s desk and then a closeup of the exact same guide sitting on top of “The Lost Symbol” on Edward’s. He runs after the German guy and snatches the book from his hands while the guy loudly demands to know just what the hell he thinks he’s doing. The German gives up quickly though and leaves while Sherlock searches for page fifteen. Because it’s not like changes in language would have any effect on pagination from one edition to the next. Back inside, Sarah is rambling about a nice, quiet evening in and, while she generally enjoys running around and wrestling Chinese gangsters it can get to be a bit much. Seriously, I really like her. John offers to get them some takeout. Apparently finding page fifteen takes a whole lot longer than one would think it would because Sherlock is just now arriving at it. The first words are “Deadmans Lane”. He concludes that “dead man” was, in fact, just a coded threat. He pulls out the picture again and looks for the next words which are luckily also addresses and not descriptions of restaurants in German or something. John is pouring wine when there’s a knock at the door. He hands the glass to Sarah and she asks if she should clear the table piled with books and who knows what. He apologetically says they’ll just eat off of trays. He opens the door to a shady looking figure in a hoodie and asks how much he owes. The guy asks in an Asian accent if he has “it”. John blinks and splutters stupidly until the guy just clobbers him into unconsciousness. Ugh. YOU WERE A SOLDIER. How can you POSSIBLY be this careless? Chrissy: Well, to be fair, Sherlock didn’t hire him as a bodyguard. Diandra: However, if they need one they should probably consider asking if Sarah is available. Sherlock has finished translating the whole message, which says “nine mill for jade pin. Dragon den. Black tramway.” He goes running back to the flat past two trays neatly arranged with plates and silverware and Sarah’s still full glass of wine, rambling about his discovery that they were using the London A- Z guidebook. He trails off when he sees the “one” and “deadman” cipher spray painted on the windows in the living room. John wakes up in some sort of abandoned tunnel, slumped in a chair. Sarah is in another chair next to him, but for some reason the gangsters decided to gag her and not him. The Chinese lady who was following them before...and probably the one who was folding the origami lotuses is rambling about how books are like magic gardens you can carry in your pocket. She stands over John and explains that this is a Chinese proverb. Also, she calls him “Mr. Holmes”. John splutters that he’s not Sherlock Holmes. Chrissy: And we’re still a long way from him going by John Holmes. Diandra: What makes you think he’d take Sherlock’s name? He has a career established in his name already. I’d think if anything he’d hyphenate and be John Watson- Holmes. Chrissy: Okay, you’ve given that too much thought. The Chinese Godmother says he’ll forgive her if she doesn’t take his word for it. She reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his wallet, immediately finding the debit card he borrowed from Sherlock at the beginning of the episode. And the check Sebastian made out to Sherlock, which Sherlock wouldn’t take. And the theater tickets reserved in Sherlock’s name. Jesus, don’t you have some sort of ID or something? Or, like, ANYTHING with your own name on it? He admits that this looks bad, but insists that he is NOT Sherlock. Chinese Godmother says they also heard him say “I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone.” We see a brief flash of John adding “because nobody else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT” through Soo Lin’s mail slot. John guesses that there’s no point in trying to explain the concept of British humor to her. Apparently not because she just points a gun at his head. “I am Shan,” she says. Chrissy: You killed my father. Prepare to die. Diandra: No, you can’t just...no. Godmother Shan says they’ve tried three times to kill him and his “companion”. Um...if you’re counting the time you tried to strangle Sherlock then you obviously weren’t trying very hard. “What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?” That he’d make an excellent Bond villain? She cocks the gun and John has a panic attack. There’s a long pause before she pulls the trigger and it clicks on an empty magazine. She says it means they’re not really trying. Chrissy: That’s nice. Can you untie my hands so I can change my underwear now? 221b. Sherlock digs through his own book collection for a map, locating the black tramway. Then he just takes off, leaving it on the desk. The Godmother loads a magazine into the gun and cocks it pointedly. “If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive.” Because you need to threaten to kill him to get his attention? Since when? She asks if he has “the treasure”. He has no idea what she’s talking about. Also, she’s a gangster, not a pirate. Why can’t she just SAY WHAT IT FUCKING IS? She signals her men to uncover the bow and arrow they were using at the circus as she explains that everything in the West has a price. The men carry Sarah – chair and all – to sit in front of it. NOW the Godmother finally reveals what it is she’s after. She asks John where the nine million pound Empress hairpin is. They already had a buyer for it before one of their people got greedy and smuggled it back to London where “Mr. Holmes” has been searching for it. So you ran through all the people who might have stolen it, couldn’t find it, and are now so desperate you’re asking the detective who’s been searching for it even though in all likelihood he doesn’t have any more information than you do? I wouldn’t think the mafia would be so sloppy. John frantically repeats that he is NOT Sherlock Holmes and he has not found whatever it is they’re looking for. Godmother Shan makes a show of pretending to be on stage and asking for a “volunteer” from the audience, cooing that Sarah will do very nicely, and stabbing the sandback over the trigger mechanism. Sarah wails and struggles while The Godmother continues rambling like she’s speaking to a full theater. She places a black origami lotus in Sarah’s lap and apologizes that this is probably dull for her since she’s seen the act before and knows how it ends. Yeah, she really would make a good Bond villain. John screams that he ISN’T SHERLOCK HOLMES damnit. She repeats that she doesn’t believe him. From somewhere behind John, Sherlock calls that she really should because he is NOTHING like Sherlock Holmes. He darts into the shadows as she turns and cocks her gun and calls “how would you describe me, John?” Oh, you really don’t want an answer to that. “Resourceful?” he suggests. “Dynamic? Enigmatic?” Chrissy: Pompous? Self absorbed? Infuriating? Diandra: Lickable? Um...[cough] sorry. Scratch that last one. John suggests “late”, but he isn’t loud enough for Sherlock to hear it. Sherlock says the gun Godmother Shan is holding is a semi-automatic and at that speed, taking into consideration the radius curvature of the walls of the tunnel the bullet will ricochet if she misses and possibly hit anyone including her. He knocks out one of her goons and kicks over a trashcan with a fire in it that was providing at least some of their light. It’s not really clear what happens after that, but Sherlock is behind Sarah, untying her when another goon tries to strangle him again. Possibly the same one as before. John manages to drag himself closer to the mechanism and, just as Sarah seems to have accepted that these are going to be her final moments, kicks it so that the arrow somehow goes into the goon strangling Sherlock. Sherlock untangles the scarf, takes a moment to note that Godmother Shan has run out the other end of the tunnel leaving the three of them alone, and goes back to untying Sarah. “Don’t worry,” John says from the floor. “Next date won’t be like this.” She just keeps sobbing. It’s cute how John thinks there will actually BE a next date. Sometime later, the cops arrive on the scene and Sherlock sidelines Dick to tell him that he doesn’t need to mention them in his report. Dick starts to protest, but Sherlock interrupts that he has “high hopes” for him. “A glittering career.” Dick rightly takes this as a sort of ultimatum that this will only happen if he does what Sherlock says. Has...he done this to Lestrade too? 221b, morning. Sherlock pours John some tea as John repeats the translation Sherlock did that led him to that tunnel. Sherlock says it was a message to all London operatives about what they were trying to reclaim. Bring the jade pin to the tramway – where they were hiding – or...what? We’ll keep killing random people until we find out who took it? John can’t wrap his brain around the fact that a jade hairpin is worth nine million pounds. Which is kind of funny coming from a Brit because I’m guessing the smallest of the crown jewels is worth twice that. Sherlock says as much: the value really depends on who the original owner was. We cut to a street somewhere that is clearly London because, you guessed it, a double decker bus is going by. Did the film crew sit for hours just waiting to get location shots of busses? And presumably somewhere nearby, Sherlock and John are walking through a business district while Sherlock explains that the London operatives were sent to China to smuggle the vases they found on the auction site, but one of them also took the hairpin. He says it was Eddie. John asks how he could possibly know it wasn’t Lukis if the mafia couldn’t even tell. Sherlock says he knows because of the soap, duh. He goes through the revolving doors into the bank and John blinks after him like ‘oh, sure.’ Secretary Amanda is sitting at her desk applying some of her fancy hand lotion when her phone rings. It’s Sherlock. He greets her by announcing that Eddie brought her back a present from China. Amanda is like ‘oh, it’s you. I’m fine, thanks for asking. Lovely weather we’re having. Bit rainy. Sorry, how do you know this again?’ Sherlock appears behind her and says she wasn’t just Eddie’s assistant. Chrissy: You couldn’t have just waited to start this conversation until you were in the room? Sheesh. Drama queen. Diandra: Oh, just because YOU’RE a boring stick in the mud doesn’t mean we all have to be. She guesses that somebody told him. He says no, Eddie had a bottle of scented handsoap in his apartment that was almost finished and we all know men don’t buy fancy handsoaps unless they’re expecting to have women over who will use it. Wait...we do? Oh, and Sherlock adds that the soap is the same brand as the lotion on Amanda’s desk. Okay, THAT would be more telling. Amanda laughs that it wasn’t serious and it certainly didn’t last LONG and he was her BOSS. Sherlock asks how/why she ended it. She says she felt like he was taking her for granted and had stood her up once too many times, canceling their plans at a moment’s notice to fly to China. Sherlock concludes that he bought her a present to apologize. He asks to see the pin holding her hair into a bun. She says Eddie told her he bought it at a street market. Sherlock says he actually stole it. Amanda is not at all surprised. Sherlock mutters that Eddie had no idea what the pin was worth, he just thought it looked like something she would wear. Amanda is like ‘oh? How much?’ Sherlock tells her and she practically falls out of her chair, hyperventilating. Meanwhile, Sebastian is writing a check and asking John if Sherlock really climbed onto the balcony. John suggests he nail a plank across his window. Chrissy: John does the same thing to his bedroom door at night, just in case. Sometime later, Sherlock is holding the paper which has the headline “who wants to be a million-hair?” Ugh. Lame. John, who seems to be eating breakfast on the other side of the table, marvels that this woman had a thousand-year-old pin sitting on her bedside table. Sherlock says Eddie didn’t know what it was worth and honestly had no idea why those people were chasing him. John thinks he should have just gotten her one of those lucky cats. Sherlock gives a tight smile. “You mind, don’t you,” John asks. Sherlock is like ‘what? That you’re still dating that woman? No, why would I mind?’ Oh, wait, no. That’s not what he meant. He meant it bothers Sherlock that General Shan the Godmother escaped and all they caught was the two goons who were working for her. Sherlock mutters that it’s probably a vast network of thousands, so, you know...it’s not like they were going to be able to dismantle the whole thing anyway. John says yeah, but Sherlock cracked the code (he neglects to mention that he only did it after some help from Sarah and Soo Lin) and maybe Dick can keep hunting them down now that the police know about them. Sherlock says no, now that they know this code doesn’t work anymore they’ll just use a different book. Alone in a room somewhere, General Shan the Godmother thanks some faceless person via webcam on a laptop because “without your assistance, we would not have found passage to London.” Text appears in a chat window – the sender only identified as “M” - that says “gratitude is meaningless. It is only the expectation of further favors.” General Godmother says they didn’t anticipate the meddling of this Sherlock Holmes person and apologizes that this has somehow compromised M’s safety. M says they can’t trace this back to him. General Godmother promises not to reveal his identity. Chrissy: Sorry, how do we know we’re talking about a “he” here? Diandra: Because this is “Sherlock”, not “Elementary” and “M” is obviously Moriarty. Duh. M says yeah, no shit you won’t. A red dot appears on her forehead and we cut to black before the sniper can splatter her brains all over the laptop keyboard. I like to think that, once the cameras turned off, Sherlock and John retired to some other, more comfortable part of the flat (or just swept the table clear, whatever) and John, um, showed his appreciation for Sherlock to make up for all the bickering earlier. Chrissy: Why is that his responsibility? It’s not like it was all HIS fault. Diandra: Oh, shut up and help me find the handcuffs, John.