"Sherlock, episode 2x01: A Scandal in Belgravia" Starring: Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Rupert Graves, Mark Gatiss, Una Stubbs, Louise Brealey, Andrew Scott and Lara Pulver We get an odd little “previously” sequence that features nothing but a heavily edited, artsy version of that last scene in the swimming pool and a disjointed version of the conversation between Sherlock and Moriarty. We replay in its entirety the last few seconds where Moriarty comes back and Sherlock points the gun at the bomb near his feet while they recite lines ripped directly from the original story. And then suddenly everybody’s hair and tanning level changes and Sherlock visibly gains, like, fifteen pounds. This is an occupational hazard of a show that tries to continue scenes as if two years hasn’t gone by since it started. The tension of the scene is broken when a phone rings to the tune of the Bee Gee’s “Staying Alive” because who needs subtle irony? Moriarty groans and asks if Sherlock would mind if he got that. Sherlock grumbles go for it because “you’ve got the rest of your life.” Moriarty pulls out his cell phone and asks what the hell whoever it is wants. He mouths something at Sherlock and Sherlock snottily mouths something back but the subtitles don’t pick it up at all and I don’t read lips. Chrissy: Moriarty said “I’m sorry, Daddy has to take this. I’ll just be a minute darling” and Sherlock said “that’s what you said last time. I’m beginning to think I’m not interesting enough for you anymore.” Diandra: ... Chrissy: Well okay, most of it was subtext. Moriarty listens for a few seconds, then suddenly screams “say that again!” He calmly adds “say that again and know that if you’re lying to me I will find you and I will skin you.” Sherlock and John look at each other, vaguely alarmed but probably more confused at this abrupt shift. Moriarty says hold on a minute and steps closer to the bomb until Sherlock gets twitchy, taking the phone from his face and addressing Sherlock. “Sorry. Wrong day to die.” Sherlock nods at the phone and asks if he got a better offer then. Moriarty says he’ll be hearing from him and slowly saunters away, resuming his threat to the person on the phone who he promises to make wealthy if he’s telling the truth or dead if he isn’t. He snaps his fingers as he’s exiting the pool and the little red dots hovering around Sherlock and John disappear. John asks what the hell just happened. Sherlock says SOMEBODY changed Moriarty’s mind, “but the question is...who?” And in an apparent answer, we cut to a hand with long, bright red nails turning off a cell phone. The woman attached to the hand walks away from the camera so we can get a clear view of the see-through lace covering she has over a tiny pair of black panties. “Well, now,” she purrs as she picks up a riding crop and snaps it threateningly. “Have you been wicked, Your Highness?” She walks through a door and another female voice responds from the bed mostly out of sight “yes, Miss Adler” before she slams the door shut and we’re launched into the opening credits. Well, some of us are anyway. I assume some members of the audience – mostly those of the male persuasion – just wore out the back button on their remote going over that scene a few more times until they had it memorized and filed in the appropriate section of wank material. Chrissy: On a related note, I was going through the pictures on your phone and I found, among the usual foods, jokes and pictures of cute animals, at least two pictures of men kissing, one of which was clearly someone’s drawing of Sherlock and John. And Sherlock had his hands tied behind his back. Diandra: Why were you going through pictures on my phone? Chrissy: You’re avoiding the question. Diandra: You didn’t ask a question. Chrissy: Oh, right. I guess it wasn’t a question so much as an observation about your own “wank material”. We come back to a shot of the front door of 221b. A police siren wails in the distance somewhere. Inside, John is sitting at the table in the living room, typing in his blog while the words he’s supposedly typing appear over his head for our benefit. Not that we’re actually supposed to read them, obviously. On the other side of the table, Sherlock is drinking from the mug in one hand and rapidly flipping through a newspaper he’s barely even looking at with the other. “What are you typing,” Sherlock asks somewhat disinterestedly. John doesn’t look up as he says he’s writing his blog. Sherlock, seemingly baiting some sort of trap, innocently says oh, what about? “Us,” John says. “You mean me,” Sherlock corrects. Chrissy: Really? We’re picking a fight this early in the morning? Diandra: Who’s picking a fight? I didn’t say anything. John asks why he’s so interested. He says well, um...he seems to be doing an awful LOT of typing over there. Chrissy: Well, I only started writing in the blog just now. Before that I was working on...um...something else. Diandra: And who is Cumberbitch72658? What does that even MEAN? Can we pause for a second to talk about the décor in the apartment? Specifically about why the mounted deer head on the wall over the table is wearing a pair of headphones? I mean, I’m far from an expert on the cannon of the original series, but...was Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes in the habit of putting bowties or hats or eye patches on animal trophies or something? Chrissy: I prefer the explanation that Sherlock has figured out that that’s where Mycroft hid a listening device and that’s an easy and quirky way to cover it. Diandra: ...huh. That or Mofftiss is fucking with us. Chrissy: Oh, well, THAT is a given. Anyway. Before Sherlock can annoy John anymore, the doorbell rings. “Right, so...what have we got,” he says as he goes to answer it. This leads to a slickly edited montage of potential clients – who, like in the original stories, have come to the apartment to ask for Sherlock’s help – each sitting in a chair in the middle of the room while relating the details of their possible case. The first guy thinks his wife is cheating on him. “Boring,” Sherlock announces and walks in front of him, the screen wiping behind him to show him and John sitting in their respective chairs while a woman says she thinks her husband is having an affair. Is this all people go to a PI for? Sherlock just says yes, yes he is and we switch to candidate number three, who seems to think his aunt has been replaced by an alien replicant or something. Wrong show, Moffat. Oh, wait, no, he thinks somebody has replaced his dead aunt’s ASHES. Sorry. Got confused for a moment there. Sherlock tells him to leave and walks in front of the camera again to wipe the screen. Candidate number four has two bodyguards and offers to pay any amount of money they ask to recover some files. “Boring,” Sherlock says again and walks past to wipe the screen before John can protest, which I assume he would have. Candidate five is a teenager with two buddies in tow, babbling about this website they created where they discuss the real meaning of comic books. Sherlock walks across to wipe them from the screen, but hesitates when the kid’s disembodied voice, realizing he’s losing Sherlock, hurriedly adds that the comics started coming true. Chrissy: I need your help saving some cheerleader in Texas because apparently that will save the world somehow. Diandra: It might involve time travel, so we’ll either need a crazy alien with a blue telephone box or a constipated Asian nerd. Chrissy: I thought it was Greg Grunberg’s character that looked constipated. Diandra: Eh. Both of them kind of did. Sherlock steps backward so the kids reappear and admits that this one is interesting. And we cut to John sitting in his chair, typing a blog entry titled “The Geek Interpreter”. I just read “The Greek Interpreter” recently and while the plot is obviously completely different and they're just using the title as a fun little nerd reference/Easter egg, I would like to call attention to the first paragraph which begins “during my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes...” and then describes Sherlock as being completely devoid of emotions and having an aversion to women. We’ll come back to this later. Chrissy: Along with a few other things Doyle thought were innocent one hundred years ago but sound hilariously perverted now. Diandra: Is this about the three guys and the hunting crop? Chrissy: Yes, thank you for sending me that out of context quote by the way. I nearly pissed myself laughing right in the middle of the aisle at Costco. Sherlock leans over John’s shoulder and demands to know what the hell “The Geek Interpreter” is. Chrissy: Also, who is this John Lock that keeps popping up in your internet search history? John says it’s just the title of the post. “Why does it need a title,” Sherlock mutters and wanders off who knows where. John smirks. Morgue. Sherlock, hovering over a dead body with his little magnifier, asks John if anyone actually reads that blog of his. John asks where he thinks their clients are coming from. Sherlock notes that he has a website. “In which you enumerate 240 different types of tobacco ash,” John says. “Nobody’s reading your website.” Sherlock straightens and glares at him while John announces that the victim has dyed hair and no obvious cause of death besides some weird “speckles”. He points to the markings on her upper body and then realizes that Sherlock is already marching out the door like a petulant child past a baffled Lestrade. Chrissy: Don’t worry. I’ll deal with his attitude later. Diandra: Might need to borrow your handcuffs though. Chrissy: I promise I’ll sterilize them before I give them back. Back at the flat, Sherlock wanders past John, who is seated at the table typing again, and grumbles through the bite of toast he just stuffed into his face “oh, for God’s sake. The Speckled Blonde?” I have read "The Speckled Band" too, which as I recall referred to the markings on a snake and the boys solved the case by spending several hours sitting in a dark bedroom together waiting for the killer to attack somebody. Chrissy: Ahem! [cough cough] Yeah. Sure. That’s totally all they were doing. Diandra: Actually, that stakeout was pretty tense and unlikely to involve anything untoward. “The Man with the Twisted Lip”, however, featured Sherlock sitting in the corner of the single hotel room all night smoking while John slept. And since he was smoking “shag” tobacco, pulling quotes and phrases out of context from that story sounded a lot dirtier. Something like shag...shag...all night...shag...suddenly ejaculated...shag...”come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will not fit.” Chrissy: How are people still baffled that we can read this subtext into Doyle’s stories when they were always spending nights together in hotel rooms that only had one bed? Literally every time that happens on a show now it leads to awkward avoidance of the characters’ obvious unresolved sexual tension. Diandra: It was a different, hilariously innocent time. This is why we write fanfiction. Chrissy: Well, some people do. Some just start stories and then get distracted for months on end and get upset when people ask if they intend to ever finish the stories. Diandra: Subtle, Chris. I said I’m working on it. Back to the rotating potential clients. Two little girls are sharing the chair. The smaller one says they weren’t allowed to see their grandfather when he died and is that because he went to heaven? “People don’t really go to heaven when they die,” Sherlock grumbles. “They’re taken to a special room and burned.” “Sherlock,” John says warningly, not even taking his eyes off the confused girls. And we’re at a crime scene with Lestrade again, who is talking about a plane crash in Dusseldorf. Sherlock says yes, suspected terrorist bomb. “We do watch the news.” “You said ‘boring’ and turned over,” John cuts in. Chrissy: Try to keep up, sweetie, we were talking about watching the news. Not whatever you were doing last night. Diandra: Or trying to do apparently. Lestrade points to a body in the trunk of a car and says according to the flight manifest, this man was supposed to be on board that plane. And he has a ticket stub and all sorts of crap in his pockets to indicate he was on it including a passport that was stamped at the Berlin airport. Sherlock is already looking at the hand sticking from the trunk through his magnifier. Lestrade asks if he has any ideas. Sherlock says eight so far, then looks at the rest of the body, makes a face and says “okay, four.” He looks at the bagged passport and ticket stub in Lestrade’s hands and narrows that down to two. He looks up as an airplane passes overhead, casting a shadow on them. And we go back to the apartment where John is writing and the headline says simply “Sherlock Holmes Baffled”. Are you writing a blog or an article for a tabloid? Sherlock is rather alarmingly standing by with a beaker in one hand and a blowtorch in the other. I say alarmingly because aside from some gloves and protective glasses he seems to just be wearing a robe over whatever clothing he has on. Like he just rolled out of bed and started doing this, which, come to think of it, wouldn't be all that surprising. He objects to John writing about the ones he didn’t solve. John thinks it humanizes him and people would find it interesting. Sherlock scoffs at this, but then asks why they would be interested in the same breath. Chrissy: Typical egomaniac. I don’t care what people think! Wait, are they talking about me? What are they saying? John points to the counter on the page that says he’s gotten 1,895 hits. He says he reset it last night so that’s how many visitors he’s had just in the last eight hours. He says this is how Sherlock’s going to make a living. “Not 240 different types of tobacco ash.” Sherlock gives him that look again, growls “243” and fires up the blowtorch before stomping back to the kitchen. Cut to a theater. “So what’s this one,” Sherlock asks. “’The Bellybutton Murders’?” John suggests “The Naval Treatment” and Sherlock groans, which is absolutely the response that deserves (although that's another cute play on the title of one of the original stories). Lestrade meets them backstage and walks with them through some winding hallways, noting that there’s a lot of press outside. Sherlock doesn’t think they’ll be interested in him and John. Lestrade says yeah, um, actually, they wouldn’t have been before, but now he’s an “internet phenomenon” and a couple of them specifically asked to get pictures of Sherlock and John. “For God’s sake,” Sherlock growls in John’s direction. John just smirks again. Sherlock reaches into a dressing room as they go by, grabbing a couple hats and throwing one at John with instructions to cover his face and walk fast. Lestrade thinks it’s good for public image. Sherlock grumbles that a PRIVATE detective isn’t supposed to have a PUBLIC image and jams the hat he grabbed on his head before stepping outside. Of course, it’s a deerstalker. He pulls his collar up and flinches from the camera flashes and we smash cut to a few newspaper articles with pictures of him completely failing to hide under that ridiculous hat. Irene’s red-nailed fingers lovingly caress one of the images, place her riding crop over it and pick up a cell phone. She tells whoever is on the other end that “it’s time”. Back to 221b, we pan over the fireplace mantle which now includes a display case of preserved beetles and a “Clue” board stabbed to the wall with a knife. Because everyone is now aware that fans of this show are watching episodes multiple times and capable of picking up on tiny details, this later item is related to a joke that will not be made until later this season and I know this and am pointing it out because fans absolutely did pick up on it (possibly in part because it was mentioned in the commentary). Mrs. Hudson grabs the jug of milk and coffee mug sitting beside the beetle display and takes them to the kitchen. Chrissy: But she’s not his housekeeper. Diandra: Nope. She groans at the mess of science equipment on the kitchen table, then opens the refrigerator and reels at some disgusting smell. She tosses out what looks like an orange, picks up a bag that turns out to be full of severed thumbs and drops it back like it burned her. Some random guy appears in the room behind her, muttering “the door was...” and just collapses before he can even get to “open”. “Boys,” she calls. “You’ve got another one!” Um...where are they exactly? Chrissy: I assume you’re looking for an answer here other than “the bedroom”? Diandra: Well, no, actually, she looks like she’s shouting at the ceiling and the only thing up there as far as I know is John’s room. Chrissy: How do you know exactly how the flat is laid out? Diandra: Research. Chrissy: Well, yes, I figured that, but why did you need to research the layout of the apartment? Diandra: I assume you’re just trying to get me to admit I was trying to figure out where the bedrooms are. Chrissy: Were you? Diandra: ...yes. Chrissy: There, was that so hard? Diandra: Well, not yet it isn’t. Chrissy: .........are you kidding me? How long have you been writing this story? Cut to the potential client sitting in that chair, John sitting on the couch in the background. Chrissy: Funny, his clothes don’t LOOK rumpled. Diandra: Didn’t you hear me say it was HIS room she was yelling toward? I assume that’s where he keeps his clothes. From off camera, Sherlock orders the guy to start from the beginning and “don’t be boring”. The camera zooms in on the guy, spins around and the scene switches to him trying to start a car on the road by a field 14 hours earlier (according to the chyron). Because we’re going for fun visuals and complicated editing in this episode. He looks in the already open hood, but I have no idea what he’s looking at or for, notes a guy in a bright red jacket on the other side of the field, and gets back in the car. He turns the key and the car backfires with a very loud bang. We focus on the tailpipe as it does this, then pan up to show that the man in the red coat is now flat on his back and not moving. The potential client notices this and heads in the guy’s direction, asking if he’s okay, but the camera pans over him to show that he’s lying in a pool of blood. Sometime later, the police are crawling over the scene when somebody hands a phone to the lead detective. He answers it with an abrupt “Carter” and Lestrade’s voice on the other end just as abruptly asks if he’s ever heard of Sherlock Holmes. Carter hasn’t. Lestrade warns he’s about to meet him and while this is his case and it is entirely his choice whether he wants to or not, Lestrade urges him to just listen to the weirdo for five minutes before shooing him away. “As far as possible try not to punch him,” he finishes. A taxi pulls up and Carter goes to greet “Sherlock Holmes”, except John emerges from the taxi alone. He introduces himself and asks if they’re set up with wifi. 221B. Sherlock, naked but wrapped in a sheet, yawns and picks up a laptop where a video call to John is already up. “You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating,” John says. Sherlock says it’s okay, he’s fine. John says yeaaaaahhhh, I meant for me. Chrissy: Don’t need everybody at a crime scene seeing you with that collar around your neck. Hey, why aren’t you wearing the collar?! Sherlock situates himself at the table and says this case is “a six” and he doesn’t leave the flat for anything less than a seven. Or get dressed apparently. “We agreed,” he finishes. John asks when they agreed to that. Sherlock says yesterday. John says he was in Dublin yesterday. “It’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening,” Sherlock mutters. The doorbell rings and he yells “shut up” over his shoulder. “Do you just carry on talking when I’m away,” John asks. Well, it’s hardly the first time he’s done it so I don’t see why you’d be surprised by it now. Sherlock testily says he doesn’t know “how often are you away?” He directs John to point the camera at the car that backfired. John does and says “if you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one.” The victim died from a blow to the head with a blunt excrement. Chrissy: You did not just quote “Without a Clue”. Diandra: Of course I did. Both the murder weapon and the killer seem to have magically disappeared. “That’s got to be an eight at least.” Carter says he has two minutes and “they” want to know more about the driver of the car. Sherlock waves dismissively and says “forget about him, he’s an idiot” because he actually thinks he’s a suspect. Carter leans close to John’s laptop and says he’s inclined to agree. Sherlock orders John to hand the laptop over. “All right, but there’s a mute button and I WILL use it,” John says. Chrissy: Of course, I would prefer the ball gag, but since I’m not there… Diandra: Okay, slow down. You will have plenty of time to make these jokes ALL through this episode. John hands the laptop to Carter and Sherlock asks why the hell a criminal who has just driven out to a secluded area and successfully murdered someone without anyone being the wiser would then proceed to CALL THE POLICE and go to the house of a private detective. Carter thinks he could be acting overly confident because he’s TOO clever. Sherlock says yeah, an obese man with halitosis, a possible heart condition and the right sleeve of an internet porn addict. “Low self esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind?” Then he turns to the “obese idiot”, who is still sitting in John’s chair somewhere behind him and assures him not to worry, this is just some stupid thing he’s going through here. The guy’s like what? What heart condition? Why am I still here with a guy who is prancing around in a sheet?! Chrissy: And can we back up for a second and talk about the fact that we can assume since he was hidden off camera earlier that he’s been naked since this guy arrived? Diandra: Uh-huh. Mrs. Hudson was calling up in the direction of John’s room and we cut to the boys questioning the client while Sherlock is wearing nothing but a bedsheet. I find it funny that everyone involved with this show falls all over themselves to say that John and Sherlock may love each other but not in THAT way and yet Mofftiss throw in stuff like this in a seemingly deliberate effort to tease the viewers who are receptive to the idea that they might possibly be fucking. Chrissy: How IS that fanfic coming along, by the way? Diandra: QUIT NAGGING ME. Sherlock orders Carter to go to the stream nearby. Carter asks what’s there. Mrs. Hudson comes up with some men in suits and complains that Sherlock wasn’t answering the doorbell. One of the men tells the other that Sherlock’s room is in the back of the flat and orders the guy to go find him some clothes. Then he tells Sherlock he’s coming with them and ominously slams his laptop closed. Out in the field, John apologizes for the signal just cutting out suddenly like that. He doesn’t know what happened. One of the officers comes up with a phone pressed to his ear and says “it’s for you.” John holds his hand out of the phone, but the guy says not that: the helicopter coming in for a landing in the background. Back at the flat, Suit #2 deposits a pile of clothes in front of Sherlock, who just makes a face that I will interpret to mean “oh, yeah? You can’t make me!” Suit #1 insists that where he’s going, he will want to be dressed. Sherlock looks him up and down while Sherlockvision tells us in order that he’s wearing an expensive suit, he’s unarmed, his nails are manicured, he works in an indoor office, he’s right handed and he has hair from two...no, three small dogs on his clothes. Sherlock says he knows exactly where they’re taking him. Obviously, both of them are being taken to the same place because we cut to John in the helicopter goggling as they approach Buckingham Palace. He’s still goggling as he’s escorted inside and to a room where Sherlock is sitting on a couch still wearing only a sheet, a neat pile of his clothing sitting on the coffee table in front of him. John makes a subdued gesture I interpret to mean “what the?” at Sherlock and Sherlock responds with a sigh and a dramatic eye roll. It’s cute how they’ve already graduated to silent communications. John sits on the other end of the couch, looks around the room and then frowns at Sherlock’s lap and asks if he’s at least wearing underwear. “No,” Sherlock says almost before he’s finished with the question. John is like oh, okay then and they both laugh like little boys sitting outside the principal’s office. John is apparently getting better at rolling with the punches because he’s just like ‘oh, you’re naked in the middle of Buckingham Palace. Awesome.’ Chrissy: At least tell me you managed to wash up a bit and you’re not dripping all over this nice couch. Diandra: You just had to go there, didn’t you? Chrissy: No, honey, try to keep up. The correct response there was “no, I remembered to put the plug in”. Diandra: No. I’m not doing this. John says he’s seriously fighting the urge to steal an ashtray or something. But seriously, what are they doing here? Sherlock says he doesn’t know. “Here to see the Queen,” John suggests. Mycroft comes in the room just then and Sherlock says “apparently yes” and they both start giggling again. Mycroft glares at them and asks if just this once they could maybe try to behave like grownups. “We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants,” John says. “I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.” Well, at least he’s honest. Sherlock complains that he was in the middle of a case when Mycroft so rudely interrupted. Mycroft says yeah, he took a look at the police report for that and it’s a bit too obvious for him, isn’t it? Sherlock agrees and Mycroft says it’s time they moved on then. John looks back and forth between them like ‘it is? Wait...what? What are we doing?’ Mycroft picks up Sherlock’s clothes and holds them out to him, pointing out that they are currently at the heart of the British government and for god’s sake PUT SOME PANTS ON. Sherlock doesn’t see the point. Mycroft thinks he should be wearing something decent to meet his new client. Sherlock asks who this client is. Another guy in a suit wanders in to answer the question for Mycroft: this client is highly illustrious and must remain completely anonymous. Mycroft greets this guy as “Harry” and apologizes for his younger brother. Harry cheekily notes that apologizing for his brothers’ antics must be a full time occupation and greets John as a former member of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. He says his employer is a fan of John’s blog and especially fond of the story involving the aluminum crutch. Which only had a passing mention in the original stories but seems to have become some sort of in joke for Sherlock Holmes fans so it will probably be mentioned again. John politely thanks him and gives Sherlock a pointed look like “see? Told you so.” Harry notes that Sherlock looks taller in photographs. Chrissy: That’s not the only thing about him that is less impressive when you see it in person. Diandra: HEY! “I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend,” Sherlock says dryly. John frowns at him, but before he can figure out if that was some sort of insult, Sherlock marches past them, sneering at Mycroft that he doesn’t DO anonymous clients. Mycroft steps on the end of his sheet before he can make it to the door and Sherlock barely catches it before it comes completely off. John gives an odd little full-body jolt as Sherlock fumbles to wrap the sheet around his waist like maybe he’s suppressing an instinct to go help him or something. Chrissy: Yeah. Help. That must be it. Mycroft stresses that this is of NATIONAL importance. Sherlock growls at him to get off the sheet. “Or what,” Mycroft snots. Sherlock threatens to walk away. Mycroft says he’ll let him. Really? You’re betting he doesn’t have the courage to walk through Buckingham Palace stark naked just to spite you? Is it just me or are these guys both terrible poker players? John decides to act as in loco parentis to the fighting brothers and begs them not to do this here. Sherlock angrily repeats his question about who the client is. Mycroft invites him to look around at where he is and take a wild guess and seriously, again, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON. And we cut to all four men sitting around that little coffee table while Mycroft pours tea. Sherlock, now fully dressed, is glowering at him. In what I hope was related to whatever they were saying before the scene started, Mycroft says “I’ll be mother.” “And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell,” Sherlock mutters. Harry clears his throat and redirects them back to business before this turns into a full blown fight. Mycroft follows his lead and, with a fake syrupy sweet smile, tells his “dear brother” that a potentially criminal and certainly delicate matter has come up that they thought he might be able to help with. Sherlock notes that they have their own police force and secret service, what do they need him for? Harry notes that people do often come to him for help with their problems. Sherlock says yes, but those people don’t usually have their own military. Mycroft says this is a matter of trust. John finally pipes up that he doesn’t trust the secret service with this. Mycroft says no, why would he trust people who make a living spying on people for money? He pulls a photo from a briefcase and hands it to Sherlock, asking if he knows anything about this woman. We cut right to said woman sitting in the back of a car as Sherlock says he knows absolutely nothing about her. In continuing voiceover Mycroft says she’s been at the center of two political scandals just in the past year and she was recently in the papers for having an affair with both a famous writer and the wife he was in the process of divorcing. Of course, this falls completely in the category of things we’ve already established Sherlock doesn’t pay a lick of attention to, so he asks again who she is. In the cab, the woman is getting a text on her phone that says “I’m sending you a treat.” Mycroft says her name is Irene Adler, but she’s known professionally as simply “The Woman”. John notes that he uses the word “professionally” and Mycroft explains that she is a dominatrix. Sherlock stares blankly. “Don’t be alarmed,” Mycroft says, enjoying the hell out of this. “It’s to do with sex.” Sherlock defensively says that sex doesn’t alarm him. “How would you know?” Mycroft retorts. Chrissy: He’s just unfamiliar with the terminology as it applies to a female. Mycroft says she provides “recreational scolding” for people who are willing to pay for it. Diandra: Oh, you mean like that time John borrowed Lestrade’s handcuffs and my riding crop and...um... never mind. Chrissy: Yeah, you don’t have to pay people to scold you either. The line behind me of people willing to pay TO do it stretches around the block. Irene is looking at the pictures that were in that mysterious text message she just got. They’re of Sherlock, wrapped in his sheet, coming out of 221B. She flicks through them and smiles. At the same time, Sherlock is flipping through pictures and information from her website that Mycroft has handed him. He just stares blankly and finally says he’s assuming Miss Adler has some compromising pictures. John, tea cup halfway to his mouth, perks up and cranes to look at the pictures Sherlock is flipping through like “what? Where?” Sherlock asks who the pictures are of. Harry winces and says it’s someone of “significant importance” to his employer and they would prefer to not give any more details at this time, although he reluctantly admits that it is a young female and there are apparently a considerable number of incriminating pictures. Sherlock asks if Miss Adler and the young female appear in the pictures together. Mycroft says um...yes. Sherlock says presumably they are in “a number of compromising scenarios”. “An imaginative range, we are assured,” Mycroft says. John is still holding his tea cup in the air and staring at them slack- jawed. Sherlock notes this and without looking mildly suggests that he may want to “put that cup back in your saucer now” which is definitely a euphemism I’ve never heard before. John puts the cup down, looking guilty. Sherlock has no idea how he’s supposed to help them here because there isn’t really a case. Just pay the woman and be done with it. Mycroft says she never asked for money. In fact, she says she has no intention of using the pictures as blackmail material. Sherlock is suddenly interested since he concludes that this means a dominatrix is engaging in a power play with the most powerful family in the country. John halfheartedly begins to chastise Sherlock for his display of excitement over this, but Sherlock ignores him and asks where “she” is. Mycroft says London and begins to give him the details but Sherlock is already leaving and tells him to just send it to him via text and he’ll contact them by the end of the day. Harry, dazed, asks if he really thinks he’ll have something that quickly. Sherlock thinks he’ll have the photographs. Harry hopes Sherlock is really as good as he thinks he is. Sherlock looks at him and Sherlockvision informs us based on whatever minor clues that he’s a dog lover, a horse rider and was educated in a public school. Also an avid reader, a tea drinker (pretty safe bet for a Brit), a father, a non- smoker and half Welsh. There’s a pause and he turns to Mycroft and says he will need some “equipment”. Mycroft says he will send anything he “requires”... Sherlock interrupts to ask Harry for a box of matches. Or his cigarette lighter. Whatever. Harry confirms what Sherlockvision just told us: he doesn’t smoke. Sherlock says no, but his employer does. Harry fishes the lighter out and hands it over while noting that they have successfully kept that a secret for a LONG time. Sherlock smirks and says he’s not the “commonwealth”. He goes to leave and John says “and that’s as modest as he gets.” He says a polite goodbye and follows Sherlock, who just calls “laters!” over his shoulder, which sounds ridiculous coming from a grown man instead of a teenage girl. Chrissy: If he ever says “whatevs”, I’m out of here. Diandra: Right behind you. In the car, John grudgingly asks how Sherlock knew about the smoking. Sherlock says that as usual John SEES but he doesn’t OBSERVE. Then he takes an ashtray from inside his coat and John laughs. Sherlock smiles. Somehow, someone is getting photos of this little moment of boyish conspiracy as we cut to Irene flicking through pictures taken through the window on her phone. She calls to someone named “Kate” that they’re going to have a visitor and she needs time to get ready. Then we cut to her going into a walk in closet, but she’s suddenly wearing a slinky green thing with a plunging neckline that is HIDEOUS, but appropriately bares the majority of her too-thin chest. At 221B, a couple pieces of clothing go flying in the background behind John, slapping against an open door and crashing to the floor. “What are you doing,” John calls warily. Sherlock announces that he’s “going into battle” and he needs the “right armor”. He appears in the doorway wearing what looks like a police jacket, announces “no” and disappears again. At the same time, Irene is looking at her reflection wearing a shiny, backless black dress and comes to the same negative conclusion. Kate says it works for her. Irene says EVERYTHING works for her. And John and Sherlock are in the car again but we know this is supposed to be at a later time because they have switched seats. John asks what the plan is. Are they just going to ring her doorbell? Sherlock says yep and calls to the cab driver to stop up here. John notes that Sherlock didn’t even change clothes. Sherlock says he’ll just have to add a “splash of color” then. He leads John down a back alley. John asks if the address is somewhere around here. Sherlock says it’s two blocks over, but “this’ll do.” “For what,” John asks warily. Chrissy: Oh, stop asking questions and take off your pants. Diandra: Why do I get the feeling you have used that exact phrase before? Actually, Sherlock asks John to punch him in the face. John’s like ‘um...really?’ Sherlock says yes, “punch me! In the face! Didn’t you hear me?” While it’s early in the season, I think it’s safe to say that John’s response here is quite possibly his best line yet: “I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.” Chrissy: Well...sometimes it's "punch me in the face" and sometimes it's "bugger me ragged." Diandra: Ah, the “Family Guy” game reference rears its head again. Sherlock grumbles “oh, for godsakes” and smacks John hard enough to make him stagger and nearly fall over. John recovers and decks him. “Thank you,” Sherlock says as he reels and staggers back upright. “That was...” John tackles him to the ground before he can finish the sentence. We cut to Irene slowly applying lipstick to kill a few beats before going back to the alley where John has apparently jumped on Sherlock’s back and has an arm around his neck in a chokehold. “Okay, I think we’re done now, John,” Sherlock gasps. John growls that Sherlock would be wise to remember he was a SOLDIER and he KILLED people. “You were a doctor,” Sherlock yelps. “I had bad days,” John yells. Chrissy and I could probably add our two cents to this little scene, but honestly I think it’s funny enough as it is. Irene’s house. The doorbell rings and Kate answers. Sherlock appears on the security video screen, babbling that he’s sorry to disturb them but he’s just been attacked. He’s acting rattled and looking up and down the street behind him. He tearfully says they took his wallet and his phone and please could they help him? Kate offers to call the police. Sherlock says that would be great and slowly backs up so she can see the priest collar around his neck as he adds that he’s just going to wait here until the police arrive. Yeah, I’m not Catholic, but I’m pretty sure he just broke about three commandments there. Chrissy: Oh, honey, you really don’t get the distinction between Catholic and Christian, do you? Diandra: God, you sound like my mother. He sobs and holds a handkerchief to the cut John put on his cheek. Kate, who has to know who he is so I’m not sure what we were accomplishing with this little homage to the original story here, sort of laughs and buzzes him in. John follows behind him, claiming to be a witness to the mugging and reassuring her that it’s okay because he’s a doctor. He asks where they keep the first aid kit. Chrissy: Was John even in this part of the original story? Diandra: Yes. Outside, waiting for a signal. Also, Sherlock had a better disguise. And Irene didn't know he was coming. Sherlock is waiting in a sitting room somewhere when Irene appears, her voice preceding her to say that Kate didn’t catch his name. Sherlock dabs at his cheek, playing up his injury and then turns to answer but trails off when he realizes she is completely naked. And the theme for this episode is nudity in case you didn’t notice. She smirks at his sudden silence and says it’s difficult to remember an alias when you’ve “had a fright”, isn’t it? She moves to stand directly in front of Sherlock, ripping the “priest collar” from his shirt and declares that now they’re both “defrocked”. She calls him Sherlock Holmes and he drops the pretense immediately – although I’m not sure why he bothered with it in the first place – to say she must be Irene Adler then. “Look at those cheekbones,” she non-sequiters. “I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?” She puts the collar between her teeth and looks up as John arrives suddenly, carrying a bowl of water and whatever else he needs to tend to Sherlock's face. He stops in the doorway when he sees what he’s walking in on, looks down at the bowl in his hands awkwardly and says “I’ve missed something, haven’t I?” Chrissy: Nope. I’m just testing Sherlock’s sexuality over here. Why don’t you join us? Take your clothes off. I could use some stiff competition. Diandra: ... Chrissy: What? No comment? Diandra: ...oh, sorry. My mind wandered into a bisexual three-way for a minute there. Chrissy: Of course it did. Diandra: Except the whole time I was thinking “I’ve already read this fic.” Chrissy: Of course you have. Irene invites John to sit down and offers to call the maid if they’d like some tea. Sherlock says he already had some at the palace. She curls herself into a nearby chair, positioning her limbs so she’s covering anything that might raise the viewer discretion rating of the episode. Sherlock and Irene stare at each other for a beat and John announces that he’s already had some tea too, if anyone’s interested. Oh, just pee on his leg and be done with it. Sherlock ignores him and we see him trying to do a reading on her but all Sherlockvision can come up with is a bunch of question marks. He shakes his head and turns to look at John. Sherlockvision supplies that John has been wearing that shirt for two days now, used an electric razor and is wearing “date night” shoes. John frowns when he realizes Sherlock is staring at him and Sherlockvision adds that he hasn’t phoned his sister, got a new toothbrush and spent the night with Stamford. He looks back at Irene, who is smirking, and gets another series of question marks. Irene decides it’s going to be up to her to fill the silence here and tells Sherlock that the problem with disguises is that they never fully hide the person wearing them. He says really? Which part of a vicar that just got mugged says “Sherlock Holmes”? She says he’s “damaged, delusional” and believes in “a higher power.” Of course, in his case that higher power is himself because his ego can barely fit in the room with the three of them. “And somebody loves you,” she adds. “If I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.” She looks pointedly at John, who laughs nervously and asks if she could please put something on now. Anything. Chrissy: Hmm...someone’s awfully defensive. Diandra: I’M NOT GAY! REALLY! She asks why he wants her to cover herself. “Are you feeling exposed?” Sherlock suggests John doesn’t know where to look and stands to offer her his coat. She says sure he does and walks right past Sherlock to stand in front of John, smirking. John stubbornly stares into her eyes. She reaches back for the coat and adds “not sure about YOU.” Sherlock says if he wanted to look at naked women, he could just borrow John’s laptop. John, probably welcoming the diffusion of the situation, is like A- HA! I KNEW you were still doing that! Chrissy: He’s just grateful Sherlock doesn’t seem to have picked up on the fact that it isn’t just naked WOMEN he’s looking at. Diandra: Is that the working theory? He's bi? Chrissy: Eh...maybe just a little bent. Irene, cinching Sherlock’s coat around her, says never mind: they have more important things to talk about here. She sits on the couch Sherlock just vacated and takes off her shoes because she apparently can’t stand being fully dressed at any point here. “How was it done? The hiker with the bashed-in head? How was he killed?” John looks to Sherlock as if he can explain how she knows about that. Sherlock, just as confused, says that’s not why he’s here. She says no, he’s here for the pictures, but that’s not going to happen so as long as they’re talking she figured they could discuss that. John says that story hasn’t been on the news yet and there’s no WAY she could know about it. She says she knows one of the policemen. Well...she knows him in some context. John says oh, she likes policemen, huh? He sits on the couch with her. Oh for FUCK’S sake, John, get a hold of yourself. Chrissy: Actually, that’s probably the last thing you want him to be doing in this context. She says she likes detective stories and the detectives who feature in them because “brainy is the new sexy”. Sherlock blurts out a random collection of consonants, shakes his head and corrects “position of the car...uh, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire, that and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that’s all you need to know.” He purses his lips and probably hopes nobody questions that strange bout of Tourettes he just displayed there. Irene asks HOW he was murdered. Sherlock mutters that he wasn’t and paces the room. She asks how he knows that. He says the same way he knows the victim was a sportsman who recently traveled out of country and the photos Irene is hiding are in the room with them. “Okay, but how,” she repeats. Sherlock notes that she’s admitting the photos are in the room and orders John to watch the door and make sure nobody gets in. John doesn’t even hesitate, he just walks out the door. Sherlock starts describing the scene of the murder. “Oh, I thought you were looking for the photos now,” Irene mutters. He says no, he’s not going to “look” because that would take too long, but she’s “moderately clever” so he’s willing to take a moment to discuss this while he figures out where she hid them. He turns toward her and squats for no apparent reason until his surroundings shift to the country road and he’s looking in the car window at the client who is frozen in the moment before the car backfired. Then he’s beside the victim, walking a circle around him, saying in a moment something is going to happen, but what? Irene, transported to the field along with the couch she’s still sitting on, answers that the hiker is going to die. Sherlock says no, that’s the RESULT. She says she doesn’t understand. He prompts her to TRY. She asks why. “Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It’s the new sexy.” He adds this last part mockingly, obviously. She says the car will backfire, so what? He says it’s a loud noise and noises are important because they can tell you a lot.” And then suddenly we’re back in the room as a fire alarm goes off in the hall. Irene startles and looks at the mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock follows her gaze and notes that people instinctively look toward whatever they consider most valuable in the event of a fire and it's amazing how fire "exposes our priorities". He feels along the fireplace until he finds a button that slides the mirror up, revealing a wall safe. He yells that John can turn it off now. John is outside trying to extinguish the rolled up magazine he lit with Harry’s lighter to trigger the detectors. Except just when he seems to have gotten it out, some men with guns appear and shoot the alarm. Back in the room, Sherlock is staring at the keypad for the safe and saying that one should always use gloves with these things if they don’t want anyone to guess the code. He can tell the first number is a three because there’s heavier “oil deposit” on that key than the rest, but after that he’s not sure what order the numbers are in. Going by the model, there’s six numbers total and it’s obviously not her birthday since she had to have been born in the 80s and eight isn’t one of the digits. Irene interrupts him to say she would just tell him what the code is, but...well, she already did. She smirks at him and invites him to think about it. And the men who shot out the fire alarm finally enter the room, John in tow, and order everyone to put their hands up and get on the ground. Well, everyone but Sherlock who can continue opening the safe. Sherlock notes that the guy with the enormous gun pointed at his chest – the one giving the orders – is American. Which is weird that he would care about the contents of the safe. The American repeats his order to open the safe, this time adding a “please” through gritted teeth. Sherlock says he doesn’t know the code. The American says they’ve been listening and the woman JUST SAID she already told him what it is. Sherlock snots that if they were listening they must have noticed that she clearly didn’t. The American says he’s assuming he missed something that Sherlock didn’t if his reputation is accurate. John spits that IRENE is the one who knows the damn code. Why don’t they just ask her? The American is like yeah, I could try that, but there’s a secondary code that alerts the police that somebody is trying to break into the safe and he doesn’t trust her to not give him that one instead. Irene starts to say that Sherlock clearly doesn’t know the code and the American threatens to “decorate the wall” with her brains if she opens her mouth one more time. Chrissy: Ah, yes. That sounds appropriately American. Diandra: It really is amazing we don’t feature as villains in British shows more often. Proving the point Moriarty made in the last episode, the American proceeds to order one of his men to shoot John on the count of three and Sherlock starts babbling that he doesn’t know the code really, she didn't tell him, please don't shoot and finally okay, I'll try it. Chrissy: Proving that it isn't just FIRE that exposes priorities. He turns to the keypad and slowly, hesitating every couple numbers, types 322434. The safe hisses open. Sherlock moves to open it, glances back at Irene and John and says “Vatican cameos!” This obviously being some sort of code both John and Irene somehow understand (instead of a random reference to a fleeting mention of a case in The Hound of the Baskervilles that may or may not have been later used in WWII), they duck. Everything goes into slow motion as Sherlock opens the safe door and ducks. The booby trap gun inside goes off, hitting the guard threatening John. Irene jabs her elbow into her guard’s groin. Sherlock rips the gun from the stunned American’s hands and clubs him with the butt of it. Irene disarms her guard and we kick back into real time with her holding the gun on him while John fishes around in the dead one’s pockets and Sherlock... basically just stands there trying to look cool. “Do you mind,” he asks. Irene says “not at all” and pistol whips her guard unconscious. Sherlock takes something from the safe. John gets up, holding the gun he must have grabbed from his guard, and announces that he’s dead. Yes, John, thank you for your participation here. Irene notes that Sherlock was very “observant” and she’s flattered. Sherlock says she shouldn’t be. John has no idea what they’re talking about and looks to Sherlock for an explanation, but Sherlock runs from the room with an excuse that there’s probably more of those guys somewhere keeping an eye on the building. John follows him. Out front, John is saying they should call the police. Sherlock says yep, steps out onto the sidewalk and fires a few shots into the air. “On their way,” he says as he goes back inside. “For God’s sake...” John grumbles. Sherlock tells him to shut up because his way is faster. Irene is checking the contents of the safe when Sherlock returns, ordering John to check the house and see if there are any more of them. Chrissy: Since when do I take orders from you? Diandra: I thought we agreed that I’m the boss when we’re on a case? You can continue to order me around all you like in private. Sherlock flips a phone in the air pointedly in front of Irene. She notices that it’s hers – apparently it’s what she hid in the safe – and holds her hand out for it. He turns it on and frowns at the lock screen, a reproduction of which hovers in the air over their heads. I AM ---- LOCKED. Chrissy: I’m not sure if it’s obvious to me what the password is because it actually is obvious or because the completed version has been YOUR lock screen for the past two years. Diandra: I couldn’t use the Dharma Apple Station logo anymore since I got rid of all my Apple products. Chrissy: Well, that and the fact that it’s been FIVE YEARS and maybe it’s time for you to move on. Diandra: Never. He says all the pictures are on this, aren’t they? She says she has copies. He says no, she doesn’t. Also, she’s permanently disabled any connection or uplink capability on the phone because that way she can prove that the pictures are authentic and therefore valuable. She asks who said anything about SELLING them. He asks why else they would be interested. But obviously there’s more than pictures on the phone. She says he will take that phone over her dead body because it is her “life” and her “protection” (read: insurance plan). She makes a grab for it and he yanks it back. John calls his name suddenly, giving him an excuse to walk away, shoving the phone in his pocket. John has found Kate unconscious on the floor of a bedroom. He tells Sherlock that the gunmen obviously came in this way and reassures Irene that she’s fine, she’s just “out cold”. “Well, god knows she’s used to that,” Irene purrs. Then she adds that there’s a “back door” and he’d better “check it”. Chrissy: Wow. Most girls wait until at least the fifth date for that. John looks at Sherlock, says yeah, sure, and leaves them alone again because it’s not like anything bad could come of this AGAIN, right? Sherlock notes that she’s awfully calm considering her little booby trap just killed a man. She reasons that he was going to kill her, so it can be considered a sort of self defense. She saunters up and strokes Sherlock’s arm to distract him so he doesn’t notice the needle in her other hand until she jabs it in his other arm. He staggers and she slaps him so he falls over onto his knees. She demands he hand over the phone now. He says no, wobbles and crashes onto all fours. She grumbles and grabs her riding crop from nearby, holding it up threateningly. “Drop it,” she orders like he’s a labradoodle with a tennis ball or something. Except that would make her the worst dog owner in the world because she repeats the order while whaling on him with the riding crop until the phone crashes to the floor and he collapses in the other direction. “Ah, thank you dear,” she says sweetly, adding that he can go ahead and tell that “sweet little posh thing” that the pictures are safe with her because she isn’t keeping them for blackmail. They’re just insurance. Also, she might want to see the woman again. Sherlock grunts and tries to get up, but Irene pushes him back down and strokes his cheek a little with the riding crop. This image has been used in countless memes and fan works ever since this episode aired. Chrissy: Except it’s not always Irene holding the whip. Diandra: I thought that went without saying. “This is how I want you to remember me,” she purrs as she continues petting him with the crop. “The woman who beat you.” John comes back in the room through one door as Irene is leaving through the other and asks what the hell just happened. Irene brightly informs him that Sherlock will be fine as long as John makes sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. He’ll sleep for a few hours. John picks up the empty needle she left on the floor and asks what the hell she gave him. She promises he’ll be fine because she’s used it on her friends before. Chrissy: It’s a little trick she learned from Bill Cosby. Diandra: Woah! Where did THAT come from? Although now that I think about it...Jesus, she probably did roofie him, didn't she? Oh, and she was wrong. “He did know where to look.” Because the code for the safe is her measurements. Which is something you can totally get EXACTLY RIGHT just by looking at someone. Sure. She sits on the ledge of a window, grabs some sort of rope or something and falls back through it as the police arrive, sirens blaring. Meanwhile, Sherlock tries to get up a couple times, flopping back onto the floor uselessly until his surroundings shift to the murder scene in the field again. Except this time HE’S in the car. Irene appears at the window and announces “got it!” She shushes him when he tries to talk and tells him not to get up. She can do the talking this time. Chrissy: Just lie still and be quiet. This shouldn't take long. Diandra: I'm not sure if it's you or the people in the commentary noting the parallels to the cab driver drugging Sherlock in the very first episode that brought this to my attention but...this whole scene has suddenly taken on an alternate, darker reading. Chrissy: As I recall, YOU were the one who noted back then that it wouldn't be the only time this show would use rape-y subtext. She runs to the back of the car and looks at the tailpipe. “So the car’s about to backfire...” A flash comes out of the tailpipe and then suddenly they’re both across the field next to the hiker, who is frozen looking at something in the sky. She says it wasn’t birds he was looking at, but something was flying. The scene unfreezes as the car backfires and he turns toward the noise. Something goes sailing past Sherlock and Irene and slams into the hiker, knocking him on his back. Irene concludes that the driver of the car never saw what it was that killed the hiker because it was already being “washed downstream”. And we get a shot of...a boomerang. With blood on it. Because his recent “foreign travel” was apparently in Australia. So...he killed himself in a freak accident by actually getting one of those things to do what it’s supposed to do. Irene is impressed that Sherlock figured all of this out with one look via webcam. Sherlock is just blinking woozily and looking around like he’s not quite sure where he is. He turns and a bed rises up to meet him. “Hush now,” Irene murmurs, her voice echoing ethereally. “It’s okay. I’m only returning your coat.” Chrissy: And loosening your pants a little. Diandra: You are just determined to make this creepy, aren’t you? Chrissy: I seem to remember you cheering Barbara Streisand’s character in “The Way We Were” for climbing into bed with an unconscious Robert Redford because who wouldn’t take advantage of that opportunity? Diandra: Crawling into bed with. Not poking around in his underwear after DRUGGING him senseless. Sherlock snaps awake in his bed in 221b. He flails, calls for John and falls out of bed to splatter on the floor. John, who was apparently hovering outside the door, warily sticks his head in to ask if he’s okay. Sherlock asks how he got here. John non-answers that Sherlock probably doesn’t remember since he was pretty incoherent, but he should know that Lestrade was taking a video of it on his phone. Chrissy: By the way, I’m flattered by all those things you said, but no, I won’t marry you. “Where is she,” Sherlock asks. “The woman. That woman.” John asks what woman he’s talking about. Sherlock, staggering around drunkenly, babbles “THE woman! The woman woman!” John says oh, Irene got away. Also, she was never HERE and Sherlock is obviously still out of it. Sherlock hits the floor again and John picks him up and TOSSES him onto the bed. Chrissy: This image has also been used in countless fan materials since. Diandra: Out of context, of course. John would never take advantage of Sherlock when he’s under the influence of whatever date rape drug Irene gave him. Unlike SOME PEOPLE apparently. John tells him to just sleep. He’ll be fine in the morning. Sherlock, face half buried in the mattress, says of course he’ll be fine. He’s fine right now. John mutters that he’ll be in the next room if Sherlock needs him. “Why would I need you?” Chrissy: Also, why am I all sticky? Diandra: Okay, this is just getting uncomfortable now. John closes the door, revealing Sherlock’s coat on the hanger behind it. Irene’s voice comes out of the pocket, moaning like a sex kitten. Sherlock blinks at it and staggers back out of bed to fish out his phone, where he has a text message that reads “till the next time, Mr. Holmes.” So...she snuck in through the window to return his coat so John wouldn’t hear? But first she recorded herself making sex noises on his phone and made it his default ringtone? Chrissy: I seem to recall you stealing a friend’s MP3 player and setting it so the first thing it would open on was Marvin Gaye. Diandra: Is this the same guy who’s custom ringtone on my phone was a yappy little dog? Yeah, that’s just how we communicated. He once sent me a text that said “so I saw two guys kissing and thought of you...” Chrissy: Yeah...now that you mention it, this is sort of the equivalent of drawing a penis on a sleeping drunk guy’s face. Diandra: You know what? If it's between that and the suggestion that she could have molested him and he wouldn't remember it because she roofied him first, I'll take that juvenile explanation. Next morning. Probably. Sherlock and John are at the breakfast table. As always, John is the only one eating. Sherlock is reading the paper and assuring a hovering Mycroft that the pictures he was sent to find are safe. Mycroft is like ‘oh, the sex worker who drugged you and beat you with a riding crop to keep you from taking them promises they’re safe. I feel so much better.’ The headline on the front of Sherlock’s paper is about a hospital being refitted. I mention this because it takes up nearly half the screen and literally everybody on the commentary pointed it out, so obviously it’s important. Sherlock assumes Mycroft took care of the little situation at Irene’s place. Mycroft asks how they can do anything while she has the photos because their “hands are tied”. Sherlock notes the ironic choice of words there. Sherlock promises that the phone is little more than a “get out of jail free card”. If Mycroft leaves her alone, nothing will happen. His words are punctuated by Irene’s orgasmic moan and John gives him a startled look and asks what the hell that was. “Text,” Sherlock says, jumping to grab his phone. “But what was that noise,” John presses. Chrissy: Discussion point. Does John not recognize the sound of a woman moaning in orgasm because A) it’s been a LONG time, B) he’s a terrible lover who has never made a woman sound like that or C) he’s been lying all along about the ‘not gay’ thing. Mycroft watches, frowning as Sherlock retrieves the text. Sherlock asks if he knew there were other people after Irene. His best guess is they were CIA. Or CIA trained anyway. Not very WELL trained, obviously. Mrs. Hudson bustles in and sets a plate in front of Sherlock, berating Mycroft for sending his little brother into danger like that. Mycroft tells her to shut up and Sherlock and John both yell at him in unison. He apologizes. And then Sherlock ruins it by adding “though do, in fact, shut up.” Irene moans loudly again and Sherlock glances at the message while the hovertext says “feeling better?” Is she serious? Sherlock repeats that Irene won’t do anything as far as he can see and there’s nothing Mycroft could do about it anyway. Mycroft says he can put surveillance on her. Sherlock points out that it would be easier to just follow her on Twitter. Mycroft is pulled away by his phone ringing. John waits until he’s out of the room before asking why Sherlock’s phone is making that noise. Chrissy: Well, you see John, when a woman is really enjoying herself... “What noise,” Sherlock asks innocently. John is like ‘seriously, dude, just answer the question’. Sherlock says it’s a text alert. It means someone sent him a text. John dryly notes that his texting alert noise has never sounded like that before. Chrissy: Well, maybe that's because you're doing it wrong. Sherlock grumbles that SOMEBODY apparently personalized their particular text alert sound as a joke when they got hold of his phone. John says so every time this particular person texts him... In reply, Irene moans. Sherlock says yep, apparently. “I’m fine since you didn’t ask,” the text reads. Maybe he didn’t ask, dear, because he’s still recovering from the DRUGS you FORCED ON HIM and nursing the bruises he got from you BEATING HIM WITH A WHIP. Seriously, what is WRONG with you? John presses that it must have been difficult for somebody to get hold of his phone, since he keeps it in his pocket. Sherlock, annoyed by John's obvious efforts to get him to admit what he already knows, hides behind his paper and grumbles that he'll leave John to his "deductions". "I'm not stupid, you know," John says. "Where do you get that idea," Sherlock asks flatly, but since he's still hiding behind the paper, the intent isn't really clear. "Bond Air is go," Mycroft is saying into the phone as he comes back. "That's decided. Check with the Coventry lot." He hangs up. Okay...I know this is probably a clue for later, but why the hell would he have let them overhear what is obviously some sort of top secret code? Sherlock ignores this and redirects the conversation back to Irene, asking what else she has that prompted those Americans to come after her because they wouldn't be interested unless it was more than a few "compromising pictures". Actually, I would think Americans would be MORE likely to get upset over trivial crap like what people do in the privacy of their bedrooms, but only if it involved other Americans. Mycroft says Irene is no longer Sherlock's concern and orders him to stay out of it. Oh, because big brother ordering him to leave it alone will DEFINITELY discourage him. Except when Sherlock tries to play the You're Not the Boss of Me card, Mycroft just quietly and with the threatening air of someone who has had people killed for less says that he WILL cease and desist. Then he excuses himself, saying he has to go apologize to a very old friend. Sherlock tells him to "give her my love", picks up his violin and starts playing "God Save the Queen" as Mycroft rolls his eyes and exits the flat. The camera pulls back through the window and then suddenly it's night time, there are little multi-colored lights ringing the window and Sherlock has switched to playing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas". We cut back inside, where Mrs. Hudson is sitting in front of the fireplace, which is also decorated and Lestrade is standing by the kitchen with a drink in hand. John enters as Sherlock finishes playing and everyone showers him with praises, but Mrs. Hudson bemoans that they couldn't get him to wear the antlers. He says some things are "best left to the imagination." Chrissy: Personally, I'd prefer to picture him in a Santa hat. Diandra: Pretty sure you can do better than just imagine that one. There are probably a half dozen pictures online. Chrissy: Yeah, I didn't say I was picturing him wearing it on his HEAD, dear. Some woman we haven't seen before offers Sherlock a tray of some sort of bread thing and he politely says "no, thank you, Sarah". She looks disgusted and John rushes to reassure her that it's okay, Sherlock is just not good with names. Sherlock says oh, wrong one? Okay, he can get this...um..."Sarah was the doctor and then there was the one with the spots and then the one with the nose and then...who was after the boring teacher?" "Nobody," the woman grumbles. Sherlock's face lights up and he realizes that she must be "Jeanette" then. Oy. Why are you still bringing girlfriends home, John? Chrissy: Because on some level, he WANTS all these relationships to fail? Speaking of doomed relationships, Molly appears outside the door of the apartment, her arms loaded with bags, and Sherlock mutters "oh, dear lord..." He grumbles as everyone else greets her. John offers to get her coat and he and Lestrade nearly swallow their tongues as the strappy, sparkly little black dress she's wearing is uncovered. John recovers, but Lestrade continues to openly gape at her, his mouth literally hanging open. Except she isn't even looking at him because of course she's staring expectantly at Sherlock, who has wandered over to the laptop on the table and possibly forgotten she is even there. SERIOUSLY. You're a sweet girl and I love you, but this is just getting pathetic. Chrissy: Getting? Girl is clearly a hopeless masochist. Sherlock calls John over to point out that the counter on his blog is still frozen at 1,895. Also, he added a picture of Sherlock wearing that stupid hat. Really? John says people like the hat and returns to his girlfriend because lame as it is, this is a party and it's Christmas. "What people," Sherlock scoffs. Molly tries and basically fails to make small talk with Mrs. Hudson. She is rescued by Lestrade handing her a drink. She notes that he said he would be Dorset. He says he will be in the morning because he and "the wife" are back together now. Chrissy: Not for long if you can't control that wandering eye you just displayed there. Sherlock, still absorbed with the laptop, says no, she's still sleeping with that PE teacher. Molly bravely continues that Sherlock was complaining...er...SAYING that John would be at his sister's. John says Harry is finally on the wagon. "Nope," Sherlock mutters. John tells him to shut up. Sherlock notes that Molly has a new boyfriend and she's planning to see him tonight. She's like um...what? I do? John mutters at him to "take a day off". Lestrade concurs and hands him a drink. Sherlock says come on, it's obvious, isn't it? One present perfectly wrapped at the top of the bag on top of a bunch of clumsily wrapped ones? Chrissy: Well, that could have just been the first one she wrapped before the wine kicked in and she lost coordination. Diandra: Or realized she had to wrap faster before the cat got in the way again. Or realized the pointlessness of putting so much effort into something that would be ripped off in a few seconds. Chrissy: Um...well...that last one basically tracks with that nice, shiny dress. Sherlock saunters over and plucks the present from the bag, pointing out that the red wrapping matches her lipstick, which may or may not be unconscious but definitely points to where her head is. And obviously she's serious about him if she's giving him a gift. And her clothes and make up clearly suggest she plans to see him tonight and she's trying to "compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts". He stumbles and gulps as he flips open the tag and the hovertext reads "Dearest Sherlock, Love Molly XXX" She sniffles and says he always manages to say such HORRIBLE things to her all the fucking time. And yet you keep chasing him like some abuse victim who insists she can CHANGE him. You watched a lot of "Beauty and the Beast" as a child, didn't you? Sherlock apologizes, wishes her a Merry Christmas and kisses her on the cheek. And then the moaning sex kitten texting tone blares over the stunned silence and Molly jolts, eyes widening like "oh, shit, did I do that out loud?!" He apologizes again and fishes the phone from his pocket while John notes that this is the fifty-seventh time he's heard it do that. "Thrilling that you've been counting," Sherlock says. Chrissy: It's the only chance he gets to hear that sound, apparently. Diandra: So which of your theories did you decide on? Are you saying he's a terrible lover? Chrissy: Nah, I'll give him the benefit of doubt and say that it's been a long time. Seriously, why hasn't he just changed the ringtone back to something less embarrassing? Does he not know how to operate the damn phone? He finds another small package in one of the stockings by the fire wrapped in Fuck Me Red lipstick colored paper, excuses himself and takes it to his bedroom to unwrap it. It's Irene's insurance phone. Elsewhere, Mycroft's phone rings and he rolls his eyes as he sees the number print out. "Oh dear lord, we're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we," he answers. Sherlock just announces that he's going to find Irene tonight. Mycroft says they already know where she is and as he said, it doesn't matter. Sherlock says no, they're going to find her body. St. Bart's hospital. Later that night or possibly the next one, it's not really clear. The Holmes brothers enter the morgue to see a body Mycroft had brought in for Sherlock to identify. He says it was the only one that fit the description. Molly is already in the morgue and Sherlock says she didn't have to come in. Molly says no, that's okay. Everyone else was busy. You know, since it's Christmas. Nice. Passive-aggressive. You're learning. She says the face is bashed in so it might be kind of hard to identify. She pulls the sheet covering the body down to the shoulders. Sherlock asks to see the rest of her. Molly looks uncomfortable and pulls the sheet all the way to the legs. Sherlock announces that it's her and just walks away. Mycroft thanks Molly somewhat apologetically. Molly asks who this woman is and how Sherlock recognized her from...um... "not her face". Mycroft gives her a tight little half-smile and walks away without answering. Out in the hallway, Sherlock is just standing by the window watching the snow fall for some reason. Mycroft comes up behind him and holds out a cigarette, saying just this one time..."Merry Christmas". Sherlock takes the cigarette hesitantly and asks if there isn't one of those "law things" against smoking indoors. Mycroft says eh, it's not like they can hurt anyone in a morgue and offers a lighter. He asks how Sherlock knew Irene was dead. Sherlock says she gave up an item she told him her life depended on. Mycroft notes the vagueness of that statement and asks where this item IS now, exactly. Sherlock deflects the question by noting the crying family members through the door at the end of the hall and grumbling about how much they CARE. "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" Um...yes. But at least you're aware of it. "All lives end, all hearts are broken," Mycroft says. "Caring is not an advantage." Chrissy: And you wonder why you both spend Christmas alone. Diandra: No, because they obviously prefer to keep it that way. Sherlock puffs on the cigarette again, makes a face and notes that it's "low tar", which I would think would be a good thing but cigarettes are one thing I'm happy to remain ignorant about. Mycroft shrugs and says "well, you barely knew her." Sherlock leaves with a grumbled "Merry Christmas". The second he's out of sight, Mycroft pulls out his phone. "He's on his way. Have you found anything?" On the other end of the line, John, still at 221b in the same sweater as the last scene so I guess it's still the same day, says no and asks if he took the cigarette. Mycroft confirms and John mutters "shit" and turns to Mrs. Hudson to relay that Sherlock is on his way back and they have ten minutes. Apparently she was just searching Sherlock's bedroom for signs that he's using again and she reports that she didn't find anything. Chrissy: Well, I didn't find any drugs, anyway. Whatever you do, do NOT look in the back of the closet. Let's just say, I now know where all those weird spikes in the electric bill are coming from. Diandra: I would ask, but I'm honestly afraid to. John tells Mycroft that as far as they can tell, Sherlock is clean. "Are you sure tonight's a danger night?" Mycroft says no, but he's never sure of anything when it comes to Sherlock. "You have to stay with him, John." John protests that he has plans, but Mycroft just threateningly says no, he doesn't and hangs up before he can say anything else. John purses his lips and apologizes as he sits on the couch beside Jeanette the boring teacher. She says her friends were wrong about him. "You're a great boyfriend." John blinks at her like 'what did I do?' and babbles um, okay...uh...thank you? "And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man," she adds. Ha. He groans and she says no, really, it's sweet how he will do anything for Sherlock even though all indications are that he's an unappreciative ass. She heads for the door and John runs after her, babbling desperately that he'll do anything for HER. Whatever she needs! He'll even walk her dog! She says she doesn't have a dog. He mutters oh...right...that was "the last one". Realizing he has completely botched this whole thing, he stops trying to prevent her leaving and just weakly calls after her retreating back "I'll call you". She says no, he won't and he says yeah, okay. You know that whole thing goes a long ways toward proving that John is almost as screwed up as Sherlock and they totally deserve each other. Or, as Mrs. Hudson puts it as she creeps back around the corner, "that really wasn't very good, was it?" Chrissy: Well, it could have been worse. As I said, it's pretty obvious that he subconsciously wanted the relationship to fail or he wouldn't have invited her. Diandra: And this is why it's been a "long time"? Chrissy: Yep. So John is in his chair reading, a glass of liquor that looks entirely too small sitting on the table beside him, when Sherlock returns. He hovers in the doorway for a minute, looking around the room, and then heads back to his bedroom, grumbling "I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time." Morning. Sherlock is standing at the window playing a sad little melody on the violin. John and Mrs. Hudson move around behind him, silently noting the dark cloud surrounding him and the fact that he left a plate of food completely untouched. I don't know why that last one would be surprising since he seems to have only started eating recently in an effort to explain why he's looking healthier this season. Sherlock stops playing and writes on a sheet of paper in the music stand beside him. Mrs. Hudson brightly notes that that song is lovely and she hasn't heard him play it before. John asks if he's composing. Sherlock grumbles that it helps him think and goes back to playing. John, not taking the hint, asks what he's thinking about. Sherlock drops the violin with a screech of strings and points to the open laptop, noting that the blog count is still stuck on 1,895. John says he can't seem to fix the glitch because Mofftiss are absolutely determined to make this geeky reference. Sherlock suggests maybe it isn't a glitch and it's a message from someone who hacked into it. He whips out Irene's phone and punches 1895 into the lock screen, which turns red and informs him that he only has three more attempts at getting the right password. His face falls and he goes back to pouting and playing that mournful song on the violin. John says okay then, he's just going to...go...out. Chrissy: Why do you bother telling him if he doesn't even notice anyway? He meets Mrs. Hudson at the door and quietly asks if Sherlock has had any sort of girlfriend, boyfriend, ANYBODY like, ever. Mrs. Hudson doesn't know. John wonders how neither of them can possibly know something like that. She wonders how anyone can ever know what's going on in Sherlock's warped brain. Chrissy: Also, I've been waiting for you to give up this charade and admit that YOU are the closest thing he has to a boyfriend. Diandra: The closest relationship he'll ever have PERIOD. Outside, a striking woman approaches John the second he closes the door to ask if he has plans for New Year's. John, who is clearly never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, or even question how a woman who already knows his name could just fall into his lap randomly, chuckles and says he doesn't have anything planned that he couldn't "heartlessly abandon". And he appears to be staring at her breasts as he says this. Chrissy: Overcompensating much? Diandra: I'M NOT GAY! A sleek black car pulls up beside them and John groans and asks if just once Mycroft could call instead of practically abducting him off the street. Chrissy: Sure, but where's the fun in that? They drive to some sort of abandoned plant and John, still gripping, asks why they couldn't go to a cafe or something because "Sherlock doesn't follow me everywhere." Oh, how would you know? She sends him through a doorway and dials her cellphone as she goes in the other direction. She tells the person on the other end that John is on his way and "you were right. He thinks it's Mycroft." Chrissy: Even though I am clearly not Anthea. Really, it is embarrassing how easy it is to abduct this guy. As he rounds the corner into what looks like an old computer room or something, John announces that Sherlock is not eating, barely speaking and writing sad music. He would think he was heartbroken, but it's only slightly worse than how he is on a normal basis, so, you know... He trails off as Irene comes into view at the opposite end of the room. He just stares blankly at her for a beat and says "tell him you're alive." She says he'd only come after her. John says yeah, well, HE'LL come after her if she doesn't. "I believe you," she purrs. He says it was HER body on that slab in the morgue. She says well, DNA tests can only match whatever is in the records. Also, apparently Sherlock isn't THAT good at recognizing naked women. Take that as you will. John concludes that she has influence over the person who keeps the records. Yep. She says she needed to disappear. He asks why she's contacting him then when he doesn't even WANT to see her. She says she sent "something" to Sherlock for safekeeping and now she wants it back. John resists the urge to tell her to go fuck herself. She says it's for Sherlock's safety. "So's this," John growls. "Tell him you're alive." She says she can't. He says well, if she won't, he will. She takes out her phone and asks what she should say. He completely loses his composure and yells something like 'I don't know, what have you been saying in the other five dozen text messages you've sent?' She reads a few of them, which read like the average pestering from somebody who is desperate for a date. "I like your funny hat. I'm sad tonight, let's have dinner. You look sexy on Crimewatch, let's have dinner. I'm not hungry, let's have dinner." Chrissy: Well, one of us would still be eating, technically, but it wouldn't involve food. Diandra: You know...I would comment on how vulgar that is, but yes, that is clearly what she meant. Are we sure that personality test that told you you were Moriarty instead of Irene was accurate? Chrissy: Considering that there's so much overlap between those characters that in "Elementary" they are actually the same person? Pretty sure. John says so basically she was flirting with him. Irene says technically she was flirting AT him since he never responded. John thinks that's ridiculous because Sherlock always replies to everything. "He will outlive God trying to have the last word." Irene asks if that makes her special, which...sounds kind of like she's grabbing at straws desperately because she can't wrap her brain around somebody being immune to her. He says whatever, maybe. "Are you jealous," she asks teasingly. John frowns and says they're not a couple. She doesn't look up from where she's typing into her phone as she says yes, of course they are. She waves the phone at him and reads the text she just typed: "I'm not dead. Let's have dinner." She hits send as John, still stuck on this idea that he needs to protest the way other people see them, says he has no idea what Sherlock is, but just for the record "if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay." "Well, I am," Irene fires back. And yet she's been trying to get into Sherlock's pants. The implication here, I guess, is either that Sherlock is so universally attractive that all previous ideas of sexual preferences get thrown into question the closer people get to him or that whether John likes it or not, he and Sherlock do actually love each other. In fact, I've come to the conclusion recently, after watching both this and "Mr. Holmes", that whether or not they are actually sleeping together makes no difference: John is the love of Sherlock's life. The only stable relationship he will ever be capable of. His soulmate. It may be a platonic romance, but it is a romance. Chrissy: Although it'd be more FUN if it was a little less platonic, which is why we write fanfiction. Diandra: If you ask me how the story is going again, I will hurt you. The moaning ringtone blares from the next room and we pan over to see Sherlock turn it off and dart away. Yeah, he doesn't follow you everywhere. Sure. John goes to follow the noise, but Irene holds up a hand and says "I don't think so, do you?" You don't think so what? What were we talking about again? We follow Sherlock back to 221b in a weird tracking shot that always makes people look like they're floating mid-air. He stops outside and frowns at the obvious scratch marks on the edge of the door and seemingly reaches to push it open, but then the camera switches to the other side and he's pushing open the second inner door. He stands in the entry and the camera zooms in on Mrs. Hudson's open door and the bucket of cleaning products sitting outside, some sort of aerosol can prominently displayed. We get little mini flashes of what must have happened as Sherlock notes the scuff marks on the wall going up the stairs from somebody's shoe and the gouges from where Mrs. Hudson clawed at the wallpaper as she was dragged up. He gets the look of somebody who is totally going to commit a violent murder in the near future. Or, you know, he goes full Khan. Chrissy: Not sure there's a way to do that by halves, really. He calmly walks through the door upstairs and, when Mrs. Hudson whimpers his name, chastises her for "snivelling" because it won't do anything to stop the American with the gun to her head - the same ones from earlier - from shooting. The American says Sherlock has something they want. Sherlock says they could have just asked and reaches down to push back the sleeve of Mrs. Hudson's sweater, noting a bruise underneath as well as a tear at the shoulder and a scratch on her cheek and the corresponding blood staining the ring on the American's gun hand. The American says they've been "asking" Mrs. Hudson, but she obviously doesn't know anything. And you thought threatening her would turn out better for you than last time when you threatened John? Sherlock looks at his face and Sherlockvision, instead of reading anything of note about him, points to all the vulnerable spots with little gunsight targets. He says he knows what the American wants, but first he needs to get rid of the other two goons lurking in the corners because "I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room." The American sighs and orders the men to go get in the car. Sherlock tells them they can then get IN the car and drive away because if the American thinks he can trick him with that bullshit he has another thing coming. The goons leave and Sherlock says the American can stop pointing the gun at him. The American thinks Sherlock will just point a gun at HIM if he does. Dear, you're in England. I know Sherlock obviously has a gun, but it's unlikely he carries it with him at all times on the off chance that he could be involved in a shootout at any minute because that is a distinctly American paranoia. Sherlock backs up and holds up his arms to show he's unarmed. The American snarkily asks if he would mind if he checked to make sure. "Oh, I insist," Sherlock says. This completely fails to make the American suspicious. Mrs. Hudson whimpers "don't do anything", but it's not really clear who she's talking to. The American moves to pat Sherlock down and the second he steps behind him, Sherlock pulls that spray can he found earlier from somewhere, sprays it in the American's eyes and head butts him unconscious. "Moron," he grumbles and finally goes to reassure Mrs. Hudson. Sometime later, the car Irene sent deposits John back in front of 221b. He pauses at the door to read the note Sherlock stuffed in the knocker: "CRIME IN PROGRESS PLEASE DISTURB" all underlined and bunched to one side of the paper like it was written in a hurry. Upstairs, The American is tied up, mouth covered in tape, sitting in the chair he had Mrs. Hudson in. Mrs. Hudson is on the couch, still looking traumatized, and Sherlock, calmly sitting in the chair beside the couch, has a gun trained on the American with one hand and his phone pressed to his ear with the other. John asks what the hell happened. Sherlock says Mrs. Hudson was attacked by an American and "I'm restoring balance to the universe." John rushes to Mrs. Hudson's side and puts an arm around her. She sobs and buries her face in his shoulder. Sherlock orders him to take her downstairs and goes to stand in front of the American. John tries to ask again what's going on, but Sherlock just snarls at him to go and pointedly aims the death glare from earlier back at the American. Chrissy: Enjoy your last moment of peace because I will have my revenge and then I will walk over your cold dead corpse to get a cup of tea because, you know, British. Shall we begin? Diandra: Been holding that one in for a while, have you? Chrissy: Only since the beginning of the scene. Also, I believe the correct response there was KHHAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNN! Apparently he's either been on hold or Lestrade has no voicemail and takes his time picking up the phone, because he finally starts talking into the phone at his ear. He says they've had a break in at 221b and asks him to send his "least irritating" men and an ambulance. Lestrade obviously worries at the ambulance part, but Sherlock assures him that they're all fine. The burglar has been badly injured though. He's got some broken ribs, a fractured skull and possibly a punctured lung from falling out of a window. And we cut to John treating the cut on Mrs. Hudson's face downstairs as a body crashes past the nearby window. Mrs. Hudson notes that whatever that was landed right on her waste bins and the body outside the window groans. You know, I'm starting to think that the humor in this episode is just masking the fact that parts of it are really morbid. Cut to the ambulance pulling away from the building, sirens blaring. Lestrade and Sherlock are standing on the curb. Lestrade calmly asks just how many times this man fell out of the window. "It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector," smartass says. "I lost count." He looks at Lestrade pointedly and Lestrade just sighs and walks away. Sherlock goes back inside where John and Mrs. Hudson are sitting at a table in her kitchen. John says she will be sleeping in their flat tonight so they can keep an eye on her. Sherlock scoffs that she's fine and turns to rummage through her refrigerator. John says she needs to get away from Baker Street for a while and she can stay with her sister because she's NOT fine, she's in shock. Sherlock kicks the refrigerator closed, tells him he's being "absurd" and jams what looks like some sort of tart in his mouth. So not only is he suddenly eating, he's threatening to go full Brad Pitt in the Ocean's series. John spits that this is all over that stupid phone and where is it anyway? Mrs. Hudson suddenly perks up and pulls it from what I always refer to as "the vault": her bra. She hands it to Sherlock, grumbling that he left it in the pocket of his dressing gown, but she managed to sneak it out when they thought she was "having a cry". Sherlock scoffs again at John's idea of her actually leaving Baker Street. "England would fall!" He puts an arm around her and she pats his hand and chuckles, still looking a little shaken, but not as traumatized as before. Have I mentioned I love Mrs. Hudson? Chrissy: I think everybody does, dear. Apparently the boys went separate ways for a while after that because John is back upstairs getting a scotch glass FULL of what I sincerely hope is just wine or they might need to call that ambulance again when Sherlock enters and tosses his coat on a chair. John asks where "it" is now. Sherlock just says it's where "no one will look" and picks up his violin. "So," John begins, apparently deciding to try his hand at therapy. "She's alive then. How do we feel about that?" Chrissy: Nah, this is just him clumsily testing the waters like he did in that first episode. "So...do you have a boyfriend then?" You know...just asking... A bell chimes in the distance and Sherlock just says "Happy New Year, John." John doesn't accept the distraction and asks if Sherlock will be seeing her again. Chrissy: Jealous? Diandra: Don't worry, John, he'll come back eventually. You have something she'll never have. Chrissy: Of course, with the right equipment she could replicate it. Diandra: Yeah, I...meant a conscience, but that works too. Sherlock just starts playing Auld Lang Syne, but sometime later, Irene is walking down one of the streets around St. Paul’s when she gets a text that says "Happy New Year -SH" Morning, some indeterminate time later. Sherlock is frowning at an x-ray image on a computer screen in the lab at St. Bart’s. Molly is pacing nearby and asks if that’s a phone he’s x- raying. He says it’s a camera phone. Yeah, honey, these days that distinction is basically non-existent. Molly asks whose phone it is. “A woman’s,” he non-answers. Molly warily asks if it’s his girlfriend’s. “You think she’s my girlfriend because I’m x-raying her possessions,” he asks. Chrissy: Yeah, x-raying his date’s stuff would just be crazy. DNA testing a hair he stole from their brush on the other hand... Diandra: Again, why do I get the feeling you're speaking from experience here? She laughs nervously and says “we all do silly things”. Sherlock gets an a-ha look and murmurs “yes, they do, don’t they?” I’m using direct quotes because I think it should be noted that she is using “we” to describe human behaviors and he is using “they” like he’s suddenly forgotten that he’s supposed to be acting like a human and not a robot or alien or whatever he actually is. Chrissy: I think they call themselves Humanists. Sherlock pulls the phone from the scanner, babbling that she sent it to his address and she LOVES to play games. He types in 221B and the phone beeps and informs him that he has two more tries left. He grinds his teeth and flops back in front of the computer while Molly stews over the whole thing. 221B. Sherlock stops at the top of the stairs and sniffs at the air like a bloodhound. He crosses the kitchen and pokes at an open window that apparently isn’t supposed to be open and continues following whatever smell he’s picking up on back toward his bedroom. John enters the flat in the background and wanders over to see what Sherlock is staring at. “We have a client,” Sherlock announces. John starts to ask what the hell a client is doing in his bedroom and stops as he sticks his head in and sees Irene, casually dressed and minus the makeup, fast asleep on the bed. Cut to the three of them sitting in the living room except Irene is in Sherlock’s chair and he is in the chair they keep for clients. Also, her hair is wet and she’s now wearing a bathrobe that may or may not be Sherlock’s. So...they waited for her to take a shower first before asking what the hell is going on here? He asks who is after her. “People who are trying to kill me,” says Captain Obvious. John notes that it might be helpful if she was more specific. Sherlock concludes that she faked her death in order to get away from them. And it worked until she told John – and by extension Sherlock - she was alive. She says well, she figured HE could keep the secret. She asks where her phone is. John says it’s definitely not HERE because they aren’t stupid. She says if “they” know the boys have it, they’ll be watching. Sherlock says if they’re watching, they know he took out a safety deposit box a few months back. Irene says she NEEDS the phone. John says they can’t just go GET it, but Molly could probably bring it to St. Bart’s and one of Sherlock’s homeless network could bring it to the café downstairs and then one of the “boys downstairs” could bring it up to the flat. Sherlock gives him a weird look and says yeah, that’s a great plan, full of all sorts of lovely precautions. John says great, so he’ll just...and he cuts himself off with a sigh as Sherlock takes the phone from his pocket because he never said he put it IN the safety deposit box, did he? Sherlock asks what sort of information she keeps on this thing. She says whatever she might find useful. “For blackmail,” John interjects poutily. She corrects that it’s “protection” because she’s prone to “misbehaving” and “I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be.” Sherlock says obviously she acquired some sort of information that is more dangerous than it is “protection” and asks if she knows what, exactly, that is. She says yes, but she doesn’t understand it. Sherlock says yes, obviously. “Show me.” She holds out her hand for the phone. He holds it back pointedly and asks for the passcode, then waits a second before making a show of reluctantly handing the phone to her. She types and the phone bleats. She says it didn’t work. He leaps up and takes it from her, explaining that he had a duplicate made so he could see the password she used. “1058. I assumed you’d choose something more specific than that.” He fishes the real phone from between the cushions of the chair she was just sitting in, where he apparently keeps all of his electronics, and types the same numbers. The phone buzzes and tells him he has one attempt left. He blinks at it in confusion and she asks if he really thought she wouldn’t recognize the phone she told him her life depended on. He hands the real phone to her, noting that she’s “rather good”. She smirks that he’s not so bad himself. There’s an awkward silence until John interrupts their little eye- fucking session to announce that his middle name is Hamish if they’re looking for baby names. Sherlock looks at him oddly. Irene just pulls up whatever information she has on the phone, explaining that one of her clients was this MOD agent who liked to show off and he told her this email was going to “save the world”. She took a photo of it while he was “a bit tied up”. Sherlock takes the phone and the hovertext reads “007 Confirmed allocation” followed by a long string of letters and numbers. She says obviously it’s code, but she showed it to one of the best cryptographers in the country and he couldn’t figure it out. Of course, he was “mostly upside-down” at the time... She leans over Sherlock’s shoulder and invites him to try breaking it in her best sex kitten voice. His eyes pinball around a bit and Sherlockvision goes nuts scrolling through letters until they fall into groups reading ABC DEFG HJK. Irene kisses his cheek and he steadies and spews an explanation that there’s a 747 leaving Heathrow for Baltimore at 6:30 PM tomorrow. He’s not sure how that’s going to save the world yet, but “I’ve only been on the case for eight seconds.” John and Irene both stare at him silently. He sighs that this is obviously not CODE, it’s seat numbers on an airplane. There’s no “I” because it can be mistaken for a “1”. The little groupings of letters AND numbers are individual seats and a plane large enough to have letters going to “k” and rows going past “55” has to be a jumbo jet. And there’s a number 13, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines (at least the Western ones...I don’t know what Asian airlines do with the number 4). The fact that the flight number is 007 eliminates a few more because what the hell sort of flight number is that anyway? Obviously, considering the source they can assume the plane is taking off from England somewhere and since there is a sudden increased desperation from whoever is trying to get the phone from her, the flight must be leaving SOON and at some point while he was talking he apparently looked up flight information to determine that the 6:30 Baltimore flight is the only one in the next week that meets all that criteria. The rapid stream of words pouring from his mouth suddenly stops and Irene stares at him, smiling. He tells her not to bother telling him that was “remarkable” or “amazing” because “John has expressed that thought in every possible variant available to the English language.” Chrissy: Of course, sometimes it’s a little muffled, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s saying. John barely glances up from the laptop he has suddenly turned to. Irene growls that she could “have” Sherlock right on this table until he begged for mercy. Twice. There’s a very long silence before Sherlock – still staring at Irene blankly – asks if John could please verify that flight schedule. John looks back and forth between them and his computer screen, clears his throat and says um...yeah, um... “I’m on it.” Chrissy: And while we're on the subject, it wouldn't kill you to pay ME a compliment once in a while. Diandra: We weren't on that subject anymore. I know it's difficult, but do please try to keep up. Chrissy: Roleplaying aside, he's totally writing that all down so he can expand on the mental picture she just painted later. Diandra: Except she will probably be erased from it. Chrissy: Definitely. Sherlock says he’s never begged for mercy in his life. “Twice,” Irene repeats. John announces that he’s found it and Sherlock was right. Flight 007. The significance of this number finally registers in Sherlock’s brain...sort of...since he starts pacing and repeating “007” over and over. Irene is texting the details of the flight behind her back as long as Sherlock is distracted. We see Moriarty in a crowd somewhere near Parliament receiving that text. A red double decker bus goes by, which seems redundant considering Big Ben is looming in the background, but whatever. Sherlock looks at the doorway and we get a short flashback of Mycroft saying “Bond Air is go”. He repeats it about a half a dozen times as we go back to Moriarty texting “Jumbo jet. Dear me, Mr. Holmes.” At Mycroft’s...estate apparently, Mycroft picks up that message and looks distraught. And apparently starts drinking because a cognac glass just appears in front of him somewhere in the middle of all his hair pulling and staring into the distance. We go back to 221b, where it is now night and Sherlock is back in his chair, plucking distractedly at his violin. He remembers the last part of Mycroft’s message and blurts “Coventry”. Irene, now in John’s chair, says she’s never been there, is it nice? Eh. If you’re into gardens and half-bombed churches. Sherlock asks where John is. Irene says he left a couple hours ago. Sherlock frowns and says he was JUST talking to him. She’s like yeaaaahhhh, he told me you do that sometimes. But seriously, what does Coventry have to do with anything? He says it may not be a true story, but there is a rumor the Allies knew Coventry (and the church I just mentioned) was going to be bombed in World War Two because they had broken the German code. But they let it happen so the German’s wouldn’t know they had broken the code. And everyone who has seen “Imitation Game” just got a blast of retroactive déjà vu. Irene has apparently not been listening at all or doesn’t care because she changes the subject to his sex life again. “Have you ever had anyone? And when I say ‘had’ I’m being indelicate.” You know, as in "I could have you right on this table". Sherlock still says he doesn’t understand. Chrissy: Sigh. Looks like it’s time to break out the puppets. She climbs from John’s chair and kneels in front of Sherlock, resting her hand on top of his and repeating her request that they “have dinner”. He says he’s not hungry. Oh, honey. “Good,” she purrs. He flips his hand over so he’s sort of cradling hers and asks why he would want to have “dinner” if he wasn’t hungry. Chrissy: Who says you'd be the one eating? Diandra: Didn't we just establish she's a lesbian? Chrissy: Didn't we also say it was possible that Sherlock makes people question their preconceived notions of sexuality? She leans until their faces are about two inches apart and asks if he would have “dinner” with her if this was their last night on earth. He is saved from having to answer by Mrs. Hudson screaming his name from downstairs. Irene slips her hand from his grip and stands before Mrs. Hudson escorts that government agent who brought Sherlock to Buckingham Palace earlier into the room. She asks if the doorbell is still not working and adds as an aside to the agent that he shot it out. Sherlock says they’re not doing this again – he’s not going with them. The agent says yes, he is, and hands him an airplane ticket with his name printed on it. Chrissy: Flyaway Airlines? Is that the British equivalent of Oceanic? Diandra: The fake airline that always crashes or gets taken hostage by terrorists? Probably. So Irene stays in the flat while Sherlock goes with the agents – this time, to their relief, fully dressed. The minute the car starts moving he announces that there’s a bomb on a passenger plane and the British and American governments already know about it but they’d rather let it go off than expose their source. History is repeating itself. “The wheel turns...nothing is ever new.” Yeah, probably not even many of the cases he’s solved. Chrissy: Well, some of them do sound awfully familiar, now that you mention it. The car pulls up to a plane sitting out on the tarmac and Sherlock is met at the stairs by the American. Sherlock notes that he’s looking better since last he saw him. The American sneers that he could shoot Sherlock in the face and nobody would ever prosecute. In fact, he’d probably get a medal. He also makes a point of calling him “sir” a couple times in the most insincere way possible. Sherlock brushes this off and goes up into the plane to find it full of passengers who seem to be deeply unconscious. He leans closer to a couple of them and turns on one of the cabin lights and realizes that they are actually dead. Mycroft appears suddenly at the front of the plane and says “The Coventry Conundrum. What do you think of my solution?” Chrissy: I think you didn’t fall far from the twisted psycho tree. Diandra: See? Sherlock concludes that the terrorists bombing the plane would call it a win because they wouldn’t realize they hadn’t actually killed any of the “casualties”. Mycroft says Sherlock has been “stumbling around the fringes” of this plan for a long time...unless he didn’t notice the pattern. We get quick little flashes of the clients Sherlock refused earlier: the girls who were not allowed to see their dead grandfather and the guy who insisted the ashes in the urn weren’t his aunt. Oh, and they tried this with the Germans a while back, but one of their passengers didn’t make the flight (the guy Lestrade found in the trunk of a car with a ticket for a plane that crashed). Yes, even the smallest, seemingly unrelated details in any given episode could prove to be relevant. And not always within the confines of that particular episode. Welcome to the show. Now you know why us fans demonstrate OCD tendencies and have perpetual headaches. Chrissy: Well, the normal ones do. You thrive on shit like this. Diandra: Yes, I enjoy every minute of my insanity, thank you very much. Also, if you think I’m the only one you clearly haven’t spent much time in the “Sherlock” fandom. Sherlock starts to ask how the plane is going to fly and realizes that of course it’s unmanned. Except last I checked large passenger planes don’t take off or land via computer, which is why we still have pilots, so presumably someone would have to take off and then put it on autopilot and jump out of the cargo compartment or something. Doesn’t matter, because Mycroft says the entire plan has been scrapped now that the terrorists have found out that they know about the bomb. So, you know, thanks a lot Alan. I mean Sherlock. Sorry. Not sure why I get you two confused. Actually, Mycroft blames the MOD man Irene got the email from. Because all it takes is “one lonely, naïve man, desperate to show off and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.” Sherlock suggests he screen his people a little more carefully, which is sound advice considering the last episode involved a guy WAVING A FLASH DRIVE FULL OF TOP SECRET INFORMATION around in a bar. Mycroft says actually, he was describing SHERLOCK in that last bit there. Is it really so easy to make him fall for the old damsel in distress cliché? Chrissy: Well, it IS a nice change of pace since HE is usually the damsel in distress. Sherlock splutters that he’s just being ridiculous now. Mycroft says oh, really? How long did it take him to decipher the email? Irene’s voice comes from behind Sherlock, saying it took him about five seconds, actually. Sherlock gapes at her – dressed in a sleek evening dress with her hair and makeup done – while Mycroft reveals that he drove Sherlock toward her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Irene starts toward them, announcing that they need to talk. Sherlock says yes, he has a couple questions actually...but she cuts him off with “not you, Junior, you’re done now” and brushes past him toward Mycroft. Sherlock watches, licking his wounded ego, as she reminds Mycroft that she has pictures and emails and all sorts of bits that could create SO MUCH HAVOC and there’s only one way to stop her. Um...a bullet? She says the alternative is telling his “masters” that his biggest security leak is his baby brother. So we cut to the three of them sitting in what I’m now assuming is Mycroft’s living room although it looks sort of like a museum. Mycroft and Irene are sitting at a table while Sherlock sits facing away from them halfway across the room. It’s sort of weirdly staged, apparently because nobody could figure out how to stage it. Mycroft is staring at Irene’s phone on the table and notes that he has people who can “get into” it. She says she let Sherlock try that theory for him. He had it for six months. She prompts Sherlock to explain what he found when he x-rayed the phone. We get a shot of the x-ray as he grumbles that there are four little spots where either a corrosive agent or small explosives are set to destroy the contents if anyone tries to open the casing. She confirms that it’s an explosive because what good is coming up with a plan this elaborate if you can’t blow something up? Chrissy: It's called the Michael Bay Objective. Diandra: I would have said the Jerry Bruckheimer Strategy, but that works too. Mycroft notes that some data is always recoverable (you know, like a black box). She invites him to go ahead and take the risk then. Mycroft tries a different tactic and says he has “people” who can “extract” the password needed to get into the phone from her. Sherlock can see where this is going already and rolls his eyes, but waits until Irene prompts him to say that there are two pass codes because it operates the same way as the safe. Even under...what do we call it again? Enhanced interrogation?...they can’t be certain she’s given them the right one and they wouldn’t have a second chance. “Oh, he’s good, isn’t he,” she purrs. “I should have him on a leash. In fact, I might.” Chrissy: Yeah, good luck with that. He bites. Diandra: I said I was sorry about that. Chrissy: No, you're not. Diandra: No, but I SAID I was. Mycroft says fine, fuck it, let’s just destroy it so NO ONE has the information. She says that’s a great idea. You know, unless some people’s lives depended on some of that information. Not that there are, necessarily. But there COULD BE. She fishes a piece of paper from her purse and hands it to Mycroft, explaining that it’s a list of her requests (plural) and a few suggestions about how to guarantee her protection. Mycroft looks at it and nearly swallows his tongue. She invites him to go talk to whoever he needs to talk to about it. Mycroft grudgingly admits that she’s very good and very “thorough”. She says she can’t take full credit because she had some help. “Jim Moriarty sends his love,” she tosses in Sherlock’s direction. Chrissy: He had a few other “messages” he wanted me to give you, but I doubt your big brother wants those images running through his head. Diandra: Let's just say it involved a very imaginative variety of "dinners". She says she didn’t know what to do with all this information she had, until the “consultant criminal” gave her some pointers on how to deal with “the Holmes boys”. She perches on the edge of the table closer to Mycroft and says by the way, Moriarty’s little pet name for him is “The Ice Man”. She nods toward Sherlock and adds that HIS name is “The Virgin”. Chrissy: And he would just LOVE to have the opportunity to change it. Diandra: So would she, apparently. She says Moriarty didn’t even ask for anything from her. She thinks he just enjoys messing with them. Sherlock has been frowning into the distance and now closes his eyes while Irene gushes about how Moriarty is her kind of man. Mycroft is just about to graciously admit defeat when Sherlock says “no. Very close, but no.” He gets up and slowly closes in on her while he says she made the game too elaborate and got too carried away. Irene thinks there’s no such thing as having TOO much fun. Sherlock says the thrill of the chase is one thing and he can understand craving the distraction because, you know, bored. But “sentiment is a chemical defect of the losing side.” Chrissy: Yes, nobody ever accused you of being a romantic. Irene is like ‘oh you poor thing, you actually think I’m in love with you.’ She scoffs that he actually believes she had been interested in “the clever detective in the funny hat”. Because she was totally just messing with him. He leans in until he’s whispering in her ear and reveals that actually, back in the apartment when they were having that seemingly intimate moment he was taking her (elevated) pulse and watching her pupils dilate. He reaches behind her for the phone as he concludes that “John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive.” Chrissy: That’s not what I said. I said the appropriate answer to “I love you” was NOT “yes, I can see that, now pass me the keys to the handcuffs.” He reminds her that during their first conversation she said that disguises always have a little bit of actual identity reflecting in them. The combination to the safe is something of a literal interpretation of that, but the phone is more “intimate”. He wakes it up and types in the lock screen as he declares that it is a representation of her “heart”, which she should really know better than to let rule her head. He keeps drawing it out by rambling about how she could have picked ANY number, but she just couldn’t resist and love is such a dangerous disadvantage and she’s totally proven his point and... She grabs his arm and reiterates that NONE of it was real – she was just “playing the game”. He says yes, and she lost and he shows her the phone with the correct password entered so the whole thing reads I AM SHERLOCKED”. He hands the now unlocked phone to Mycroft as a tear spills down Irene’s cheek. He says if Mycroft is feeling “kind” he should lock her up because she probably won’t survive long without her “protection”. “Are you expecting me to beg,” she asks. Sherlock stops halfway to the door and says yes, actually. She says he’s right: she won’t last six months. So...please. “Sorry about dinner,” he says flatly and walks out the door. Well then. That was the ultimate dick move. I mean, yes, she's clearly just as twisted and sociopathic as Moriarty and she has generally been horrible to him, but...leaving her to die seems overly callous. We cut to Mycroft standing outside the café beneath 221B. It’s raining, but he’s under an umbrella, puffing on a cigarette. John runs up to the flat, getting totally drenched, and hesitates when he sees Mycroft. He notes that Mycroft doesn’t smoke. Mycroft says he doesn’t go to cafes either and grinds the cigarette into the sidewalk. Then he just flips his umbrella closed and goes through the door, John trailing behind him. So either he arranged a meeting that didn’t require somebody to abduct John off the street for once or, more likely, John just understands this as Mycroft saying they need to talk and he should follow him. Interestingly, Mycroft waits until they are seated, John has removed his drenched coat and they have cups of coffee in front of them to say anything, which shows remarkable patience. He sets a folder down in front of him. John asks if that’s the one on Irene Adler. Mycroft says yes, and it’s closed forever because he was about to go tell Sherlock that she got herself involved in some witness protection “scheme” in the States. She will do just fine in her new life, but Sherlock can never see her again. John asks why he would care because by the end of the case he “despised” her and won’t even call her anything but “the woman” anymore. Oh, did you not get the memo? That’s the story as Arthur Conan Doyle wrote it. She was one of only four people who got the better of him and it drove him nuts but he had to admire her intelligence. It’s why he maintained a sort of fascination with her even though he refused to ever call her by her actual name again. For whatever reason, most of the adaptations play up some sort of sexual relationship between them even though in the stories Sherlock had zero interest in relationships, especially, as I pointed out in that quote earlier, women. Chrissy: Well, he might be projecting a little because it’s pretty clear JOHN despises her for everything she did in this version. As you noted, she's kind of evil. Mycroft suggests John could be misreading that because he could be using “the woman” as a sort of acknowledgement that she is “one of a kind” or “the one woman who matters.” John’s like yeeeeeaaaaahhh, no. That would require him to have feelings for another human being and John’s pretty sure he doesn’t. Chrissy: Okay, careful with the wording there. He actually said “he doesn’t feel things that way. I don’t think.” Diandra: So you’re reading it as “he’s not attracted to women.” Chrissy: I’m just saying there’s more than one way to interpret that. Mycroft says Sherlock has the brain of a “scientist” or a “philosopher” but he chooses to be a detective. “What might we deduce about his heart?” You mean besides the fact that Sally might be right and he’s a psycho who derives pleasure from poking around dead people and figuring out how they were murdered? John says he doesn’t know. Mycroft admits he doesn’t either. “But initially he wanted to be a pirate.” There’s a long, awkward pause before John repeats that Sherlock will be fine with never seeing Irene again because she’s in American witness protection. Mycroft says yes, he thought so too, which is why he concocted that story to tell him instead of the truth: she was captured by a terrorist group in Pakistan and beheaded two months ago. John stares at Mycroft. “It was definitely her? She’s done this before.” Mycroft swears he was so thorough in verifying that this time that it would “take Sherlock Holmes to fool me” and he’s pretty sure he was nowhere in the vicinity. Are we sure this is enough set up? Maybe we should repeat that: THE ONLY WAY SHE COULD POSSIBLY BE ALIVE IS IF SHERLOCK HELPED HER FAKE HER DEATH. There. Mycroft pushes the folder toward John and leaves it up to him to decide which version of the story they tell Sherlock. Upstairs, Sherlock has his eyes practically glued to his microscope and doesn’t look up as John approaches. “Clearly you’ve got news,” he announces before John is even in sight. “If it’s about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Did nobody notice the earring?” John splutters um...no, uh...hi, by the way. My day went well. Chrissy: Oh, pfffftttt. Nobody cares. Diandra: Okay, we can’t BOTH be Sherlock. Chrissy: Who said I was? John says actually, it’s about Irene Adler. Sherlock actually looks up from the microscope and asks with only vague interest if she’s come back or something. John stalls some more by saying he just bumped into Mycroft downstairs and he had to take a call... Sherlock, undeterred, asks if she’s back in London. John, still apparently deciding which version he’s going with, says no, um...she’s...uh... Sherlock gets up and comes around to loom over him. John takes a deep breath and blurts that she’s in America. He stutters out the rest of the lie including the part where Sherlock will obviously not be able to see her again. Sherlock frowns. “Why would I want to see her again?” John sort of smiles like ‘yeah, that’s what I TOLD him...’ Chrissy: I KNEW it! I knew you would come crawling back to me eventually. And then Sherlock asks if that’s Irene’s file John is holding under his arm. John says he was just taking it back to Mycroft, but if Sherlock wants to look... Sherlock says no and goes back to his microscope. John watches him for a couple beats and then seems to change his mind, but Sherlock interrupts him before he can say anything. He wants to keep Irene’s phone. He holds his hand out for it. John mutters that there’s nothing on it anymore because Mycroft’s team wiped it. Sherlock says yes, but he still wants it. John protests that he has to give it back to Mycroft because it belongs to the government. Sherlock, hand still out, says “please.” This being the magic word since he NEVER uses it, John fishes the phone out and hands it over. Sherlock shoves it in his pocket without moving his eyes from the microscope even slightly and says “thank you.” John, probably still reeling from these phrases he’s never heard in Sherlock’s voice, goes to bring the file back to Mycroft and then hesitates and asks if Irene ever texted him again. He says yes, a few months back. She just said “goodbye, Mr. Holmes.” John fidgets a little and finally slinks away. Sherlock picks up his phone and scrolls through all the texts Irene sent. “Bored in a hotel. Join me. Let’s have dinner.” “John’s blog is HILARIOUS. I think he likes you more than I do. Let’s have dinner.” Chrissy: We can talk about how you’d rather be “having dinner” with him. “I can see tower bridge and the moon from my room. Work out where I am and join me.” Jesus, were those all sent on the same night? “You know that hat actually suits you, don’t you?” Liar. “Oh, for god’s sake, let’s have dinner!” “Even you have got to eat. Let’s have dinner.” “I’m thinking of sending you a Christmas present. Mantlepiece.” And if it wasn’t clear those were sent in the months that were going by at the beginning of the episode, the next two are the one she sent telling him she was alive and the one he sent wishing her a happy new year. Immediately after that is, as he told John, a text from her that just says “Goodbye Mr. Holmes.” He wanders over to the window so we can get a little moody atmosphere from the rain that’s still pouring outside. And we “flashback” to Irene, kneeling on the ground, typing the message while a man in Arab headdress holding a riffle waits impatiently for her to hand the phone over. She hits send and hands the phone to him, then closes her eyes as the “executioner” comes up beside her, wielding a machete. Her lip wobbles a bit and she closes her eyes. The screen goes black. And then the moaning text alert sound blares across the soundtrack. Irene looks at the guy with the machete. All that’s visible of him is his very distinctive eyes. “When I say run, run,” Sherlock whispers and then raises the sword and spins around to attack whoever else is out of the frame. She smiles. And we come back to 221B where Sherlock is chuckling and putting the phone in a filing cabinet beside the window, murmuring “the woman...THE Woman.” Chrissy: So I guess we're supposed to assume they finally "had dinner" after he rescued her then? Diandra: That's one theory. And the people who argue it count as evidence the fact that Benedict believes it too, although I'm not sure that really makes it bulletproof. Chrissy: So what's YOUR theory? Diandra: I don't know. I'm still trying to process the fact that she went from "smart woman he respected" in the original stories to "femme fatale sexpot who may be getting inappropriately friendly with him without his consent" to...what? The lesbian who took his virginity? Chrissy: Well, better she did it than Moriarty. Diandra: They're basically the same! Chrissy: Exactly. We did say that the only person he can have anything resembling a HEALTHY relationship with is John, so...messed up as they are, he and Irene having a little fling basically works. It's not like it was ever going to go very far, so it can be written off as a one-time thing and they never have to see each other again (if they even can since she's supposed to be dead). At least she isn't quite as unhinged and likely to kill him afterward as Moriarty. And since we've established that Moriarty is one of his few equals intelligence-wise, by extension, so is Irene so...yes, he calls her "The Woman" out of respect and because their connection was important and meaningful in some way, not necessarily because he's madly in love with her or anything. If he actually can understand such a concept. She obviously feels something for him, but it might be a combination of lust, the thrill of a challenge and a similar respect for his intelligence. BDSM often isn't about love so much as control and letting go of said control. Diandra: Chris? Chrissy: What? Diandra: I ever tell you how smart you are? Chrissy: Aww...thanks honey. Now about that fanfic... Diandra: Don't push your luck.