"Sherlock, episode 2x03: The Reichenbach Fall"

Starring: Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Rupert Graves, 
Mark Gatiss, Una Stubbs, Louise Brealy and Andrew Scott 

 
John is back in his therapists office. The therapist asks why 
he has suddenly decided to show up today as it has been 
eighteen months since he last came to see her. He says she 
reads the papers and watches television, right? She has to know 
why he’s here. Does she really need him to say it? 
   Chrissy: Yes, but the writers need us to explain it to 
    the audience. Just go with it.
   Diandra: What audience? What happened to that fourth 
    wall? Are those CAMERAS?!
He sighs and starts to answer, but his voice cracks and he 
trails off midsentence. She leans forward and prompts him to 
tell her what happened. He closes his eyes, takes several deep 
breaths and tries again. “Sher...” His voice warbles again and 
she gently says that he needs to just “get it out”. He nods and 
forces out a watery “my best friend Sherlock Holmes is dead” 
before he starts crying.

And we cut to the opening credits. 

We come back to a painting of a giant waterfall, which a voice 
declares “Falls of the Reichenbach”, a “masterpiece” by 
somebody named Turner. He says the painting was recovered 
thanks to Sherlock Holmes. The chyron explains that this is 
three months earlier as a small crowd applauds and Sherlock and 
John look vaguely uncomfortable. The speaker hands Sherlock a 
tiny, wrapped package and calls it a “small token” of their 
gratitude. Sherlock takes it, but mutters that all his shirt 
cuffs have buttons so he doesn’t really have use for diamond 
cufflinks. John, neglecting to kick him in the shin, tells the 
man that he meant to say “thank you”. Sherlock wrinkles his 
nose at him and John prompts him to just say it. 
   Chrissy: And I expect you to say it again later after 
    every spank you’re earning yourself right now. Thank 
    you, SIR.
   Diandra: Sometimes I think you may be taking the whole 
    military authority kink a little too far...
   Chrissy: I mean it. I’m keeping a running count in my 
    head and you’re already at five.
   Diandra: What? How did it get that high already?
   Chrissy: It starts that high. And now you’re at six.
   Diandra: What? Why?
   Chrissy: Seven.
   Diandra: Okay, now you’re being ridiculous.
   Chrissy: Eight.
   Diandra: Okay, this is getting weird. Can we stop now?
   Chrissy: Nine.
   Diandra: Chris?
   Chrissy: Oh, you were talking as you, not Sherlock. 
    Sorry.
Sherlock sighs, mutters a thank you, and starts to walk away. 
John pulls him back so a photographer can take their picture 
for the newspaper story with the headline “hero of 
Riechenbach”. 

This switches to a story about a kidnapped banker and we swoop 
back to the sidewalk in front of a flat where cameras are 
filming a man flanked by what are obviously his wife and child 
as he thanks Sherlock for bringing him home after his “terrible 
ordeal”. The kid hands him a similar package, which he shakes a 
little. He mutters to John that it’s a tie pin and he doesn’t 
even WEAR ties. John tells him to shut up.
   Chrissy: You could barely sit after last time. Don’t 
    push your luck.
   Diandra: I think he might enjoy pushing John’s buttons, 
    actually.
   Chrissy: Well, he has to do SOMETHING to bring out 
    Captain Watson.

Another news story: Peter Ricoletti evades capture. Lestrade is 
in a press conference, explaining that this man has been on an 
Interpol most wanted list since 1982. And now they’ve finally 
captured him. We pan over to Sherlock and John standing beside 
Lestrade’s podium as Lestrade adds that he provided them with 
leads with all of his customary diplomacy and tact. John 
explains to Sherlock that this is sarcasm. Sherlock mutters 
that he noticed. Heh. Lestrade hands him a package and Sherlock 
pulls a deerstalker cap out of it to the amusement of probably 
everybody but him. A couple reporters urge him to put it on and 
he gives them a withering look. “Just get it over with,” John 
says out of the corner of his mouth. 
   Chrissy: This is going to be a lot less fun than the 
    last time you said those exact words.
   Diandra: Doesn't sound like that time was particularly 
    fun either.
Sherlock hands him the wrapping paper and jams the hat on his 
head, smiling through clenched teeth as flashbulbs go off. 

We’re back in 221b as the last headline – with the original 
deerstalker picture from Scandal in Belgravia for some reason – 
says “Boffin Sherlock Holmes Solves Another.” Sherlock is 
ranting about the ridiculousness of it, even though “Boffin” is 
probably a lot nicer than what people usually call him. John 
brushes it off by saying everyone gets some sort of cutesy 
nickname from the tabloids. He’ll probably be getting one soon. 
   Chrissy: Yeah. Mrs. Holmes.
   Diandra: I thought we had discussed the whole hyphenated 
    name thing. 
   Chrissy: No, I said you were putting too much thought 
    into it. They may take turns, but John is usually the 
    wife.
   Diandra: The wife who stands behind him and sings his 
    praises in public but totally dominates him in private? 
    Yeah, okay, I can see that.
Sherlock says he already does and directs John to another page 
of the same newspaper and picks up the deerstalker hat. They 
then proceed to have two parallel monologues as if they are 
talking to each other but they’re really just talking to 
themselves out loud. John reads: “Bachelor John Watson” and 
asks what the hell they’re implying. Sherlock holds the hat in 
one hand and punches it with the other, grumbling about this 
STUPID THING that he can’t seem to get rid of and what the hell 
is the point of the ridiculous thing anyway? Why does it have 
two fronts? John briefly looks up at him before reading the 
nickname in context aloud: “frequently seen in the company of 
bachelor John Watson.” “How do you stalk a deer with a hat,” 
Sherlock continues, oblivious. “What am I going to do, throw 
it?” John adds that it also calls him a “confirmed bachelor”. 
   Chrissy: And we all know what that’s code for.
   Diandra: I think he may have used up his quota of “I’M 
    NOT GAY”s for the season already though.

Sherlock mimes throwing the hat, declaring it a “death 
Frisbee”. John concludes that this has gone too far and they 
need to be more careful. Sherlock concludes that the weird 
flaps are supposed to be for the ears and throws it at John 
before finally switching tracks to join his conversation and 
asking what he means by “more careful”. 
   Chrissy: We need to stop doing it in front of the 
    windows.
   Diandra: I would have said “you need to stop staring at 
    my ass at crime scenes”, but okay.
John says the hat isn’t a “deerstalker hat” anymore, it’s a 
“Sherlock Holmes hat” and he isn’t a PRIVATE detective anymore. 
He’s effectively famous. Sherlock brushes it off, flopping into 
his chair and saying this too shall pass. John hopes so because 
public opinion has a tendency to be fickle and the press will 
inevitably turn on him. Sherlock frowns and asks why it bothers 
John so much what people say about him. “I don’t understand, 
why would it upset YOU?” John clenches his jaw and mutters that 
Sherlock should try to keep a low profile for a while and stay 
out of the news. Then he burrows into the sofa with the paper, 
effectively ending the discussion.
   Chrissy: Denial: it’s not just a river in Egypt.
   Diandra: I’m going to assume that the actual context 
    here is that John is really still upset at being called 
    a “confirmed bachelor” and Sherlock is too dense to 
    realize that it’s not about HIM. But my inner slasher 
    is screaming that he’s really upset that the general 
    public knows about his supposedly secret love of 
    Sherlock Holmes before he’s come to grips with it 
    himself.
   Chrissy: Since when do you fight your inner slasher? No, 
    wait...since when is it an INNER slasher?  
   Diandra: Haha shut up.

Tower of London, 11am. Ronnie the Raven shrieks at the camera. 
Yes, unless there is another random crow hanging around the 
Tower of London, that is actually his name. A “tourist” wanders 
away from the group, taking pictures of beefeaters and cops 
milling around. We close in on his face and see that it is, in 
fact, Moriarty.

John, apparently just emerging from the shower and wearing a 
bathrobe, wanders through the kitchen where Sherlock is looking 
into his microscope. A phone beeps and John gently points out 
that that’s Sherlock’s phone making that noise. Sherlock 
grumbles that it keeps doing that. And then to complete the 
weird domestic-yet-deranged nature of this scene, John walks 
right past what looks like a body hanging from the ceiling and 
sits in his chair to read the paper. “So, did you just talk to 
him for a really long time,” John asks in the same tone he 
would probably use to ask “did you remember to take out the 
trash”. Sherlock looks at the “body”, which we now see is a 
mannequin thankfully, and says “oh. Henry Fishguard never 
committed suicide.” I don’t know what’s more alarming about 
this exchange: the fact John is so used to the weirdness that 
goes on in that flat that he’s barely even reacting anymore 
other than to crack the occasional dry joke or the fact that 
Sherlock knew exactly what he was talking about just now.
   Chrissy: It’s kind of cute, actually.
   Diandra: Yeah. A psychopath and his enabler wife 
    finishing each other’s sentences. It’s adorable.

Back at the Tower, Moriarty is going through security to the 
room where the crown jewels are stored. The metal detector 
buzzes and a guard orders him to remove any metal objects and 
go back through. He tosses what looks like his phone with 
attached earbuds in the bucket. He goes through again and stops 
when he’s standing in front of a glass case with a crown and 
scepter sitting on a throne. He puts the earbuds in and one of 
those classical songs that everybody recognizes even though 
they have no clue what it’s called plays. This will be playing 
over the entire next sequence. 

Apparently it’s still 11am and somebody brings a guy at the 
Bank of London a tray of tea.

At the same time, at Pentonville Prison, the warden is joking 
about denying all of the parole applications and bringing back 
hanging. Which is funny? I guess?

Moriarty pushes a “button” on his phone that causes the 
security monitors to go haywire and all the alarms in that part 
of the Tower go off. Everybody runs for the doors and a guard 
tries to get him to leave. Moriarty sprays something in his 
face and he hits the ground just as the door to the room 
closes, locking them in. Yeah, because that would happen. A 
guard returns to the security monitors and grabs for the phone.

Sally barges into Lestrade’s office to announce that there’s 
been a break in. Lestrade says yeah? Tell it to whoever is in 
charge of that department. She says he’ll definitely want to 
take this one.

Moriarty pushes another “button” and the guy at the Bank of 
London gets an alert on his screen that the vault is opening. 

Lestrade is driving somewhere, screaming that somebody managed 
to hack into the Tower of London’s security? How? WHAT THE HELL 
IS GOING ON? Sally, in the passenger seat, gets another call 
that there’s been another break in at the Bank of England.

Moriarty writes “GET SHERLOCK” backward on the glass encasing 
the throne, turning the “o” into a little smiley face. Then he 
pushes another “button” and alarms go off at the prison as the 
security system fails. Sally gets another call about THAT. 
Moriarty takes a wad of chewed gum from his mouth and sticks it 
to the glass in the middle of his message (or to the side of it 
depending on which camera angle you’re looking at because this 
is actually a continuity error), pressing a tiny diamond into 
the center of the wad. He dances over to the corner to pick up 
the fire extinguisher and, at the climax of the song, smashes 
through the glass.

By the time a good dozen police officers enter the building, he 
is calmly sitting on the throne amid shattered glass, the crown 
on his head and holding the scepter. The last flourish of music 
dies off and he says “no rush”.

Back at 221b, the phone chimes again and John goes to check it 
with a sigh. He blinks at the message, then marches over to the 
kitchen and holds the phone out to Sherlock. Sherlock is like 
‘I’m busy, take a message.’ John doesn’t move. “He’s back,” he 
says quietly. Sherlock slowly takes the phone from John and the 
hovertext reads “Come and play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty x.”  
   Chrissy: The phone battery died before he could get in 
    the “oxo” and “PS - bring the riding crop”.
   Diandra: That’s okay, he’s smart. I’m sure he got all 
    that from the context.

Police station. Security footage of Moriarty breaking the glass 
cage around the throne is playing on a laptop. Lestrade notes 
that that glass is supposed to be strong enough to deflect 
bullets. Sherlock notes that diamond can cut through anything 
though. 
   Chrissy: It’s not the size, it’s how you use it.
   Diandra: And it helps if you have other props to back it 
    up.
   Chrissy: I wasn’t talking about the diamond anymore.
   Diandra: Neither was I.
Lestrade pushes a button that magically not only rewinds the 
footage to a moment before the extinguisher makes contact, but 
CHANGES THE ANGLE so we can see his “GET SHERLOCK” message in 
all its forward-facing, serial killer handwriting glory. John 
gives Sherlock a sideways, worried look. At least that’s how 
I’m reading it.

And we launch into another montage, this one accompanied by a 
Nina Simone song that – depending on how good you are with 
lyric comprehension - is either about a particularly non-
virtuous man or her favorite spice.
   Chrissy: Oh, cinnamon!
   Diandra: Yeah, no.
Newspaper headlines and blurbs shrieking excitedly about how 
one man could possibly have broken into three top security 
places at once scroll by. Then we land on one about Moriarty 
being on trial, highlighting a passage about his little love 
note to Sherlock and how this whole thing is getting 
international attention. Yeah, everywhere but in America, I’m 
sure because most Americans are too self centered to give two 
shits about anything that happens in England. This is replaced 
by another headline declaring that Sherlock will be called as 
an expert witness. This story is accompanied by one of the new 
pictures of him in the hat, no doubt to his continued 
annoyance.

John is fixing his dress jacket in the mirror over the 
fireplace as Sherlock watches from the other side of the room, 
also fixing his coat.
   Chrissy: Ugh. That’s the boring interpretation.
   Diandra: The more exciting one being that they’re both 
    fixing their clothes after fooling around on the couch?
   Chrissy: Duh. You’re the slash writer. I shouldn’t have 
    to do this for you.
They head for the front door, where Sherlock hesitates. John 
asks if he’s ready and, upon Sherlock’s affirmative answer, 
opens the door to reveal several news cameras already flashing. 
They elbow through the crowd of reporters, John leading the 
way, and jump into the back of a police car, which takes off, 
sirens blaring.
   Chrissy: I love how John has basically become Sherlock’s 
    bodyguard.
   Diandra: Well, that would be a more appropriate use of 
    his military background than his blogger.

“Remember,” John starts to say in the car and Sherlock 
immediately cuts him off with a “yes”. John clears his throat 
and tries again and Sherlock does exactly the same thing.
   Chrissy: Twelve.
   Diandra: Why are you still counting?
John pauses for a moment, gathers a big breath and blurts as 
fast as he can before Sherlock can interrupt again that he 
should remember what “they” told him and “don’t try to be 
clever.” “No,” Sherlock mutters. John, undeterred, instructs 
him to keep it “simple” and “brief”.
   Chrissy: Yeah, sure, he’ll just get a complete 
    personality change.
   Diandra: Oh, it’s not THAT bad.
Sherlock snarks that oh, yes, he’ll be sure to do that because 
GOD FORBID the star witness of the case looked INTELLIGENT. 
John says intelligent is fine, but “let’s give smartass a wide 
berth”. Sherlock looks out the window and petulantly says he’ll 
just be himself. “Are you listening to me,” John snaps.
   Chrissy: God, DAD, you’re such a buzzkill!
Sherlock rolls his eyes and we cut away before they can fight 
any more.
   Chrissy: Fourteen.
   Diandra: You know, I know you’re meant to be counting 
    the number of spankings Sherlock is earning from 
    Captain Watson here, but it makes me think of a fanfic 
    I read where John started counting out loud between 
    orders and Sherlock had no idea what he was doing that 
    for but it prompted him to obey the orders faster 
    because he didn’t want to find out.
   Chrissy: Really? I totally want to read that.
   Diandra: Thought you might.

Meanwhile, Moriarty is being escorted through several hallways 
by way more cops than is strictly necessary. Going by the suit, 
we can guess that they are bringing him to the courtroom for 
trial. Also going by the fact that Sherlock was just talking 
about testifying as a witness and there are approximately three 
dozen reporters outside a courthouse talking about “the trial 
of the century” and “James Moriarty”.
   Chrissy: Yeah, brilliant deduction there, Sherlock. I 
    bet that really burned up all your mental resources.
   Diandra: Bite me, Blondie.
   Chrissy: Fifteen.
As the guards position Moriarty in his spot, he turns to a 
female guard and asks if she would slip her hand into his 
pocket.
   Chrissy: Well, there’s another charge we can add.
She does and pulls out a little, hard coated piece of gum 
which...why did they even let him have that? He opens his mouth 
and grins as she pops it in, staring creepily as she backs 
away, no doubt to go wash her hands with bleach.

Sherlock is washing his hands in the bathroom when a woman in a 
deerstalker hat appears behind him and makes a big production 
of goggling at him like a star struck ninny. He notes that 
she’s in the wrong bathroom. She gushes that she’s a BIG FAN. 
He notes the “I [heart] Sherlock” pin on her coat and says yes, 
clearly. She says she’s read all his cases and asks if he would 
sign her shirt. She holds up a sharpie and pulls open her 
jacket to reveal the very edges of a shirt that is half 
unbuttoned and exposing most of her breasts. He blinks at this 
and babbles that there are two types of “fans”: the “catch me 
before I kill again” Annie Wilkes type and the “bedroom’s just 
a taxi ride away” unless you don’t mind a little public 
exposure type. Sherlock’s are likely to be in the first 
category (Moriarty), whereas Benedict’s appear to be more 
likely in the second (anyone on Tumblr). 
   Chrissy: Yeah, I’m not sure that second category is any 
    less alarming than the first.
   Diandra: Oh, it usually isn’t. I believe I said before 
    that I try to avoid most of them.
The woman gets well into his personal space and invites him to 
guess which one she is.
   Chrissy: Either way, you should probably call security.

Sherlockvision notes several details about her and he concludes 
that she is neither. He points out the marks on the arm holding 
the pen made by the edge of a desk as she typed and the ink 
smudge on her other hand. Also, there’s a bulge in her jacket 
pocket that is obviously something recording. He sniffs at the 
smudge, which he says was deliberately smeared there so she 
could test him, and says it’s oil based ink used in newspaper 
printing. All of that, of course, adds up to “nosy reporter”. 
She takes the hat off and introduces herself as Kitty Riley. If 
the name sounds vaguely familiar, it’s because there was a 
character named Kitty WINTER in one of the short stories Doyle 
wrote and she has featured in several adaptations, most 
recently in “Elementary” where she was presented as a third 
wheel so fans could immediately hate her for coming between 
Sherlock and Joan because of course they did. I am volumes away 
from reading this story myself, but as far as I can tell this 
is one time where “Elementary” is closer to the original 
stories than “Sherlock” because Kitty Winter was not even close 
to being a reporter. Kitty REILLY, however, is the name of the 
actress who played Mary Watson (nee Morstan) in “Sherlock 
Holmes: Game of Shadows”, which I’m sure is not at all a 
coincidence. The fan wiki on this show mistakenly claims that 
Kitty Reilly is actually the name of the character in the 
original Doyle book, but this is why you should not trust 
everything you read online.
   Chrissy: I know that was your main point, but really, 
    the other point I’m getting from that is “don’t mess 
    with librarians because they will research the shit out 
    of a counter argument”. 
   Diandra: Oh, just because you learned that the hard 
    way...

Sherlock says he can save her some trouble here: “no, I won’t 
give you an interview. No, I don’t want the money.” He starts 
to storm off and she chases him to ask if he and John Watson 
are really just “platonic”. Should she just quote him as saying 
no to that too? She gets between him and the door – ignoring 
his flaring nostrils and displeased noises - and says that with 
all the gossip in the press about him “sooner or later you’re 
going to need someone on your side. Someone to set the record 
straight.” She slips her card into his jacket pocket and adds 
that she’s smart and he can trust her. He says oh, smart, huh? 
Well, if she’s a good investigative journalist she shouldn’t 
need an interview. He invites her to take a good look at him 
and tell him what she sees.
   Chrissy: A pompous know-it-all who totally avoided my 
    question about him and John being platonic?
   Diandra: Well, obviously, but other than that.
When she hesitates, he decides it’s his turn to show off again. 
He says she’s eagerly awaiting her first big scoop that will 
get her editor’s attention and she’s not very well off because 
going by the repeatedly re-hemmed nature of her skirt, it’s the 
only good one she has. Also, she bites her nails. In 
conclusion: he sees no evidence of her being smart and 
trustworthy. Only desperate. But he offers to give her a quote 
anyway and grabs the recorder sticking from her pocket. “You. 
Repel. Me.” And then he just leaves her to stare at the door 
like ‘wow. Jerk.’

We go right to the courtroom somewhere in the middle of 
Sherlock’s testimony. The prosecutor is asking Sherlock if he 
could maybe expand on that description of Moriarty as a 
“consulting criminal”. He says Moriarty is a “for hire” 
criminal who plants bombs and arranges assassinations or 
whatever else terrible people are willing to pay him to do. 
“Would you describe him as...” the prosecutor begins and 
Sherlock cuts her off immediately because she’s clearly leading 
the witness and if she doesn’t knock it off, the other guy is 
going to object and the judge will have to sustain it because, 
well, she is. The judge rolls his eyes and sighs “Mr. Holmes” 
like this is not the first time he’s tried to tell somebody in 
that room how to do their job. Sherlock ignores him and offers 
a couple rephrases of the question for her before asking if 
they didn’t teach her this sort of thing. The judge says they 
are doing just fine without his “help”, thanks. Now knock it 
off and answer the nice lady’s questions. The lawyer asks how 
he would describe Moriarty then. Sherlock rambles about how 
James Moriarty isn’t a MAN, really, he’s a “spider” sitting in 
the center of a massive criminal web with many threads “and he 
knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances”. 
   Chrissy: So I’ve discovered another way you are like 
    Sherlock. Apparently he has a tendency to lose track of 
    his analogies too.
   Diandra: It’s not my fault you can’t keep up with my 
    train of thought.
   Chrissy: That’s because it’s always switching tracks, 
    sweetie.

The prosecutor starts a new question but only gets out the 
words “how long” before Sherlock chastises her again because 
that’s not a good question. The judge growls his name again and 
he sighs and finishes her question: how long has he known 
Moriarty? He says they’ve only met twice for a grand total of 
five minutes and “I pulled a gun. He tried to blow me up. I 
felt we had a special something.” 
   Chrissy: Finally you admit it! Seriously, WHY DIDN’T YOU 
    CALL?
   Diandra: Are you back to playing Moriarty then?
   Chrissy: Eh. We’ll take it on a case by case basis.
Moriarty smirks like ‘I am totally going to fuck his brains out 
one day’. Or, you know, whatever the non-slash version of that 
is which I don’t think either Chrissy or I is capable of 
sussing out. 
   Chrissy: Nope.
The judge asks the lawyer if she’s really claiming Sherlock is 
an “expert” if he only knew Moriarty for five minutes. Sherlock 
says he only needed two. The judge says this is a “matter for 
the jury”. Sherlock looks at them and his face lights up. In 
the viewing balcony, John gets an “oh shit” face.
   Chrissy: Twenty! Don’t push your luck!

Sherlockvision starts popping up details about the jury members 
and Sherlock basically reads it off. “One librarian, two 
teachers, two high pressure jobs, probably the City. Foreman’s 
a medical secretary trained abroad judging by her short hair. 
Seven are married and two are having an affair with each other 
it would seem.” The judge yells that he was brought here to 
answer some questions as an expert witness, not show off his 
intellectual capabilities. “Keep your answers brief and to the 
point.” John crosses his arms and thrusts his chin out like I 
FUCKING TOLD YOU SO. The judge threatens to hold him in 
contempt if he does it again and then stupidly asks if he could 
maybe go a few minutes without showing off. Sherlock opens his 
mouth and we cut right to a guard escorting him to a holding 
cell. Then they shove Moriarty in the one right next to him, 
which hardly seems like a good idea.

Sometime later, John is playing the “what did I say? And what 
did you do?” game with Sherlock as he’s signing release papers. 
Sherlock grumbles that he can’t just turn it on and off.
   Chrissy: Can’t or WON’T? Also, you’re at twenty five 
   now.
Then he asks what John saw from the balcony. Apparently they 
had discussed what he should watch for earlier because John 
says Sherlock was right: the defense attorney sat on his ass 
the whole time and barely twitched. Because Moriarty isn’t even 
trying to defend himself. We cut smoothly to 221b as John 
repeats that Moriarty broke into the three most secure places 
in all of England and nobody knows how or why. Oh, and for the 
audience he points out that six weeks have gone by since he did 
it. Sherlock stares at John and John tells him to quit it. 
Sherlock has no idea what he’s talking about. “The look. You’re 
doing the look again.” 
   Chrissy: I’m not a piece of MEAT, damnit!
   Diandra: [snort]
Sherlock says he can’t SEE what John is talking about, so how 
is he supposed to know when he’s doing it? John looks pointedly 
at the mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock shrugs that it’s 
just his face. “Yes, and it’s doing a thing. You’re doing a ‘we 
both know what’s really going on here’ face.” Sherlock is 
confused because he thought they did. John says no, he doesn’t, 
which is why he finds that look so annoying. Sherlock sighs and 
explains that if Moriarty had wanted the jewels, the money or 
the prisoners roaming the streets he could have. The only 
reason he’s still in prison right now is because he WANTED to 
get caught. So this is somehow part of his larger, no doubt 
deranged plan.

In confirmation of the “not even trying” idea, the next day of 
court sees the judge asking the defense attorney to call his 
first witness and the attorney announcing that he has no 
witnesses. At all. The judge notes that this makes no sense 
seeing as he’s pleading not guilty. The attorney is like 
yeah...um...I’ve got nothing. Moriarty looks up at John back in 
the viewing area and makes a face.

So the judge reminds the jury that the charges against Moriarty 
should rack up a considerable number of years in the clink if 
they find him guilty, and the defense has presented jack shit 
to support the not guilty plea so he’s going to have to urge 
them to find him guilty. 

Six minutes later, John calls Sherlock at home to inform him 
that, despite all of this, the jury managed to find him NOT 
guilty. Sherlock hangs up in the middle of John’s warning that 
Moriarty is bound to come after him now and goes to make some 
tea. 

He’s standing by the window playing Bach on his violin when 
Moriarty arrives and starts up the stairs to the flat. He 
hesitates when one of the steps creaks and Sherlock stops 
playing for a moment. Sherlock continues playing until Moriarty 
gets all the way into the flat and then grumbles that most 
people would KNOCK before just barging in. Then he quickly 
notes that it would hardly be like Moriarty to behave like a 
normal person. Moriarty grabs an apple from a bowl on the table 
and looks around the living room before asking perfunctorily if 
he can sit. Sherlock gestures at John’s chair and Moriarty 
pointedly sits in Sherlock’s. Sherlock clenches his jaw and 
pours some tea while Moriarty pulls out a pocket knife and 
starts carving at the apple. He begins a story about Bach 
playing a piece on the piano while his father was on his 
deathbed. Sherlock blurts out the end of the story: he stopped 
playing and his dying father rushed to the piano to finish it. 
He concludes that Moriarty relates to the father in this little 
analogy because he just CAN’T STAND leaving something 
unfinished. He hands a cup of tea to Moriarty and Moriarty 
purrs that Sherlock must be at least a LITTLE happy to have him 
free again because “every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned 
villain. You need me, or you’re nothing.” He adds that they are 
very much alike, really, “except you’re boring.” Not that we 
need the explanation, but Sherlock notes that Moriarty got to 
the jury members. Moriarty scoffs that after breaking into the 
Tower of London, getting threatening messages delivered to the 
televisions in twelve hotel rooms was hardly difficult.

Sherlock sits in John’s chair with his own teacup and asks how 
Moriarty plans to “burn” him then. Moriarty says this is the 
“final problem” and he told him what the answer was but he 
probably didn’t listen. He puts down his cup and starts tapping 
a rhythm on his knee with the fingers of one hand, as if 
playing an imaginary piano. He asks how hard it is for Sherlock 
to admit he doesn’t know the answer, really. “I don’t know,” 
Sherlock smartasses. Moriarty’s like ha, cute. By the way, did 
you tell anyone why I broke into those places yet without 
actually taking anything? Because he must know why himself. He 
prompts Sherlock to explain it. Sherlock scoffs that Moriarty 
wants him to tell him what he already knows.
   Chrissy: For the audience, dear.
   Diandra: Seriously, are those CAMERAS?!

Sherlock humors him, saying he didn’t take anything because he 
doesn’t need to. The fact that he has a key that can get him 
into the three most secure locations in the country is more 
valuable than anything he could actually take from those 
locations. Moriarty adds that he can get into any building or 
any account anywhere. He could get the nuclear launch codes and 
blow up all of the NATO countries if he wanted to. “In a world 
of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you 
should SEE me in a crown,” he finishes in his best diva voice.
   Chrissy: Otherwise known as his voice.
   Diandra: Hiss.

Sherlock says the trial was basically a giant advertisement for 
what he was capable of, which is why he let himself be caught. 
Sherlock’s face falls as Moriarty notes that Sherlock was 
actually helping him because now he has a client list full of 
rogue governments, terrorists and intelligence agents. “They 
all want me. Suddenly I’m Mr. Sex.” 
   Chrissy: That’s a strange way of putting it. 
   Diandra: Kind of highlights what you might have been hoping 
    for in coming here though.
He smiles and looks Sherlock in the eye while popping a piece 
of apple into his mouth.
   Chrissy: And wishing he had a banana instead because 
   that would make this SO MUCH EASIER.

Sherlock asks why the hell Moriarty would care about who can 
bid the highest on him if he can break into any bank. Moriarty 
points out that duh: he just likes to watch people fight over 
him like a favorite chew toy. He says “ordinary” people are so 
“adorable”, but Sherlock should know because he has John. “I 
should get myself a live-in one.” Sherlock sidesteps that 
little quagmire and asks why the hell Moriarty is doing this 
since he doesn’t need money and doesn’t really care about 
power. The camera focuses on Moriarty’s hands, holding both the 
knife and the apple suspended over his crotch, as he stabs the 
former into the latter.
   Chrissy: Ah, symbolism.
Moriarty says he wants to “solve the final problem.” 
   Chrissy: By which I mean the problem of you still being 
   a virgin.
He hangs his head and says “it” is going to start very soon...
   Chrissy: I took a Viagra before I came in here.
...and Sherlock shouldn’t be scared...
   Chrissy: Although I will NOT be gentle.
   Diandra: Are you done yet?
   Chrissy: That’s what she said. [whack] Ow! THIRTY!
...because falling is just like flying except it has a more 
permanent destination. Unless, of course, you learn how to miss 
the ground. No? I'll just show myself out then.

Moriarty stares at Sherlock for a couple beats before Sherlock 
shrugs off the growing sense of ickiness and stands up, 
buttoning his coat and announcing that he doesn’t like riddles. 
Moriarty stands up, adjusts his own coat and says “learn to. 
Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I. Owe. You.”
   Chrissy: Sorry, did I say “owe”? I meant “own”. As in 
    your ass belongs to me.
   Diandra: Might have to fight John for that one.
   Chrissy: Oh, please, he’s like, the easiest guy to 
    subdue. I managed to strap a bomb to him, remember? He 
    will get in a car with literally anyone. 
Moriarty slowly saunters out the door and Sherlock picks up the 
apple he left on the arm of the chair, the pocket knife still 
stuck in it. He turns it to reveal an “I” and a “U” carved 
around a big bitten out “O”.

A little montage of newspapers all freaking out about the 
“shocking” not guilty verdict, then announcing that Moriarty 
has disappeared and asking “what’s next for the Reichenbach 
hero?” This allows us to skip over two months. John goes to get 
money from an ATM and is told that there’s a “problem” with his 
account. And then the ATM addresses him by name and a black car 
pulls up behind him. He sighs and mentally bemoans the fact 
that both Holmes brothers are so prone to dramatics.
   Chrissy: At least we’re hoping Mycroft sent that car, 
   but I wouldn’t expect John to actually verify that 
   before jumping in, so...

He is dropped off in front of a fancy looking building with a 
plaque that says “Diogenes Club”. Because it is apparently 
assumed that people know what this is already, I will refer to 
the story it is first mentioned in for a description. “The 
Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one 
of the queerest men.”
   Chrissy: Ah, bless Arthur Conan Doyle and his 
   unintentionally funny descriptions.
Seriously, though, it’s a club for well-off social misfits, 
founded by Mycroft and aside from one room there is a strict no 
talking rule. Which is why when John enters, marches up to the 
first person he sees and asks if Mycroft is around, the man 
gets visibly upset and pushes a button on the wall. John 
displays a complete inability to recognize that he has just 
broken some sort of rule and asks loudly if ANY of the men in 
the room know who Mycroft is and WHY WON’T THEY ANSWER HIM, 
DAMNIT? Two men come in, grab him and march him out, one 
slapping a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

In the one room where talking is allowed, Mycroft is explaining 
to John that it is a TRADITION. John is like really? Total 
silence? So basically this place is for people who think 
libraries are too loud? Mycroft says there’s a lot of 
government agents and diplomats among their membership, so 
really, total silence is in everyone’s best interest because 
“we don’t want a repeat of 1972.” John picks up a newspaper 
with a headline about a “shocking” interview written by Kitty 
wherein somebody named Richard Brook “tells all” about Sherlock 
Holmes. 
   Chrissy: Former boyfriend in college.
   Diandra: Was that before or after Sebastian?
   Chrissy: Before and maybe briefly simultaneously. 
John mutters that he’d love to know where Kitty keeps getting 
her information.
   Chrissy: But it’s not because I’m jealous or anything. 
   Diandra: Nope. 

Mycroft asks if John recognizes the name “Brook”. John voices 
the “old friend from school” theory, which Mycroft thinks is 
hilarious. He then brushes it off to say that’s not what he 
summoned John here for. He hands John a folder, which John 
opens to find a file on some bald guy Mycroft thinks he should 
recognize as he took up residence a couple doors down from 
221b. He’s a trained assassin with an Albanian hit squad. John 
smart asses that they ARE in a pretty great location because 
the metro line is really close by. Mycroft sighs and hands him 
another file on Ludmila Dyachenko. John looks at the picture 
and says he might actually recognize this one. Because of 
course he’s totally oblivious to men around him but would have 
noticed a woman. Uh-huh. Mycroft says she’s a Russian assassin 
and has taken a flat across the street. John says okay, 
so...this is a weird pattern. Mycroft hands him another file 
and says FOUR high profile assassins have relocated to 
somewhere around his and Sherlock’s flat in the past couple 
months. John asks if he thinks this is Moriarty, because if it 
was wouldn’t Sherlock be dead already? Mycroft asks who else it 
could possibly be. John seems to concede this point and says 
Mycroft should talk to Sherlock himself if he’s worried. 
Mycroft gets pouty and reminds John that they have a...HISTORY. 
John groans and says what? You stole his Smurfs and broke his 
Action Man?
   Chrissy: No, it was MY Action Man and he kept getting it 
    all sticky.
   Diandra: Ew.

Mycroft just stares and John chuckles, announces they’re done 
here and gets up to leave. Mycroft ominously announces that 
they both know what’s coming here. Moriarty swore to destroy 
his biggest rival and he’s not exactly one to let go of an idea 
once it has entered his demented brain. John concludes that 
Mycroft wants HIM to protect Sherlock because Sherlock won’t 
accept help from his big brother.
   Chrissy: Actually, we kind of thought you were already 
   doing this. What with you being so close and all. And 
   you ARE a soldier.

A cab drops John back at 221b. He looks warily at the people 
milling around on the street and picks up a letter with an old 
fashioned wax seal sitting on the doorstep. He rips it and 
something that looks like sawdust falls out. A beefy guy with a 
ladder elbows past him. He shrugs, stuffs the envelope in his 
pocket and climbs the stairs. He enters the room babbling about 
something weird going on and stops when he realizes Lestrade 
and Donovan are already there. Sherlock sort of explains that 
there’s been a kidnapping and parks himself at the laptop. 
Lestrade adds that it’s their ambassador to the US. Or rather, 
it’s his kids. They were taken from their boarding school. The 
ambassador specifically asked for Sherlock, who Donovan calls 
the “Reichenbach hero” through a clenched jaw. Sherlock brushes 
past them out the door and they all slowly trail after him.

A car pulls up to the school and Lestrade points out the “head 
mistress” to Sherlock, warning him to go easy on her. Sherlock 
turns to her and immediately accuses her of neglecting to keep 
the kids safe. 
   Chrissy: Or you could just ignore everything I say and 
    act like an asshole as usual. Whatever. Thirty-seven.
   Diandra: I think you missed a few numbers in there.
   Chrissy: Nope.
He asks if she’s drunk or just an idiot, rips the shock blanket 
from her shoulders and yells at her to ANSWER HIM. She whimpers 
that all the doors and windows are bolted. SHE didn’t even go 
into their room last night. They have to believe her! Sherlock 
says he believes her, he just wanted her to speak quickly. He 
suggests somebody get her a paper bag to breath into and 
saunters away while John stares at the poor crying woman like 
‘really?!’
   Chrissy: Let’s just round that out to an even forty.

Inside the school, John exposits that one would think at six 
thousand pounds per term the school could keep people’s kids 
safe and asks if the rest of the kids already left for break. 
Lestrade says those two were the only ones with bedrooms on 
this floor. He theorizes that the intruder must have been 
inside already because there aren’t any signs of a break in. 
While they’re talking, Sherlock is poking around, playing idly 
with some sort of sporting equipment. This probably has nothing 
to do with Sherlock’s investigative process and everything to 
do with Benedict’s habit of playing with props (or as he 
phrased it: “I am a sucker for picking things up and twiddling 
them”).
   Chrissy: I know you’re setting me up for a joke about 
    “twiddling”, but I’m honestly not sure what to do with 
    that.
   Diandra: That’s okay, there was no lack of crude, 
    innuendo filled responses to that online.
He finds an envelope with the same old wax seal on it in a 
trunk and pulls out a copy of Grimm’s fairy tales. He flips 
through it and, apparently finding nothing, tosses it back in 
the trunk and asks to see where the brother’s room is. Because 
I guess this is the girl’s room only even though there are 
multiple beds in it.

In the boy’s room, Sherlock identifies the bed the boy was 
using and points to the window in the outside hall while 
rambling about silhouettes and sources of light. He seems to 
think the boy would recognize anyone approaching the room. He 
illustrates by stepping outside and closing the door, pointing 
his fingers so that the shadow on the blurred window in the 
door looks like it’s holding a gun. He comes back inside and 
asks aloud what the boy would have done in the seconds he had 
before the intruder came in. Aside from screaming for help. He 
points to the “spy books” the boy was reading and sniffs at the 
bedside table until he finds an empty bottle of...something. He 
orders Lestrade to get Anderson down here.

Sometime later, they’re blocking off all the sources of light 
and Sherlock is waving a blacklight at the wall where the boy 
has written “HELP US” in linseed oil. Anderson mutters that 
that doesn’t exactly help them find the kidnapper. Sherlock 
says that’s “brilliant”. Anderson says what, really? “Yes, 
brilliant impression of an idiot.”
   Chrissy: I wasn’t trying to do an impr...oh, fuck you.
   Diandra: What? No number?
   Chrissy: Eh. Anderson is an ass.
Sherlock points to the floor, where the blacklight shows a 
trail of footprints, the smaller ones followed by larger ones. 
John notes that the smaller ones are practically entirely 
weighted toward the ball of the foot. Sherlock says that 
indicates anxiety and suspects the boy had a gun to his head. 
He follows the trail, miming the way the kidnapper would have 
held the gun in one hand and pulled the girl with the other. 
They follow the footprints to the end of the hall, where they 
stop. Anderson grumbles that he was right and it doesn’t tell 
them anything after all. Sherlock says yeah, nothing except his 
shoe size, height and stride. He chortles and squats to scrape 
a sample into the petri dish he apparently carries with him at 
all times. John squats beside him and gently points out that 
even if he is enjoying this, maybe he should dial back the 
obvious signs of delight since they’re dealing with kidnapped 
children here.
   Chrissy: Forty-two.

In the cab, John asks how the kidnapper could have gotten past 
the CCTV and all those locked doors. Sherlock says he entered 
BEFORE the doors were locked. John scoffs that a stranger could 
have just WALKED into a school. Um...yes, that’s possible. It’s 
a school, not a high security prison. They don’t frisk 
everybody who walks in. Sherlock reminds him that yesterday was 
the end of term for them and there would have been a lot of 
parents and staff milling around. He could easily have snuck in 
and hidden somewhere until dark.

St. Barts. Molly is just leaving when Sherlock and John arrive. 
She says as much and Sherlock physically turns her around and 
marches her in the other direction, saying “no, you’re not”. 
She protests that she’s supposed to be meeting someone for 
lunch. He whips a couple bags of food from his pockets and says 
she can eat with him while they try to track down one of her 
old boyfriends because he’s been “a bit naughty”. John’s like 
‘wait, we’re still talking about Moriarty, right?’ and Sherlock 
grumbles something along the lines of ‘duh, John, do please 
keep up.’ Molly protests that Jim wasn’t really her boyfriend. 
They went out three times and she broke up with him. 
   Chrissy: All he wanted to talk about was Sherlock, which 
   was weird enough, but he did it that one time we had 
   sex...
Sherlock says yes, and it’s probably best that she avoid any 
attempts to rekindle a relationship with him what with all the 
crimes he’s committed.
   Chrissy: You can’t tell me what to do, DAD.

Sometime later, Molly comes into the lab with a stack of 
folders piled up to her face just as Sherlock blurts “oil, 
John.”
   Chrissy: Not now, Sherlock. You can twiddle later.
   Diandra: I see you found a way to work that in.
   Chrissy: Phrasing.
Actually, he says the oil in the footprint will lead them to 
Moriarty because it preserved all the chemical traces and 
particulates on the kidnapper’s shoe. “If we’re lucky, we can 
see everything that he’s been up to.” Yeah, or you can find 
traces of semen from the hotel he stayed at last night and 
saliva from the gum he stepped in this morning.
   Chrissy: Silly recapper. Don’t you know television never 
   abides by the rules of real life?

He peers through a microscope while Molly runs a chemical test 
and announces that whatever is in the petri dish is alkaline. 
Sherlock, not looking up, mutters “thank you, John” and Molly 
grumbles at his apparent inability to tell them apart.
   Chrissy: Oh, that’s just reflex. John used to make him 
    call him “sir”, until he started accidentally blurting 
    “thank you, sir” at crime scenes. There was a lot of 
    staring.
   Diandra: Although nobody seemed the least bit 
    surprised...
Sherlock starts listing the things he’s finding in the sample. 
Chalk, asphalt, brick dust and some sort of greenery. Oddly, no 
bodily fluids or solids at all, which as we noted is a common 
way in which television fails to resemble real life. He 
whispers “I owe you” as he’s glaring through the microscope and 
then notes that there’s a fifth element that has something to 
do with glycerol, but he’s not sure what it is yet. Molly notes 
that the “I owe you” thing just now was kind of odd and asks 
what that was about. Sherlock glances at John puttering around 
on the other side of the room and says it’s nothing. 

She stops what she’s doing and looks at him, noting that he 
reminds her of her dad. He begs her to ignore her burning need 
to make conversation right now because it’s “not [her] area”. 
She rolls her eyes and continues that when her father was dying 
he was SO cheerful until he thought nobody could see him. “You 
look sad,” she says pointedly, looking at John. “When you think 
he can’t see you.” Sherlock glances at John, who is bent over 
something and totally oblivious to this whole conversation, and 
turns to Molly, who asks him to be honest and tell her: “are 
you okay?” He notes that the theory of putting on a show when 
others are looking doesn’t exactly hold if SHE can see him. In 
a refreshing moment of lucidity that she has so far failed to 
display, she says “I don’t count.” 
   Chrissy: And since I just compared you to my father, I 
    have clearly either gotten over my schoolgirl crush or 
    I have daddy issues.
   Diandra: Yeah, I’m not sure I want to speculate on which 
    one of those it is because I think I know the answer.

Sherlock looks confused. She babbles that if there’s anything 
she can do to help or anything he needs... He still looks 
confused as he asks what he could POSSIBLY need from her. 
   Chrissy: I would like to submit this into evidence as 
    exhibit a.
   Diandra: Against this relationship possibility in 
    particular or as general evidence that he isn't into 
    girls?
   Chrissy: A little bit of each, probably.
She says probably nothing, but suggests he just say thank you 
here. His face twitches and he says “thank you” like it’s a 
foreign word he’s testing out even though he JUST said it 
minutes ago when he confused her for John. He makes a face like 
he’s not totally sure what just happened but he’s pretty sure 
he doesn’t care for it. She announces that she’s going to go 
get some “crisps” and asks if he wants anything. He opens his 
mouth and she says no, never mind. Stupid question. He blinks 
at her retreating back like ‘what the hell was all that now?’

John, meanwhile, is flipping through pictures of the “evidence” 
from the kids’ rooms and announces that the envelope Sherlock 
found earlier looks just like the one he still has in the 
pocket of his coat. Why he didn’t notice this until now is 
anyone’s guess. He brings both the picture and the envelope 
over to Sherlock, pointing out that they have the same wax 
seal. Sherlock sifts some of the remaining “sawdust” in the 
envelope, which he declares to actually be breadcrumbs. He 
reminds us that the other envelope contained a copy of Grimm’s 
fairytales and starts describing the plot of Hansel and Gretel. 
John asks what sort of kidnapper would leave clues. Um...the 
kind who would strap bombs to people and make Sherlock solve 
puzzles to save them? I mean, I’m just spitballing, but... 
Sherlock says as much and repeats the words Moriarty told him 
when he paid a visit to their place. “All fairytales need a 
good old fashioned villain.” He concludes that the fifth 
element is connected to this. We get quick flashes of two kids 
stuffing their faces with candy and Sherlock leaps up, 
declaring that the substance is PGPR, which is used in making 
chocolate. We focus on the kids again, panning out enough to 
see that they seem to be in some sort of warehouse.

At the station, Lestrade hands Sherlock a fax they received 
that just says “hurry up they’re DYING”. Sherlock hands him the 
list of elements he got from the shoeprint and theorizes that 
they’re looking for an abandoned candy factory. With chalky 
clay. Sherlockvision pulls up a map of the area and starts 
searching computer like for a building site with bricks from 
the 1950s. When did the 50s come into play? Lestrade groans 
that there are thousands of building sites in London. Sherlock 
says he has his homeless network out searching and they’re 
faster than the police. Plus, they don’t mind taking bribes. 
His phone bleats and he starts flicking through pictures he’s 
receiving from several locations, Sherlockvision pinning them 
to areas on the map. He lights on one picture of Rhododendrons 
and shows it to John, claiming it “matches”...something. 
Probably the vegetation in the oil. Then the “search” zooms in 
on Addleston, which he says out loud is basically a mile of 
abandoned factories by the river and “the park” before he just 
runs out of the station. John and Lestrade follow.

So cars pull up outside a factory and Sherlock, John and half 
the police unit crawl around the building with flashlights. 
Sherlock and John find a pile of candy wrappers around a candle 
that Sherlock touches and declares was lit seconds long ago so 
the kids must be close. He picks up one of the wrappers, sniffs 
at it and licks it, wincing. He announces that the candies were 
laced with mercury. Not enough to kill them outright, but 
eventually.
   Chrissy: After first giving them autism.
   Diandra: Yeah, we’re not going there.
Sherlock mutters that the longer they went without anything 
else to eat, the hungrier they would get and the more mercury 
they would consume, killing them faster, but by then the killer 
could be a thousand miles away. He smiles at the brilliance of 
this plan and says “neat.” John refrains from slapping him.
   Chrissy: For now. Fifty!
Donovan announces that she’s found them.

Hospital. Donovan emerges from a room, Lestrade trailing her, 
and announces that the “professionals” are finished if the 
“amateurs” want to take a crack at it. Lestrade reminds 
Sherlock that the girl is seven years old and in shock so maybe 
he should approach her with a little more delicacy than he did 
the mistress of the school. Sherlock’s like ‘so basically, 
don’t be myself right?’ Lestrade says yeah, exactly, that would 
be GREAT. Sherlock rolls his eyes and steps in the room, but he 
barely opens his mouth before the girl looks at him and screams 
her head off. Lestrade grabs his arm and yanks him out of the 
room, John following in a cloud of confusion. 

Sometime later, Lestrade explains that the little girl said 
something about Sherlock reminding her of her kidnapper. John 
asks what she said EXACTLY. Donovan says she hasn’t said 
anything else since. The boy is still in intensive care and 
hasn’t woken up, so they can’t get anything from either of them 
until further notice. Sherlock is staring out the window when 
the lights in the building across the street suddenly come on, 
revealing three windows painted with an “I” and “O” and a “U”. 
The lights go out again before he can point it out though. 
Lestrade says Sherlock shouldn’t worry too much about it 
because “I always feel like screaming when you walk into a 
room. In fact, so do most people.” Har har. He and John walk 
out of the room, John calling “come on” exactly the same way 
one would call their pet.
   Chrissy: Here, boy. Don’t make me start counting again.
   Diandra: Yeah, I meant an actual pet, but go ahead and 
    make it a weird BDSM thing.
   Chrissy: Oh, you knew exactly what you were saying.

Sherlock lingers just long enough for Donovan to taunt him 
about how brilliant he must have been to figure all that out 
from just a footprint. In fact, it’s unbelievable. She says 
this last part so pointedly that Sherlock hesitates for a 
second as he’s leaving the room. And by the time he meets up 
with John outside, he has a look on his face that John 
recognizes is off. He asks if he’s okay. Sherlock says he’s 
thinking. John hails a cab and, when it pulls up, Sherlock 
announces that they should take separate cabs and John can get 
the next one. John asks why in a wounded tone and Sherlock 
mutters that he “might talk”.
   Chrissy: Ugh. Why do I even bother trying to socialize 
    you?
   Diandra: Yeah, why do you?

Some time down the road, a little television in the back of the 
cab pops on, tuned to the home shopping network. Sherlock asks 
the driver to please turn that off, waits a couple seconds and 
shouts a somewhat less polite version of the request. The TV 
turns to static as it is interrupted by another signal. 
Moriarty stands in front of a backdrop of fluffy white clouds 
painted on a blue “sky”. “Are you ready for the story,” he asks 
rhetorically. “This is the story of Sir Boasts-a-Lot.”
   Chrissy: You’ve probably heard it before.
   Diandra: Are you talking to me or Sherlock?
   Chrissy: Is there a difference?
   Diandra: [muttering]

Back at the station, Lestrade finds Donovan still looking over 
all the evidence. He asks what’s wrong. She just can’t believe 
he could have solved it with nothing more than a footprint. 
Clearly she’s never seen any of the American procedurals. 
Lestrade – who I guess has – shrugs that that’s just Sherlock: 
“CSI Baker Street”. Donovan says their guys couldn’t have done 
that much with so little. Lestrade says yeah, that’s why they 
consult Sherlock. He’s just better at this bullshit. Donovan 
says yeah, that’s one theory. 

Back in the cab, Moriarty is describing Sir Boasts-a-lot as the 
bravest and smartest knight of the round table, but, you know, 
he wouldn’t stop bragging about how brave and smart he was and 
how many dragons he had slain and the other knights started to 
resent him and question whether his stories were even true.

To reinforce this, we go back to Donovan voicing the other 
theory: Sherlock was the only one who could possibly have 
divined the answer from so little evidence and the victim 
screamed bloody murder the second she saw his face. Why would 
she do that unless she had seen him before? Lestrade asks what 
her point is. She says he KNOWS what her bloody point is, he 
just doesn’t want to consider it because Sherlock is his 
friend.

Moriarty is blathering about one of the knights voicing 
disbelief in Sir Boasts-a-lot’s stories with King Arthur. “He’s 
just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look 
good.”
   Chrissy: I’m sorry, I can’t get past the image of 
   Lestrade as King Arthur in this scenario.

King Lestrade’s office.
   Chrissy: Yeah, that’s not helping.
Now Donovan has Anderson with her and they’re both trying to 
convince Lestrade that they should consider the possibility 
that Sherlock is involved somehow. Moriarty voice-overs that 
even the King began to wonder if the whistleblower was right.

Back to the cab, Sherlock is looking increasingly alarmed. 
Moriarty concludes that that wasn’t the end of Sir Boasts-a-
lot’s problems. “That wasn’t the final problem.” This might be 
the most times they have ever used a story title in an episode. 
“The end,” he says cheerfully, grinning, and the video cuts 
back to the shopping network. Sherlock yelps at the driver to 
stop, gets out and comes around to ask the driver what the hell 
that was about. The driver turns toward him and he gapes as he 
realizes it is Moriarty. Moriarty smacks his gum, says that 
ride was free and drives off before Sherlock can say anything 
else. Sherlock runs after the cab for a couple yards and some 
guy reaches out to yank him to the sidewalk before he is nearly 
hit by the car coming up behind. Once Sherlock calms down and 
realizes that the guy just saved his life, he thanks him and 
goes to shake his hand. Shots fire and the guy hits the 
pavement with several bullets in his chest. Sherlock is looking 
around frantically for the source of the shots when John’s cab 
finally arrives.

Sometime later, the “good Samaritan’s” body is being loaded 
into the back of the ambulance while Sherlock fidgets nearby. 
John says he recognizes the guy from one of the files Mycroft 
showed him. He was an Albanian gangster who just moved in two 
doors down. Sherlock blurts that he died because Sherlock shook 
his hand. John says what now? Sherlock says he saved his life, 
but apparently he wasn’t allowed to touch him. They go back to 
the apartment where Sherlock continues that they have four 
assassins surrounding their flat, but they obviously aren’t 
there to kill him. They’re keeping him alive. They need 
something from him, but they can’t get close because... John 
finishes the thought: because if one approaches, the others 
will kill him/her before they can get whatever it is they’re 
after. Sherlock opens the internet settings on the laptop, 
looks at all the wifi connections and says there’s a 
“surveillance web” all around them. John asks what Sherlock has 
that’s so important then. Sherlock swipes a finger along the 
table and announces that they need to “ask about the dusting”.
   Chrissy: Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? 
   Diandra: That’s the table they eat on.
   Chrissy: Pffft. So?
   Diandra: I’m just saying. There are two perfectly good 
    beds, a couch, a countertop or two, two chairs and a 
    coffee table. Why would they need to ruin the one place 
    where they can eat?
   Chrissy: I think I’ve found another thing you’ve clearly 
    given too much thought to.

So we cut right to Sherlock demanding Mrs. Hudson give him 
exact details about what she has cleaned in the past week. She 
says she did the “lino” on Tuesday. Sherlock, frantically 
waving his hands over various surfaces in the living room, says 
no, in HERE. It has to be in THIS ROOM. “You can put back 
anything, but dust...dust is eloquent.” Mrs. Hudson asks John 
out of the corner of her mouth what the HELL he’s talking 
about. John just shakes his head. Sherlock climbs onto 
something so he can see the top shelf of the recessed bookcase 
and explains that they’re looking for cameras because they’re 
being watched. Mrs. Hudson yelps that she’s standing in here in 
her bathrobe and nightclothes and he’s looking for cameras. She 
flees the room. Sherlock takes no notice, climbing over all the 
furniture until he locates a book that seems to have been 
moved. He shoves it back, revealing a lens hidden in the 
bookcase. He’s futzing with it when Lestrade enters the room. 
Before he can say anything, Sherlock says the answer is no, 
he’s not going with him to the station. Lestrade goes to speak, 
but Sherlock cuts him off again, just saying “the scream? Who 
was it, Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible 
for the kidnapping?” Lestrade just purses his lips and gives up 
trying to interject anymore while Sherlock growls that Moriarty 
is SMART and he PLANTED that idea in her head. “You can’t kill 
an idea, can you?”
   Chrissy: Well, not without Leonardo DiCaprio and a shit 
    load of special effects.
   Diandra: THE TOP WON’T STOP SPINNING!

Ahem. Sorry about that. Damn you, Christopher Nolan.

Lestrade clears his throat and asks if Sherlock will come then.
   Chrissy: Eventually, but it takes a while to get him to 
    relax first.
   Diandra: Really? What are you, twelve?
   Chrissy: Oh, like you wouldn’t have gone there too? 
Sherlock ignores the question and babbles something about a 
photograph and Moriarty’s next move. First he gets the little 
girl to scream at the sight of him, then he gets a picture of 
him being taken in for questioning. “He wants to destroy me 
inch by inch.” He says this is a GAME and he’s not going to 
play along. Lestrade sighs again and leaves. 

John watches from the window as Lestrade and Donovan – who was 
waiting downstairs - get in the car outside. Sherlock mutters 
that now Lestrade will be deciding whether or not to come back 
with an arrest warrant for him. Because that’s standard 
procedure. John suggests maybe he should have just gone with 
him then, because now people will think... Sherlock interrupts 
that he doesn’t CARE what people think. John says yes, he would 
if they thought he was stupid or wrong about something. 
Sherlock is like ‘yeah, well THEY’RE stupid’ and John yells 
that he doesn’t want the world to think Sherlock is... He cuts 
off suddenly as Sherlock looks at him. “A fraud,” he finishes 
quietly. Sherlock psychoanalyses that John is upset right now 
because he’s worried they’re right and he’s been fooled along 
with everyone else. John says nope. Definitely not that. 
Because he, of all people, KNOWS Sherlock.
   Diandra: I’m just going to stop you BEFORE you say that 
    he knows him Biblically or something equally crude.
   Chrissy: [with mock innocence] Who me? I wasn’t going to 
    say anything.
   Diandra: Sure.
Sherlock asks if John is sure about that. John grumbles that 
NOBODY could be that good at playing an “annoying dick” twenty-
four-seven. They stare at each other for a moment and Sherlock 
kind of smiles.
   Chrissy: Speaking of dick...
   Diandra: NO! Don’t make ME start counting now!

Lestrade is talking to whoever issues the arrest warrants I’m 
guessing. Anderson and Donovan hover nearby silently. The guy 
notes that this Sherlock Holmes is the same guy that they 
consult as a private detective? The one whose face is in all 
the papers? He asks if they’ve used him on any “proper” cases. 
Lestrade says only one or two. Anderson mutters something along 
the lines of ‘yeah...dozen’. Lestrade gets defensive, saying 
he’s not the only senior officer who was bringing him in. Boss 
guy snaps at him to shut up because an AMATEUR detective has 
been granted access to all sorts of classified information and 
now he’s a possible suspect. “You’re a bloody idiot, Lestrade!”
   Chrissy: Well, that IS probably what Sherlock has been 
   saying all along.
He orders Lestrade to go bring him in RIGHT GODDAMN NOW.

As they’re leaving, Lestrade asks if Anderson and Donovan are 
happy now. Anderson snaps that it’s possible this isn’t the 
first time. Maybe he’s manipulated them all along. Lestrade 
hangs back to get his coat and calls John. 

Cut to John hanging up his phone and announcing that they still 
have SOME friends on the force. Lestrade just warned him that 
they’re on their way. Oh, and probably every officer Sherlock 
ever insulted is jostling for the privilege of being the one to 
cuff him. So basically all of them. Mrs. Hudson barely knocks 
before bursting in and belatedly asking if she’s interrupting 
them.
   Chrissy: No, but in the future you might want to give us 
   time to maybe put our clothes back on. 
She hands John an envelope, saying she forgot to give it to 
them earlier. She had to sign for it. The camera focuses on the 
now-familiar wax seal as she adds oddly that the guy had a 
funny name. “German. Like the fairy tales.”
   Chrissy: So...Grimm? 
   Diandra: That or this is the most awkwardly shoehorned 
    line of dialogue ever for this show.

Sherlock sidles over as John pulls a blackened gingerbread man 
out of the envelope. Police sirens approach outside and 
somebody knocks on the door as John asks what this message 
means. 
   Chrissy: Run, run as fast as you can, you can’t catch 
   me?
Mrs. Hudson goes to answer the door and we hear her greet 
Lestrade and then yelp that he can’t just BARGE IN. John steps 
out of the room and we hear him ask if Lestrade has a warrant. 
Sherlock calmly puts on his scarf and coat. 

And we cut to an officer snapping cuffs on Sherlock while John 
babbles that this is ridiculous because he’s obviously not 
resisting. Sherlock mutters that it’s fine and he can stop 
that. John yelps no, it isn’t and continues to try to argue 
with Lestrade while Sherlock is marched down the stairs. 
Lestrade waves a finger in John’s face and tells him if he 
keeps interfering he’ll have to arrest him too. Donovan hangs 
back again to gloat that she TOLD John this would happen when 
they first met. “What sort of man would kidnap those kids just 
so he could impress us all by finding them?” The chief Lestrade 
was talking to earlier enters the room and asks Donovan to 
confirm that that was Sherlock Holmes that was just escorted 
out of here. “Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.” Yeah, 
no one did. John gapes at him as he continues for no apparent 
reason that these vigilantes usually are. He turns to John and 
asks “what are you looking at,” like the jackass he apparently 
is. John leans back and we cut right to Chief Asshole exiting 
221b with a handkerchief pressed to his bleeding nose. Sherlock 
is pressed to the police car for some reason and somebody 
shoves John onto it beside him. And instead of using a second 
set of cuffs from one of the half a dozen officers on scene, 
some idiot who will probably be fired after this cuffs them to 
each other. “Joining me,” Sherlock asks mildly.
   Chrissy: Well, I figured you would need somebody to 
    protect you in prison. 
   Diandra: And by protect I clearly mean “lay claim to” 
    because you are entirely too pretty and I’m afraid some 
    beefy guy would try to make you their bitch if I’m not 
    there to stop it.
   Chrissy: Er...yeah. Did somebody already write that fic 
    or something?
   Diandra: I haven’t seen it in this fandom, but I’ve seen 
    many variations of it, so I wouldn't doubt it. Also, I 
    started an AU story a long time ago where Vaughn from 
    “Alias” was wrongly imprisoned and Sark was his 
    cellmate. 
   Chrissy: You wrote a Vaughn/Sark fic?
   Diandra: Technically it was a crossover. I couldn’t 
    decide if Fox Mulder should be another inmate or a 
    guard in the prison.
   Chrissy: Uh-huh. Look, I’m going to stop you here 
    because if we don’t get back to the recap we may never 
    finish this thing, but we WILL be discussing this 
    later.

Sherlock notes that this is “a bit awkward.” John says yeah, 
there’s nobody to post bail now. Sherlock says he was referring 
to the “daring” escape they’re about to pull. He reaches into 
the car and pushes a button on the walkie sitting on the 
dashboard. All the cops flinch as their earpieces are filled 
with feedback. Sherlock lifts the gun from the nearest one and 
backs away, waving it at the gathered officers and ordering 
them to get on their knees. When they fail to comply, he shoots 
into the air. Lestrade orders everybody to just do what the 
crazy person says. John babbles that this is NOT his idea. 
Sherlock points the gun at his head and announces that John is 
now his hostage. John says oh, okay, that works. Sure. You 
know, if anyone was stupid enough to think you would actually 
shoot the only person who believes you and wind up handcuffed 
to a dead body. So now what? Sherlock says now they have to do 
exactly what Moriarty wants him to do: run. They take off down 
a side street, running about a block before Sherlock realizes 
they’re scraping their wrists with the handcuffs and orders 
“take my hand”. John does so, grumbling that now people will 
DEFINITELY talk. Yes, can we postpone your sexual identity 
crisis until later? Thanks. Sherlock drops the gun and tells 
John to just leave it. They cut down an alley and Sherlock 
climbs over a gate. John, plastered to the other side with the 
one arm that is cuffed to Sherlock raised, yelps for him to 
wait. He reaches his free arm through the gate and yanks 
Sherlock close by the lapel, growling that this will not work 
unless they coordinate. Sherlock looks up at their trapped 
hands and instructs him to move to the right.

And then they’re running again, stopping around a corner while 
a police car goes by on the street. Sherlock takes the moment 
to note the brilliance of this plan. It works because everyone 
WANTS to believe the lie over the truth. They WANT to think 
that Sherlock isn’t really a genius because it makes them feel 
less inadequate if he’s just an ordinary psycho solving his own 
crimes. John suggests they go to Mycroft because he could help 
them, right? Sherlock grumbles that now isn’t the time for 
reconciling with his brother. He yanks John around a bit as he 
looks around all the corners and John spots somebody looking 
back. He bemoans that they couldn’t outrun the police. Sherlock 
says that’s not the police – it’s one of their assassin 
neighbors. This gives him an idea and he peaks around another 
corner to see a big red bus approaching. He announces that 
they’re going to jump in front of it and drags John with him 
before he can protest. The assassin runs after them and tackles 
them to the ground away from the oncoming bus. Sherlock has the 
guy’s own gun pointed at him before he can recover and orders 
him to tell him what he wants. The guy babbles that Moriarty 
left a computer key code at his flat. Sherlock concludes that 
he’s referring to the program Moriarty used to break into the 
three most secure places in the country, which he intends to 
sell. And which he planted in 221b after the trial for some 
reason. The assassin now having outlived his usefulness, 
somebody in one of the nearby buildings shoots him. 

And they’re running again. They duck into an alcove and 
Sherlock pants that this explains the “get Sherlock” message. 
He planted the insanely valuable key to the most heavily 
guarded places in the country at 221b and then told every 
criminal where to find it. John asks the obvious question: why? 
Sherlock thinks it’s just one more way to ruin his name: get 
all the greatest criminals acting like his posse. John realizes 
they’re standing next to a pile of newspapers and shows 
Sherlock the headline he was looking at in Mycroft’s office 
about Richard Brook. He calls it a “kiss and tell”. 
   Chrissy: I mean, not that I’m assuming you literally 
   KISSED this guy. Did you? I mean, not that I care or 
   anything. Just...uh...curious. 

So somewhere in London, Kitty Reily arrives at her flat to find 
her front door ajar. She tentatively pushes it open and turns 
on the light to reveal John and Sherlock sitting on a settee. 
“Too late to go on the record,” Sherlock asks.
   Diandra: Yeah, um...more importantly...how long were you 
    guys sitting there in the dark handcuffed to each 
    other?
   Chrissy: You were just sitting there, right? I really 
    don’t want to have to steam clean that thing.

So we cut right to Sherlock picking the lock on the cuffs with 
whatever tools he got Kitty to fetch him. He congratulates her 
on getting exactly what she wanted before: “the scoop that 
everybody wanted”. She reminds him that she gave him the 
opportunity to tell his side of the story and he turned her 
down. Luckily, somebody else turned up who was willing to talk. 
Sherlock thinks that’s convenient and asks who this Richard 
Brook is, really. Obviously she wouldn’t just trust any random 
person who called claiming to have an exclusive story. That’s 
reporter 101. But how does she know she can trust this man? 
Before she can answer, the door behind Sherlock opens and 
Moriarty, dressed far more casually than he ever has so far, 
enters with a “darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I 
just got...” He trails off as he looks up at Sherlock, then 
makes a big production of backing into the nearest wall and 
whimpering that Kitty promised “they” wouldn’t find him. Kitty 
calls him Richard and promises that he is safe because they 
wouldn’t be stupid enough to do anything to him in front of a 
witness. John gets over his slackjawed shock to choke that 
Moriarty is Richard Brook. Kitty says of course he is: there IS 
no Moriarty. There never was. Sherlock hired Richard Brook – an 
actor – to play him. Sherlock continues to make important fish 
faces. 

“Richard” pleads with John to not hurt him because he knows 
he’s a good man and he would never... John screams that he IS 
Moriarty and he threatened to blow him up. “Richard” chuckles 
nervously and says he’s really sorry about that, but he needed 
the money and Sherlock paid him to do it. John asks Sherlock to 
explain what’s going on here because it isn’t making any sense. 
Kitty thinks it makes perfect sense and hands John the article 
that hasn’t been published yet about Sherlock being a fake who 
invented Moriarty – his ultimate villain - and all the crimes 
he committed. Because he’s a very elaborate psycho. Who 
suddenly has all sorts of money for this elaborate ruse despite 
needing to share the rent to afford the place he's living in 
where the landlady is a dear old friend. Yes, this makes 
perfect sense.

John thinks this is ridiculous. Mostly because it is. Kitty 
thinks he should just ask “Richard” over there. John scoffs 
that THAT man stood trial a few months ago. Kitty says Sherlock 
paid him to “take the rap” with a promise that he’d rig the 
jury so he wouldn’t actually serve time. She stands by 
“Richard” and says he was paid well for it, but he just 
couldn’t stay quiet any more. John scoffs that this is all they 
have: Moriarty is an actor. “Richard” says he has proof and 
prompts Kitty to unearth a folder of her research verifying 
that “Richard Brook” is a real person with a resume and 
announcements about his acting jobs and everything. He whimpers 
that he has a children’s show. “I’m the Storyteller.” Oh, good 
one. He pleads with Sherlock to just tell them because it’s all 
coming out now anyway. Sherlock bares his teeth and steps 
toward “Richard” and “Richard” backs up, yelling “no! Don’t 
touch me!” 
   Chrissy: That’s not what you said last time!
   Diandra: You know, just once I would like to get through 
    a recap without you turning into a teenage boy.
   Chrissy: Yeah, good luck with that. 
Sherlock finally yells at him to knock it off and “Richard” 
flees toward the back of the flat, Sherlock giving chase, John 
automatically following. “Richard” disappears through a back 
door into the night and Sherlock stops John from following, 
warning that he’s likely to have backup waiting. As they leave 
the flat, Kitty sneers that she knows what kind of person 
Sherlock is now and “YOU repel ME.”

Outside, John asks if it’s even possible for Moriarty to 
completely change his identity and create a narrative wherein 
Sherlock is the real criminal mastermind. Sherlock growls 
something about selling a big lie wrapped tightly enough in a 
truth so people will believe it. John translates this as 
boiling down to Sherlock’s word against “Richard’s”. And he has 
spent the past twenty-four hours convincing people that 
Sherlock is lying. Sherlock paces frenetically as he says 
there’s only one more thing Moriarty needs to do to complete 
his little game here and that’s...he trails off and stops 
pacing, staring into space as he realizes something. He says 
there’s something he needs to do. John asks if he can help. 
Sherlock says nope and runs off, leaving him standing in the 
middle of the street.

St. Barts. Molly is getting ready to leave and cluelessly walks 
right past Sherlock, hovering in the dark because I guess this 
is his thing now. He announces his presence – and nearly gives 
her a heart attack – by saying that she was wrong. She does 
count. He’s always trusted her and she was right when she noted 
that he wasn’t okay. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s going to 
die. She barely hesitates before asking what he needs her to 
do. “If I wasn’t everything you think I am, everything that I 
think I am...would you still want to help me,” he asks. “What 
do you need,” she repeats stubbornly. And because Moftiss enjoy 
teasing shippers on all fronts, there’s a long moment where he 
moves closer to her and they stare at each other before he says 
“you.”
   Chrissy: Yeah, I’d buy him and Irene fucking on top of 
    one of those jeeps after he killed all the terrorists 
    before I’d buy this.
   Diandra: I’m surprised you can buy that he’d have sex 
    with a woman at ALL.
   Chrissy: Yeah, but at least he seemed interested in her. 
    He only remembers Molly exists when he thinks he can 
    manipulate her into doing something for him.
   Diandra: Well, he kind of does that with everybody. It's 
    his main psycho/sociopath trait.
   Chrissy: I know I’ve probably said it before, but... 
    should we find it disturbing that we worry about stuff 
    like that when the pairing is Sherlock and MOLLY, but 
    not when it’s Sherlock and JOHN?
   Diandra: Well...but that's what I like about this 
    version of Watson more than any other (except possibly 
    for Joan on Elementary): more often than not he doesn't 
    really let Sherlock get away with too much. He pushes 
    back and tries to manipulate Sherlock's behavior in his 
    own way. It's like Sherlock is the problem child no 
    teacher knows how to handle and John is that one 
    teacher who doesn't put up with his shit and commands 
    his respect.
   Chrissy: [grins]
   Diandra: What? Oh, god, you're picturing an AU where 
    Sherlock is a problem submissive and John has to 
    "teach" him, aren't you?
   Chrissy: Nah, there's plenty of those already. No, I was 
    thinking more along the lines of an AU where Sherlock 
    is an actual university student and John is a professor 
    who has to reprimand him for mouthing off in class, 
    acting like he's the smartest person in the room.
   Diandra: That's...actually, that would totally make 
    sense.
   Chrissy: But now that you mention it, the BDSM version 
    accomplishes the same thing MUCH more easily.

At the Diogene’s, Mycroft finds John already sitting in his 
office, flipping through the papers he got from Kitty. He says 
Kitty did a very thorough job researching Sherlock because she 
knows things that only somebody very close to him could 
possibly know. John says there are exactly two names in 
Sherlock’s address book: his and Mycroft’s. And since he knows 
HE didn’t tell Moriarty anything... Mycroft sighs and sits in 
the chair opposite John while John accuses him of meeting with 
“Jim” over coffee and spilling all of his little brother’s 
secrets. Is that what Mycroft was trying to tell him earlier? 
“Watch his back because I’ve made a mistake?” Mycroft stops 
trying to interject protests and just grinds his teeth. John 
asks how they met. 
   Chrissy: Well, you see, this was before Greg. I had just 
    discovered this app called “Grindr”...
   Diandra: I see you started reading those fics then. 
   Chrissy: Have to do something while I’m waiting for you 
    to finish yours.
   Diandra: So we’re getting passive-aggressive about that 
    now?
   Chrissy: Nope. If I can wait two years for new episodes 
    of "Sherlock", I can wait five for you to finish a damn 
    story.
   Diandra: It's not going to take THAT long.
   Chrissy: That's what you said last time.
   Diandra: You are just never going to let that go, are 
    you?
   Chrissy: I'm just saying, "Lost" had been off the air 
    for five years by that point.

Mycroft hedges that they make it their business to keep an eye 
on people like Moriarty, but he is more dangerous than any of 
the others. And he has a code that can open any door anywhere. 
John says so Mycroft abducted him to try to obtain that code?
   Chrissy: Well, I tried to get him to just climb in the 
   car willingly, but apparently that only works with you.
Mycroft confirms that they interrogated him for weeks, but he 
wouldn’t give. He just sat staring into space. Until Mycroft 
played nice cop and he started talking just a little. John is 
like a little? And for that you told him Sherlock’s whole life 
story? So now Moriarty is able to sell the lie that Sherlock is 
a fraud and a criminal because everything else he’s saying is 
true. John leans forward in his chair and congratulates Mycroft 
on having helped Moriarty gather all the ammunition he needs to 
destroy Sherlock. Mycroft swallows and looks chastised. John 
storms out, Mycroft calling weakly after him that he’s sorry 
and would John tell Sherlock that? But John is likely out of 
range of hearing by the time he gets to that last part.

Molly’s lab. Sherlock is channeling Dr. House and bouncing a 
ball repeatedly against a cabinet when John arrives. Sherlock 
says the computer code is the key and if they can find it and 
use it they can beat Moriarty. John asks what he means by “use 
it” exactly.
   Chrissy: Rob a bank. Send all the money to an 
   untraceable account in a country with no extradition and 
   run away together.
Sherlock says Moriarty used the code to create his false 
identity, so they can use it to erase that identity again. 
   Chrissy: Or you could try that, I guess.
They just have to figure out where he hid it in the flat that 
day when he visited. John says okay...what did he touch?
   Chrissy: Here, show me on the doll...
Sherlock says he touched the apple and nothing else. They both 
lean against the counter and John sighs, drumming his fingers 
on it in frustration before moving away. We focus on Sherlock’s 
hand as he starts drumming too, but his rhythm is more 
deliberate. Sherlockvision supplies a stream of ones and 
zeroes. He makes the face again, looks at John, who isn’t 
paying attention and turns his back on him, pulling out his 
phone. “Come and play. Bart’s Hospital rooftop. SH,” he types. 
“PS. Got something of yours you might want back.”
   Chrissy: Oh, is THAT where I left my handcuffs?

Sometime later, Sherlock is still playing with the ball and 
John is asleep on a counter. John’s phone rings and he answers 
groggily, jumping to his feet seconds later and spluttering 
things like “is she okay?!” He says he’ll be right there, hangs 
up and tells Sherlock that that was the paramedics. Mrs. Hudson 
has been shot. “What? How,” Sherlock asks in a totally flat 
tone which should really be a red flag because he nearly killed 
the last guy who threatened her. John babbles that it was 
probably one of those hit men closing in on Sherlock and they 
have to go. “You go, I’m busy,” Sherlock says. John rounds on 
him spluttering “BUSY?” Sherlock says he needs to think. John, 
bless him, reminds Sherlock of that murderous Khan rage I just 
mentioned and asks how he could not care now when she’s 
probably dying. Sherlock shrugs and says she’s just his 
landlady. John calls him a machine and says fuck it, he can 
stay here all by himself then. “Alone is what I have,” Sherlock 
says. “Alone protects me.” As he’s storming out the door, John 
snaps that no, “friends protect people”. Sherlock finally looks 
in the direction he just left in and unclenches. His phone 
beeps. “I’m waiting...JM” the message says. 

On the roof, Moriarty is sitting on the ledge, listening to the 
Bee Gees sing “Staying Alive” on his phone. Because fuck 
subtlety. Also, because we haven’t made nearly enough 
references to the title of the original Arthur Conan Doyle 
story, when Sherlock arrives he greets him with a reminder that 
it has come down to this: just the two of them and the FINAL 
PROBLEM. He holds up the phone and adds “Staying alive! So 
boring, isn’t it?” He turns the music off and blithers that all 
his life he has been searching for something that would provide 
sufficient distraction from the mundane awfulness that is 
living. “You were the best distraction and now I don’t even 
have you. Because I’ve beaten you.” 
   Chrissy: I always did end up breaking the toys I liked 
    best.
   Diandra: Are you talking as you or Moriarty right now?
   Chrissy: Yes.
He complains that it was actually easy to do in the end and now 
he has to go back to “playing with the ordinary people.” 
Although, obviously, Sherlock is ordinary too if he was that 
easy to beat. Sherlock just stands there, staring at him. 
Moriarty gets off the ledge and closes in on him, taunting that 
even HE probably started to believe Moriarty wasn’t real. 
“Richard Brook,” Sherlock mutters. Moriarty says yeah, nobody 
seemed to get that joke. Sherlock says Rich Brook is another 
way of saying Reichenbach, which is the case that really made 
him famous. Moriarty walks a circle around him and notes that 
he’s tapping a rhythm with his fingers behind his back. “Good, 
you got that too,” he chortles. For the slower audience 
members, we flash back to Moriarty tapping a rhythm on his knee 
in the apartment while Sherlock explains that the beats were 
ones and the rests were zeroes. The assassins were trying to 
save him from harm because Moriarty had subliminally fed him 
the code. Moriarty says yep, and he told all of his clients 
that “the last one to Sherlock is a sissy.”
   Chrissy: Please tell me those were the exact words you 
   used.

Sherlock says but now that he knows the code is in his head 
there’s nothing to prevent him from using it to “kill” Rich 
Brook and bring back James Moriarty. Moriarty groans and says 
no because the numbers were meaningless and there is no key. 
Also, Sherlock is a moron. He shouts this last part in his 
face. He laughs at the idea that a few lines of computer code 
could bring the whole world crashing down and Sherlock didn’t 
really believe that nonsense, did he? No, the rhythm he was 
tapping was a Bach Patita. Sherlock splutters and starts to ask 
how he broke into the three most secure places in London then. 
Moriarty interrupts before he can finish to say that it just 
takes some “willing participants”. And we flashback to the 
security guard in the Tower getting a text message. Moriarty 
says he knew Sherlock would fall for it because he always wants 
everything to be more complicated than it really is. “Now, 
shall we finish the game?” He praises Sherlock’s choice of a 
nice, tall building, which will be perfect for this. Because 
the boy wonder detective has turned out to be a fraud and a 
criminal. “I read it in the paper, so it must be true.” 
Sherlock steps closer to the edge of the roof and looks down at 
the street below, gulping.

221b. John races inside to find Mrs. Hudson watching a handyman 
make a repair on the stairwell. She startles and asks if 
everything is okay with the police then. Did Sherlock get it 
all sorted out? John stares at her, mutters “oh my god,” and 
runs back outside to flag down another cab. Can I just say that 
this “Mrs. Hudson is in danger” ploy works far better than the 
original “an Englishwoman at the hotel asked for an English 
doctor”?
   Chrissy: Well, obviously, but then the original took 
    place in Switzerland.
   Diandra: Yes, but that doesn’t make it any less 
    contrived. 
   Chrissy: True. Although as you noted, it doesn’t seem 
    likely that Sherlock would suddenly be so callous about 
    the woman he was willing to kill to protect earlier so 
    both versions are pretty equally dependent on John not 
    thinking critically.
   Diandra: And this version makes Sherlock’s role in that 
    deception clearer. Obviously he was making sure John 
    got away. 
   Chrissy: Except why did he make him come in the first 
    place? Obviously he knew something was going to happen 
    here. 
   Diandra: Ugh. And it falls apart again.

Back on the roof, Sherlock says he can still prove Moriarty 
created a false identity. “Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot 
less effort,” Moriarty grumbles. Sherlock paces a little, then 
grabs Moriarty by the lapels and holds him close to the ledge. 
Moriarty just blinks at him. “You’re insane,” Sherlock growls.
   Chrissy: Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.
   Diandra: How long have you been waiting to use that?
   Chrissy: Fucking forever. 
Moriarty says really? He’s just now realizing this? Sherlock 
threatens to drop him and he yelps. He looks into Sherlock’s 
crazy Khan face and says clearly he needs a little more 
“incentive”. He says if Sherlock doesn’t die, his friends will. 
Sherlock hesitates. “John?” Moriarty says yeah, not just John. 
ALL of them.
   Chrissy: John IS all of them. 
Sherlock slowly realizes that by “everyone” he means three 
people: John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. They all have gunmen 
waiting to take them out unless Moriarty’s guys see him jump. 
Sherlock lets him go and Moriarty leans well into his personal 
space as he gloats that Sherlock can have him arrested and 
tortured but it won’t stop the snipers from killing the only 
three friends he has. “Unless I kill myself,” Sherlock says 
numbly. “Complete your story.” Moriarty thinks that’s “sexier”. 
Sherlock dejectedly notes that he’d be dying in disgrace. 
Moriarty is like ‘well, duh, that was kind of the idea.’ A bus 
pulls up below and Moriarty notes that he has an audience now.

Sherlock climbs up onto the ledge shakily while Moriarty gloats 
some more about this being the ONLY way to call off the snipers 
because he’s certainly not going to. Sherlock asks for a moment 
of privacy. Moriarty steps away and Sherlock takes a long 
moment to think before a smile creeps back onto his face. 
Moriarty, hearing him chuckling, stops and asks what NOW? 
Sherlock jumps back down and reminds Moriarty that he just said 
HE wouldn’t call them off. Which means there’s some sort of 
backup code that Moriarty can use to call them off. Moriarty 
says oh, so Sherlock thinks he can force him to just call them 
off then? Sherlock thinks Moriarty wouldn’t have allowed for 
that fail safe if he didn’t think there was a reason he would 
need it. Moriarty reminds him that even Mycroft couldn’t get 
him to do anything he didn’t want to. Sherlock says no, but he 
isn’t his brother. “I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared 
to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want 
me to shake hands with you in Hell, I shall not disappoint 
you.”
   Chrissy: I’m pretty sure what I had in mind was SLIGHTLY 
   more intimate than shaking hands, but...  

Moriarty says nah, no matter what Sherlock says he’s still 
ordinary. And on the side of the angels. And we seem to have 
forgotten that we’ve already used this line before because 
Sherlock repeats that he may be on the SIDE of the angels, but 
he isn’t ONE of them.
   Chrissy: At least this time it makes more sense.
Moriarty stares into Sherlock’s eyes for a long moment and says 
oh, he gets it now.
   Chrissy: And then they kiss.
   Diandra: I wish. 
   Chrissy: You and about half the female audience, honey.
He says Sherlock really isn’t ordinary. “You’re me.”
   Chrissy: Although I don’t see how that’s going to work 
    because we can’t BOTH bottom.
   Diandra: What makes you think...never mind. I don’t want 
    to know.

Moriarty thanks Sherlock and holds out his hand. Sherlock 
accepts the handshake warily. Moriarty says thank you again and 
“bless you”. He agrees that as long as he’s alive there is a 
way he can save his friends without jumping from the roof. 
“Good luck with that.” He pulls out a gun with his other hand 
and shoves the barrel in his mouth. Sherlock jumps back with a 
yelp as he pulls the trigger. We get a close up of Moriarty, 
face frozen in a sort of psychotic grin, while blood and bits 
of bone or brain flow away from his head. You know, just in 
case anyone thought he could still be alive for some reason. 
Although I can’t imagine why they would think that.
   Chrissy: Passive aggressive much?
   Diandra: I’m just saying.

We get little flashes of a sniper setting up, the repair guy 
Mrs. Hudson was with fingering some sort of weapon in his 
toolkit and some guy just glaring menacingly at Lestrade from 
the bullpen. You know, just in case we thought maybe Moriarty 
was making the whole thing up.
   Chrissy: Although the guy looking at Lestrade could just 
   be some embittered coworker and that is totally a 
   coincidence. 

Sherlock frets for a while, then gets back up on the ledge just 
as John’s taxi arrives below. He pulls out his phone and dials. 
John picks up as he’s exiting the cab. Sherlock tells him to 
turn around and go back. John says no, he’s coming inside. 
Sherlock barks at him to just DO WHAT HE SAYS. John hesitates 
and Sherlock adds “please”. This makes John turn and go back 
because obviously something is SERIOUSLY wrong here. Sherlock 
tells him to stop and look up. John blinks up at him as he 
stammers that he can’t come down so they’re just going to have 
to do this over the phone.
   Chrissy: I love you.
It’s all true, Sherlock says. He’s a fraud. Moriarty was 
somebody he made up. 
   Diandra: Also, I love you.
John asks why he’s saying this.
   Chrissy: Because I love you.
Sherlock says he needs John to tell Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, 
Molly, anyone who will listen that he was behind all of it and 
everything the newspapers said about him is true. John says 
okay, he can shut up now. He reminds Sherlock that the first 
time they met he told him all about his sister based on some 
scratches on his phone. Sherlock scoffs that nobody could be 
that clever. “You could,” John says quietly.
   Diandra: I LOVE YOU. Jesus! This isn’t that hard!
   Chrissy: That’s what she said. [whack] Okay, I’m going 
    to cut you some slack here because I’m pretty sure you 
    did that purely on instinct, but I WILL start counting 
    again.

Sherlock starts crying and here we have an interesting 
hypothetical. Benedict has stated that this was not in the 
script. Much like the fiddling with props thing, it was a 
spontaneous reaction by HIM to an emotional moment. So the 
question is...would the implications of this conversation have 
been different if Sherlock had been played differently by 
somebody who isn’t so sensitive? Would anybody actually WANT 
him to be cold and indifferent right now or is this a nice 
accidental human moment from Sherlock?
   Chrissy: Spoken like a fan fiction writer. 
   Diandra: Thank you.
   Chrissy: Speaking of which...
   Diandra: NO!

Sherlock says he researched John before they met so he could 
“impress” him. Wouldn’t he have gotten the fact that he had a 
SISTER and not a brother right if he had done that?
   Chrissy: And interesting word choice, that. He wanted to 
    IMPRESS John. 
   Diandra: Because he loves him?
   Chrissy: I’m just saying. He didn’t have time for people 
    and he supposedly only moved in with John because he 
    needed someone to help pay the rent, but he was trying 
    to IMPRESS him?
   Diandra: Well, considering the way he was practically 
    blushing every time John praised him in the first 
    episode, maybe he liked the idea of keeping somebody 
    around to stroke his ego.
   Chrissy: Among other things.
   Diandra: You just can't help yourself, can you?
   Chrissy: Nope. And you love me for it.
Sherlock says it was just a “magic trick”. John says okay, 
that’s enough of this bullshit. He starts toward the building 
again and Sherlock yells for him to stay EXACTLY WHERE HE IS. 
Don’t move. “Keep your eyes fixed on me.” He needs John to do 
this for him. “Do WHAT,” John asks. Sherlock says this phone 
call is his “note”. Because that’s what people do: they leave a 
note. John starts shaking his head in denial. Sherlock says 
goodbye and flings the phone to the ground behind him. John 
screams his name. And then Sherlock tips over the side of the 
building and falls.

Okay. This scene was probably exhaustively laid out frame by 
frame all over the internet in the two years between this 
episode airing and the next so I’ll try not to draw it out too 
much. I’ll just point out this little detail: as Sherlock is 
falling the camera switches to ground level. If you are 
watching on a television that has a good sound system, just 
before a body hits the sidewalk you can hear a metallic clang. 
I take this as a clue pointing toward the original plan that 
was hinted at with the headline everyone in the commentary was 
pointing out two episodes ago. There’s supposed to be 
scaffolding around the building because they're doing 
renovations. The original plan was to have him fall onto the 
scaffolding and trigger another body to fall the rest of the 
way to the ground. But, you know, best laid plans.
   Chrissy: For the record, I think this might be in your 
    head because I don't hear anything. Also, I don't see 
    any actual scaffolding.
   Diandra: Whatever. Not that it matters because obviously 
    they didn't follow through on it.
   Chrissy: Either way, the key part there was that he said 
    “magic trick” and told him to stay right where he is 
    and not look anywhere else. 
   Diandra: Obviously.

The sound goes out completely and John starts running around 
the stone wall blocking his view of the sidewalk. He barely 
gets a glance at the body in the distance, somewhat obscured by 
a truck, before a bicyclist knocks him over. By the time he 
staggers upright again, groaning, there’s a small crowd 
gathered around the body and a pool of blood around its head. 
He finally reaches them and barks at people to let him through 
because he’s a doctor. A couple of them try to hold him back 
anyway, so he tries “he’s my friend, please!” They still sort 
of hold him back and somebody already has their fingers on 
Sherlock’s neck, so he can only check for a pulse in his wrist 
briefly before the gathering nurses from the hospital can pull 
him away to allow the paramedics access. He collapses into one 
of them, babbling “please...oh, Jesus, no...God no” while 
somebody rolls Sherlock over, giving John a clear look at his 
face (or maybe more importantly given the unique coloring, his 
eyes) before loading him on a stretcher and wheeling him into 
the building. 

The sniper aiming at his head from across the street packs up 
his gear and leaves, presumably also calling off the other two 
guys.

At the Diogenes, Mycroft puts down a paper with a front page 
headline about the suicide of a “fake genius” and stares 
sullenly at the wall.

Sometime later in 221b, John is slumped in his chair in a 
similar pose, staring at Sherlock’s empty chair, which still 
has an indent like it was just vacated.

And we’re back to the scene from the beginning. The therapist 
concludes that there were things John wanted to say but never 
got a chance to.
   Chrissy: It’s not like he didn’t have plenty of 
   opportunities.
John says yes. The therapist prompts him to say it now, but he 
says he can’t.
   Chrissy: Nobody can know how much I loved him!

John and Mrs. Hudson stand at a gravestone. She says she packed 
all of Sherlock’s stuff in boxes because she didn’t know what 
else to do with it. She’s wondering if maybe a school could use 
all the science equipment and starts to ask if John would be 
willing to deal with that but John says he can’t go back to the 
flat yet. Also, because he’s in the anger stage of grief right 
now and he doesn’t want to. Mrs. Hudson strokes his arm and 
says it’s okay: Sherlock always made people feel like that. 
Hell, she wasn’t too fond of the random noises and gunfire at 
one in the morning. And there were all those body parts in the 
fridge. And the constant fighting, JESUS CHRIST SHE COULDN’T 
STAND THE FIGHTING. John says um...he’s really not THAT angry, 
so she doesn’t have to get worked up. She kind of sobs and 
leaves with a “I’m going to leave you alone to...you know...” 
and continues sobbing as she walks away. John pointedly waits 
until she’s out of earshot before beginning. “You told me once 
that you weren’t a hero. There were times I didn’t even think 
you were human, but let me tell you this: you were...the best 
man...er, and the most human...human being that I’ve ever 
known. And no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. 
Okay? So...there.” He checks to make sure Mrs. Hudson is gone 
and steps closer to touch the headstone. “I was...so alone. And 
I owe you so much.” He pats the headstone awkwardly and goes to 
leave, getting all of three feet before turning again. “Oh, 
please, there’s just one more thing, right? One more thing. One 
more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t...be...dead.” He nearly 
chokes on that last word and struggles to compose himself 
again. “Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it? Stop 
this,” he whisper/chokes.
   Chrissy: And somewhere Benedict is crying again.
   Diandra: Yeah, probably. Which is why we love him.
   Chrissy: Well, that and the fact that he's an adorable 
    dork.

We see John's reflection in the shiny marble of the headstone 
as he breaks down crying. He composes himself, turns and 
marches from the cemetery. From a few rows down, Sherlock 
watches him leave and slips away in the other direction.
   Chrissy: And then turns into a dragon because Martin is 
    NEVER getting away from him.
   Diandra: Nobody can escape Cumberbatch. Resistance is 
    futile.
   Chrissy: Oh, right. There was “Star Trek” in the middle 
    of those seasons too, wasn’t there?
   Diandra: Yep. Where he played a genius who can’t die.
   Chrissy: Oh, well...at least it was a change of pace 
    then.