Aɴᴅ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴄᴇ

----

MYCROFT: There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix.’
SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Dominatrix.
MYCROFT: Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.
SHERLOCK: Sex doesn’t alarm me.
MYCROFT (smiling snidely at him): How would you know?
(Sherlock raises his head and stares at his brother.)

----

SHERLOCK: I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.
MOLLY: Sorry, what?
SHERLOCK: In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.
JOHN (quietly, exasperated): Take a day off.
LESTRADE (taking a glass across to the table and putting it down near Sherlock): Shut up and have a drink.
SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.
(He stands up and walks towards Molly, looking at the other presents which aren’t so carefully wrapped.)
SHERLOCK: It’s for someone special, then.
(He picks up the well-wrapped present.)
SHERLOCK: The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.
(John looks anxiously at Molly as she squirms in front of Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing.
(Smiling smugly across to John and Jeanette, he starts to turn over the gift tag attached to the present.)
SHERLOCK: Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts ...
(He trails off as he looks down at the writing on the tag. Written in red ink, the greeting reads:

Dearest Sherlock
Love Molly xxx

Sherlock gazes at the words in shock when he realises the terrible thing that he has just done. Molly gasps quietly.)
MOLLY: You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.
(As she fights back tears, Sherlock turns to walk away ... but then stops and turns back to her.)
SHERLOCK: I am sorry. Forgive me.
(John looks up, startled and amazed at such a human reaction from his friend. Sherlock steps closer to Molly.)
SHERLOCK (softly): Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.
(He leans forward and gently kisses her on the cheek. It’s a sweet and beautiful moment, which is instantly ruined by the sound of an orgasmic sigh. Molly gasps in shock.)
MOLLY: No! That wasn’t ... I – I didn’t ...
SHERLOCK: No, it was me.
LESTRADE: My God, really?!
MOLLY: What?!
SHERLOCK: My phone.

----

MYCROFT: That’s all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.
SHERLOCK (quirking an eyebrow): Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully.
MYCROFT (loudly, furiously): I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I’m talking about you.
(He slams the tip of his umbrella on the floor. Sherlock frowns, genuinely confused.)
MYCROFT (more softly): The damsel in distress. (He smiles ironically.) In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ... (his voice drops to a whisper while he twirls the end of his umbrella in the air) ... and watch him dance.
SHERLOCK: Don’t be absurd.
MYCROFT: Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?
IRENE (from behind Sherlock): I think it was less than five seconds.
(Sherlock spins around to see her standing at the end of the cabin, dressed beautifully, fully made up and with her hair perfectly coiffured. This is The Woman at her immaculate best.)
MYCROFT (ruefully to Sherlock): I drove you into her path. (He pauses momentarily.) I’m sorry. (He lowers his eyes.) I didn’t know.
(Sherlock is still looking at Irene as she walks towards him.)
IRENE: Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk.
SHERLOCK: So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on.
IRENE (walking past him): Not you, Junior. You’re done now.
(She continues down the aisle towards Mycroft. Sherlock turns and watches her go as she activates her phone and holds it up to show his brother.)
IRENE: There’s more ... loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.
(Mycroft can no longer hold her gaze and turns his head away, lowering his eyes.)

----

WATSON: Why are you so determined to be alone?
HOLMES: Are you quite well, Watson?
WATSON: Is it such a curious question?
HOLMES: From a Viennese alienist, no; from a retired Army surgeon, most certainly.
WATSON: Holmes, against absolutely no opposition whatsoever, I am your closest friend.
HOLMES: I concede it.
WATSON: I am currently attempting to have a perfectly normal conversation with you.
HOLMES (precisely): Please don’t.
WATSON (equally precisely): Why do you need to be alone?
HOLMES: If you are referring to romantic entanglement, Watson – which I rather fear you are – as I have often explained before, all emotion is abhorrent to me. It is the grit in a sensitive instrument ...
(Watson joins in with what he says next.)
HOLMES and WATSON (almost simultaneously): ... the crack in the lens.
WATSON: Yes.
HOLMES: Well, there you are, you see? I’ve said it all before.
WATSON: No, I wrote all that. You’re quoting yourself from The Strand Magazine.
HOLMES: Well, exactly.
WATSON: No, those are my words, not yours! That is the version of you that I present to the public: the brain without a heart; the calculating machine. I write all of that, Holmes, and the readers lap it up, but I do not believe it.
HOLMES: Well, I’ve a good mind to write to your editor.
WATSON: You are a living, breathing man. You’ve lived a life; you have a past.
HOLMES: A what?!
WATSON: Well, you must have had ...
HOLMES: Had what?
(Watson pauses a little awkwardly, then points at his friend.)
WATSON: You know.
HOLMES: No.
(Watson swallows.)
WATSON: Experiences.
HOLMES (angrily): Pass me your revolver. I have a sudden need to use it.
WATSON: Damn it, Holmes, you are flesh and blood. You have feelings. You have ... you must have ... impulses.
(Holmes closes his eyes in exasperation.)
HOLMES (through his teeth): Dear Lord. I have never been so impatient to be attacked by a murderous ghost.
WATSON: As your friend – as someone who ... worries about you – what made you like this?
(Holmes has opened his eyes and looks at his friend almost sympathetically.)
HOLMES: Oh, Watson. Nothing made me.
(From somewhere to his left, scrabbling claws can be heard together with a sound of a dog whimpering anxiously, or as if it is in pain. Holmes turns his head in the direction of the sound.)
HOLMES: I made me.