Work Text:
THE REUNION
The scene opens with a daylight view of the front door of 221B from the street. The camera pans upward until it is at the front window of 221B. The drapes have been partially drawn but through the small opening we can see two men with their backs to the camera, sitting in the chairs in front of the fire. The next shot is of the dining room table, which is set for three, but no food is in sight. A beautiful silver champagne bucket with a bottle chilling in it sits next to the table; the light from the window glints on the silver bucket as the camera passes. The camera slowly swings to the left until it takes in the two men, from the front this time. As it focuses in, we see it is Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock looks contented, even happy. Mycroft looks concerned.
When they speak it is with their usual voices, Mycroft with his slow commanding monotone, and Sherlock with his affecting poignancy. The camera, throughout the play, vacillates between shots of the speakers that are individual or include both; occasionally it varies as indicated. When any characters move location, the camera follows them.
M: Dinner will be delivered at seven-thirty.
S: From?
M: Guillardo’s. Your favorite, I believe?
S (pleased): Excellent. You’ve done well, Brother.
There is a pause as Sherlock puts his fingertips together and relaxes into his chair, clearly lost in thought. Mycroft never takes his eyes off his brother. In a moment, he speaks.
M: You have, of course, considered the ramifications of your actions?
S (frowns): We’ve already discussed this fully.
M: People can be very fragile, Sherlock. Broken hearts do not mend easily.
S: I reiterate . . .
M: John’s reaction cannot be predicted with certainty. You may do more harm than good.
S (becoming annoyed): A chance I’m willing to take.
M: But – to quote your own words – “this isn’t about . . . “
S: I know what I’m doing, Mycroft! Really – what do you know of the human heart? I know little, but more than you. Just do your job . . .
M (haughtily): Technically I already have. John will be here very shortly.
S (pressing his advantage): If you’re. . . convincing . . . we’ll call it even. Huh! All those matters of “national importance” . . . behind every great man is a brilliant brother.
M (undaunted): Brilliant but faulted. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. Tread these waters carefully.
Sherlock recognizes the truth in his brother’s words. But his good mood over his pending reunion with John cannot be broken by Mycroft today and he actually feels wistful that Mycroft is not able to feel as he himself does.
S: Even?
M: As you wish.
They slip into a thoughtful silence, each in his own thoughts. In a moment, we hear the ringing of the downstairs doorbell. Sherlock jumps to his feet, runs to the door of the flat and flings it open, and then runs to the window to look down and see who is outside ringing the bell. He is pleased. After a glance at Mycroft, which is not returned, he steps behind the heavy window drape. He is now hidden to anyone entering the flat.
Scene switches to the downstairs front hallway. Mrs. Hudson steps into view and opens the front door. Standing outside is John. He was frowning but at sight of her, he attempts a feeble smile. She smiles, beams, even, obviously in an exultant mood.
J: Mrs. Hudson . . .
Mrs H: John! Come in, come in! Oh, how nice to see you!
She ignores his extended hand and grabs him in a bear hug instead. She continues to fuss over him and smile and laugh during their brief encounter. John is puzzled as to why her euphoria does not match his sadness.
J: Oh! Well . . .
Mrs. H: John, you come in now. It’s so good that you’re here! So nice to see you! Now you go right upstairs. Mr. Holmes is waiting for you. Don’t keep him waiting. Go on, go upstairs now! Oh, so good to see you!
Although puzzled, John is pleased to see she is able to manage a happy mood. He admires her for a moment, attempting another feeble smile, then turns to make the long walk upstairs. The camera watches him make the climb. At the top, the camera catches him from the front, standing in the doorway waiting to be recognized, and his mood has entirely reverted to the gloom of before.
At sight of John, Mycroft stands and gestures to him.
M: Come in, Dr. Watson. Right on time. Please have a seat.
John enters, closes the door behind him, and takes the chair Mycroft has vacated. His back is to the window and to Sherlock, who is hidden behind the curtain. John says nothing at first, so Mycroft continues talking.
M: Before anything, let me thank you for meeting me at Baker Street. It must have been very difficult for you.
Mycroft does not sit during the entire scene. He stands, facing John and facing the window.
John is obviously very unhappy and somewhat agitated at having to return to the apartment he had shared with his dead friend. Mycroft has never put him at ease and is certainly unable to do so here of all places. John’s responses are all curt and unfriendly. He is cold to Mycroft. It’s clear he wishes to be anywhere else.
The camera watches the two men face on, with the window drape in the background. Occasionally we see Sherlock peeking out from it to observe the scene. Close-ups of him reveal a happy man.
J: Yes, it’s . . . Mycroft, what’s this all about?
M: I promised all would be explained to you upon your arrival.
J: Yes, well, that’s now.
M: John, there is a glass of strong sherry near your right hand. I suggest you drink it.
John hesitates, clearly weighing the advantages of sherry vs. non-sherry in the presence of Mycroft Holmes. He unconsciously glances at his watch, already well aware that it is acceptable sherry time. Noting that Mycroft himself is not drinking, he decides to throw caution to the wind. He takes a drink. It is just what he needs. He takes another.
M (soothingly): That’s better, I’m sure.
J (unsoothed): What was so important that you couldn’t tell me somewhere else? Why Baker Street?
M: Privacy. And it is a somehow fitting milieu for my announcement.
J: Oh? Announcement? Are you engaged? Who’s the lucky man?
John laughs in contempt.
Mycroft holds his anger, a particularly strong talent of his.
M: Behave yourself, John. Unkindness was never an attribute of yours.
True. John studies his sherry glass.
J: Sorry.
M: My announcement has to do with Sherlock . . .
John glares at Mycroft. He has no idea why Mycroft summoned him, but he had hoped with all his heart that it would not have to do with Sherlock. The pain of the loss of his dear friend is still intense, and it is obvious on his face. He wants to say something but finds he is unable to speak. He looks away.
Mycroft is not untouched. He has rehearsed a speech but it now seems inadequate. He stumbles for the right words.
M: You’re a hero, John. First in the war, then supporting my brother’s . . work.
John relaxes slightly.
J: Well, I didn’t know what to expect today, but it certainly wasn’t a compliment from Mycroft Holmes.
M: Sherlock was devoted to you. And he was also a . . . hero in every sense of the word . . .
John’s relaxation is short-lived.
J: Sherlock once told me there are no such things as heroes.
Mycroft smiles gently.
M: As you know, he was occasionally wrong.
Mycroft’s phone beeps. He glances at it, then looks to the drapery. From behind Mycroft, the camera shows us that Sherlock is scowling. Mycroft smiles slightly and replaces the phone in his vest pocket.
M: And he could be quite obstinate. In one particular area, I found his stubbornness . . . annoying. We disagreed often, as you know. But, in this instance, John, Sherlock was right. If he hadn’t been right, you would not be alive today.
J: We’d saved each other’s lives several times. It’s all part of the game.
M: Ah, yes, the crime-solving game. But there was another game involved that day. Yes, the day of the suicide.
John begins to fidget.
J: Listen, Mycroft, this is still rather a tender subject for me. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer not . . .
Mycroft stares unrelentingly at John, who becomes hypnotized by his next words.
M: There was only one suicide that day, John. It was Moriarity.
John stares at him, open-mouthed.
M: It was all an elaborate ruse. It was necessary, Sherlock said, to save your life. And the lives of Mrs. Hudson and Detective Inspector Lestrade. And, according to Sherlock, the lives of untold others in the future. The evil Queen had to be beheaded.
J (confused): What are you saying? You’re saying Sherlock had a plan to force Moriarity to kill himself?
M: No, actually, I think Sherlock may have been a bit surprised by that. Pleased, but surprised.
J: So what then? Sherlock jumped and Moriarity killed himself out of grief?
M (chuckling): No wonder Sherlock liked having you around. No, Doctor, I don’t think the evil Moriarity committed suicide as a reaction to my brother’s death. Rather, he died first.
J (still confused and now getting angry): That doesn’t make any sense! What possible reason could Sherlock have for killing himself if he had watched Moriarity die?
M (a kinder tone): For you, John. As I said, to save the lives of people important to him.
Mycroft’s phone buzzes again but he ignores it. He also ignores Sherlock, who has mostly stepped out from the drape and is glaring at him.
John is lost. Confused, helpless and angry. He stares at Mycroft, still completely unaware of Sherlock’s presence, or even existence. He stands and downs the remainder of his sherry, holding on to the glass. He waves the glass at Mycroft as he speaks.
J: I’ve had enough of this. I don’t need your riddles.
He turns as if to leave but stops at Mycroft’s words. John still has his back to Sherlock, who has emerged fully from behind the drape and is watching intently.
M: Then I’ll make it easy for you, Doctor. Moriarity threatened immediate extinction of you and others if Sherlock did not discredit his own reputation and follow by committing suicide. Sherlock felt he had little choice. As he anticipated, the instant his body hit the ground, the assassins were automatically called off, Moriarity’s death notwithstanding.
John absolutely does not want to hear about this. The sherry glass is still in one hand and the other hand turns into a fist. The fist pulls back to launch.
J: Damn you, Mycroft!
Mycroft sees what’s coming and speaks quickly.
M: Sherlock is alive, John! He is alive. The “suicide” was a ruse, an elaborate game, to convince the proper people that he had perished . . .
John halts the swing he was taking at Mycroft in mid-air and drops the arm. He freezes. Nothing is making sense to him. Mycroft is clearly the enemy, but something stops John from further action. The words are exquisite to hear but obviously a lie. Yet something in Mycroft’s manner seems plausible. Almost every emotion passes John’s face as he struggles to understand what’s happening. The sherry glass is held precariously by two fingers.
M (watches with amusement for a moment, then): Sherlock’s plan worked! It depended on split-second timing and silence from the proper quarters . . .
J (horrified and coming to life): You lie! How dare you! I saw him jump! It was him! He was talking to me on the phone . . .
His rant is cut short by a sob. He looks away from Mycroft and catches sight of the champagne bucket near the table. We see Sherlock’s reflection in it and so does John. John’s face is frozen in horror for one moment . . .
M (softly): As I say, Doctor, Sherlock is alive.
Mycroft begins walking to the door.
John swings around and sees Sherlock. Sherlock is standing by the drape and grinning widely. The look of horror on John’s face intensifies. He drops the sherry glass and it shatters on the floor.
Mycroft has reached the door. He opens it and steps out into the hallway. Before he closes the door behind him, he takes one last look at the scene in the apartment.
M (whispering): You’re welcome, Sherlock.
John is rooted to the floor. He had forgotten to breathe and now gasps. He rubs his eyes with his hands and looks again. Sherlock Holmes is still standing at the window.
S (still smiling): Oh, I assure you, it’s really me.
John shakes his head several times. When he looks again, Sherlock is still standing. John gasps again, but the truth is beginning to dawn on him. Suddenly a big smile replaces his horror and he lunges forward with his arms outstretched, calling Sherlock’s name. Sherlock takes a step or two toward him. When they make contact, John throws his arms around his friend and hugs tightly. He is laughing and incoherent as he expresses his delight. This is clearly the happiest moment of his life. Sherlock is unprepared for such a show of emotion and loosely holds John’s shoulders. It’s clear he is happy but still uncomfortable with the physical contact. His smile lessens.
J: John, really . . .
John continues to squeeze, giggle, gush and back-pat. The camera enjoys the physical attention more than Sherlock does. When John has had enough, he breaks the embrace and steps back for a good look. Sherlock secures his arms to be sure there is not a second attack. He is clearly pleased with the emotional attention but awkward with the physical.
J (still somewhat gasping for breath and with the biggest smile ever): I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it! Let me just look at you!
S: Yes, that would be preferable.
When John makes a move for another embrace, Sherlock deftly guides him to one of the armchairs.
S: Better if you sit down, John. You look . . . pale.
It is at this point that John finally remembers Sherlock prefers not to be touched, so he backs off and sits. No less happy, but less giddy and more in control. In fact, it is a while before he stops smiling.
J (sitting): My God, Sherlock!
S(sitting in the other armchair): But good. You look good.
J: My God! I can’t . . . I still can’t . . .
S: Take a deep breath, John. You look pale.
J: I thought you said I look good.
S: A different connotation entirely.
The gist of that statement escapes John, and he leans back in his chair and inhales deeply; said breath ends in a laugh and a shake of the head. Sherlock watches, amused. Sherlock leans back and puts his fingertips together in front of his face, normally a thinking pose for him but now probably an effort to hide his expression. They gaze at each other for a moment.
S: You have questions. Twelve, maybe thirteen.
J: How did you do it? How did you do it?
S: A fake delivery lorry was planted with padding in the bed to cushion my fall. Molly procured a dead body approximately my size and I mangled the face to make it unrecognizable. The body was thrown to the pavement from the lorry as I landed safely in the back, and then I was whisked away to a small airport, where Mycroft provided a private jet to deliver me elsewhere.
J: But . . .
S: I knew there’d be buts. Bring them on!
J: All the blood!
S: My own. Acquired a few hours earlier and deposited with the corpse.
J (smile beginning to fade): Who drove the truck? Mycroft?
S: No, hardly. Assistance was obtained from my street friends. They were paid extravagantly and their silence was absolute, before and after.
J (puzzled): Who paid them?
S: Mycroft. In fact, his help was invaluable with several aspects of this little charade. Thank you, Brother, wherever you are.
Sherlock does not break his gaze from John, but John looks around after this statement.
J: Where is Mycroft?
S: He slipped out while you were otherwise engaged. He will not be joining us for supper.
John looks at the table and he and the camera see the setting for three. He looks questioningly at Sherlock.
S: Guillardo’s will be supplying our meal this evening and Mrs. Hudson will be joining us.
J: Mrs. Hudson! My God, does she know?
S: Yes, she was told an hour ago. My re-appearance provoked a more . . . light-headed reaction in her than you.
John laughs and Sherlock rests his arms on the armchair while continuing to watch John intently. He is apparently no longer attempting to hide his expression.
J: Poor Mrs. Hudson.
S: She’ll be fine, as always. She is stout British stock.
J: This is all such a miracle, Sherlock, and I’m so . . . so pleased to . . . to see you here!
S: Likewise.
John is happy to hear this. After a moment, he speaks again.
J: But . . .
S: Ah! Another but!
J: But how did you know exactly where to jump? Or when? Anything could have gone wrong! And the lorry – I didn’t even see it! And what if someone had seen you jump into it instead of falling to the . . . the . . .
He cannot finish the sentence.
S: I stopped you from coming into view of the lorry, remember?
John shakes his head slightly and looks down. This is hard for him to think about.
S: When I jumped, no one was watching. I had an eagle’s-eye view of the ground and waited to jump until no one was near. No one except my steadfast helpers, of course. When a man has jumped to his death, no one notices a vehicle moving normally in the street.
There has been a change of attitude in John, and Sherlock takes note of his friend’s new melancholia. He rises and crosses to the table, where he grabs the champagne bottle and waves it in the air.
S: Doctor, will you join me in a celebratory quaff?
John shakes his head, and thus his mood, and smiles again. He rises.
S: Have a care! Broken glass, you know!
As John maneuvers around the glass on the floor, Sherlock opens the champagne. They both sit at the table across from each other and Sherlock pours each a glass. Sherlock holds his up in a salute.
S: To good friends! How nice to have them!
J: How nice to see them alive!
They clink glasses and taste the beverage.
John looks at his glass, surprised.
J: My God, this is good!
S: A rare Dom Perignon ’96. Well, not that rare – there are three more bottles chilling.
John laughs, thoroughly delighted. They raise glasses to each other again.
The scene fades out gradually as the camera loses focus.
The next scene fades in gradually. The light is artificial as it is clear that it is now nighttime. We hear the laughter of three people – Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson – as the camera focuses in on the champagne bucket, now empty, and travels up and around the table to take in each character. As it does so, we see the remnants of a large dinner spread out on the table. There are five empty champagne bottles lying on their sides and one almost-empty bottle standing. The camera settles at a spot that is able to see all three diners, with Mrs. Hudson at the head of the table and Sherlock and John where they were sitting earlier, one on each side of her. We see John and Mrs. Hudson in profile only in this shot. But, as before, the camera often shows close-ups of the characters as they speak. From their actions, it is clear that they are all at least a little drunk, particularly John. They are giggling and having a wonderful time.
S: I’ve been thinking of changing my name to Phoenix.
J: Phoenix Holmes?
S: Better than Sherlock Phoenix, don’t you think?
They all laugh. It’s clear they’ve been this giddy for a while already.
J (grabbing the standing bottle and aiming it over Mrs. Hudson’s glass): Have some more, Mrs. Hudson. There’s not much left.
Mrs. Hudson’s voice is delightfully high and giddy under normal circumstances, but with the infusion of alcohol, it reaches new intensity. She covers her glass with her hand.
Mrs. H: Oh, dear me, no, Doctor!
John then looks to Sherlock, who smiles and places his hand over his own glass.
J: Then it looks like the Doctor must save the life of this bottle!
He pours the remainder of the champagne into his glass, not that much, and he drinks it down.
Mrs. H: Ooh, Doctor!
S: I’d say you’ve had enough, John, but it’s academic as we’ve run out.
They both laugh. Mrs. Hudson peers at her wrist, upon which there is no wristwatch.
Mrs. H: Ooh, look at the time! Way past my bedtime! I should be getting home . . .
J: Allow me.
John and Sherlock both stand, albeit John rather unsteadily, and John holds Mrs. Hudson’s arm as she attempts to rise. She is unsuccessful, and both fall back into their chairs, laughing. Sherlock is amused. Although Sherlock makes no attempt to assist, John does notice his gallant rising for a lady, and John is touched. But Mrs. Hudson needs help! . . . so John attempts once more to bring her safely to her feet, and once more they both fall feebly back into their chairs. Both are laughing helplessly and John wipes his eyes.
S: The doctor saves the bottle, the detective saves the landlady. Sherlockian Cabs at your service, Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock deftly and gracefully assists Mrs. Hudson to her feet, waits for her to steady herself, and escorts her to the door, which he opens. Sherlock glances clandestinely at John. The camera, with John’s head in the foreground, watches Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson disappear safely down the stairs. The camera then focuses in on John. The smile which had been affixed to his face almost non-stop for the last few hours, slowly melts and we see melancholia overtake his expression. He continues to stare at the open doorway, then his eyes close.
Downstairs, the camera is watching Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson in front of her apartment door. She is as giddy as before, but Sherlock seems to have sobered up during the trip down the stairs.
Mrs. H: Ooh, we made it! All the way down!
S: Yes, surprisingly. The key?
Mrs.H: The key?
S: Yes, to your flat. Which I observe is in your left jacket pocket.
He removes the key and unlocks the door. The camera follows the two of them as they enter the apartment and then watches them through the open doorway. Sherlock is all business but is not unkind.
S: Are you all right from here?
Mrs. H: Ooh! Yes, yes, I think so.
She turns to head for the bedroom, then turns back to him.
Mrs.H: Sherlock, I want to thank you for . . . for inviting me to be part of your . . . dinner tonight.
S: Hmm? Yes, I know. That is the fourth time you told me.
Mrs. H: And I want to say how happy I am to see you alive. And back home.
S: Seventeenth time for this one.
Mrs. H: And did I tell you what a brat you are?
S: Uncountable.
They both laugh. He kisses her on the forehead and gently nudges her in the direction of her bedroom.
Over her shoulder, we see her call good-night.
Sherlock exits the apartment, locks the door, and slides the key back under the door. He slowly walks back up the stairs. We see this climb from the back. When the camera observes him from the front at the top of the stairs, his expression is no longer lighthearted. It is, however, caring. Sherlock suspects what’s coming.
The camera is now at Sherlock’s back and follows him as he resumes his place at the table. John looks up and smiles feebly at him. It is clear that a liquor-induced mood change is responsible for John’s depression. Apparently the presence of the great Sherlock Holmes (alive!) is insufficient to support euphoria for an entire evening. John’s eyes drop and he is quiet. Sherlock watches him intently for a while. Although he has learned much about emotions from John, he is hardly an expert. And, to make matters worse, Sherlock knows that John is very drunk and that he himself is tipsy.
S: This evening I have been an active participant in the disarming of three Dom Perignons, a Bollinger, and a generous Courvoisier. Save me the trouble, John. Simply tell me what’s wrong. What exactly has happened to mar the jubilance of this reunion?
J: Wrong? What makes you think . . .
John suddenly remembers who he’s talking to. He shakes his head sadly.
S: John, I may be a neophyte to sentiment, but even I can see . . .
J (eyes downcast): I was just thinking about that day.
S (sharply): Oh? Well, don’t!
J: Yeah. I’ll stop. Just tell me how. Cheers, then.
He laughs sarcastically, then lapses into silence.
Sherlock waits a moment for a further response, but there is none.
S (slightly embarrassed): John . . . uh . . . I do want you to know how sorry I am for what you had to go through. Although I can’t imagine it myself, I can clearly observe what it has done to you.
John does not respond.
S: I’ve been told that it helps to talk about it. Have you not spoken to your therapist?
J: I couldn’t then . . .
S: But I am here now. And we are quite alone. Feel free to say what you want.
Sherlock waits a respectable moment while he observes John, who does not respond. John is in a deep gloom. Sherlock, as always, is confident he can control the situation.
S: By my count, you have three questions left.
John slowly looks up at Sherlock.
J: Why did you wait all these months to come back? Why make people . . . suffer? Why?
S: Remember my stories at the dinner tonight? The assassins had to be dispatched, remember? Not as easy if they thought I was still alive. And I took great pleasure in trampling some of Moriarity’s future plans. Oh, the extent of his network may never be known. But I have the satisfaction of knowing that I personally made short work of his intentions regarding the larger ports and the largest bank in the Empire. I particularly enjoyed dropping hints to the police anonymously after some of their more ignominious failures. Huh! Perhaps the police suffered without me, but no one else would have. Except . . . of course . . .
J: Did it ever occur to you then – or ever – that I might be suffering? If you’d just been honest with me! We could have found a way – figured out something. We could have saved all this . . . pain.
S: No, I already had my hands full watching out for your welfare. I didn’t need to put up with your assistance as well.
This is the last straw. John can’t take it anymore.
J: Lay off, Sherlock! That day was . . . horrendous . . .
S (tenderly): Yes, yes, I know it was.
John closes his eyes and keeps them closed for the next few moments. He is trying – unsuccessfully – to fight the memories, but the pain is still too strong. He appears to have forgotten that Sherlock is alive and close by. We see strong emotions cross his face and a tear or two slip from beneath his eyelids. He grips the chair arms and hangs his head. Sherlock calls his name softly, but there is no response. John is fighting demons.
Sherlock gleans at least a rudimentary understanding of what’s happening and is mercifully silent. He rises and sits on the table next to John’s chair. In what has to be one of the most magnanimous gestures of his life, he puts a consoling hand on John’s shoulder. But John is in his own personal hell and doesn’t notice. The memories are just too intense. Sherlock is disappointed, but he is fighting to understand just as much as John is fighting to control his emotions. Sherlock watches his friend intently. Even when John’s shoulders shake with sobbing, Sherlock does not remove his hand. They remain in that position for a short while. During this time, Sherlock’s face softens as empathy for his friend begins to overtake his desire for rationality. Sherlock Holmes allows himself to feel the pain of another person, the only person in the world who truly means something to him.
After a moment, John stops crying. He runs his hands over his face, and Sherlock diplomatically removes his hand from John’s shoulder. John buries his face in his hands; he still has not opened his eyes. These are powerful, destructive memories.
J: My God! I’m sorry. Oh, my God.
Sherlock shakes his head in dismissal but of course John does not see.
J (his speech broken by gasps): You have no idea . . . My God, Sherlock . . . You can’t imagine what it’s like . . . to watch someone die in this way. To see him fall . . . to see his body on the ground. Broken and lifeless. Someone who just a minute ago was vibrant . . . and alive! And there’s nothing you can do about it! The only person in the world you love, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it! It was horrifying!
The camera has watched John exclusively during this speech, but at the word “love,” the camera reverts to Sherlock. Up to this point, Sherlock has been watching his friend with an empathetic expression. But upon hearing the word “love,” he becomes a changed man. It is the one word he has waited all his life to hear from another human being. He gasps. His face, his entire countenance, in fact, changes. His eyes fill with tears and he is not even aware of it. Sherlock Holmes is loved!
The camera returns to John, who is still emotional but beginning to calm down. Talking it out has helped him tremendously.
J: And all I wanted to do was take your pulse. Just to touch you, to find out for myself. But no one would let me do that. Just take your pulse! That’s all I wanted to do! That’s all I could do!
He wipes his sleeve across his face for the last time.
J: I’m so sorry. Has to be the champagne talking. My therapist was right. She said I needed. . .
At this point John finally looks at Sherlock. What he sees astounds him. The camera also witnesses Sherlock, whose face suddenly bears a strangled expression - drawn and pale. He looks haggard and isolated. It almost appears that he has forgotten to breathe. And then – the unexpected, another completely heroic gesture – Sherlock reaches out his hand to John. Palm up!
Sherlock does not take his eyes off John but John’s eyes slowly move down to Sherlock’s hand. He is frozen for a moment before he responds. He slowly reaches out to take Sherlock’s wrist in his fingers – the symbolic rescue he was unable to manage earlier. His eyes once again fill with tears as the memories of that terrible day return. But this time there is a pulse! Through his tears, John smiles.
The camera is lucky enough to witness Sherlock Holmes, who, for the first time in his life, is overcome by emotion. He shakes free of John’s hand and leans forward to completely embrace his friend. John responds in kind, still smiling. They stay like that for a few moments. They are both silent. It is a very emotional scene. The camera circles both of them, and then slowly pulls back.
Sherlock breaks the embrace and returns to his chair, wiping at his eyes. They are both embarrassed, particularly John.
S (in a successful attempt to break the discomforting moment): Perhaps you can fire her now.
J: Who?
S: Your therapist, of course.
J: Mycroft said the same thing to me once.
S: Huh! Something’s wrong with me if I dispense the same advice as Mycroft!
J (gently and sincerely): There’s nothing wrong with you.
S (whispering): Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for everything.
A close-up shows John with a very happy, contented expression. As the camera pulls away, Sherlock is included in the shot with a similar expression. They are not looking at each other. The camera pulls back and scans until it is aiming out the window, the very window of the first shot, but this time from the inside. It turns down and views the sidewalk below.
It is a long way down.
FADE OUT
- Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The plot and dialogue is the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.