Scene continues. Sherlock and Moriarty on rooftop. Sherlock is standing on the edge. The wind blows powerfully across the rooftop towards Sherlock. Civilians traverse back and forth on the sidewalks below.
Moriarty: What? What is it? What did I miss?
Sherlock steps off ledge.
Sherlock: You’re “not going to do it”? So the killers can be called off then. There’s a recall code or a word or a number. I don’t have to die if I’ve got you.
Moriarty: Oh. You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?
Sherlock: Yes. So do you.
Moriarty: Sherlock, your big brother and all the king’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to.
Sherlock: Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do.
Enter below: Watson
Sherlock: You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you.
Moriarty: No. You talk big. No. You’re ordinary. You’re ordinary. You’re on the side of the angels.
Sherlock: Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.
Moriarty: No. You’re not. I see. You’re not ordinary, no. You’re me. (laughs) You’re me. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes.
Moriarty extends his hand. Sherlock takes it.
Moriarty: Thank you. Bless you. As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends. You’ve got a way out. Well, good luck . . . .
Several explosives detonate on the far side of the rooftop. Immense smoke rises from the explosion site and is carried across the rooftop by the wind, engulfing Sherlock and Moriarty.
Below: Civilians and Watson look to the rooftop. A large billow of smoke cascades over the edge of the roof. Another large explosion occurs on the roof. From the smoke falls a burned body towards the ground.
Watson: Oh God!
Watson rushes towards the site where the body lands. Watson is knocked to the ground by a passing bicyclist and emerges dazed. Civilians gather around the body on the ground. Watson pushes through the crowd towards the body.
Watson: Oh no! Oh my God! Sherlock! It’s him! No! Oh no!
Watson checks the body’s pulse.
Watson: Oh, God!
Watson sits crying.
Enter: Paramedics. Paramedics remove the body from the scene.
Scene: The bedroom of a rural château in the daytime. Sherlock is lying in a single bed.
Sherlock awakes confused. He looks around the room and observes a video camera above the door to the room pointed at him. He rises and walks towards the door. He opens the door and peers out, seeing an unoccupied hallway. A cough is heard coming from down the hall. Sherlock slowly walks towards the direction of the cough. He enters a kitchen
Roberson: Oh, Mr. Holmes, you’re up. Good. I assume you’re feeling a bit groggy. There’s some coffee ready, if you’d like some. And there’s plenty of breakfast items in the refrigerator if you care to make yourself . . .”
Sherlock: What am I doing in Ireland?
Roberson: Ah, yes. I suppose here is where I am to inquire about how you could possibly already know you’re in Ireland. Well, I’m sure it’s actually quite obvious.
Roberson dials a number on his cell phone and puts it to his ear.
Roberson (into phone): Scott? He’s up. Yes, bring the car and case around, please. Thank you.
Roberson puts the phone away.
Sherlock: Answer the question.
Roberson: Well, don’t you first want to know who I am?
Sherlock: That’s hardly important at the moment. What’s far more important is why I just woke up in Ireland when last I checked I was on a rooftop in London! Once we get that out of the way, I’d be happy to entertain your introduction!
Roberson: Well, we had to get you out of England.
Roberson: Well, because you’re dead.
Sherlock: I’m dead?
Roberson: Yes, quite dead. Blown up and tossed ten stories. Nasty scene, really. And we couldn’t risk keeping you in London. It’s far too congested right now.
Roberson: And you do have so many fanatics still looking for you like you were bloody Elvis Presley! Not wanting to believe that the great Sherlock Holmes has met his demise. We had to get you away from all that so you could clear your head for a bit.
Sherlock: So, I am dead! Lovely! Well, in that case I suppose I’m doing pretty well for myself right now, standing upright with my full wits about me, and talking to a divorced recovering heroin addict with glaucoma in his left eye who drinks at least 10 cups of coffee every day! What is this place? Who are you? Where’s Moriarty? John. My friends!
Roberson: They’re fine. Not one was harmed because the defusing event occurred.
Sherlock: My death.
Enter: Scott, carrying a briefcase.
Roberson: Ah, here we are.
Scott hands briefcase to Sherlock.
Roberson: That should be everything you need. Now, to sum up: You’re dead. Your friends are fine. There’s coffee on for you.
Sherlock: Everything I need for what?
Roberson: Oh, that’s really none of my concern. Not right now, at least. (To Scott) Are we all set? Then let’s go.
Roberson and Scott leave the room and walk towards a parked car. Sherlock follows.
Roberson: Oh, that’s really none of your concern. Oh, and because nobody ever told me, coffee is harder to kick than heroin. Good day, Mr. Holmes.
Roberson and Scott enter the car. The car starts.
Sherlock: The Fog!
Roberson looks back. The car drives away. Sherlock returns to the kitchen and opens the briefcase. Inside he finds a wrapped stack of British pounds, a pair of shoes, a set of clothes, and a copy of the Times with the headline “Sherlock Holmes Falls to Death After Rooftop Explosion.”