The Lying Detective (Part 3)

(Open POV)

Shortly afterwards, the four men are in an elevator. John is squeezing Jared's hand and has his head lowered and is pinching the bridge of his nose. Sherlock looks uncomfortable and twitchy.

"Speaking of serial killers, you know who's my favourite?" Smith asked.

There's the sound of a 'bing' as the lift stops.

"Other than yourself?" Sherlock asked.

Smith chuckles. The doors open and he leads the others out.

"H. H. Holmes." Smith said, leading them along a blue-painted corridor and the ceiling is very high above them and pipework runs along it. "Relative of yours?"

"Not as far as I know." Sherlock said.

"You should check. What an idiot." Smith said, pushing through a set of double doors and looks around the room as he walks in. "Everyone out."

Sherlock, John, and Jared stop just inside the doors. Deeper in the room, a body is lying on a silver chrome examination table, covered by a sheet up to its neck. A male mortician stands at the other side of the table holding a clipboard and pen. He is wearing green scrubs with a blue disposable plastic apron over the top. A woman, similarly dressed, is nearby with her hands on a wheeled trolley with medical equipment on it. Tall silver-coloured cabinet doors are set into the walls. The man looks up at Smith.

"Mr Smith, we're actually in the middle of something." Saheed said.

"Saheed, isn't it?" Smith asked, nearby stopping and looking at Saheed.

Near the doors, Sherlock puts his hands in his coat pocket and leans against the side of a cupboard, watching with interest.

"Saheed, yes." Saheed said.

"How long have you been working here now?" Smith asked.

"Four years."

"Four years. Well, that's a long time, isn't it?" Smith asked, softly.

Smith draws his lips back from his teeth in what can be described as anything but a smile.

"Four years." Smith said, intensely, his 'smile' dropping.

Saheed swallows nervously, then looks round at the woman and two other men in the room, "Okay, everyone."

Clicking his pen shut, Saheed pulls the sheet over the face of the person on the examination table. At the door, Sherlock turns his head away and shakes it slightly. John and Jared look towards the other people, frowning.

"Five minutes?" Saheed asked.

"Come back in ten." Smith said.

Looking at Smith nervously for a moment, Saheed turns away and his colleagues start towards the door. John and Jared step aside to get out of their way. Saheed follows his co-workers.

"Saheed." Smith said, while Saheed stops and turns to look at him. "This time, knock."

Saheed turns and leaves the room. Once the staff have left, Sherlock, John, and Jared walk closer to the examination table and Smith wanders round to the other side of the table.

"How can you do that? I mean, how-how are you even allowed in here?" John asked.

"Oh, I-I can go anywhere I like." Smith said, taking a ring of many keys from his trouser pocket, holds them up and shakes them noisily, to smile at the ring of keys. "Anywhere at all."

"They gave you keys?" John asked, staring at Smith, appalled.

"They gave you keys that are like a sonic screwdriver. To get you anywhere you want at all." Jared said, clutching the strap of his sling bag.

"They presented 'em to me. There was a ceremony. You can watch that on YouTube." Smith said, and Sherlock walked over to one of the nearby cabinets and pulled open the door. "Home Secretary was there."

"So, your favourite room: the mortuary." Sherlock said, looking into the cabinet and the slide-out shelves in there.

"What d'you think?" Smith asked, while the top shelf inside the cabinet is empty.

Sherlock bends down to look at the next shelf, on which lies a sheet-covered body.

"Tough crowd." Sherlock said, closing the door and turns around.

"Oh, I don't know." Smith said, pulling back the sheet on the table to reveal the head and shoulders of the corpse and there is a Y-shaped cut, sewn up, in the chest. "No, I've always found 'em quite pliable."

As Smith says the last word, he reaches out to the body – which is an elderly woman – and pulls her jaw down with his fingers.

"Stop it..." Jared said, sadly.

"Don't do that." John said, frowning.

"She's fine. She's dead." Smith said, staring at the woman intensely.

Smith smirks, still holding her jaw down and staring at her misty eyes and stained, misshapen teeth. He finally releases her jaw.

"H. H. Holmes loved the dead. He mass-produced 'em." Smith said.

"Serial killer, active during the Chicago Fair." Sherlock said, for John and Jared's benefit, before walking off and starting wandering around the mortuary.

"D'you know what he did?" Smith asked, raising his head to look at John and Jared. "He built a hotel, a special hotel, just to kill people. You know, with a hanging room, gas chamber, specially adapted furnace. You know, like Sweeney Todd ..." He reaches out to the dead woman's jaw and moves her mouth up and down with his fingers while he speaks through clenched teeth as if manipulating a ventriloquist's dummy. "... without the pies!" Smith chuckles, releasing her and turning away. "Stupid. So stupid."

"Why is it stupid?" Jared asked, letting go of John's hand and grabbing the sheet and pulling it over the woman's face. "And why are you quoting one of my best friends?"

"Well, all that effort. You don't build a beach if you want to hide a pebble; you just find a beach!" Smith said, and Sherlock has stopped at the far end of the room and is leaning back against a sink. "And if you wanna hide a murder, or wanna hide lots and lots of murders, just find a ..." He pauses for a moment then meets John's eyes and Jared's eyes. "... hospital."

John lowers his head in disbelief for a moment, then raises it again and takes a step closer, "Can we be clear? Are you confessing?"

"To what?" Smith asked.

"The way you're talking ..." John said, stopping a moment to think.

"Oh, sorry." Smith said, softly, pausing for a moment. "Yes." He chuckles briefly. "You mean, am I a serial killer, or am I just trying to mess with your funny little heads? Well, it's true." Smith walks around the head of the table while John and Jared look at him grimly. "I do like to mess with people ..." John and Jared glance towards Sherlock at the far end of the room, who blinks rapidly, trembling slightly. "... and yes, I am a bit creepy, but that's just my U.S.P. I use it to sell breakfast cereal. But am I what he says I am?" Smith points at Sherlock. "Is that what you're asking?"

Smith walks past John and Jared and continues along the side of the table.

John turns to watch Smith, "Yes."

"Hm. Well, let me ask you this." Smith said, stopping and turns to look at John. "John Watson, are you really a doctor?"

"Yeah, of course I am." John said.

"And Jared Shay, are you really a journalist?"

"Yup." Jared said, clutching the strap of his sling bag.

"Well, no, a medical doctor, you know, Doctor Watson. Not just feet, or media studies or something. And, no, a photojournalist, you know, Jared Shay. Not just investigative journalism, or traveling, or something." Smith said, looking between John and Jared.

"I'm a doctor." John said.

"And I am a journalist." Jared said, causing Smith to snort quietly.

"Are you serious? No, really, are you?" Smith asked, turning to walk away, then turns back and takes a couple of steps towards John and Jared, looking angrily at them.

"Are you ... are you lot actually serious?" He walks away again. "I've played along with this joke. It's not funny any more. No ... look at him."

Smith gestures towards Sherlock who really does look like he's badly in need of a hit. He's blinking frequently in between widening his eyes in an attempt to keep them open, and blowing out silent but heavy breaths.

"Go ahead, look at him, Doctor Watson and Jared Shay! Hm? Oh, no, I'll lay it out for you." Smith said, walking towards John and Jared, angrily holding up two fingers on his right hand. "There are two possible explanations for what's going on 'ere." He gestures towards himself. "Either I'm a serial killer ..." Smith turns and walks towards Sherlock, pointing at him. "... or Sherlock Holmes is off his tits on drugs, hm? Delusional paranoia about a-a public personality? That's not so special. It's not even new!"

Smith walks close to Sherlock, pointing at him.

"I think you need to, er, tell your faithful little friends how you're wasting their time because you're too high to know what's real any more." Smith said, in a stage whisper, turning and walks away, stopping a few paces away with his back to Sherlock.

John frowns, apparently wondering what to believe.

"I apologise." Sherlock said, quietly.

Smith turns and looks at Sherlock.

"I-I-I've miscalculated." Sherlock said, looking downwards in front of himself, before lifting his head, his eyes widening, and he speaks louder. "I forgot to factor in the traffic!" Stepping forward, Sherlock looks at his watch and then at Smith. "Nineteen and a half minutes."

Clearing his throat, Sherlock continues onwards a couple of steps, then stops and turns his left side towards the doors, dramatically cupping his left hand to his ear as there's a clunking sound some distance away.

"Ah, the footsteps you're about to hear will be very familiar to you, not least because there'll be three impacts rather than two. The third, of course, will be the end of a walking cane." Sherlock said, looking at Smith.

At the other end of the corridor, the ping of an arriving lift can be heard. The lift doors open and we see a woman's feet, wearing black shoes and tights, and the bottom of said walking cane. The woman starts to step forward out of the lift.

"Your daughter Faith's walking cane." Sherlock said.

"And why would she be here?" Smith asked.

"You invited her." Sherlock said, smiling tightly at Smith. "You sent her a text – or-or-or technically I sent her a text but she's not to know."

Sherlock turns to look at the doors.

Further along the corridor, there is a woman's legs as she walks along.

Mortuary...

Sherlock turns back and looks upwards.

"Ah, let's see if I can recall." Sherlock said, narrating the message he sent, the words appearing beside his head as he talks. "'Faith... I can stand it no longer, I've confessed... to my crimes. Please forgive me!'"

The text whooshes away as if sent.

"Why would that have any effect?" Smith asked, smiling. "You don't know her."

"Oh, but I do." Sherlock said, smiling. "I spent a whole evening with her." He grins. "We had chips." Sherlock looks down reflectively. "I think she liked me."

"You don't know Faith. You simply do not." Smith said, smiling.

"I know you care about her deeply. I know you invited her to one of your special board meetings." Sherlock said, stepping closer to Smith. "You care what she thinks." He smiles smugly at Smith, then laughs as he speaks, pointing at him. "You maintain an impressive façade." Smith continues to smile confidently as Sherlock's smile drops and he looks at him seriously. "I think it's about to break."

Police interview room...

Greg Lestrade frowns into the camera, "Did you know?"

Mortuary...

John and Jared's view of Smith has been blocked by Sherlock, so they are slowly moving across the room to get a clear sight of him.

"She came to Baker Street." Sherlock said, looking at Smith.

"No she didn't." Smith said.

Police interview room...

John and Jared are in the same room with Greg.

John shakes his head, "Of course I didn't."

"My memory has been slipping. Ever since I stayed in this universe for too long." Jared said, letting out a sigh. "I don't know if this is a thing."

Mortuary...

"She came to see me because she was scared of her daddy." Sherlock said.

"Never happened. Is this another one of your drug-fuelled fantasies?" Smith asked, looking across to John and Jared and pulling a face while noisily sucking in a fake-nervous breath.

Police interview room...

There's a large mirror on the wall behind where Greg is sitting at a small table, and in the reflection, John and Jared are sitting opposite him. A male police officer is standing beside the closed door behind John and Jared.

"You both didn't see him take the scalpel?" Lestrade asked.

John and Jared looks around and several lights can be seen on a recording device. One of the lights is flashing, indicating that the device is recording their conversation. This therefore isn't a private talk; it's an official police interview.

"Nobody saw him." John said.

"He's right. I would normally see things. But not this time." Jared said, rolling his eyes.

"So the both of you didn't know what was about to happen." Lestrade said, looking between John and Jared.

"Of course I didn't know." John said.

"I didn't know either." Jared said, letting out a sigh.

Mortuary....

"Well, let's see, shall we?" Sherlock asked, raising his voice and calls over his shoulder towards the doors, keeping his eyes fixed on Smith. "Faith, stop loitering at the door and come in! This is your father's favourite room."

The doors open as Faith walks in.

"Come and meet his best friends." Sherlock said, turning to face Faith.

"Dad?" Faith asked, walking toward, still having the northern English accent, her voice sounds slightly different, causing Sherlock to frown. "What's happening? What was that text?" Smiling, Faith walks deeper into the room, the doors closing behind her. "Are you having one of your jokes?" Faith chuckles, then stops walking forward and looks enquiringly at Sherlock. "Who are you?"

It's not Faith. At least, it's not the Faith who spent the evening with Sherlock. She looks very similar in height and size; she has the same style and length of hair, although it's a very slightly different shade of mid-blonde, and she's wearing similar glasses.

John and Jared frown at Faith's question. Sherlock lowers his chin.

Mind Palace...

Sherlock thought about the hair of the woman who stood at his window three weeks ago, before focusing in on the hairline and then the mouth of the woman in front of him. He lowers his gaze to her hand leaning on her walking cane and the gold patterning on the stick which seems very similar, maybe even identical, to those on the stick which the Faith he met then holds in flashback as she sits on the client chair in 221B.

Mortuary...

Sherlock raises his gaze to this Faith's face, then flashes back to the face of the woman he met before. He screws his eyes shut and sees mortuary-room Faith sitting on the client chair at 221B. The camera rolls round behind her and slows down as it slowly pans past her, and various details appear around her:

Hair: Mid-Blonde

Height: 5'5"

Dress Size: 10

Skin: Fair

Posture: Favours Right

As the camera continues around behind her, she transforms into previous-Faith, her hair a slightly darker mid-blonde but all the details around her remain the same. The camera speeds up and rolls round to face her, then she transforms back into mortuary-room Faith sitting on the chair again.

Sherlock frowns at Faith, "Who the hell are you?"

Smith walks across the room to the woman.

"Sherlock Holmes! Surely you recognise him." Smith said, looking at Faith.

"Oh my God!" Faith said, excitedly.

"Mm!" Smith said, smiling.

Faith gasps and looks at her father, smiling.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Faith said, looking at Sherlock. "I love your blog."

"You're not her. You're not the woman who came to Baker Street." Sherlock said, sadly.

"Um, well, no. Never been there."

Police interview room...

"Well, there must have been some build-up. He didn't just suddenly do it." Lestrade said.

"Look, I didn't know he had the bloody scalpel." John said, leaning forward.

"Honestly. Same. If this adventure was important, Greg. I will remember it." Jared said, rolling his eyes.

Mortuary...

"Sorry, I'm not sure I completely understand." Sherlock said, looking at Faith.

"U-understand what?" Faith asked.

"Well, I thought you two were-were old friends!" Smith said, walking to stand between Sherlock and Faith and gesturing at both.

"No! We've never met." Faith said, giggling a little.

"Oh, dear! Oh!" Smith said, backing towards Faith and raising a hand to his mouth as he chuckles.

"Have we?" Faith asked, looking at Sherlock.

Smith continues to laugh.

John steps towards his colleague, "Sherlock?"

"What's wrong?" Jared asked, while Faith lets out a nervous laugh and Smith is still chuckling.

Sherlock stares down towards the floor.

"So who came to my flat?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyes to Faith.

"Well, it wasn't me." Faith said, as Smith's laughter becomes louder.

"Oh, no!" Smith said, doubling over laughing.

Faith lets out a quiet confused laugh.

"You ... look ... different." Sherlock said, staring at Faith.

"I wasn't there." Faith said, sadly.

Smith cackles with delight. Sherlock screws his eyes shut.

"Who came to my flat?" Sherlock asked, in a whisper in his head.

221B Baker Street...

Sherlock flashes back to sitting in his chair holding up his phone showing a photo of Faith and Smith. It's mortuary-Faith in the photo – as it was three weeks ago – and as he lowers the phone and looks at the woman sitting on the chair opposite him, she's the one he met back then, looking so similar that he only noticed slight differences and didn't realise she wasn't the same woman.

"I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but ..." Faith said, in the present, nearby.

Mortuary...

Sherlock opens his eyes and shakes his head.

"... I don't think I've ever been anywhere near your flat." Faith said, fuzzily out of focus for Sherlock.

Sherlock's lower lip trembles and his eyes are wide with shock. Smith continues to laugh uproariously.

"Oh, dear!" Smith said, putting the back of one hand to his mouth, laughing. "Oh, no!"

Sherlock stares downwards.

221B Baker Street...

Bill looks at Sherlock through the gap between the kitchen doors.

"Who you talkin' to?" Wiggins asked.

Mortuary...

Sherlock's eyes start to widen.

221B Baker Street...

Mrs Hudson looks at Sherlock in the hall of 221.

"What friend? Is it Jared?" Mrs Hudson asked.

London...

Past-Faith sits on the bench near the river and looks into the camera, "Anyone."

Mortuary...

Sherlock raises both hands and covers his nose and mouth, shocked and breathing out a horrified breath as he slowly backs away.

Smith continues to cackle delightedly, "Oh no!"

Sherlock blows out a couple more sharp breaths and takes his hands away from his face.

London...

Sherlock briefly flashes back to the empty riverside bench.

"Faith?" Sherlock asked, looking from the direction of the railings.

Mortuary...

Sherlock shakes his head and raises his hands again, pressing the sides of his thumbs to his eyes as he screws them shut.

"God." Sherlock said, his voice muffled.

Suddenly everything whites out around him and Sherlock's body spins in the void as he takes his hands from his eyes and flails wildly, groaning and then opening his eyes wide in horror. As Smith's manic cackling continues, Sherlock's head jolts and the room starts to come into focus again. Sherlock buries his head in his hands and can see a flashback of him holding his phone with the photograph of Smith and Faith.

221B Baker Street...

Sherlock lowers the phone and the client chair comes into focus, but it's empty.

Mortuary...

Sherlock opens his eyes and drags his hands down his face, rubbing one across his mouth. Still Smith laughs as Sherlock's hand trembles. He clenches both hands into fists, pressing them against his mouth and screwing up his eyes again before lowering his hands a little, shaking his head in denial. He flails his hands in front of him as Smith continues to cackle. Putting one hand to his head, Sherlock turns away from him, bumping into a tray on a stand. The tray rattles noisily and he flinches away, focusing briefly on the row of six scalpels lying on it. Nearby, John and Jared look at Sherlock in concern as he continues to spin.

"Sherlock." John said, while Sherlock stops and faces Smith, who points at him, still laughing. "Sherlock? Are you all right? Sherlock, are you okay?"

"Is everything okay?" Jared asked, as Sherlock pointed a shaking hand at Smith, wide eyed. "Hello? Earth to William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

"Watch him. He's got a knife." Sherlock said.

"I've got a what?!" Smith exclaimed, laughing incredulously.

"You've got a scalpel! You picked it up from that table." Sherlock said, loudly, pointing to the tray which is now several feet away from him and there's a gap in the row of scalpels and only five remain. "I saw you take it."

"I certainly did not!" Smith said, still laughing.

"Look behind his back!" Sherlock said, manically.

"What?" Smith asked, smiling, bringing both hands up and waving them in the air.

"I saw you take it! I saw you!" Sherlock said, near hysterical.

As Sherlock speaks, he points his right arm at Smith, brandishing the scalpel he's holding. Smith's smile turns to a look of alarm as he keeps his hands in the air and backs away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Smith said, loudly, shocked.

Faith raises a horrified hand to her mouth.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa. Whoa, Sherlock, d'you wanna put that down?" John asked, holding out a stern hand to Sherlock.

"Oh my God." Faith said, at a loss for words.

"Sherlock! Calm the fuck down!" Jared said, causing Sherlock to stare wide-eyed at the scalpel in his shaking hand.

Smith and Faith continue to make noises of concern while John shakes his head anxiously, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's hand. The sound of Smith's laughter continues to echo. Sherlock lowers his head and shakes it, screwing his eyes shut, then stumbles back and raises his head, glaring savagely at Smith and pointing his left hand at him.

"Stop laughing at me." Sherlock said, in a low hiss.

"I'm not laughing!" Smith said, his hands still raised.

"He's not laughing, Sherlock." John said.

"He really isn't laughing." Jared said, squeezing John's hand.

"STOP LAUGHING AT ME!" Sherlock said, furiously, at the top of his voice, surging forward towards Smith with his right arm held forward and the scalpel aimed at the other man.

"Sherlock!" John said, angrily.

Faith lets out a brief scream as Sherlock reaches Smith.

Police interview room...

Greg reaches across to switch off the recording device, then leans back in his chair with a tired sigh and tilts his head back.

"Ohh, Christ!" Lestrade said, lifting his head again. "I keep wondering if we should have seen it coming."

"Not long ago, Sherlock shot Charles Magnussen in the face." John said, looking at Jared for a moment. "And Jared, you shot Charles Magnussen in the heart with Mikoto Misaka's signature Railguns."

"Well, yeah. It was to protect Mary." Jared said, letting out a sigh.

"Fair point. Even so, we did see it coming. We always saw it coming. But it was fun." John said, and someone knocks on the door.

Greg turns his head, "Come in."

The door opens and a female police officer comes in.

"Sir. You probably want to see this." The police officer said, putting an open laptop onto the desk.

Greg, John, and Jared lean over to look at the screen which is showing a news bulletin.

"Harold Chorley reporting earlier today. Mr Smith stated he had no interest in bringing charges." The female reporter said, on the laptop screen.

Mortuary....

Smith is talking to a reporter. A band at the bottom of the screen shows his name.

"I'm a fan of Sherlock Holmes. I'm a big fan." Smith said.

John and Jared frown briefly.

Police interview room...

"I don't really know what happened today. To be honest, I don't think I'd be standing here now if it wasn't for Doctor Watson and Jared Shay." Smith said, while Greg, John, and Jared are watching the laptop screen.

Mortuary...

"STOP LAUGHING AT ME!" Sherlock said, furiously, at the top of his voice, surging forward towards Smith with his right arm held forward and the scalpel aimed at the other man.

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

Faith lets out a brief scream. John seizes Sherlock's lower arm with his left hand and turns his left shoulder into Sherlock's body, then slams his hand down onto Sherlock's hand and knocks the scalpel out of it. As it clatters noisily to the floor he turns and seizes Sherlock's coat with both hands and bundles him backwards across the room and slams him hard into one of the cabinet doors. Sherlock grunts in pain. Jared then takes a syringe out of his sling backpack and stabs him with a syringe, before stepping back.

"Stop it!" John said, loudly, angrily.

"John, he's all yours." Jared said, sadly. "He's stunned."

"Thank you, Jared." John said, pulling Sherlock forward a little and then slams him back against the cabinet again, before speaking even louder, emphasising each word. "Stop it now!"

Smith, his hands still raised, and Faith stare at them in shock.

Police interview room...

"Is it true he's being treated in your hospital?" The female reporter asked, on screen.

John, Greg, and Jared are still watching the news footage on the laptop.

Mortuary...

"It's not actually my hospital ... Well, it is a little bit my hospital ..." Smith said, smiling at the reporter "... Uh, but I can promise you this: he's going to get the best of care. I might even move him to my favourite room."

Smith smiles smarmily.

Police interview room...

John and Jared frown.

"Culverton Smith earlier today." The newsreader said, and on the footage, Smith raises a cheery thumb to the camera. "In Nottingham ..."

The police officer stops the footage and takes the laptop away, leaving the room. John sits back in his chair, looking down at his right hand and flexing it. Jared grabs John's hand to comfort him and to stop it shaking.

"He's right, you know. The both of you probably saved his life." Lestrade said, standing up and moving away.

Mortuary...

John glares furiously into Sherlock's face.

"What are you doing?!" John exclaimed, yelling, and slapping Sherlock hard across the face with his right hand. "Wake up!"

Police interview room...

"I really hit him, Greg, Jared." John said, still looking down at his right hand and repeatedly flexing it.

"You did. And I stabbed him with a couple Watson Concoctions." Jared said, as John looks up at Greg and the fanboy looks down at the army doctor's hands that are raw and bloody. "That was the only way for him to stop. It might have made things worse. Those are dangerous."

"As dangerous as me hitting him. Hit him hard."

Mortuary...

John punches Sherlock right-handed with all his strength. Jared approached Sherlock and stabbed another Watson Concoction into the consultant detective's neck. Crying out, Sherlock falls to the floor. Gasping, he props himself up on his right arm, his nose bleeding.

"Is this ..." John said, yelling furiously and he bends down and punches Sherlock in the face again. "... a game?"

Jared stands back from Sherlock and John. Behind them, and unseen by Faith who is watching the other men, Smith's expression becomes intense as he looks at them.

"A bloody game?" John asked.

Again Sherlock tries to rise up and again John punches him down. Faith turns her head towards the doors as if seeing something. His face twisted with rage, John kicks Sherlock's body hard, then again. Sherlock groans and John kicks him again. Two male medical staff come in, see what's happening and run across the room. John is kicking at Sherlock again and the men run to either side of him, seize his arms and drag him backwards. He struggles against them and Smith walks forward, holding up his hands as he walks over towards where Sherlock is lying.

"Please. Please, please, please, no violence." Smith said, looking at John.

The men release John and he takes a couple of steps forward, looking down grimly at Sherlock.

"Thank you, Doctor Watson, Jared Shay." Smith said.

On the floor, Sherlock is bracing himself on his right arm and left hand and looking distantly at the floor. He is trembling and bloodstained saliva is dripping from his mouth. There's blood on his mouth and nose and a bleeding cut on the inside of his left eyebrow.

"But I don't think he's a danger any more." Smith said, bending down to look at Sherlock.

John, his shirt half out of his trousers, looks down at them and breathes heavily. Jared looks down at the floor and clutches his sling bag.

Smith looks up to John and Jared, "Leave him be."

"No, it's-it's okay." Sherlock said, shakily. "Let him do what he wants." He raises his head a little. "He's entitled." Sherlock lifts his head higher and makes eye contact with John. "I killed his wife."

John steps forward a little, breathing sharply through his nose. He stares down at Sherlock.

"Yes, you did." John said, his voice tight against repressed tears, holding Sherlock's gaze, breathing shakily through his nose.

Sherlock continues to look up at him for a moment and then slowly, oh so slowly, his eyes gradually lower away from John's face. John stares at him for a little longer and then slowly turns around, wiping his left hand under his nose, and walks away with Jared. Sherlock moves his right arm forward a little and slowly sinks his head down onto it.

(Jared's POV)

HOSPITAL ROOM...

I am looking at a drip attached to a drug stand then pans down to show the monitor beside it. A steady beeping can be heard, presumably indicating a heartbeat. Sherlock's face is reflected in the screen and the camera moves across to show him lying in bed, his eyes closed. The top of the bed is raised to an angle of 45 degrees. I am looking at Sherlock's face from his right side to not see the extent of his injuries on the other side. John stands at the foot of the bed, his back to to the rest of the room. It looks as if John is bracing his hands on the bed frame in front of him and now he leans forward a little, hunching his shoulders.

Outside the room, Nurse Cornish approaches and nods and smiles to the uniformed male police officer who is clearly guarding the room. He is not wearing a jacket and his cap is on a chair at the other side of the door. She opens the door and walks in, smiling when she sees John and I.

"Oh, hi." Nurse Cornish said, closing the door.

John, his eyes fixed on Sherlock, turns his head only briefly and opens his mouth a little but then closes it again.

"Just in to say hello?" Nurse Cornish asked, walking to the side of the bed.

"No. I'm just in to say goodbye." John said.

"I'm sure he'll pull through." Nurse Cornish said, while John briefly smiles tightly, still watching Sherlock. "And yeah, he's made a terrible mess of himself, but he's awfully strong, so must look on the bright side."

Nurse Cornish walks around Sherlock to the other side of the bed.

"I am." I said, as John is a couple of paces back from the end of the bed and we're looking at him from his left side. "I still can't believe this happened."

"I do." John said, and he is slightly hunched over before nodding. "He was such an arse." He then spoke almost silently. "Hm."

I walked around to see all of Sherlock's face. The cut on his eyebrow has been stitched, and his left eye is bruised and swollen.

After a moment John looks down and – below the screen – brings his hands together and then separates them again.

"Well ..." John said, clearing his throat and walking towards a chair near the left side of the bed where he transferred his old walking cane – on which he had been leaning with his right hand, thus explaining his earlier hunched stance – into his left. "You ready?"

"I suppose." I said, when John stopped at the chair. "I thought this would be easy, John."

"It's not." John said, holding up the cane to show to the nurse. "Parting gift."

John braces the cane against the back of the chair.

"Oh, that's nice. A walking stick." Nurse Cornish said, happily.

"Yeah, it was mine from ... a long time ago." John said, as Nurse Cornish smiles awkwardly.

John turns to walk away with me and just then the phone on the bedside table rings. The nurse turns to it, clears her throat and picks it up and holds it to her ear as John opens the door.

"Hello? Ward seventy-three." Nurse Cornish said, listening for a moment, she calls out softly. "Oh, uh, Doctor Watson?"

John has dragged me and we have gone out of the door and the army doctor is about to close it but now pushes it open again and looks in with me.

"Hm?" John asked.

"It's for you and Jared Shay." Nurse Cornish said.

John frowns, then makes an exasperated sound. Walking back into the room with me, John takes the phone which the nurse is holding across the bed to him. He puts the phone on speaker mode.

"Hello, Mycroft." John said, sadly.

"Hey, Mikey." I said, smiling.

"There's a car downstairs." Mycroft said, his voice over the phone.

Black car...

The black car drives under Admiralty Arch and heads into The Mall. John and I are sitting in the back seat.

"You know, he should definitely have worn the hat." Mary said, sitting in between John and I, now wearing the same top she had on when she, Sherlock, her husband, and I went off to play with the reluctant bloodhound Toby.

"Still thinking about Sherlock?" John asked, quietly.

"No! You are." Mary said, happily.

"Got your disapproving face on." John said, quietly.

"Well, seeing as I'm inside your head, I think we can call that self-loathing."

"Oh, Sherlock..." I said, and John looked across to the seat beside him. "I hope you get better soon."

"Of course you're thinking about Sherlock, Jared." John said, seeing that there's nobody there in the middle seat and he looks away. "Why wouldn't you?"

(Open POV)

Sherlock's hospital room...

Nurse Cornish finishes whatever she's doing with the equipment beside the bed and walks to the door. We see the entire room for the first time. The wall behind the top of the bed is wood panelling. The side walls have white wallpaper covered with large white circles with pale blue circles around them. The wall opposite the bed has mostly the same wallpaper except opposite the bed itself where there is a large wood panel – about fifteen feet wide – attached a couple of inches in front of the wall. It curves over into the room at the top. Above most of the room, wood panelling is suspended just below the ceiling and lights above it shine around the edges, while similar lights shine around the edges of the panel opposite the bed, giving the room a gentle light. There are also small halogen lights set into the underside of the ceiling, and a light near the bed shines on the drip stand. A lamp covered with a lampshade stands on top of a narrow cupboard in the far corner of the room. In between the two windows at that end of the room is a small wooden table and a chair.

The nurse flicks a switch near the door and the lights above the ceiling panel go out, dimming the overall lighting even more. She goes out the door and closes it behind her. Sherlock's closed eyes flicker a little.

The wooden panel opposite the bed begins to swing open from the left-hand side as viewed from the bed. After a moment Culverton Smith steps through the gap and into the room. He turns and pushes the panel closed again with a hand covered with a medical glove. He turns and walks over to the chair near the table, picking it up and carrying it nearer to the bed. Putting it down, he sits in it and folds his gloved hands in front of him, looking towards the bed and gently tapping the fingers of one hand against the tips of the other.

(Jared's POV)

BAKER STREET...

The black car pulls up at the curb near 221B and John and I get out and walk towards the front door. Inside, we climbed the stairs. As he approaches the first floor landing, two sets of legs can be seen, one walking across the landing into the living room and another set crossing the room just inside. Mycroft's voice can be heard.

"Where is she?" Mycroft asked, sitting in Sherlock's chair, his obligatory umbrella leaning against the right arm of the chair. "Where's Mrs Hudson?"

The man just entering the room ducks under the string attached to the back of the door, which another man is just taking down. The first man answers Mycroft.

"She'll be up in a moment." The agent said.

"Uh, uh, what are you doing?" John asked, coming in with me and the two of us are ducking under the string.

"Are you doing a drug bust?" I asked, while Mary is standing in front of the fireplace, still in her Toby-day shirt. "It is a bit ridiculous looking at this."

"I'm not. Have either of you noticed the kitchen?" Mycroft asked, as he stands up as John and I looked around the living room before turning towards the kitchen. "It's practically a meth lab. I'm trying to establish exactly what drove Sherlock off the rails."

In the kitchen, someone is twirling a small brush covered in black powder over a knife lying on top of photographs and press articles about Smith.

"Any ideas?" Mycroft asked.

"Are these spooks?" John asked, looking into the kitchen and referring to the various people in the flat.

"Yeah. They're totally spies." I said, watching another person pull a book from the small table in the corner of the room behind John's chair. "Totally acting like UNIT."

As the agent does so, a piece of paper underneath the book falls unnoticed to the floor. It's Faith's handwritten note.

"Uh, Mycroft, are you using spooks now to look after your family?" John asked, looking around the living room and turns his head to the kitchen again and sees one of the spooks putting items from the table into a large plastic evidence bag. "Hang on – are they tidying?"

"Sherlock is a security concern. The fact that I'm his brother changes nothing. Jared isn't a security concern this time since I know he's been with you, Doctor Watson." Mycroft said.

Someone in the living room takes a flash photograph, and continues to do so while other agents mill around looking at items and the photographs as the scene continues.

"Yeah, you said that before." John said, turning and walking further into the living room.

Mary, now standing just behind Mycroft's left shoulder as he stands in front of John's chair, speaks sternly, "Ask him."

"Why fixate on Culverton Smith? He's had his obsessions before, of course, but this goes a bit further than setting a mantrap for Father Christmas." Mycroft said, standing near the fireplace, with no sign of Mary near him.

"Do it." Mary said, now standing by Mycroft's right shoulder and nodding her head towards Mycroft. "Ask him."

"Spending all night talking to a woman who wasn't even there."

Mary narrows her eyes at Mycroft, "Oh, shut up, you."

"Mycroft, last time when we were on the phone ..." John said, folding his arms in front of Mycroft.

Mycroft, with no sign of Mary near him, screws up his eyes in distaste.

"No-no-no-no, stop." Mycroft said, raising a disparaging hand and turns and walks a few steps towards Sherlock's chair. "I detest conversation in the past tense."

"Ugh." I said, walking closer to Mycroft. "You said that the fact that you were Sherlock's brother made no difference."

"It doesn't." Mycroft said.

"You said it didn't the last time and it wouldn't with Sherlock, so who was it the last time? Who were you talking about?" John asked.

Mary, now sitting in Sherlock's chair with her hands clasped between her knees, smiles up at her husband proudly, "Attaboy."

"Nobody. I ... misspoke." Mycroft said.

"He's lying." Mary said, sternly to John.

"You're lying." John said, looking at Mycroft.

"I assure you I'm not." Mycroft said.

"Mycroft, I've known you for five years. You really are lying." I said, smiling.

John looks at Mycroft for a moment, then smiles slightly, "Sherlock's not your only brother. There's another one, isn't there?"

"No." Mycroft said, holding John's gaze and speaking firmly.

"Jesus! A secret brother! What, is he locked up in a tower or something?" John asked, chuckling.

Mycroft raises his head and looks down his nose at John, but then turns his head as Mrs Hudson arrives in the room.

"Mycroft Holmes!" Mrs Hudson yelled, as Mycroft sighs silently and lowers his head. "What are all these dreadful people doing in my house?"

"Mrs Hudson, I apologise for the interruption." Mycroft said, raising a conciliatory hand to Mrs Hudson. "As you know, my brother has embarked on a programme of self-destruction remarkable even by his standards, and I am endeavouring to find out what triggered it."

"And that's what you're all looking for?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Quite so."

"What's on his mind?"

"So to speak."

"And you've had all this time?"

"Time being something of which we don't have an infinite supply ..." Mycroft said, including John and I in his gaze. "... so if we could be about our business?"

Mycroft smiles falsely. Mrs Hudson starts to giggle.

"You are ..." Mrs Hudson said, continuing to laugh and Mycroft throws a frown at John and I. "... you're-you're so funny, you are!"

Mrs Hudson covers her mouth with her hand, still laughing.

Mycroft pulls a confused face, "Mrs Hudson?"

"He thinks you're clever." Mrs Hudson said, gesturing either towards John and I or out towards the hospital, it's not clear. "Poor old Sherlock; always going on about the both of you." She turns to John and I and put John's hand on top of mine. "I mean, he knows you two are idiots, but that's okay 'cause John, you're a lovely doctor and Jared, you're a lovely journalist ..." Mrs Hudson turns to Mycroft while John's eyes flicker as he tries to process that remark. "... but he has no idea what an idiot you are!"

"Is this merely stream-of-consciousness abuse, or are you attempting to make a point?" Mycroft asked, frowning.

"You want to know what's bothering Sherlock? Easiest thing in the world; anyone can do it." Mrs Hudson said, brightly.

"I know his thought processes better than any other human being, so please try to understand ..."

"He's not about thinking, not Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said, starting to giggle again.

"Of course he is."

"No, no. He's more ... emotional, isn't he?" Mrs Hudson asked, turning to face the wall behind the sofa. "Unsolved case: shoot the wall." She points the fingers of her right hand and mimics firing a gun at it. "Pew! Pew!" Mrs Hudson turns towards the kitchen. "Unmade breakfast: karate the fridge!" She mimics doing a karate chop with her left hand, then turns to the mantelpiece. "Unanswered question ..." Mrs Hudson turns to John and I. "Well, what does he do with anything he can't answer, John, Jared, every time?"

"No matter the time period, Sherlock is always Sherlock." I said, looking at the fireplace. "Whether it's Victorian London or modern day. When it comes to the unanswered question..."

John looked towards the fireplace as I spoke, and now looks back at Mrs Hudson and I.

"He stabs it." John said, letting go of my hand and walking towards the fireplace while Mrs Hudson makes a triumphant gesture and turns to Mycroft.

"Anything he can't find the answer for..." Mrs Hudson said, pointing two fingers towards the mantelpiece. "... bang! ..."

While Mrs Hudson was speaking, John focused in on the knife stabbed into the white padded envelope I saw earlier. Mary is sprawled sideways in Sherlock's chair, one leg up on the left arm and with her right hand over the handle of Mycroft's umbrella while she tilts her head back and watches John. I walked over to the mantlepiece to see not only the padded envelope but an unpadded one propped up at the back. Upside down and very stained, the typed address reads S. Holmes / 156 Montaguest / London. John pulls the knife from the padded envelope and turns around and reaches in for the contents while Mrs Hudson continues.

"... it's up there. I keep telling him: if he was any good as a detective, I wouldn't need a new mantel." Mrs Hudson said.

John pulls out the white DVD with its handwritten MISS ME? message on it. His eyes widen and he looks up, startled, at Mycroft and then looks across to Mrs H.

The DVD has been loaded in the television in the corner of the room near the kitchen. All the spooks have stopped their work and stand watching the screen. Mycroft stands in the middle of the room with his hand raised to the side of his face, looking intrigued as he watches the TV. Mrs Hudson is sitting on the edge of John's chair and John himself stands next to me as we stand between Mycroft and Mrs Hudson. There is a look of devastation on John's face as Mary's voice comes from the speakers.

"If you're watching this, I'm ... probably dead." Mrs Hudson said, on the TV screen.

John straightens up and backs away from the TV, holding out one hand.

"Okay, no. S-stop that now, please." John said, turning away, biting his lip, and slowly walks across the room.

"Okay. I will." I said, pausing the playback

Mrs Hudson gets to her feet, her voice stern as she turns to the other people, "Everybody out, now. All of you."

Nobody moves. John stops, gulps and swallows, tears forming in his eyes as he gazes towards the window in anguish.

"This is my house ..." Mrs Hudson said, sternly gesturing towards John's back. "... this is one of our friends ..." She points back towards the TV. "... and that's his departed wife. Anyone who stays here a minute longer is admitting to me and Jared personally they do not have a single spark of human decency."

John has turned around as Mrs Hudson spoke. After a brief hesitation, and with nobody looking towards Mycroft for confirmation or permission, everybody else turns and quietly starts to leave the room. Mycroft remains where he is, his arms folded in front of him as he faces the TV. Mrs H looks at him, then walks across to stand close to him. She leans even closer.

"Get out of my house, you reptile." Mrs Hudson said, savagely, in a low voice.

Mycroft stares at Mrs Hudson, startled.

"You heard her." I said, gesturing to the door with the remote control. "Get the hell out of 221B Baker Street, Mycroft."

After a moment, looking as if Mycroft can't believe that he's doing what he's told, he unfolds his arms and turns towards Sherlock's chair to collect his umbrella.

(Open POV)

HOSPITAL ROOM...

The heart monitor continues to beep quietly. Smith, still sitting on the chair and watching Sherlock, huffs out a noisy breath, probably deliberately. Sherlock opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times. His left eye is almost completely bloodshot. Smith breathes out noisily again.

"You've been ages waking up. I watched you. It's quite lovely in its way." Smith said, quietly, as Sherlock swallows and looks towards him. "Take it easy. It's okay. Don't want to rush this. You're Sherlock Holmes."

Living room of 221B...

"I'm giving you a case, Sherlock, Jared." Mary said, on the TV.

John sits in front of the TV and stares at it with tears in his eyes. Mrs Hudson and Jared stands behind him.

"Might be the hardest case of your respective careers. With you as a consulting detective, Sherlock. And with you as a Huntsman, Jared." Mary said, on the TV screen. "When I'm ... gone – if I'm gone – I need you two to do something for me. Save John Watson."

John grimaces and shakes his head slightly.

"Save him, Sherlock, Jared." Mary said, on the TV screen.

"I am, Mary. I'm trying my best." Jared said, bending down to John. "John, do you want to watch this later?"

"Save him." Mary said, on the TV screen.

John breathes out a silent, 'No', his tear-filled eyes fixed on the screen. Jared straightens up again.

"Don't think anyone else is going to save him, because there isn't anyone. It's up to you, Sherlock, Jared. Save him. But, Sherlock, I do think you're gonna need a little bit of help with that, because you're not exactly good with people, so here's a few things you need to know about the man the three of us love – and more importantly, Sherlock, what you're going to need to do to save him." Mary said, on the TV screen.

John stares at the screen wide-eyed.