Sherlock Transcript

A Study in Pink (Part I)

In a bedsit somewhere in London, John Watson is having a nightmare. He is reliving his Army days and his team is under fire somewhere abroad. A colleague cries out his name as the gunfire continues. Finally he jolts awake and sits up in bed wide-eyed and breathing heavily until he realises that he is safe and a long way from the war. Flopping back onto his pillow, he tries to calm his breathing as he continues to be haunted by his memories. Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.

Some time later he has sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. It's still dark outside. John sits quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, and looks across to the desk on the other side of the room. A metal walking cane is leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily, then continues to gaze into the distance. He will not be sleeping again tonight.

DAY TIME. The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a dressing gown over his night wear, hobbles across the room leaning heavily on his cane. In his other hand he has a mug of tea and an apple, both of which he puts down onto the desk. The mug bears the arms of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Sitting down, he opens the drawer in the desk to get his laptop. As he lifts the computer out of the drawer, we see that he also has a pistol in there. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads, "The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson". The rest of the page is blank.

Later he is at his psychotherapist's office and he sits in a chair opposite her.
ELLA: How's your blog going?
JOHN: Yeah, good. (He clears his throat awkwardly.) Very good.
ELLA: You haven't written a word, have you?
JOHN (pointing to Ella's notepad on her lap): You just wrote, "Still has trust issues."
ELLA: And you read my writing upside down. D'you see what I mean?
(John smiles awkwardly.)
ELLA: John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.
(John gazes back at her, his face full of despair.)
JOHN: Nothing happens to me.

Opening credits.

OCTOBER 12TH. A well-dressed middle-aged business man walks across the concourse of a busy London railway station talking into his mobile phone.
SIR JEFFREY: What d'you mean, there's no ruddy car?
(His secretary is at his office talking into her phone as she walks across the room.)
HELEN: He went to Waterloo. I'm sorry. Get a cab.
SIR JEFFREY: I never get cabs.
(Helen looks around furtively to make sure that nobody is within earshot, then speaks quietly into the phone.)
HELEN: I love you.
SIR JEFFREY (suggestively): When?
HELEN (giggling): Get a cab!
(Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.)

Some unspecified time later, sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an office many storeys above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid and puts the capsule into his mouth. Later, he is writhing on the floor in agony. We can now see that the office in which his dying body is lying is empty of furniture.

POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Flanked by a police officer and another man who may be her solicitor or a family member, Sir Jeffrey's wife is sitting at a table making a statement to the press.
MARGARET PATTERSON (tearfully as she reads from her statement): My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work – and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him.
(Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.)

NOVEMBER 26TH. Two boys in their late teens are running down a street at night in the pouring rain. Gary has opened a fold-up umbrella and is trying to keep it under control in the wind, while Jimmy has his jacket pulled up over his head. He calls out in triumph when a black cab approaches with its yellow sign lit to show that it is available for hire.
JIMMY: Yes, yes, taxi, yes!
(He whistles and waves to the taxi but it drives past. He makes an exasperated sound, then starts to head back in the direction he just came, looking round at his friend.)
JIMMY: I'll be back in two minutes, mate.
GARY: What?
JIMMY: I'm just going home; get my mum's umbrella.
GARY: You can share mine!
JIMMY: Two minutes, all right?
(He walks away. Some time later Gary looks at his watch, apparently worried because Jimmy has been gone for too long. He turns around and heads back in pursuit of his friend.)

Some unspecified time later, Jimmy sits crying and clutching a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. He unscrews the lid, his hands shaking, and sobs. We see that he is sitting on a window ledge inside a sports centre overlooking a sports court.

The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline "Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre".

JANUARY 27TH. At a public venue, a party is being held. A large poster showing a photograph of the guest of honour is labelled "Your local MP, Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport." As pounding dance music comes from inside the room, one of Beth's aides walks out of the room and goes over to her male colleague who is standing at the bar. He looks at her in exasperation.
AIDE 1: Is she still dancing?
AIDE 2: Yeah, if you can call it that.
AIDE 1: Did you get the car keys off her?
AIDE 2 (showing him the keys): Got 'em out of her bag.
(The man smiles in satisfaction, then looks into the dance hall and frowns.)
AIDE 1: Where is she?

Beth has slipped out of the venue and is standing at the side of her car searching through her handbag for her keys. She sighs when she can't find them and looks around helplessly.

Some unspecified time later, Beth stands inside a portacabin on a building site and sobs hysterically. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules.

POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable while his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters.
DONOVAN: The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.
REPORTER 1: Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?
LESTRADE: Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...
REPORTER 1 (interrupting): But you can't have serial suicides.
LESTRADE: Well, apparently you can.
REPORTER 2: These three people: there's nothing that links them?
LESTRADE: There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one.
(Everybody's mobile phone trills a text alert simultaneously. As they look at their phones, each message reads:

Wrong!

Donovan looks at the same message on her own phone.)
DONOVAN: If you've all got texts, please ignore them.
REPORTER 1: Just says, 'Wrong'.
DONOVAN: Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end.
REPORTER 2: But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?
LESTRADE: As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ...
(Everybody's mobile trills another text alert and again each message reads:

Wrong!

REPORTER 1: Says, 'Wrong' again.
(Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally.)
DONOVAN (to the reporters): One more question.
REPORTER 3: Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?
LESTRADE: I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered.
REPORTER 3: Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?
LESTRADE: Well, don't commit suicide.