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Professor!

It's over.

Give yourself up.

It's been a long time.

You're a hard man to find.

I intend to keep it that way.

Oh, you've been practising?

Clearly not with your brother !

Where is he, by the way? I hear he
doesn't get out much.

This isn't going entirely
according to my plan!

That's most invigorating.

This is your last chance
to stay alive.

Whoa, there! Steady! Steady, now.

May I help you, gentlemen?
I'm arresting you in the name of the
Queen.

On what charge?
Murder.

Surname?
Holmes.

With an L.

Christian name?
Sherlock.

Occupation?
Detective.

You one of us?
A private detective.

Is that supposed to impress me?

Whatever you call yourself
doesn't give you the right to go
around shooting people!

I was undertaking
a commission from a lady.

Who is this woman?

I am being blackmailed...

by a man who claims to have evidence

that my late husband was engaged in
criminal activities.

If this should ever get out,
my family name will be ruined!

Do you know the identity of the
blackmailer?

He has others do his dirty work!

He wants £10,000.

It's everything I have.

Either way, I'll be ruined.

You must agree to pay.

If my plan succeeds, you'll be able
to keep the good name of your family

and your money,

but you must trust me completely.

I want you to make an arrangement
to pay this man,

and I will go in your place.

Thank you, Mr Holmes.

It'll be my pleasure.

Yes, yes, very gallant of you, I'm
sure !

Did you happen to tell the lady of
your intention to kill this
blackmailer?

I was acting in self-defence.

You were chasing HIM.

Well, my reasons will become clear
when you learn the identity of the
blackmailer.

Well, we can hardly wait !

Sir, it is a pleasure.

Till next time.
Yeah.

What were you in for?
Murder.

Henry Coot, sir. Journalist.

At your service.

So, let you off with a warning, did
they? Begrudging thanks, in fact,

once they'd learnt the identity of
the man I'd killed.

So who did you kill, then? Anyone we
know?

Professor Moriarty. But the police
have been after him forever!

He's responsible for the deaths
of over 30 men.

Not to mention the countless others
whose lives he's destroyed.

He's the most wanted man in England.
He WAS. I've killed him.

Well, my readers will want to know
everything about you, Mr erm...

Sherlock Holmes.
Congratulations, Sherlock Holmes.

You've just made the headlines.

Lady DeWinter!

Please, come in.

I wanted to thank you...personally
for what you did.

You can't imagine what a weight it
is off my shoulders to know that
he's dead.

You are not alone.

There are many people who counted the
Professor as their greatest enemy.

Mr Holmes, I want you to have this.

No, really, it's not necessary.

I had my own reasons for wanting
Moriarty dead.

I absolutely insist.

Would you accept this payment?

Thank you once again, Mr Holmes.

Forgive me for having put you in
such danger.

Please, don't hesitate to call again

if there's any way I can be of any
further assistance.

I shall remember that...the next
time I'm being blackmailed.

I meant I would very much
like to see you again.

I don't think that would be a good
idea.

He was good, but...
You won. He's dead.

A single shot through the heart.

Everyone wants to know more about
you, Mr Holmes.

Do you live in London?
Baker Street.

And you live in Pimlico, don't you?
How did you know?

I'm a detective. Wait a minute.
Anyone could've told you that.
That's not clever.

And you've just come back from
Sicily. Palermo. Am I right?

How did you work that out? I take
care to not catch the sun!

Well, I couldn't help noticing your
perfume.

An unusual blend of bergamot and
Indian jasmine.

Very distinctive.
Unique, one might say.

It's made by an eccentric perfumer on
the Via Santa Croce, No.17.

This particular scent was
commissioned especially by the
Harbottle family

and isn't generally available.
That's so clever! I simply must
introduce you to some of my friends.

Victoria, this is Mr Sherlock Holmes.

Do Victoria.

You know - the detecting, deducing
thing.

Yes, Sherlock. What can you say
about me?

Hm?

Mr Sherlock Holmes?

Ben Harrington.

So, what am I doing here?

I thought you were going to tell ME,
you being the great detective !

Maybe you're losing your touch.

Mr Harrington, it's my job to bring
men like yourself to justice,

not to waste time playing parlour
games with them.

So you know who I am?
Of course I know who you are.

Detained 14 times since 1875,

one arrest for illegal importation...

Never proven, Mr Holmes. Never
proven.

I was, and still am, a respectable
businessman.

Well, I don't think
importing opium

has ever been an entirely respectable
business, Mr Harrington.

And it currently appears to be
a rather dangerous one.

All these victims were your main
competitors, if I am not mistaken.

I had nothing to do with this.

Well, then, it makes only logical
sense

that you're one of the next intended
victims.

I suggest you take extra precautions.
I have, believe me!

But I won't sleep easily
until the bastards that are doing
this are caught

and preferably hanged.
Then you should talk to the police.

I spend my life trying to avoid
them.

I don't like the police, Mr Holmes,
and they don't like me.

So what do you want from me, Mr
Harrington?

You can track them down, the
murderers.

Have you considered the idea that
this could be the work

of a single perpetrator? That would
make it even easier for you.

You could solve the whole case in
one go.

I'm afraid working for a possible
felon wouldn't be good for my
reputation.

I know what you think of me, Mr
Holmes.

But the business I'm in...
it's a social necessity.

A health service, if you like.

Having the greatest empire in the
world means sending a lot of young
men off to war.

The wounded get shot up with
morphine.

The ones who survive come back here
with a taste for the drug.

People like that need people like
me. Well, fortunately, I don't,

and I'd be grateful if you'd close
the door behind you when you leave.

Funny thing about newspapers, Mr
Holmes.

One day you're all over them, the
next day they've forgotten you

and you're nobody, all over again.

But they need headlines
just as much as you do,

and the one I'm dying to see,
the one the whole of London
is dying to see:

"Sherlock Holmes catches
multiple murderer."

I prefer "serial killer".

I like it - and so would they.

They're cutting up the latest victim
today. Just go and see.

Show them this note and they'll let
you in.

A certain judge
owes me a couple of favours.

Hm! Yes, well...

I'll think about it, Mr Harrington.

Come on, let's go.

This is a restricted area.

I'm here with an official commission
to assist you.

We don't need your help, Mr Holmes!

"Need" or "want"?

Both. This is an autopsy, Inspector,
not a carnival side show.

And the presence of amateurs,
however...celebrated, is outrageous.

Mr Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson.

It's not my intention to interfere.

Well, that's something, at least !

Shall we get on with this?
Mm.

Charlie Duggan. Opium dealer.

"Goldie" to his friends.

Apparently, he got his nickname from
his mouthful of false teeth.

Well, we shall find out what
happened to them later.

There's something abnormal about the
windpipe.

Yes, normally he'd be using it to
breathe !

I mean the wound that killed him.

I'm making the first incision.

Well, Doctor, I've
got a million things to do.

Bring the results up to my office
before you leave.

You, stay here.

I need to take a lateral
segment.

You'll notice the discolouration
around the cerebellum.

That's most unusual.

Strychnine?

Or a form of opiate?

Well, could be. Yes.

The same pathology was found in each
of the victims.

See, I'm hoping to gather
a sufficient sample

for a detailed chemical analysis.

The substance was injected here.

Do you see? That's an abnormally
large puncture wound.

Probably an eighth-diameter needle.

Haven't seen one of those
since I was at medical school.

The wound was 4½ inches long.

It severed the windpipe and the
carotid artery.

Is the depth of the wound constant?
How could that possibly be relevant?

It isn't, if you're merely looking to
determine cause of death,

but my primary concern is to discover
clues as to the methods and identity
of the killer!

He could've used a butcher's knife.
Yes, but then the wound would've
been deeper in the centre.

Which isn't the case here.

A scalpel?

No, the edges are too uneven.

Is it possibly a curved blade
of some kind?

Which would account for these other
wounds on the body.

What I don't understand is why the
killer didn't put down his weapon

while he was manoeuvring the body.

Brilliant, Watson.

Mr Holmes!

Mr Holmes, any more...scoops for me?

Public Records Library, please.

I've just a wife and seven hundred
children to feed - don't mind me !

Thank you.

Whoa!

Don't go away.
Thank you.

This is about to get interesting.
Have you solved another crime?

I'm sure the police will release an
official statement in due course.

How about
"Multiple Murder Mystery Solved"?

That ought to sell a few papers.

Nice one, Sherlock.

Are we finished?
Yes.

Sir, pray tell us,

what did we find out about our
murderer?

This is my report.

I think you'll find some of my
conclusions interesting.

Anything you'd like to add, Mr
Holmes?

Only that the perpetrator's name
is Dr Geoffrey Cruickshank.

Address: 18, Frith Street, London W1.
I suggest we move quickly.

Let me get this straight: you got
that from the victim?

I haven't missed anything, have I?

He is dead?

I thought he must have sat up in
the morgue and told Mr Holmes who'd
killed him !

If you'll permit me to explain,

the attack took place on the street.

The victim was jammed in the leg with
a thick needle.

A powerful opium-based narcotic was
then injected into his bloodstream

rendering him confused and
disorientated.

He was dragged into an alley.
His throat was ripped apart,
his valuables removed.

Have I missed anything out, Doctor?

This is all in my report.

Naturally. Now, given the location of
the needle wound

- here, in the calf -
it seems unlikely that the killer
used a conventional syringe.

That would've been both conspicuous
and inconvenient.

No, it's far more likely that the
needle was disguised

in, say, a walking stick.

The fact that the victim was jabbed
in the leg, rather than the neck,

suggests the work of someone
of lower-than-average height.

Coupled with this, combining the
angle of entry of the hypodermic
needle

can lead to only one conclusion:

the killer's height
was between 5' and 5'2".

The puncture wound: that was
remarkably precise.

Wouldn't you say, Doctor?

It could've been luck.

Yes, but combine that fact with
the precision of the neck wound

and the fact that
the victim's teeth were extracted in
such a professional manner...

We have to assume
we're dealing with someone with
some kind of medical training!

Although this medic isn't in practice
any more,

as you so pertinently pointed out.

Our most important clue was also
identified by Dr Watson.

He was able to determine that
the victim's throat was cut

using a weapon with a hooked blade.

On each of the victims,
the blade consistently entered
the throat on the right side

and exited on the left.

Similar wounds made while the body
was being manhandled

suggest that the blade was actually
attached to the attacker's body.

Conclusion: the killer had a metal
hook in place of his left hand.

But there must be other
possibilities! No, there are none as
likely.

All of this allows us to narrow down
our list of possible suspects.

We're looking for an unusually short,
one-armed man with medical training.

Well, who is this Cruickshank?
A doctor? A dentist?

Performs illegal abortions from his
rooms in Soho.

Beyond that, he's five feet tall,

served as a medic
with the King's Own Borderers,

dishonourably discharged for
incompetence and a morphine
addiction,

which he formed soon after losing his
left hand in the second Afghan War.

Of course, I could be mistaken,

but I'd say it's worth bringing him
in for questioning.

Unless you'd rather wait for another
victim?

Well, since I've got nothing better
to do tonight...

Whoa, there!

Sir?

And what do we deduce from this, Mr
Holmes?

He's dead.
That's very funny !

Sir...

It appears to be a suicide note.

Sir...

It seems you were correct,
Mr Holmes. This is our killer.

No, there's something not right here.

A signed confession... All these
articles belonging to the victims...

I'd still like to autopsy the body.

Mr Holmes, we live in the most
violent and dangerous city in the
world.

There's lots of murderers out there.

When one of them hangs himself and
saves me the trouble,
I'm very grateful.

I won't waste any more valuable time
and money on this case.

Get him down from there.

Of course, there's only really one
way to be sure it was suicide.

It's a pity he didn't authorise
the autopsy. We should do one,
anyway.

All we need to do
is check the brain stem.

If it's the same as the others', then
we know there's still a killer at
large. Forget it.

I could lose my job!

I'll take full responsibility.
Ha!

I've never seen one of those before.

It's my own design.

It's something of a hobby of mine,
inventing.

You were right, Holmes.

This wasn't a suicide.

I knew he'd bloody do it!

Whoa! Whoa!

It wasn't about stealing wallets and
gold teeth.

It was a carefully-planned operation,

and my guess is Cruickshank
had become a liability.

You said the man was a morphine
addict, but...

Well, I've never seen the like!

Is there a way to tell which is the
most recent?

All right, everybody in.
Let's have a look.

What's going on here?

He came up at the last minute.

And who have you got there?

Road accident. We'll be seeing a lot
more of these,

what with the congestion and the
reckless driving we're seeing today!

Although, once the underground
railway is completed,

there will be no need for anyone
to ever drive in London again.

Watson, that's not Cruickshank under
there, is it?

You can't go around cutting up
bodies on the basis of a...

What did you call it?
A hunch.

Right. So you'd better
have a damn good explanation
to stay out of prison.

The presence of the same substance
in each of the victims' brains

provides incontrovertible proof
that Cruickshank was murdered

and the killer is still at large.
What kind of substance?

A substance that no-one's ever seen
before.

We're assuming it's a new form
of opium alkaloid. - I see.

So you're telling me a group of
opium traders

were found
with opium on the brain !

Is that supposed to convince me?

We can prove that Cruickshank was
injected with the same substance

found in the men he supposedly
killed.

He was a well-known addict, Doctor!

The only surprise here was that
he had any brain left at all!

I'm, frankly, shocked
at this abuse of privilege.

You can count yourselves lucky that
I'm too damn busy to be bothered
to press charges!

But it'll be a different story if
this ever, EVER happens again.

My God! Harrington's
is the same as the others'.

You were right.

WE were right, Watson.

I'd like to see the autopsy reports
on all the victims.

You're the doctor what cuts up the
bodies, right?

I perform autopsies for the police,
that's correct. Who are you?

Coot, sir. Henry Coot. Pleased to
meet you.

Yeah... What can you tell me about
this Cruickshank,

the one who killed all these people?

Ha! That's not altogether certain.

So you mean the killer might still
be out there?

It's a possibility, yes. What else
can you tell me Mr Holmes got wrong?

I didn't say...
Mm-hm?

Waiter... Absinthe.

Look at this!

You've had enough, now, sir.

What the hell...
There, get that down your neck!

Mr Holmes...
Oh, Mr Holmes...

It is him!

I knew it was you! You're the man
that killed Professor Moriarty.
At your service.

Ah! Back in the land
of the living !

Sorry, Holmes.
I spoke to your friend Coot.
He twisted everything I said.

Don't worry about it, Watson.

Most of it's true, anyway.

I need a cigarette.

Well, they will be illegal soon.

Drugs such as cocaine and opium have
a proven medicinal use.

But tobacco? Well, that's known to
be harmful.

The government will have to pass
a law against it. Do you see what I
see?

A mess?
A business plan.

Someone's looking to create
a monopoly in the opium business

by eliminating the opposition one by
one.

And as your newspaper
quite rightly says,

he's "still at large".

I suppose you're going to give me
his name and address ?

Professor Moriarty.

Last known residence:
the London sewer system.

Well, he's dead.

That's what I thought, Watson.

It seems I have just given him
an alibi for all of this.

Well, how can you possibly think
he's still alive?

The Professor signed his handiwork...

..and they never found the body.

Are you sure about this, Holmes?

If Moriarty is still alive and
planning a new criminal venture,

you have to go to the police!

My reputation is based solely on the
fact that I killed Moriarty!

If I now tell them he's still alive,
do you think they'll believe me?

They'll laugh!

Which is, of course, exactly what he
planned all along.

He set me up from the very beginning,
Watson.

When I first met you, Holmes,
I took you for an arrogant
publicity seeker,

but now I've seen your work, I
realise that I was wrong.

You are a great detective, Holmes!

It's good of you to say so, Watson.

Well...

I shall leave you to your tidying.

Another invention, Watson?

Yes.

You carry an ordinary sword-stick,

but this is the future.

Rifle-stick. Fires a single
.45 calibre bullet

with incredible accuracy.

Cock it with a simple twist of the
handle. Press the trigger to fire.

Just one bullet?

Yes.

So I think I'll stick with this.

Well, you may find a use for it.

Come on.

So where are you taking me, then,
Watson?

Thought a family reunion might do
you good.

We're going to see Mycroft.

How did you know about my brother?

You're not the only one around here
with detectional skills, you know!

As your doctor, I needed to know who
was your next of kin.

I checked some of your papers and
found Mycroft.

Watson, I can't talk to him now.

I saw the whole thing happen.

I was 12 years old.

There's nothing you could've done
for him, Holmes.

It's a miracle he survived.

But how can I now tell him that
Professor Moriarty is still alive?

We are not here to talk about
Moriarty.

I've spoken to your brother.
He's looking forward to seeing you

and to playing your "old game",
whatever that might be.

Mycroft!

Married, two children. Lives
in Southwark. Born in Southwark.

Works in a public house.
The shoes?

Of course! Husband
has a drinking problem.

Invalided out of the army
four years ago.

Not her.

Er, non-commissioned officer
in the Royal Artillery.

Served in India, recently discharged.
A child... Children.

Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry. At
least two children.

One is over five years old,
the other less than two months.

His wife died giving birth
to that child.

Oh, this is too much!

Watson, look at the way he holds
himself and the colour of his skin.

Clearly, he's a soldier.
He's more than a private.

Recently been in India. He's still
wearing his ammunition boots,

which means he's only
just left the Services.

Doesn't walk like a cavalryman,
but he obviously wore his hat on one
side.

You can see the lighter skin on the
left half of his face.

Too stocky to have been a sapper,
which leaves us with the artillery.

He's in mourning for someone close.

The fact that he's doing his own
shopping suggests it's his wife.

He's been buying gifts for children,

one of reading age,
the other an infant.

It's most impressive!

So I understand from Dr Watson here
that you believe that...

Moriarty is still alive?

Sorry, Holmes.
It was the only way I could think
of to get you back to work.

Please. You did the right thing,
Doctor.

I feel perfectly safe here.

Anyway, I always thought the whole
thing sounded a little too simple.

There was nothing simple about it,
Mycroft, I can assure you.

Oh, I've no doubt the Professor put
on a good show, Sherlock.

He's outwitted us all in his time.

I want you to tell me how you
tracked him down

from the very beginning.

Well, I was recently approached by
a young lady

by the name of Isabella DeWinter.

She told me she was being
blackmailed...

..and that was the last I saw of him.

Brilliant. Quite brilliant!

I have my moments.
I was referring to the Professor.

He stayed one step ahead of you
all along.

Still, you mustn't
be too down on yourself.

You came a darned sight closer to
catching him than anyone else.

And I still failed.

His plan was flawless.

Almost.

The girl.
Precisely!

Charming, beautiful
and utterly convincing.

Perhaps she was an actress. Which
means she can be easily found.

And then what? Let myself be
humiliated all over again?

This isn't that game any more,
Mycroft!

You think I don't know that?

You don't think I haven't sat here
every day and wondered what my life
would've been like

if things had been different
all those years ago?

This is not
what's stopped me
going after him.

It's this. I know my limitations.

I know what it is to be frightened,

to run away from yourself.

You must not do the same!
After what happened?

Why on earth shouldn't I?
Because you're different.

You're better than he is. You're
much stronger than I ever was!

I know this is personal, Sherlock,
but just for one minute

I want you to forget about me...

..and consider the bigger picture.

This is a man who staged his own
death

to cover up a string of murders.

Imagine the time, effort and
resources that must have taken!

The only possible explanation

is that he's planning something

that will change the face of crime
for ever!

Maybe change the whole world.

He's already known as the most evil
man in England.

Imagine what it would be like...

if he was a hundred times, a
thousand times more powerful!

Nobody would be able to touch him!

He has to be stopped. You're the
only one that can do that, Sherlock.

The door is open.

Find the girl - find the man.

Finish off what you started!

You can be very persuasive.

I didn't know
you still had it in you.

Thank you, Mycroft.

Mr Holmes?
How do you do?

Here's something for you.
Thank you, sir. This way, sir.

Sit here, sir.

Next!

Next...

Thank you, ladies.
We'll be in touch.

Those are the last, Mr Holmes.

It could be you're talking about
Rebecca Doyle.

Well, I'd like to get in touch with
her by tomorrow.

Oh!

If you don't mind slumming, you
might try the King's Arms in
Whitechapel.

She normally goes there.
Well, when she's not working here.

Thank you...ladies.

Whisky, please.

I'll wait by the doorway.

I'm looking for Rebecca Doyle.

I might be able to offer her a job.

Harry... Harry!

Excuse me.

What sort of job?

I'm putting on the new Wilde play
at my theatre across the water

and there might just be a part in it
for you.

I got offered another job today.

I turned it down cos I didn't like
the conditions.

The money?
Sleeping with the producer.

I haven't stooped that low...yet.

Well, you need have no worries
there, Miss Doyle.

It's only your acting talents
that I am interested in.

Have you seen me perform?

My Desdemona?

No, your Lady Isabella DeWinter !

It's not you. All I need to know
is who hired you.

I don't know
what you're talking about.

The man who hired me never
told me his name.

What did he look like?

Tall, nice clothes...

A gentleman.
And where did you meet?

Backstage at the Playhouse.

He came to see me.

What colour was his hair?
-I don't remember.

He was wearing a hat. A grey one.

And his shoes?
Brown...I think.

You're lying, Miss Doyle.

About his shoes?

About everything.

That is a disgusting suggestion!

You bloody pervert!
Is this man bothering you, miss?

Yes!

Boxing blue at Cambridge.

So you think she was lying?

No gentleman wears brown shoes with
a grey hat.

Of course. Come on, Watson. There's
not much time.

Before what?
Before she dies.

Miss Doyle!

Go on! Go on, get off! Go on!

Get off!

You must come with me.

Don't worry. You're perfectly safe
here.

Now can you tell me anything at all
about the man who hired you?

I was working at the Albany,
in the chorus line.

Two men came up to me backstage,
paid me half upfront.

They even let me keep the dresses.

You should get some sleep.

I'll send for your things and we'll
go over everything in the morning.

Is that you, Mr Holmes?

Couldn't sleep.

Nor can I.

First thing tomorrow, I'll leave
London. I'll get out of your way.

I'm afraid he'll find you.

I can only protect you if you stay
here.

I'm sorry I lied to you.

You're the only person who's trusted
me and been honest all along.

If you want the truth, Miss Doyle,

I want him to come after you.

If he reveals himself,
then I can catch him.

Stay here.

It seems that rumours of my demise
have been greatly exaggerated !

Of course, you knew that,
didn't you?

You followed the clues I've left
rather successfully.

You just couldn't help yourself,
could you, Professor?

You couldn't resist emerging
from the shadows.

We both owe it to our public to stay
in the limelight.

I thought it was more appropriate
when you were in the sewers !

No more games, Professor.

Please, Holmes,
not the old sword-stick!

Get into the 19th century!

I didn't see that coming.

That's twice.

Let's go for a ride.

I'm sure you'll be interested
in my latest discovery.

A new alkaloid of morphine, perhaps?

Again, I'm impressed.
Dr Watson found traces in the brain
stems of each of your victims.

Seems your new-found friend is not
as dull as he looks.

Did he tell you how the drug worked?

No, but I'm sure you're going to.

This is five times more powerful
than morphine.

Ten times more addictive.

People kill for it.

They steal the food
from their children's mouths
for a single injection.

An interesting idea, Professor.

Building a criminal empire on
a product that isn't even illegal.

Not yet, but one must always
anticipate the future.

And when the
government does
ban the drug completely,

prices will simply
go through the roof

and I'll still control the entire
market.

What do you plan to call yourself,
Professor?

A drug dealer?
I prefer the title "drug baron".

As we speak, a large shipment is on
its way to America.

They're going to love it over there!

Unfortunately, we haven't had much
time for clinical trials.

So you are going to help me...

..determine the precise fatal dose.

Oh, one last thing.

The clinical name for the drug is
"dihydromorphine".

I am still looking for the right
street name,

so if you have any ideas before you
die, I'd be grateful.

It needs to be something heroic!

Run along, Sherlock.

GO!

Do you have any proof
that he's been abducted?

Well, not exactly,

but it's the only possibility that
makes any sense.

I see.

Tell me, Dr Watson,

who would do such a thing?

Right.

I've got nothing to lose!

Oh...

I'd get out of his way.

God, that drunk! Get him away.

Whoa!
Come on, then! Whoa!

Baker Street.

Show me how to do this.

I want to be able to take care of
him.

It's quite simple.

According to my colleague in Vienna,

who has much experience in these
matters,

the idea is to lower
the dosage slowly...

..to aid withdrawal.

All right?

Thank you.

My brother fought in the Boer
campaigns.

He came back from the Cape with one
leg...

..and a terrible craving for
morphine.

What happened to him?

He left home after about a year.

I never saw him again.

No. No more.

You should be in bed.

I'm fine. We've got to find out
that warehouse. That's where he is.

It's hopeless, Watson.
Nothing's coming back.

I think we're getting close, Watson.

Take her away.

We cannot do this alone, Holmes!

There's no time, Watson. I'm not
letting him escape again.

This is not just about you and
Moriarty!

Think of those drugs that you told
me about.

We have to prevent any of them
getting out onto the streets

and we cannot do this on our own!

Let me fetch the police.

I need to get Lestrade.
All right, but be quick.

Mr Holmes, I can't see anything
untoward here.

It all looks perfectly peaceful.

I'm not in the habit of lying,
Inspector. Professor Moriarty is in
there.

So you say, but since you're
the only one that's seen him,

can I really be expected
to believe you?

We cannot enter this building
without a court order.

I've had a very busy day trying
to keep up with you, Mr Holmes.

So, what's the story, then?

I have no comment.

We're about to arrest the most
dangerous criminal gang in England.

Not without a court order,
we're not!

"Police Miss Golden Opportunity
Again"? I can live with that.

Oh, can you ? Even if it's not
true?

We can always print a retraction
next week.

We do this my way.

This is a complete waste of time and
resources! They won't find anything
in this place.

As you were saying, Inspector ?

Watson...

This is outrageous!

We're in London, for God's sake -
not the Wild West!

THIS IS THE POLICE!

YOU'RE ALL UNDER ARREST!

Always one step ahead...

Well, he can't have gone far.

So you were right about the drugs,

but next time, with Moriarty,
if you do find him...

..kill him again.
Mr Holmes!

This is the man you want to talk to.

Oh, very modest, Mr Holmes!

Well, I suppose you could do
with a bit of good publicity
for a change, Inspector!

Er...

Rebecca! Rebecca!

Rebecca!

We're walking into a trap, Watson.

I think you should go back.

Huh!

Maybe we should split up.

Be careful.

Holmes! Just the man.

Professor Moriarty!

It's time. Put that revolver down in
front of you.

And your stick.

Let her go. This is
between you and me.

No, this is an unexpected bonus.

Of course I knew you'd come running
to the aid of a damsel in distress,

but oh, did you care for her!

It's so...oh, touching,

seeing two young people falling
in love ! You've got me.

What else could you possibly want?

What do I want?

The rest of your life to be a living
hell!

I want you to realise that she might
have lived a very long life

but because of you, that's not going
to happen.

Just one thing.

Aargh!

Nice try, Holmes.

It's a little late for heroics.

Watch me carefully.

I want this image to live with you
a long time.

Ugh!

Do you love him?

Well?

Yes.

No!

I'll hunt you down to the ends of the
earth!

Well, can't have that.

I'm afraid this is going to hurt.

What are you writing, Watson?

Oh, my casebook.

Recently it's started to make rather
interesting reading.

I've updated this for you.

Thought you might like to remember
recent events.

I think I'd rather trust posterity
with that diary of yours, Watson.

I think I finally got
this contraption to work.

Watson, have you noticed that people
send the strangest gifts
during a convalescence?

From my Aunt Agatha. Quite mad...

..and convinced that the cure for any
ill is to..."wrap up warm".

Oh, which reminds me.

I have something here that I've been
meaning to give you for days.

Thank you, Watson.
You'll be doubly grateful when
they make cigarettes illegal.

Here, put the hat on.

And look this way.

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