All language subtitles for Sherlock.Holmes.Mare.Of.The.Night.2025.1080p.WEBRip

..

..

She killed.

Do you think it was Jack?

Oh, God.

This is horrible.

I apologize for the theatrics,

but I felt it necessary

to keep you voiceless for the moment.

If you do not mind.

Actually I do. If you-

I believe I now know why he
moved out here to the country.

Pardon?

It would appear that even
with all the hate in this world,

he was able to find a modicum of beauty.

Apologies, where are my manners? Please.

I'm sorry, sir,

but I don't understand why I am here.

You are a writer, are you not?

Just starting out actually.

And you have not been
corrupted? No meddling in politics?

You still have a mind of your own yet?

Last time I checked, sir.

All clear, Inspector Lestrade.

Thank you, Inspector Baynes.

I appreciate your generosity in this matter.

Of course, one of my men will be back in the morning

for any further assistance.

Gentlemen.

Morning?

It really is quite peaceful out here.

No sounds of the city.

No sounds at all, really.

Just silence.

Enough to bring happiness to most,

and to a select few

madness, I should imagine.

As you'll see, Inspector.

I hear you're an educated
man graduating from Edinburgh

in the field of medicine and
surgery, if I recall correctly.

Yes sir.

Yet, although a man of science,

there have been whispers amongst your peers

that you've been a...

Spiritualist of sorts.

It would seem the theatrics has now turned

into an interrogation.

If my personal fascinations

are the reason you brought me here,

then I would say we are done, Inspector.

Your fascination with spiritualism

is the reason you are here in the first place.

Sir?

Tell me, are you a man of art?

As much as any man, I would say.

And do you know of a painting called "The Nightmare"?

Yes, I've seen it a few times.

It's the one with the mare, if I recall.

And the mare in the painting, do you know its meaning?

Meaning?

I believe common knowledge would say it's a horse.

Common knowledge, or a
common consensus amongst those

of more limited intellect?

Come.

There's something I need to show you

for the mare has another meaning.

My God!

Quite the gallery, wouldn't you say?

Fascinating.

I've never seen anything like this.

Inspector, the other meaning,

the mare in the painting,

what was its purpose?

In a word: evil,

but from what I've been able to research,

it's some kind of preternatural being,

one that causes nightmares.

Nightmares, like the ones you now see around you.

Yes. The devil's work.

The devil, demons, madness, brilliance, love.

A man's mind is full of such sins and corruptions.

We all walk amongst such lines in this world.

When you truly think about it, we're all very fragile.

One misstep, just one,

we fall and we break.

Is this what happened to your friend, Inspector,

the one you speak of?

No. No, the man I speak of did not break.

He shattered.

When you're ready.

What was in that room was...

Where there was drawings
of suffering, loss, anger, pain,

a nightmare's dream, no doubt was it.

But one stood out to me as I was leaving, Inspector.

Not all of the drawings in that room were

from your friend, were they?

I noticed another, just one,

but it stood out to me,

drawn with love and heartbreak

to capture such a man who
looks to have taken on the world

a hundred times within constant losses.

And yet, he still finds a way to rise.

He doesn't want to, but he has to.

Not for himself, but for another.

As to the person that drew that picture,

drawn by a woman's hand, if I'm not mistaken,

plus I noticed two small
fingerprints along the edge,

much too small for a man's hand

and well, a child able to draw such a piece out here

in the middle of nowhere,

it's not likely.

Not to mention, I don't know of too many artists

able to draw themselves with such meanings

as I've just spoken of.

Therefore, the only outcome that makes sense

would be that it was a woman.

What?

Nothing.

Earlier you asked me why
I requested you here tonight.

And to be honest, I'd heard you were different

from other, more established writers.

And I feel the speech you just gave

backs some of my theory as well.

Your practice under Dr. Bell

and your belief in the other side, as they say,

is a trait much needed in such a case.

No need to look so worried.

I've seen enough in my day to know

that there is something else out there besides us.

You should receive no judgment from me.

Yes. Well, thank you, sir.

That is a subject not too fond amongst our peers.

Well, I'm not one of your peers

and to understand the case I'm about to tell you,

having that kind of knowledge

will come in very handy indeed.

Believe me.

What case would that be, Inspector?

Hello?

Hello.

It has always fascinated me the ease

with which a fly wander into a web.

Does it truly not see it

or is it mindless to it?

And as such, merely a creation

to fill the belly of its superior.

The spider, of course.

I meant no intrusion. I-

Or, perhaps she is not a fly at all.

But a serpent,

slithering into the burrow
of the unwitting mongoose.

Could her innocent nature

have lulled me into a false sense of comfort?

She does not dress to impress one after all,

nor is her dress that of an assassin.

But why? The question is why.

Well, yes, of course, it is. It's always the question.

But her motives are intriguing.

Yes, quite indeed.

I did not mean to upset,

but I was told that Mr. Holmes
lives at this establishment.

Tell me,

how does one get to her place

with only a lantern to brighten her path

to said destination?

Pardon?

Answer!

Moonlight. The moon was my guide.

Yes, that is correct. Moonlight.

Well, done.

Well, done.

A rare thing, moonlight.

It's a natural on-and-off light source.

Not like the sun. No, no, no, no, no.

With the sun though, a cloud may cover thee,

and still you can see the light,

you can see the figures.

But with the moon,

one can all but disappear.

Mr. Holmes?

Mr. Holmes, I did not seek you out to play games.

Oh, that is what life truly is. Is it not?

One big game of life, death, spider web,

which truly is an unfair game when you think about it,

but it matters not.

This game is over.

I suggest you leave, little fly.

Someone that hides in the shadows

out in the middle of nowhere

waiting for the right
moment to cite riddle intellect

to the first person to arrive late one night?

Seems a bit much.

Tell me, how long did you have this rehearsed?

Or does your brain actually register

at the level of an adolescent schoolboy

trying to impress strangers
who wish not to be impressed?

Well played, little spider. Well played.

Am I dying?

Yes.

I don't want to go.

I know.

I'm hideous.

No! Not at all.

You...

You are beautiful

Holmes, you need to wake up.

Watson?

Yes, it's me.

What are you doing on the floor?

I...

I wish I know you were coming.

I wish I picked up the place a bit.

Nevermind that. It's nearly midday, Holmes.

You need to get up.

Might I suggest a bath and a shave, perhaps?

Watson?

Yes, Holmes?

So good to see you.

Are you okay?

Will you stay? I might have a new case.

We could team up, like all times.

Mary's waiting.

Of course. I understand.

All right, my friend,

the bath and a shave perhaps.

Seriously.

Watson?

So good to see you.

And you, old boy. I'll see you soon.

Your note was formidable.

I researched my opponent.

Researched?

Or found an old friend who told you how to engage.

Does it matter?

Yeah.

Now, if you will excuse me,

this school boy needs to finish his art project.

You finished the moment I walked in.

Did you not?

Tell me, girl, these drawings on the wall,

you have yet to look at any?

Why?

They have no meaning on my current task.

No meaning?

For all the which you've shown me these last few days,

you are truly blind to the writings on the wall.

By meaning?

How you see the world.

That is a novice answer. Look deeper.

Let them see you as you see them.

Malice.

Destructive.

Vile.

Monstrous.

The touch of the devil amongst the living.

A darkness with no end.

But even in death,

beauty and hope

and pain and love.

These drawings are of your past.

Past cases.

Loved ones.

This is your life.

Was.

Excuse me?

Was my life.

What you see before you

is nothing more than a room full of haunted memories.

Constant, never wavering memories.

Most I keep locked away,

but some find a way to escape.

Forcing my hand to the drawings you see before you.

Why are you here?

I have a case.

Lestrade should have told you,

I stopped taking cases years ago.

He did.

He still showed up on my doorstep

and the daft of assistant.

But I believe

you will find it futile, my child.

He said you would say that as well.

Then you already know how this conversation ends.

Now, show yourself out.

Mary.

Don't!

Mr. Holmes?

Get out.

Holmes?

Holmes!

Holmes! Holmes!

Get away!

No! You stay away from me!

Stay away!

Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Holmes, it's okay.

It's okay. You're okay.

You're okay.

You're okay.

It's okay.

Oh, good. You're awake.

Why are you still here?

Was I supposed to just leave you there?

What happened to you?

Went a little mental, if you don't mind me saying.

How long have I been in there?

Almost two days.

I got some fresh water from the creek

just (indistinct) from here.

I made some stew as well. You need to eat something.

I will be leaving soon.

Good.

Just for the evening.

I'll fill you in on tonight's events in the morning.

Wait, what?

My case?

I received an invitation to
an underground months back

for tonight's event.

The information I was going to share with you

before your episode.

I figured it's a good place to start

and try and get some answers.

An underground is no place
for a child such as yourself.

And if you receive such an invitation,

it would not be by chance but with a purpose.

Your appearance will be their again, not yours.

You do realize that these medicines, these chains

are what keep you confined to this place.

I do.

And you welcome it with open arms

to continue the onslaught of horrors

you just endured a few nights ago?

That's the remainder of your life?

It's no longer live but to suffer.

You misinterpret the usage of these necessities.

Without these chains you see before you,

I would no longer be able to keep such horrors at bay.

Without them, I unlocked the door to such events

as you witnessed a few nights ago,

and that, my dear, is not a road I wish to travel.

Why not go without

and confront such demons with the purpose

of understanding their reason?

Perhaps within you would find the answers

that you've been longing for all these years.

Answers that would lead you to your salvation.

And what would you know

of such reasons?

Have you ever seen a person murdered,

a child who's been raped and mutilated

and looking to you to save them

and knowing in your heart they've already been lost

to this world?

Women ripped open

like a knife to the letter?

And your own hands,

your own hands

the cause of another life to cease in such days

as would make a God weep for the creation

he's placed upon this world.

Salvation.

No.

As before, your observance
of your surroundings is delayed

and you come to a conclusion with such ease,

without even a chance for your clues to breathe.

You are quick to the only task that matters, your own.

I have no doubt there are places of serenity,

but you'll find none here.

Go home, child.

I will be back in the morning

to discuss the details of what I find tonight.

No, you won't.

I will.

Farewell, child.

Sherlock Holmes? I've never heard of him.

No. Not many have.

He tends to live a private life helping out

when he so chooses,

depending on the severity of one's case, of course.

I see. What would his occupation be then?

Some sort of a private inspector?

That's a good way to look at it.

Although I'm not entirely sure

my friend would agree with you.

But no, defining my friend in this way

is not the reason I brought you here this evening.

Yes, thank you.

I wish you to write an account

of my friend's cases, his adventures,

stories for the public.

You wish for me to write stories? To what purpose?

The city lies in constant fear.

A shroud of perpetual darkness as it were.

We are in desperate need of a light.

Sherlock Holmes could bring hope to those

who are truly lost, and I owe it to my friend,

for a man who gave so much to everyone,

all of us,

should never be forgotten.

Yes.

Well, you have certainly
captured my attention, Inspector.

However I...

Please let me fetch a... It's fine.

It's fine.

Apologies again, Inspector.

About the wine. I hope, it was no great expense.

Inspector?

Inspector, are you all right?

How can you let her go?

She's not my problem.

She is your only chance at redemption,

chance to pull yourself out of this darkness

and you leave her to this passing

when you know she will not return?

What a disappointment you are.

What if I'm at disappointment?

Where does that mean to you, friend?

If you have something to say, speak clearly.

You are the one who chose incorrectly.

You, not me.

How dare you?

How can you say this to me of all people?

Because it is the truth.

Out of all my cases, all my convictions,

this guilt that has haunted me so,

should be yours at a minimum share to softer the blow.

But yet here, we are.

Your riddles, like your mind.

Continue to diminish, my friend.

You must speak more clearly,

if I'm to understand your logic.

Please.

Your face that day.

You remember the day which I speak.

Your face spoke louder

to me than any word ever could.

That you still try to deny the truth

of your feelings lost in that moment.

But I know,

I know the truth because I know you.

I know you.

You do.

And because you do,

you should understand the reasoning

behind my actions that day.

But you let your mind twist your reasoning

to the point of no fault in your actions taken

or not taken.

In the end, you hide from the one action

that fears you the most.

The why.

It is the why, my friend, that you run from

and that you must confront

if you are ever to heal these inflicting wounds

you've created upon yourself.

The why.

The why.

Let's test your theory,

dear doctor.

Why is it always on me?

Why were you unable

to save your wife?

Why are others unable, such as yourself,

to accept responsibility for their own actions.

For when the outcome becomes fatal,

the why is not going to be at my doorstep

waiting on my every minute of my existence.

Like a horror tale from Poe,

I fear I've become the monster

that I spent my life trying to submerge

beneath the surface

to protect the innocent.

But as the sense of time move forward, I...

I feel that my existence is seeking

to the point where my only
options are either to drown

or to become the monster I feel yet

on the pages of Poe.

The why

is no longer relevant,

as it's been destroyed

by the convictions

you hold off for me.

Although I would ask for understanding

and mercy from my brother,

the truth is

I made a choice that night

to save the person that I love.

And if that makes me wicked,

then what is love?

I let the emotion

of fear rush over me,

for the loss of losing you

would be more than I could bear.

And although the hurt

of choosing wrongly

will never heal,

surely you could see

why I did not act for the same reason as you owe.

I had to make a choice, Watson.

I'm sorry.

You are sorry?

You let the woman I love,

that you could have saved, die

and you are sorry?

Watson.

Watson, please listen to reason.

Do you know the difference between you and I, Holmes?

I tried to save my wife and I failed.

You could have saved her. You let her die.

You let her die.

You are the reason she's dead.

And your reasoning,

no matter how much you twist that reason,

it will haunt you to the end of your days.

Goodbye, Holmes.

Watson.

Watson!

Watson!

Watson!

Watson!

Watson!

Ah, there she emerges like a siren from the mist.

How thrilling you've managed to navigate your way

to our humble gathering.

I'm sorry. Do you know me?

Indeed, for I am you and you are me.

And we're all one in this afterlife, are we not?

Forged in the fires of Tartarus,

melded our souls eternally searching for reason,

one that your case answers perhaps.

How do you know?

Youth not yet matured for the riches

of reason or enlightenment,

they seek only one objective: answers.

But do not fret

or I feel this night may grant you what you deserve.

Deserve?

Alas, my tongue moves when it should not.

Follow me.

The knowledge you seek lie inside with the mother

of all monsters.

And if I refuse?

We all have choices, my dear.

Come.

What is this?

Shh.

I long to revel in your transformation.

Enjoy, my love.

Yeah!

Did you know,

on all accounts, Medusa, Valek,

producer of snakes in stone,

a woman who was raped, killed, beheaded,

by various cults

was still able to bring beauty into this world,

even after the removal of her head.

It is said, after the removal by a man, Perseus,

a Pegasus flew from her body

representing the true godlike powers,

, cold-blood.

As the stories of writers, scholars, poets,

all men grew over time,

so does the story of our fallen sister,

turning her into what today men would call a monster.

Until one day. a woman by the name of so explains,

the monster's image that we know Medusa to be

is only to be because men.

An actuality, men don't have
the power to oppress women.

In fact, it is women who give them this power

by believing in such oppressive attempts.

All we must do is move past our own fears.

If we can do this, we could look Medusa

straight on, without fear of reprisal from it.

We wouldn't see snakes, stone, or death.

But a beautiful woman standing strong,

watching men shrink in fear

and laughing as they do so.

Now, when with us, Miss Scarlett,

are you in fact the Perseus of this story

here to do the bid of a man

who hides away from the horrors that he has created

and now endures?

Are you a woman who stands past

in front of the serpent before
you and sees past with men

what have you believed to be evil?

Please, sit.

The lives are devastated, shown through the arts,

as it actually is, wouldn't you say?

The fallen angel becomes the (indistinct).

Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful.

Very good.

And how right you are.

It truly is a wonder to me

how women, the closest thing to a God

is falling to a worldly men.

Shall he portrays this in her writing

for although the seed must be planted,

it is a woman who truly nurtures the child,

Victor could not do such an act,

could not love his creation.

He abandoned it without hesitation,

unable to look past the shell
of the one that he created

for his own selfish reasons.

And why?

To play God.

A misunderstood creation, longing for the love

and approval of his father.

A man.

If only the being would've been created by a woman,

it would've been loved, nurtured, saved.

Such beauty only a mother could understand.

This world needs to understand

that man is not the creation of life,

but the destruction of what we are

and what they crave the most, life.

Only we can create

a power a Frankenstein could not comprehend

for such responsibilities go way past

the knowledge of science.

Shelly puts this in her writing for, although to men,

I'm sure they read it as a horror story about a monster.

In reality, it is a failure to recognize the humanity

of those who don't look

or love the way society has labeled us.

A society of men who continue
to force what we should be

instead of accepting who we are.

Something this precious world
never seems to understand.

But I do.

I do, because I have endured it with, Scarlet.

And I assure you, monsters are not born.

They are created by the cruelty of men.

May I speak freely?

You may.

You've been hurt.

I understand your message,

but does such loss give you the right

to inflict such death upon men?

Your argument of equality,

of women being superior of men has merit,

but to inflict such pains,

to go to war on mankind with such brutal tactics,

would this not in turn make you the monster

you speak so passionately about?

There is no love or nourishment in what you do here.

And all the parties, the speeches

and the killings of men

that will not bring back the one that you lost.

If cruelty is the ingredient of men,

then all I see here is a woman becoming the one thing

she fears most,

a man playing God.

You are very beautiful,

brave, strong,

ignorant like your mother,

before I put a bullet in her brain.

What?

Oh, Beastie, did you think it was coincidence,

you being here tonight, your
father's case, the invitation,

me knowing who you are in a crowd?

Oh, child, I have been orchestrating your part,

since the day you were born.

Now, perhaps you would
like to retract your statement

for I truly am the only god that you've ever know.

I don't understand.

You are wrong.

You are wrong.

My parents died in a fire eight months ago.

In America.

Yes, I know.

The screams are truly haunting.

But I'm sure by now you realize

those were not your parents.

, I'm afraid.

One set up by that fool, Sherlock.

But I'm sure he's explained this to you

over the last few days during your visitations.

Unless...

You didn't tell them who you are.

Well played, Beastie.

My parents... You-

You... Shh-shh-shh.

Don't touch judgment.

Savor the meal that lies before you.

In time, all will be revealed.

But tonight, you are my guest,

and as my guest it is my duty to protect you.

Take Holofernes here,

when you arrived, he was going to have his way with you.

Then discarded you like the
object he believes you are.

Isn't that right, Holofernes?

What?

I but wanted to meet, to speak with her, I swear.

We both know that's not the truth.

You're confused. My name is Charles.

I'm not this Holofernes you speak of.

Granted, you are no Assyrian general,

but tonight you are, Holofernes.

I guarantee it.

The artist Caravaggio

really captures the power of woman in this piece.

It's a shame. It's been discarded
for quite some time now.

Or lost by the world of men.

Hmm, we wouldn't want women getting such thoughts

in our minds, now would we?

The mess would be quite severe.

You're insane.

Do your know, I really despise that word.

I have a family, two daughters. I wouldn't hurt a woman.

I swear!

Judith! Come here, darling.

Judith, she was nothing. Nothing.

A misunderstanding.

Truth lies in reveal. Wouldn't you say?

Judith, I apologize.

I had a day. You know my family.

Please, please, I'll pay you anything.

Join me, darling.

She was not born a monster, Miss Scarlett.

And I'm not playing god.

You'll not (indistinct). Do you understand?

Begin.

Invigorating.

Beautiful performance, my darling.

Thank you.

I can't breathe.

There's an elderly man coming.

Sherlock Holmes.

Should we proceed?

No.

No.

Not tonight.

Oh, there she is.

Great detective.

Woman! That woman, she-

What were you thinking?

What?!

I was doing what you refused to do!

What? Getting yourself killed?

Finding answers!

Clearly.

This woman, she knows things about me.

She has done horrible acts to people in my life

and I don't understand how it's possible.

Okay, gather your belongings

and get the hell out.

That's it, you're just gonna toss me aside

to lay idle like some bloody stone in a river!

You truly do not care, do you?

I said, get out!

What happened to you?

Lestrade spoke of a better man!

That man is dead.

Death? Death is something we have in common.

No.

You know nothing about death.

I just witnessed a man's beheading!

I've lost people.

Okay.

And you believe that is the
definition of death, do you?

That we stand on common ground?

You have no idea what death is capable of.

Are you kidding me?

Listen to me!

He spreads through your mind, through your body

and, without you even realizing it,

he begins tapping,

tapping, tapping,

until eventually, you are at the front door

with your arms open wide,

welcome him into your life, into your very soul.

You no longer care about the people of this world.

You are now his pupil.

Someone to do his bidding for him,

while he watches from the heavenly shores

laughing at you while you do so.

You have no idea who death is.

I am dead.

Then why save me tonight?

You knew.

When I left, you knew.

And you decided to save me. Why?

You're right, I have not lived your life.

But Lestrade spoke of a man who confronted death

to save the innocent.

He did not do his bidding.

And so, with all due respect, Mr. Holmes,

perhaps everything you just said is bullshit.

Why did you save me tonight?

My case involves my father.

He's been missing for some time now.

How long has he been absent?

Since before I can remember.

It has been an interesting 72 hours.

But we are done.

Your desperation has a stint of hope

that does not belong in this world.

You are not using

any of your logic

and you are relying entirely on emotion

to truly believe that your father,

after all this time, not only is still alive,

but wants to have anything to do with you,

is a slap in the face of the nakedness of reality.

Do not be so naive.

It is how someone loses this game.

Oh, at least now I know how you lost.

Get out.

You can't keep hiding from the world. It needs you.

I need you.

Hope is not the downfall.

Hope is what keeps the ones we love alive.

I said, get out!

No!

I refuse to be lectured to by some child

who knows none of what she speaks.

You know nothing of me and my life.

And you mean nothing to me in my life.

You mean everything to mine.

What?

Why do you say such things?

Why do you continue to haunt me so?

What do you want from me?

You want me to confess that I failed?

I want you to find my father.

I can't.

Why?

Why can't you find my father?

What are you so afraid of?

Everything!

All right?

Everything.

This will not give you the ending

your heart desires.

I'll be none the worst,

but you will never be the same.

This game, this reality

has no ending

that will put a smile on such innocence.

No matter what I do,

no matter how many lives I save,

we lose.

I lost. Do you understand?

I lost everything.

And so will you.

747.

What?

747.

According to Lestrade and
the records at Scotland Yard,

that is how many lives that
you've saved in your lifetime.

Lestrade says there's hundreds more, including his,

including mine from a little while ago.

You may have fallen,

but I don't believe that you've lost, Mr. Holmes.

And neither do any of the other people

that you saved.

Please.

Help me.

I'm not afraid.

You will be.

You will be.

What?

What?

Child!

Child!

The door is locked.

You have to face your fears, Mr. Holmes.

This is the only way.

Open the door.

I need the man that Lestrade spoke of.

It's time for you to emerge from the shadows,

and no more hiding.

Woman, open the door.

I'm sorry, but I won't. I'll check on you in the morning.

Wait, wait, wait.

Please, please listen!

You don't understand! I can't do this!

Please, please, please don't make me do this.

You have no idea what harms me so.

I will not survive!

You can and you will.

How could you do this? I saved your life!

Now I'm going to save yours.

Please try and get some rest.

No! No, no!

Woman!

Woman!

No!

No, no, no, woman!

Woman! No!

No!

Sherlock Holmes.

What a regular dead head on top of a mop-stick

you have turned out to be.

The only true weakness

is that of three men upon an innocent woman.

Do not blame me for your deaths.

This was all your doing, not mine.

A fallen angel has put one purpose:

to please that to the superior being of man.

Tell that to your daughters

who are now six feet under.

Inspector?

Inspector, are you all right?

I learned at an early age the truth of this world.

A truth a child should only
witness in one's nightmares.

I'm not sure that I follow, Inspector.

What truth? What did you see?

A monster.

The first of many, I'm afraid.

Monster? As in this Ripper business?

Sir, truly, think bigger.

The Ripper is a simple-minded folk

killing prostitutes in the streets.

Mere entertainment for the press and the public,

newspapers, penny dreadfuls,

all making a pretty penny from such regularity.

Regularity?

I was once part of their regularity,

when I witnessed my mother's wither 40 years ago.

But what Jack has done to these women is nothing new.

The power of men inflict such
hurt and death upon women

has been around since the beginning of time.

Do you really think killing
prostitutes in the streets

is the worst of London's problems?

No. Of course, not.

No.

But it sell.

The poor houses, disease, starvation

takes the lives of innocent people daily.

But for that, the public, we

turn a blind eye,

numb to its very existence.

We carry on our lives until such a day comes,

when an evil is born to do
nothing but entertain the public.

My apologies about your mother, Inspector.

I have vivid recollections of my mother,

but only from that night.

In order to see her face, I must relive those events

through both love and tragedy,

as my mind will not allow me to separate the two.

As it is with everyone I have loved in this world.

All right, darling, one last stop,

then off to the theater.

Only be a few minutes.

Now, which one to choose tonight?

Ah, I know.

Oft in the stilly night-

Ere slumber's chains have bound me.

Oh, lover boy! You'll be a star one day.

I only mention her now

because I feel it belongs in our story.

As it would be, Sherlock Holmes had found me

moments after my mother's death.

Sherlock Holmes found you?

He saved you?

He vanquished the evil that took my mother's life.

As to whether he saved me or not,

well, that is up for debate.

Vanquished monsters? Killing monsters?

Perhaps.

I should leave it up to you what you take away

from this conversation tonight.

But know this, you were chosen for a reason.

You have something the others do not.

They will not be able to look past the darkness

to find the truth,

and sometimes to find a certain truth,

you must find bravery.

Many do not fear the unknown,
things they cannot explain.

They do not have to welcome it,

but at the very least, they
must understand its existence.

I believe, Inspector, we're one to explore such things

with sufficient curiosity.

One would find that the boundaries

that separate life from death

are, at best, shadowy and vague.

Who shall say whether one ends and the other begins?

I'm a writer, therefore I am not seen.

Ah, a fan of Edgar Allen Poe, Inspector.

No. I find his work a little dark for my taste.

But I do hope to become a fan of yours

in the very near future, Mr. Conan Doyle.

Please, call me Arthur.

Elizabeth...

Elizabetha, are you there?

I'm sorry. She was right.

She was right!

You should not be here!

No!

My kids are here. They come to me.

I pulled the trigger. She was right!

You hear me? I pulled the trigger.

They're dead. They're all dead.

They're coming for me.

They're coming for me! They're coming for me!

They're coming! They're coming for me!

They're coming for me!

You are sorry?

You let the woman I love, that you could have saved, die!

And you are sorry?

Watson...

Watson, please, listen to reason.

You know the difference between you and I, Holmes.

I tried to save my wife and I failed.

You could have saved her, but you left her to die.

You let her die!

You are the reason why she is dead.

And your reasoning,

no matter how hard you twist that reason,

will haunt you till the end of your days.

I have.

Watson?

Watson!

Watson!

Watson!

Watson!

Mary, please! Hold on!

Rose!

No!

Watson.

You could have saved her.

Why did you do nothing?

What's wrong?

I brought you dinner.

What's wrong, Sherlock?

What's wrong?

Hi.

How are you feeling today?

Well.

Good.

All right, I brought you some dinner.

It's all you!

Don't let it control you!

Control you.

No (indistinct)!

Good morning,

Child?

I- - I'm fine.

Okay.

Yeah, I gotta go.

Come on.

I'm...

May we have a moment?

Please.

Pardon?

Please, a moment.

I'm not in the mood for your charity.

Why do you continue to torture yourself?

Why are you asking me this question,

when you undoubtedly know the answer as well?

Maybe it's time for you to move on.

You know I will not.

Do not ask me to do so.

Holmes, it is time.

No.

No.

Do you hear me?

I will not, I shout out, and I have not.

Holmes, 20 years, old chap. You've lost.

The only loss that I have endured

is that of a person

I took into my life as a brother.

And it's so doing to lift the blow

to my heart, to my mind

that no enemy has ever inflicted.

I did not ask for this. I did not want this.

Neither did I.

Neither did Mary.

But having is far more impactful

in a person's life, than not,

no matter how painful those acts can become.

You are supposed to stay with me, Watson.

Holmes-

You were supposed to stay with me to the end.

Holmes, I'm right here.

Scarlett?

Your mother continues to haunt me.

What did you see?

Find you in your mother's arms.

Great Sherlock Holmes!

What's you doing here, James?