Original subtitles

We commend to Almighty God

our brother Warren Pendry.

Earth to earth,

ashes to ashes,

dust to dust.

The Lord bless him and keep him,

the Lord lift up his countenance upon him, and give him...

If the Lord had any sense at all,

he would kick Warren Pendry right up his ass

and send him to a very warm place indeed.

This is a private ceremony.

Leave now.

There's an injunction against you.

You can't be here.

Not until I've paid my respects, Lawrence.

So you prefer to be arrested?

No, no, I'd prefer,

if you don't mind,

to finish my business!

No, no, no, no,

ladies and gentlemen, please.

Don't go! Don't run away!

I'm an officer of the law!

Or at least I was an officer of the law,

until this man's dearly departed father

set an army of solicitors upon me,

and they did a dance on my reputation, did they not?

You ruined your own career.

This man, ladies and gentlemen,

this man standing before you,

he murdered his own wife Mary,

and this sorry

sack of bones spent God knows how much money

slandering me for trying to bloody prove it!

My case against you, Lawrence,

might be in tatters,

but that doesn't mean that he gets to go in the ground

without somebody standing up

and saying what he truly, truly was.

Hello, Warren.

It's me.

Lestrade.

You thought you took the you-know-what

out of me, didn't you?

You were wrong.

You're supposed to be at a meeting.

You receive my text?

"In pursuit of pigeons.

Need you Washington Square Park ASAP."

What does that mean, exactly?

As I sat in that church basement,

the droning of my fellow addicts

had a powerful hypnotic effect.

I had a breakthrough.

The problem at hand:

three U.S. Attorneys

have been murdered in the last year,

all of them involved in the prosecution

of a syndicate of pirates.

Yes, I know. I'm working on the case, too.

Well, precision in all things, Watson.

When one is constructing a geometric proof,

one must occasionally review the givens.

We believe a man called Jeromir Tomsa

has been hired by the Syndicate

to carry out these murders.

But we have no evidence

linking him to the crimes or the Syndicate.

We have no idea how they are communicating.

Had no idea, I should say.

What, you figured it out?

They use carrier pigeons.

Carrier pigeons.

I staked out Tomsa's apartment,

Lo and behold, he had a visit from a bird

with a message strapped round its foot.

He read the message, he scrawled a reply,

and he set the beast free.

I tracked it here.

You can follow a pigeon?

You can.

Now it's just a question of waiting to see

who comes along to read the message.

We'll have our connection.

Hey, watch it!

You've been tending to your self-defense.

Well done.

Department's got six guys grinding this case,

and you broke it open by following a bird.

Mm. Lost track of it now, though.

It's a shame to see all that training go to waste.

What are you gonna do with a carrier pigeon?

You know what?

I don't want to know. Happy hunting.

Ms. Watson, can I take a statement?

Sherlock Holmes.

Y-Yes, I'm fine, thank you.

What?

Oh, yes, of course.

Straightaway.

Do you have a current passport?

Uh, yes. Why?

Before I came to New York, I worked with

an Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard.

Just been informed he's got himself in a spot of trouble.

Needs my help.

To give it to him,

you and I will need to go to London.

♪ Elementary 2x01 ♪ Step Nine Original Air Date on September 26, 2013

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

My relationship with Lestrade started as a marriage

of convenience.

When it came to those at Scotland Yard

who agreed to work with me, he was the best

of a bad bunch.

He gave me access to sensitive cases,

I gave him answers.

You never mentioned him before.

We were never really that close.

Besides the fact that as a detective,

he was utterly adequate.

I could, at times, be quite cutting

in regards to his limitations.

I was a different person back then; I was less warm.

Hmm. Less?

Because I prefer to work in anonymity,

the glory of my casework was accrued to him.

Over the years, he became

accustomed to the spotlight.

Inevitably, he began to... crave it.

You might say I turned him into an addict.

Unfortunately for him,

by that time, I was myself

wrestling with my own far less metaphorical

addictions.

So...

he was exposed.

You feel guilty.

I'm well aware of the corrupting power of the spotlight.

I avoid it at all costs,

and yet I-I offered Lestrade up to it

like a sacrificial lamb.

Was he the one who called you?

Nope. DCI Hopkins.

Another ex-colleague.

He said, uh,

Lestrade had got himself into a spot of trouble,

issued a few threats.

The police have had trouble locating him,

so our mutual friend

thought I might be able to lend a hand.

It sounds like this is very personal.

Are you sure you want me to come along?

Well, without you, the airline might

seat me next to a morbidly obese person.

Or a child.

Or a morbidly obese child.

You know, when I first started working with you,

you mentioned that you left London in disgrace.

Have you thought about what it's gonna be like

when you go back there?

I'm a different man now, Watson.

It's a different city.

London is always a different city.

You know, I was thinking, since we're in London,

this might be a good opportunity

to work on step nine.

Step nine?

You think I should start making amends

to people I have harmed now?

Well, this... this Lestrade guy

seems like he qualifies.

Holmes.

DCI Hopkins.

Good to see you.

Good God, man.

You look exactly the same. As do you.

Save for the fact that you've gained

exactly one and a quarter stone

and your hairline's receded half a centimeter.

Hey, you're slipping.

I've gained exactly one and a half stone.

Oh, I'm not slipping;

I've just grown more courteous.

His name's Lawrence Pendry.

Son of Warren Pendry.

British media mogul.

Owns half the papers in England.

Owned.

Died last week, heart attack.

But we'll get to that.

13 months ago, Lawrence here,

he dialed 999 to say that

he and his wife walked in on

an armed intruder in their home.

There was a struggle between Lawrence and the man,

and the man's weapon fired, killing Mary.

Lestrade caught the case,

and he took an instant dislike

to Pendry; thought his statement

sounded rehearsed,

convinced himself that the scene was staged.

Trouble was, a neighbor heard the shot

that killed Mary at exactly 18:33.

Pendry dialed 999 at 18:36.

Our first car arrived not five minutes later.

Yet no gun was recovered at the scene.

So if Lawrence killed Mary,

then he had to get rid of the gun

in that eight-minute period.

After you left for the States, Lestrade struggled.

Cut some corners...

Whatever it took to close a case.

Warren Pendry proceeded to use his papers

to paint a very ugly picture,

not just of Lestrade, but of the Yard in general.

DCS had no choice but to suspend Lestrade,

pending an investigation.

When was this?

Two weeks ago. Now, back to Warren...

His funeral was three days ago.

Lestrade used this to make an appearance.

It's a fake. Nevertheless,

it's landed Lestrade

in a whole new world of trouble.

There's been a manhunt the last few days,

but it's turned up nothing.

Do you think he did it?

At least two dozen mourners saw the whole thing.

I'm not talking about Lestrade, I'm talking about Pendry.

Either way, it's not your concern.

I haven't asked you here to consult,

I asked you here to find him.

DCI Hopkins!

We still on for our meeting?

Oh, Mr. Pendry, you're early.

Well, I am being stalked by all of your colleagues.

You can't blame me for being early for an update, can you?

This is Mr. Holmes, who, with his associate

Miss Watson, are assisting in our search for Gareth Lestrade.

Hi. Hi.

I know you.

You're Lestrade's crutch.

Sorry, it's just...

over the course of the past year,

my attorneys have been compelled to do

quite a bit of research into Inspector Lestrade.

One of the many secrets they uncovered

was that you were the architect of his greatest successes.

You give me too much credit. I think you're the one

who gave too much credit.

Please don't misunderstand me, Holmes, I...

You're quite brilliant.

I only wish you'd been with Lestrade

the night Mary was killed.

Maybe the real killer would be in prison...

and the inspector would still have his job.

Thank you.

So, uh, this is your old place?

221B is

my original sanctum sanctorum.

It is the only aspect of my life in London

that I have truly missed.

Before I left for New York, I came to an arrangement

with an acquaintance,

Geezer Bob.

He's been maintaining it in my absence.

Hmm, it seems nice.

What?

221B is a good deal more than nice, Watson.

I spent the best part of ten years transforming it

into a virtual womb of creativity.

Stepping inside it isn't unlike stepping inside my very brain.

You will no doubt see things

that will confuse or even upset you.

Odd experiments,

texts in dead languages,

trophies from old cases.

Does it have a bed?

Because the only thing I care about right now is sleeping.

Well.

The inside of your brain is...

kind of boring.

These are not my things.

I've been betrayed.

Well, what do you expect from a guy named Geezer Bob?

I need to check upstairs!

Can I help you?

Oh.

Geezer Bob?

No.

Would you care to explain what you're doing in my home?

Watson, our rest is going to have to wait.

We need to locate...

My... God.

Mycroft.

Hasn't been that long, has it?

Um...

would someone like to explain

what's going on here?

Fatty, this is Watson.

Watson, this is Fatty.

Fatty?

I'd say I'd slimmed down quite a bit.

Wouldn't you? Lap-Band?

Exercise.

Exercise requires energy and ambition.

You've never had either.

Miss Watson.

It's... it's nice to meet you.

I'm Mycroft.

Mycroft Holmes.

I'm Sherlock's brother.

I can't believe that my father gave 221B

to Mycroft.

He knows how much this place means to me.

It's his building, Sherlock.

He can do whatever he wants.

Frankly, I'm more interested in the fact

that you never mentioned that you had a brother.

Why would I?

Um, because he's family?

Our relationship is entirely genetic.

He's an embarrassment.

Oh, apparently your father

doesn't think so.

I-Is that why you don't like him?

Because he gets along with your dad?

I don't like him 'cause he's lazy.

And he's never applied himself to anything.

What do you mean?

As soon as he was able,

he cashed in his trust fund.

He opened several restaurants around London.

Okay, so he's a restauranteur...

No, he's an indolent man-child, and if I'd had my druthers,

you would never have crossed paths with him.

Well, we're here now... Tea?

Help yourself.

What have you done with my things?

Charity shops.

You're joking.

I reached out to you several times

in New York to make arrangements.

You never got back to me.

I was in rehab.

They don't have phones in rehab?

See what I mean? Lazy.

Could have had my things properly stored, but didn't.

Must I confess,

I don't enjoy being ambushed in my own home.

It's a pleasure to meet you, Joan.

My father's mentioned you several times.

May I call you Joan?

Yes, of course.

It's funny that Sherlock's never mentioned me to you.

I wonder why that might be?

Th-This again? Seriously?

Maybe it's because the last time I saw him

he was face-deep in my fiancé.

What?

It was five years ago, right?

I had deduced that she was far less interested in him

than in the family fortune.

I tried to warn him. He wouldn't listen.

So I set about proving my hypothesis.

Seven times, if memory serves.

Once in a pod on the London Eye.

I did you a favor.

You did what you wanted, Sherlock.

Just like you always do.

I'm jet-lagged, Sherlock.

So if we're not gonna stay here, we need to find a hotel.

Nonsense.

Sherlock and I may have our differences,

but we're still family.

You can both stay in the guest rooms.

We've been up for over 20 hours.

It's nice here.

Fine, fine.

Only because time is of the essence.

Good.

I'll fetch you some fresh towels.

Thank you so much.

Right. Where are you going?

I've devised a theory as to how to find Lestrade.

I'd like to test it.

You stay here. Rest.

This is your idea of lamming it, is it?

A few pints in the heart of Greenwich?

So the...

prodigal detective returns.

And how-how-how'd you find me?

Once I learned you hadn't withdrawn any cash,

I had a good notion what you were up to.

You and I looked into the matter

of the Norwood Builder together, didn't we?

And during the course of that investigation,

I revealed to you that I kept five hidden caches

around the city.

In case of emergencies.

Cash, various passports, other sundries,

stood to reason you'd make use of those in your hour of need.

Four of the five have been cleaned out.

The fifth is in a hollowed-out sculpture on the grounds

of the library across the street,

and will be difficult to access

until the security guard goes off-duty.

Actually, you know, I'm-I'm-I'm quite pleased

you're here really.

I think you'd be most impressed

with all the work that I've done.

I am not here to consult on the case of Lawrence Pendry.

I am here to make quite certain

that you emerge from hiding

without harming yourself

or anyone else.

I felt I owed you that

for all the years of work

that we did together, so...

Are you going to come to Scotland Yard with me?

Or shall I call them here?

So, who you working with in New York then?

Captain Thomas Gregson.

Good detective, good man.

Not as sharp as you, obviously.

Nice.

What are you... what are you doing?

Well, the security man is off,

so I thought I might go and get myself a little bit of cash.

Aw, don't... Just get...

Get off me!

You're being ridiculous.

This is my case.

I'm gonna be there when Pendry is nicked.

I mean, how many... how many times did you follow some...

some bonkers theory...

and you'd find that it was a complete

and utter bloody waste of time?

What, 50, what, a hundred times?

See, I never got the chance to follow my muse.

I never even had the chance to have an opinion.

Look, I acknowledge I was not always the most attentive

of colleagues.

It's actually something I'm taking steps to improve.

And what good does that do me?

Well... You can turn me in.

You can do whatever you want to do.

Personally...

what I would prefer, Sherlock,

is that if you and I could work together

just one last time.

One of my suppliers

from the restaurant-- I'll be a moment.

Sorry.

Um, have you seen Sherlock anywhere?

He never came home last night.

Are you sure?

His bed was undisturbed.

You live with him.

Surely you know he'd never sleep in it,

then make it.

Yeah, I guess I'll try calling him.

You must be learning a great deal from him.

I am.

How else would you put up with him?

Uh, I don't "put up" with him.

We get along, basically.

He's a friend.

Sherlock doesn't have friends.

Yesterday I would've told you he doesn't have a brother.

But he does.

Does he?

He's changed a lot.

People often say that about addicts, don't they?

"He's changed, he's better now."

Sherlock is addicted to being himself.

Our boy?

Yeah, he's fine.

Uh, I'm gonna get dressed,

and, uh, I'll go meet him.

Hey.

Why are we in an abandoned theater?

These places come and go as public subsidies

wax and wane.

A good place to hide, if you are a fugitive.

Fugitive?

Joan Watson meet Gareth Lestrade,

late of Scotland Yard.

Uh... pleasure.

Hi.

Yeah, hi.

Okay, you found him and then you came back to his lair with him.

Is there any particular reason

why you haven't called the police?

Yes. Milk.

Lawrence Pendry is lactose intolerant;

his wife Mary, a committed vegan;

so why, then, is there a bottle of milk in their fridge?

Guests? Perhaps.

Uh, miss, no offense,

but could you give him a little bit of space, please?

Because he's doing that thing.

You know, when he's on to something,

he does that-that thing.

Yes, I-I know that thing.

You didn't tell me that one of your brother's restaurants

had two Michelin Stars.

I didn't tell you

that my brother was a corporal entity.

You've been chatting with Mycroft?

Yes, he wants to take me to dinner.

What?

He intends to bed you.

Retaliation for my misadventures with his fiancé.

Misadventures is not the word that I would use.

You are attracted to Mycroft.

Um, no, I'm not.

Hm. Makes a certain amount of sense.

It's classic transference.

You wouldn't be sleeping with him.

Psychologically speaking, you'd be sleeping with me.

Oh, you surely thought about it.

You can't go to bed with me.

We're business partners

and you're my former sober companion.

But you can sleep with a cheap knockoff version of me,

and that is Mycroft.

I don't even know

what I'm supposed to be looking for in here.

One of these masks is out of place.

They look pretty well lined up to me.

Yes, well, they are "pretty well lined up,"

but they were...

...perfectly lined up.

Mary Pendry took this photograph of herself

and e-mailed it to a friend, just hours before she died.

In it, the third mask from the left

is perfectly in line with its compatriots.

But this one, it's just a little bit lower.

Did you notice this at the scene?

The murder weapon could be hidden here.

Eh, did I notice the discrepancy?

Hm. No.

But we're not complete idiots.

We did check behind the mask,

and there was no gun there.

I need to examine this room.

Well, this is not our case.

Pendry's not gonna just let us walk in there.

Well, he will when I tell him that I almost

caught his enemy Lestrade,

and I found a suicide note that he was writing

in which he indicates his intention

to murder Lawrence Pendry.

But I haven't written any suicide notes.

Not yet you haven't.

"I die knowing that I brought justice to Mary.

I die vindicated, a true policeman."

Do you actually think he'll follow through?

Difficult to say.

You might want to take different

routes to your office. Inform your security.

I'm-I'm sure that the police will be happy to send someone over.

With all due respect, I'm protecting myself

from a member of the police.

I'm hardly likely to invite more of them

into my home.

Thank you for bringing this to my attention.

We'll take every precaution.

Was there something else?

Well...

Miss Watson first came to my attention

as America's foremost expert on home security, so...

perhaps she could take a look around, hmm?

See if everything's up to snuff.

I suppose so.

Thank you.

It's what I do.

We've got motion detectors at each end of the corridors,

security nodes on all the windows.

Well, Miss Watson, what do you think?

It's secure.

It's very secure.

High praise indeed, from the likes of her.

Don't know what else there is to say.

Again, shatterproof glass,

security nodes on all the windows.

And what is the floodlight situation on the windows?

Fully covered, of course.

Motion-sensitive.

We replace the bulbs the minute they go out.

Excuse me. What are you doing?

I'm so sorry. So sorry.

I just, uh... I love folk art.

Thank you very much.

We'll be in touch when we have Lestrade.

Yes.

You had to tell him I was the number one home security expert?

You couldn't have told him

I was number eight or something?

You acquitted yourself admirably.

Anyway, it was time well spent.

You found something?

Lestrade was right.

Lawrence Pendry did kill his wife.

I know exactly how he did it.

13 months ago, a neighbor heard the shot

which took Mary Pendry's life at exactly 6:33.

Yes, I know this. I know all of this.

I just want to know what you found in that bastard's house.

The primary reason you were never able

to build a case against Pendry

was that you could not find the murder weapon.

I humbly submit that it was in the kitchen the entire time.

No, you see, that's bollocks,

'cause we turned the whole house upside down.

There was absolutely no gun.

That's because you made the mistake of looking for a gun.

This is the weapon that I believe

Pendry used to kill his wife.

A plastic gun.

You're absolutely right.

Yes, I did see one of those, actually.

It was in the cutlery drawer.

Thought it was a toy, so I left it alone.

You think I'm daft?

What, you think I wouldn't recognize a plastic gun?

We don't think it looked like that

by the time you got there; we think it looked like this.

I don't believe that it was milk

in that bottle; I believe it was acetone.

Acetone?

He used acetone to melt the gun.

The crime, as I see it,

Pendry shoots his wife at 6:33.

He the disassembles his weapon and he drops the pieces

into a bottle he's filled with acetone.

He then dials 999 at 6:36

to report that his wife has been murdered by an intruder.

The acetone, meanwhile, is dissolving

the gun he used to murder her,

leaving nothing but a milk-like liquid in the bottle

in his refrigerator.

It's unbelievable.

And all of this from a photograph of a pint of milk?

And a nail.

It's illegal for a gun company

to make or manufacture a plastic weapon.

But with advances in 3-D printing,

it makes it possible for anyone with the right specs

to build one in the comfort of their own home.

They only need one piece of metal to make it work:

a nail to act as the firing pin.

Now, Pendry couldn't very well melt a nail, could he?

So he hid it in plain sight.

He used it to re-hang one of the masks

in the living room before the police arrived.

That's why it was hanging

lower than the others-- He did the work in a hurry.

When I examined that nail today,

I noticed that the tip was slightly charred.

Carbon scoring

from where it struck the bullet.

I was right.

I always knew it, you see? I always knew.

I just didn't... I...

I need to take this case to Hopkins.

And I don't care if he... he bangs me up

for what I did at the funeral.

I just want to see that bastard rot!

All we have is a nail with a blackened tip.

Any number of reasons that could have happened.

The gunshot residue would have worn off ages ago.

We have no way to prove that it was ever part of a weapon.

If we are to undo him,

we need to find out more about how and where

he made that gun.

London, like New York, is a beacon of freedom

and a target for terrorists.

It is, as a consequence,

one of the most observed cities in the world.

Its network of thousands upon thousands of CCTV cameras

track the movements of its citizens,

looking for anything at all out of place.

Yeah, I noticed. They're kind of everywhere.

Mm. Now I know for a fact

that some of England's network of watchmen

verge on the competent.

I would wager that, like us, they're aware

of the new and deadly advances in 3-D printing.

I would also wager that the nation's gun-averse

and ever-more-paranoid security apparatus

are tracking the sales of 3-D printers.

Would you mind?

If they are, it should be a simple matter

of consulting their database,

see if we can connect one to Pendry.

Can't you just call this guy? Hasn't owned a phone

since they became GPS-capable.

He doesn't like the idea that one could be used to track him.

Now what?

Now we wait.

We've been here for over four hours.

Are you sure you're just not using this as an excuse

so I don't have dinner with your brother?

I've decided I don't have a problem with it.

What, dinner?

The retaliatory sex.

You're an adult. You can do as you please.

Might even be good for you; clear your mind.

You know what? For the last time,

no one is having sex with anyone, okay?

He wants to get to know me because I am your partner.

I want to get to know him because he is your brother.

You hope to learn secrets from my childhood.

Mycroft will be of little use.

We went to separate boarding schools.

Oh! Hey, cheers!

Congratulations, Watson.

You just met Langdale Pike.

Wow, looks like the 3-D printing business has been good.

Mm. I shall let you know

if Lestrade and I find anything.

What... what, you're ditching me?

I'm conducting an experiment.

I'm curious to know which of us is right about my brother.

My money's on me.

Bon appetit.

Hello?

Joan!

Right on time.

I was, uh, digging around in the cellar.

Wasn't sure whether you liked red or white,

so I excavated a bottle of both.

Um, is the restaurant closed tonight?

My prettiest eatery by far, but the acoustics are rubbish.

This way we'll have a decent conversation.

You know there's nothing happening here, right?

You thought this was a romantic engagement?

It's not?

Please sit down.

There's something I wanted

to discuss with you in private.

I thought it was a conversation best lubricated

with good food and good wine.

I, um...

lied to Sherlock yesterday when I told him

I'd lost weight via exercise.

The truth is...

You were sick.

I noticed the scars on your wrist this morning.

Graft-versus-host?

You had a bone marrow transplant

some time in the last... two years?

If I didn't know you were an ex-surgeon,

I'd say you've been spending too much time with my brother.

That's actually what I wanted

to discuss with you this evening;

time with my brother.

You're right, of course, about everything.

I was sick, very sick.

When I wasn't vomiting,

I found myself prone to reflection.

It dawned on me the one regret I have in life was

the state of my relationship with Sherlock.

I hadn't asked him to see if he'd be a match.

You see, I hadn't even told him I was ill.

And as my condition improved, I decided

I'd figure out an approach;

some way to make things better.

But then, of course, he showed up on my doorstep yesterday,

and I just...

fell into old habits.

You're obviously Sherlock's friend.

As I mentioned, Sherlock's never had any friends.

Many colleagues, never a friend... until you.

I want to know how you did it.

I want to know...

how does one become Sherlock Holmes' friend?

Look, I owe you an apology...

for not protecting you when we worked together.

Protecting me from what?

From the spotlight, the attention.

Those were some

of the best days of my career.

You know, my name was in the paper,

my face was on the telly.

The whole thing, it was, it was...

It was intoxicating, hm?

Yeah, well, I was gonna say it was everything

I dreamed about being a policeman,

but that as well, yeah.

I'm glad we helped so many people.

Well, I helped them.

You only said you did.

Well, I...

No...

my carelessness had a negative impact,

and, um...

I'd like to, uh, I'd like to make amends.

So, um... I just, I-I-I wrote some...

I wrote some things...

Hello.

...down. It says here that...

Pendry had this handyman, this guy called Nick Ginn.

and he was a small-time villain,

and we had him in for questioning.

But he had an alibi the night of the murder.

All right, now it says

that he bought a 3D printer

one week before Mary Pendry died.

Pendry paid him to buy the printer.

And then he built the gun.

Hm.

Now if Ginn still has the printer,

or if we can compel him to confirm our hypothesis,

We can prove...

that I was right.

Open up, Nicky!

I sorted it, you know.

Sorted what?

A way you can make amends.

Let me take the credit for this one,

and we'll be square.

Come on, I deserve it.

Pendry's mine.

Nicholas Ginn.

I obviously riled Pendry

when I examined the charred nail today.

He decided to tie up loose ends

by murdering his accomplice.

He cleaned the scene quite meticulously.

Yeah, I passed DCI Hopkins on the way in.

He didn't seem very happy.

He knows I've been helping Lestrade.

He wants me to give up his location,

but I would prefer not to

until his case against Pendry has been made.

And yet...

I don't suppose you found a 3D printer in here?

Pendry obviously destroyed that ages ago.

Why obviously?

Ginn is six-foot-four.

He has at least two stone on Pendry.

If he still had access to the printer,

don't you think he would've built himself

another gun to kill Ginn, hmm?

It would've been the safer way to go by far.

There's just so little here that makes sense.

I know.

He used one of the victim's own knives to kill him.

You think a planner like Pendry

would've brought a weapon of his own.

Also the stab wound was obviously

the result of a left-handed blow.

But Pendry is right-handed,

so why would he use his non-dominant hand

to stab someone to death?

You knew Pendry was a righty, right?

Yeah, of course.

What are you doing?

Well, I was wrong, Watson.

Pendry does still have a printer.

And he used it to build another gun.

Good evening.

I have a confession to make.

Miss Watson is not, in fact,

a home security specialist.

Dan, pick up the phone for God's sake.

I've got police in my house and I need my solicitor.

If that's what you're here for,

then just take it and leave.

This? No, no, you've changed this since yesterday.

Anyway, we're not here regarding the murder of your wife Mary.

We're here about the death of Nicholas Ginn.

- Who? - You.

The one who bought the printer that made the gun

you used to kill Mary.

After I looked at that nail, you panicked.

You went to wherever you're hiding the printer,

and you built yourself another gun.

You went to kill Ginn.

But when you fired,

the gun exploded in your hand.

When you killed Mary,

you used a special-order .22-caliber round.

Today, you were in a hurry.

You used a .22 long.

Mm. Higher velocity bullet can cause

the plastic pistol to explode.

Ginn lunged at you.

You grabbed a knife with your uninjured left hand

The heavier man

threw himself onto the blade.

You did a decent job of cleaning the scene.

You found every piece of the gun.

Except for the pieces that landed in Ginn's fruit.

Now, if you fired the weapon,

you'd have wounds on your right forearm.

We just need to take a look.

Mm. Which, as it happens, is exactly

what his warrant empowers him to do.

It's going to be your solicitor.

You can just tell him you're heading into custody.

Thank you.

Well, lads, you can take me to nick.

Detective?

I thank you not to take credit

for any of my insights into the case.

Right, so your whole making it up to me

was just a complete and utter lie.

Was it?

I will not enable you anymore.

I am withdrawing your drug of choice.

Right.

It's back to obscurity for me then.

Don't be a stranger.

Of course, I stay current

to the capabilities of the 3D printers.

I always knew that Lawrence Pendry

was, in fact, guilty and had actually murdered his wife.

I just needed to figure out how and... and why.

He called your bluff.

He knows you'll never step forward to take the credit.

Curious.

I never felt this particular cocktail of emotions.

Anger, exasperation...

and a hint of...

Worry?

Yeah, well, welcome to caring about an addict.

With seasonal temperatures, we should reach

our normal high of about 82 degrees

by this afternoon.

Clear skies tonight...

All right, Fatty, let's make this quick.

Watson and I have a plane to catch.

You said it was urgent.

Take a seat, would you?

Only take a moment.

I lied to you the other day,

when I said I'd given all your stuff to charity.

It's in storage.

Over there, behind that door.

I bet you expect me to thank you, don't you?

Well, you're lucky I didn't turn it all in to the police.

Your collection included, amongst other things,

a real shrunken head,

what appeared to be an authentic Picasso

and an entire series of books on homemade bomb building.

It's remarkable.

You're too lazy to even maintain a proper ruse.

We're not gonna fight, Sherlock.

No matter how much you want to.

Something's wrong.

You're too calm.

The other night at dinner,

I sought a little advice from Joan

about how best to communicate with you.

And why on earth would you want to do that?

She said that when one has something to tell you,

one must make really, really sure

that you're listening.

Books on bomb building.

I consider us even now.

Which means I can tell you I forgive you.

For everything.

Have a safe trip back to the colonies.

And know that things are different between us now.

Hey, I was just about to call you.

You okay?

I believe I've just made a rapprochement

with my brother.

Oh, that's great.

He used a homemade explosive device

to destroy what was left of my things.

Ah.

Sounds like maybe he's a little more like you than you thought.

Art in the blood, Watson.

It takes the strangest forms.

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

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