All language subtitles for Elementary - 4x19 - All In.HDTV.x264-DIMENSION.en

No, Mom, I didn't unfriend you.

I deactivated my account.

I unfriended everyone.

It felt great.

Because I've seen
all of the baby pictures

and hashtag activism
and cat GIFs

that I ever need to see.

I'm good.

I'm out.

What?

No.

Sorry, it's just I could've
sworn I closed that.

Nothing.

I think I'm just
getting old like you.

Yeah, okay.

When you start talking Mandarin,
I know it's time to hang up.

Bye.

No.

No way.

This is Sofia.

Leave me a message
and I'll call you back.

It's me.

Listen, something's wrong.

I found...

The smell in the kitchen
nearly knocked me out.

What do you got cooking
in those pots?

Oh, this and that--
black licorice,

an old belt,
splash of feline urine.

Okay, so we're gonna
have to get new pots,

and I have to get my coffee
someplace else today.

The National Council
of Sommeliers

is embroiled in scandal.

Over the last year,

three American sommeliers
have authenticated

cases of auction wine,

which were later proven
to be forgeries.

They didn't realize
they were drinking cat pee?

You jest, but that is
an identifiable aroma

in certain Sauvignon Blancs.

I've been asked to learn
whether or not

these so-called experts

made honest mistakes
or whether they were

paid to vouch
for fake booze.

The samples downstairs
should help

refresh my own
olfactory abilities.

This is seriously our next case?

Sniffing out

bribes in
the wine auction world.

New York is without
a homicide this week.

I'm terribly sorry
that disappoints you.

What's with the trampoline?

It really is shocking
what they don't teach you

in medical school.
Okay, forget I asked.

The lymphatic system, unlike
the cardiovascular system,

has no pumping capability; it
relies on muscular contraction.

Bouncing up and down
is effective,

because it stimulates
the system's one-way valves

to open and close
simultaneously.

You're increasing lymph
flow to boost your immunity

to keep your sinuses
clear-- got it.

Seemed like a wise choice.

Why? Are you getting a cold?

Not yet, but we live
in close quarters

and I detected a phlegmy rattle
in your voice last night.

I feel fine.

Do you?

I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes.

I don't have
an appointment.

But I do have money.

♪ Elementary 4x19 ♪
All In
Original Air Date on April 10, 2016

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man

♪ ♪

Okay, you're lucky the bullet
didn't hit a major artery.

You should be careful
with that wrist.

It looks like
it could be broken.

No, it isn't.
You don't know that.

It's a sprain.
Are you a doctor?

Are you?

There's no one out there.

You're safe for the moment.

Perhaps now you can
formally introduce yourself.

My name's Lin. Lin Wen.

How'd you come to hear of me,
Ms. Wen?

I knew your brother, Mycroft.

I'm a realtor.

I showed him some spaces
when he was interested

in relocating his restaurant,
Diogenes.

Ow!

I have to put pressure on it.

How were you wounded?

When I got home
last night,

there was someone
in my apartment.

They started shooting.

I got out to my fire escape,

and then I just jumped.

And the reason you didn't
go straight to the police?

It's complicated.
They ask too many questions.

You imagined we wouldn't?

This is not a shelter

for wayward
and wounded realtors.

I've got no desire to be shot
by your pursuers

or drawn into
whatever complicated drama

has brought you here.

So tell us,
why shouldn't we continue this

in the safety
of a police facility?

Please, I told you,
I wasn't followed.

You can trust me.

I don't know you.

Mycroft said
you help people.

He said you weren't afraid
of anything. Was he lying?

So that currency band
is not from a commercial bank.

Perhaps you could begin
by explaining

that troubling detail.

It isn't mine.

That's not less troubling.

Like I said,

I'm in real estate.

Sometimes, to make
a little extra money, I host

no-limit poker games
in my empty listings.

Big cash games.

About a week ago,
I put together a table

at this amazing penthouse.

Seven high rollers.

Some shady types, but all guys
I thought I could trust.

The game was going long,
so I stepped out

to get some more drinks.

While I was gone,
two guys in hockey masks

stormed in
and roughed up my dealer.

They took off with the keys
to one of the player's cars,

a Bentley, and all the cash.

$1.2 million.
Can we assume

that you did not report this
to the police either?

No.

I didn't report my illegal
gaming business to the police.

I mean, maybe I should have.

I was just hoping
it would all blow over,

and some of the players started
digging into it themselves.

Perhaps one of them
was beginning to zero in

on the truth, then the real
thieves decided to frame you

before it was too late.

You say that was

planted at
your apartment.

That and about
half million more.

As soon as I found it,
the bullets started flying.

I guess they figured if I
was dead, I couldn't deny

knocking over
my own game.

Did you get a look
at your would-be assassin?

No. I just took off.

Who knew
about the game?

I put the word out
the day before.

Everybody wanted in.
Seven players, the dealer.

And I had a lookout,

Ian Walker--
not that it did me any good.

I checked on him that
night, but he was gone.

Hasn't returned
my calls since.

And you don't suspect him
because...?

The guys who ripped off the game
were pros.

Ian was just some idiot intern
at my office.

He didn't have time
to plan a heist, okay?

I grabbed him at the
last minute, offered him

1,000 bucks
to just stand outside the door.

If I were to guess,

the thieves just paid him $2,000
to walk away.

So tell us
about your players.

I know their names.

Contact information?
Places of employment?

It was all in my phone,
which I dropped

when I thought I was gonna die.

It's back at my place.

I'll retrieve it
when I examine the scene.

The address?

849 Broome Street, 2D.

Stay here, would you?

If you decide
to offer her a bath,

please be careful removing
the fermentation accoutrement

from the tub.

You look vexed.

I am.

This woman, she gives
me a weird feeling.

Something about her and
her story that's really strange.

Do you remember Mycroft ever
planning to move Diogenes?

I don't remember his birthday.

As you know, I do my best
to purge nonvital information.

Clutters the mind.

Well, I think he would've
told me something like that.

We got pretty close before

the NSA took him
out of the country.

You were sex partners,
not business partners.

Why would moving his restaurant
be any of your concern?

Your concern over Ms. Wen
is correct and duly noted,

but so is her gunshot wound
and fractured radius.

And, to be fair, Mycroft was
in the unfortunate habit

of telling other people
about my work.

Her tale of woe might conceal
some darker purpose,

but might be legitimate.

Fine. You go, but I'm gonna
keep a close eye on her.

As you should.

Hello.

Who are you? Where's Lin?

I'm a detective
that she's hired to investigate

the attempt on her life
last night.

Y-You don't seem entirely
surprised to hear that news.

Lin called me last night.

I thought
something happened here

because she left me
a weird voice mail,

and I couldn't tell if it
was serious or not, but...

Could I hear that voice mail?

It's me.
Listen, something's wrong.

I found...

Thank you.

You must be Lin's poker dealer.

Sofia. How did you know?

Uh, your, uh, fingernails,

clipped and unpainted,
are at odds

with your carefully applied
mascara and lip tint,

but necessitated
by your profession.

And also your

periorbital hematoma
is yellowing, so...

it's about a week old.

Lin told you what happened
at the game?

Mm.

She was outside
when the robbery occurred,

and you were inside.

Very much like
to discuss what you saw.

It was about 2:00 a.m.

A few players were almost
down to the felt,

but they're all hanging in,
when these two guys--

they were both in hockey masks--
they kicked the door in.

They had
these shiny little guns,

and they fired warning shots
into the ceiling.

They were yelling for everyone
to... empty their pockets.

They wanted everything.

Cash, wallets, jewelry, keys.

They asked me
to gather it all up,

but I guess
I was too slow,

because the tall one, he...

clocked me
with the butt of his gun.

I don't remember
anything else too clearly.

You were concussed?

Afterward,
I was slurring my words.

Lin took me to the E.R.

They said I had a hairline
orbital fracture, too.

They didn't ask you
any questions there?

I told them
I fell off a ladder.

Lin begged me
not to tell them the truth.

She said she would cover
my medical bills,

and I couldn't afford
to say no.

This is gonna need
some cosmetic work, too.

The, uh, burn on
your arm, that's new.

Oh, yes. The result
of falling

on a spent shell casing, no?
Yeah.

Stung like hell.

Excuse me.

Little bit short
for a nine millimeter.

Okay.

Well, it's quite
a salient detail.

I'd wager the thieves
were using...

Makarov bullets.

Those are Russian-made,

and they don't fit into
very many small weapons

like you're describing,

so perhaps they were
carrying PA-63 pistols.

Are those rare or something?

Uh, not vanishingly so.

You can usually lay hands
on one at a gun show.

One of your players
that night,

James Hobberkin,
how is he faring?

Not great.

He was playing
a little too loose.

Hmm.

He owns and operates
one of the largest

annual weapons expositions
in the tristate area.

I did my best,

but you are gonna
have a scar.

Awesome.

I wouldn't put too much pressure
on that wrist either.

I don't care if I lose the arm.

I got to get away
from the stench in here.

It's like someone
lit a diaper on fire.

Yeah, it has to do
with another case.

You do pretty good work
for a detective.

I used to be a surgeon.

And now you do this?

That must have been
a tough chat with the folks.

"Thanks for the med school,
but I'm off to fight crime

with my roommate."

I'm happier, they're happy,
and I'm saving on rent.

You know, I used to live,
uh, near Gramercy Park,

and I don't have to tell you
how pricey that area is getting.

I just sold a studio there
last month.

It's crazy.

I think it's a bubble.

Sounds like you do
mostly residential work.

So, uh, how did you and Mycroft
start working together?

When he was looking
at restaurant spaces?

I made an exception for him.

Oh, yeah?

Why?

Because...

he wasn't just a client.

We were together.

You were dating.

It was a new thing,
but, I don't know, I...

I kind of thought
we might move in together.

Then that fire broke out
at Diogenes, and...

just like that, he was gone.

I'm sure Sherlock told you
the whole story.

So you and Mycroft
were dating until...

He died.

It was weird,

losing someone at the beginning
of a relationship, you know?

But...

I think he might
have been the one.

What?

I was just thinking I should
refresh that ice pack.

You're Holmes.

James Hobberkin Jr.
People call me Jimmer.

If you say so.

My girl tells me
you're on a deadline,

so I'll cut right to it.

This new law, banning
kids from gun shows--

bleeding heart garbage.

The government only
does two things well:

nothing and overreact.

And you can quote me.

Thank you, but no.

Excuse me?

I misled your girl. I'm not
a journalist writing an article.

I just needed a moment
of your time.

A week ago, a poker game that
you were playing in was robbed.

I've been hired to
find out who did it.

I'm not at liberty
to say by whom.

You're a detective.

Well, you should have said so.

Hell, me and the guy
you're working for,

we're in the same boat.

No, I'm not so sure about that.

I've come to believe
that the thieves

were armed with FEG PA-63s.

According to the state of
New York, your company sold

half a dozen such weapons
in the last two years.

Wait.

I'm a suspect because
the robbers used guns?

Oh, not just any guns.

Give me a break.

I had twice as much money
in that game

as anyone else at the table.

Mr. Hobberkin-- Jimmer--

you were able to get yourself
dressed this morning,

so you're smart enough to
realize how stupid that sounds.

If all the money
ends up in your pocket,

what difference does it matter
how much you have in play?

Okay.

If I'm lying, then...

tell me:

why did I hire a detective
of my own?

Here.

Irving Feldman
Investigations.

He's out of New Jersey.
He's expensive.

Hasn't found much yet,
but as you can see,

I hired him
the day after the robbery.

So his first move was to try
and locate the missing lookout,

Ian Walker.

Mm. He tried
to track his phone.

Went to his house
a couple of times.

Mail's piling up.

Kid's gone.

Lin's probably got him
laying low somewhere.

You think Ms. Wen
robbed her own game?

I don't think, I know.

Somebody doesn't like that girl.
They dimed her out.

I got an e-mail yesterday.

Fake address,
but the Intel was legit.

Said the money

was at her place,
and sure enough...

You're the one
who shot at her last night.

All I'll say, they were right.

She did it.

Find the money?

Not all of it, not even
what I lost personally,

so I'm not sharing it,

if that's
what you're getting at.

Keeping the cash
at her own home,

that would've been careless.

You consider the possibility
she was framed?

No.

But, hey, find out
I got this all wrong,

locate the rest of my money,
come show me...

...I'll make it
worth your while.

Hey. I was beginning to think
that you'd abandoned me

for the National Council
of Sommeliers.

No, I was spending some time
at the other end

of the cultural spectrum.

Earlier today, I had
a rather fruitful tête-à-tête

with one of the victimized
poker players:

grown man who goes by
the name Jimmer.

Oh, you think that's our guy?

He all but admitted
to shooting at Ms. Wen.

But it would appear that he is
just a trigger-happy pawn

for whoever is attempting
to frame her.

If that's the case,
we should move on

to one of the other players.

Hey, what about
that missing lookout?

Ian Walker. Lin still hasn't

been able to get in touch
with him.

Jimmer Hobberkin's
private detective

used a find-my-phone app

to track Ian Walker's cell phone

to an abandoned
construction site in Flatbush.

He was quite convinced he'd
dumped it in a cement mixer,

but I've come to realize
that he was mistaken,

and that we can
remove Ian Walker

from our list of suspects.

I wish I could, but I'm
probably gonna be working late.

I'm at this,
um, new listing.

Mm. It's got good bones,
but the tenants haven't

taken great care of it.
What the hell are you doing?

Oh, hey, Mom, listen,
I got to run. Okay, bye.

I told you not to call anyone.
It's too dangerous.

Look, I'm sorry,
but she worries about me.

Single mom syndrome.

It's okay. I used one of these
disposables you guys have here,

and I'm sure I can
trust my own mother.

This is not about trust; someone
could be monitoring her phone.

Oh, come on. You know, I wish
I told her to put on some makeup

just in case there are any
satellites pointed at her.

Ian Walker is dead.

What?
He didn't abandon his post

the night of the game,
someone killed him.

Sherlock found his body.

I was gonna tell you last night,
but you were already asleep.

Do you think it's the same
person who shot at me?

No, that would be Jimmer Hobberkin.
Jimmer?

Someone convinced him that
you were behind the robbery.

Probably the thieves.

Odds are, they're the ones
who killed Ian, too.

So, do the police know
that he's dead?

Sherlock called them
last night.

I know you didn't
want them involved,

but a murder changes things.

These are for you.
Get dressed.

Got to go down to the precinct
and answer some questions.

A detective is on her way
to pick you up.

Well, what about you?

I have to meet Sherlock
at the morgue.

We have some questions
we have to answer, too.

The cause of Mr. Walker's death
is a little tough to sort out.

Doubt it helped

that this guy was
rotting in a drain pipe

for a week while your client
was pretending nothing happened.

I'm sure it didn't. But there's
minimal decomposition.

That can't be the reason cause
was difficult to ascertain.

No, it's because
he was suffocated.

With a chloroform-
soaked rag.

Initially, I thought
it was toxicity.

But actually,
he died from asphyxiation.

Someone just held it over
his nose for too long.

Could have been an accident.

At least one of the gunmen was
pretty worked up that night.

Hit the dealer so hard
she blacked out.

Okay, but there's no good way

to estimate time of death
at this point.

Maybe Walker was killed
at the scene of the robbery,

maybe he wasn't.

He could have been in on it,

then got offed
by his partners later.

His trainers suggest otherwise.

The scuffs on the heel

are incongruent
with the newness of the shoes.

Note also
that they are clean.

The area I found him
was very muddy.

So perhaps he was
killed at his post,

dragged away, then later carried

to his final resting place
by a heavy smoker.

Yeah. I hurried the mass
spec, per your request.

Glycerin triacetate
and tobacco all over

the back of
Ian's sweatshirt.

Domestic cigarettes.

I also detected faint traces
of charcoal and coconut.

Right. Killer must have
come straight from a luau.

While anything's possible,
I think it would be premature

to trawl about
at local Polynesian venues.

Better we focus
on the penthouse in Tribeca

where the robbery was staged.

In the works. New
owner's been notified.

I'm meeting the
captain there in 30.

I'll go.
You check on Ms. Wen.

Actually, I think
you both should.

You didn't tell the captain
about an armed robbery

for 24 hours.

Maybe give him that long

to forgive you.

No, end of the hall.
Tell him.

Mel Cheney.
Captain Gregson.

You and I spoke...

I thought you were gonna

hold off on
this move today.

I called the company, but the
truck was already on its way.

You can work around them,
can't you?

No, not really. I was
thinking this scuff

was made by a dead lookout
getting dragged off.

Now I can't be sure
one of your guys

didn't just bump it
carrying a table.

Well, I'm sorry I couldn't

rearrange my whole life
for the NYPD.

I told you,

I didn't even have the keys
to this place

when this whole poker thing
happened, so...

Whatever. Come in.

I'll tell the guys
to take five.

I swept the back half-- nothing.

Also talked to the downstairs
neighbor, Mrs. Ellis, age 92.

She claims, on the night of
the robbery, she was asleep.

For once, I'm gonna
call that a solid alibi.

There's nothing here.

Yeah. Just some plastered-over

bullet holes
in the ceiling here,

right next to
the lighting can.

Our friends' friend,
the realtor,

hired a subcontractor
to clean up

so the new owner
wouldn't find out what happened.

It's all sanded and spackled.

I mean, CSU can

undo it so we can at least
confirm the make of the weapons,

but that's about it.

What?

Something on my tie?

No, I was just thinking
you look... different.

Oh, lost a few pounds.

I mean, you look different
than you did

when you were standing
over here.

There's something weird
about the light.

Aside from the fact it casts a
cooler hue, you'd never know

there's a tiny little
spy camera in there.

Yes, I would.

I'm pretty sure that the
signal range was enough

to reach local Wi-Fi.

So the thieves
could see the room

they were about to storm into.
In 1080p.

State-of-the-art
motion sensor.

You screw it in,
and it's live.

Impressive.

Creepy is more like it.

My kudos were for you,
not for the bulb.

I'm glad to see
you're taking my encouragement

to stay abreast of modern
surveillance technology.

We have a deal?

In exchange for cooperation,
18 months probation

and mandatory attendance
of Gam-Anon.

Well, Ms. Wen, you can start
cooperating right now.

You recognize this?
There's a camera inside.

Someone screwed it in
right over your poker table.

What?

The warning shots
the thieves fired almost hit it.

I don't get it.

This isn't mine.

Before the last open house, I
put 27-watt bulbs in everywhere.

It's a staging thing--
makes the space more inviting.

I thought you said
no one knew where

or when the game was being
played until the day of.

They didn't.

And I was in there making calls
and setting up most of the day.

So no one was in there
by themselves?

Not before, during,
even after the game?

The first player who showed up,
Mateo Peña--

he spilled some soda
on the floor.

I left to get a towel
to clean it up,

but I was only gone
for, like, 30 seconds.

How long does it take you
to screw in a lightbulb?

Two creamers.

Now can you tell me why the,
uh, NYPD wants to talk to me?

You really can't guess,
Mr. Peña?

Th-The poker game?

Yes.

It has to do with the
illegal poker game

you were at
that got robbed.

The one Lin Wen
organized

where the lookout
was murdered.

Someone was murdered?

Is that really
news to you?

Wait. You...

You think I... I'm a suspect?

That-that I would

stage an armed robbery?

I mean, come on. Look at me.

Oh, we are looking at you.

We see five empty cubicles.

We see a very anxious
small business owner.

Insufficient cash flow
is motive enough.

I am stressed,
but you've got it backwards.

My company's growing so fast,

I had to get this new space;
we'll fill it up.

W-We just landed
New Zealand, see?

And what is it you do
for New Zealand?

We handle
information security

and digital infrastructure
for their U.N. mission.

We've got the Kiwis,

Ukraine, Sudan,
half a dozen other delegations.

So, no, cash flow
is not a problem for me.

All right, let me tell you
what is a problem for you.

This bulb you planted so your
pals knew when to crash in,

guns blazing.

I-I don't, uh...

See the black powder?

It yielded two very good
fingerprints: a right index

and a thumb.
Personally,

I hate powdered creamer
in my coffee,

but the residue
on your fingers

should help give us
a very good match.

Look...

I hid the camera that night,

but I didn't have anything
to do with the robbery.

Keep talking.

Camera was
to help me cheat.

I know what you're thinking.
I'm a numbers guy.

But not in a way that translates
to being good at cards.

At least not good enough.

I found that out the hard way

the first few times I played
in the games Lin put together.

So, I started using
the lightbulb cameras

and wearing an earwig
so I could hear instructions.

I assume your Cyrano
will be able to confirm this?

I don't know what that means.

But my assistant, Trevor--
he'd watch the flop,

and enter all the cards in play
into a probability algorithm.

What about your cards?

We had signals.

He'd feed me the odds.

It'd help me make good bets.

I started winning a little.

Enough to salvage
a little pride.

You were proud of cheating?

Just talk to Trevor.

He'll tell you.

I've been complaining about that
robbery ever since it happened.

Now I'll never get

to play
with those guys again.

And why would
that matter?

I don't know.

I think about all the time
I wasted studying game footage

to figure out the tells...
You kept the footage?

Sorry, but if you're gonna keep
incriminating evidence around,

you really ought to put it
on an air gapped machine

in a secure server room, right?

Okay, so send the footage to
these three e-mails, right?

That's right.

What are you doing?

Calling TARU, letting them know
the footage is on its way.

No, you won't get a signal.

These walls have been coated
with aluminum iron oxide.

Yeah, the-the stuff is mixed
into the paint

to block wireless signals.

You can smell that?
Yeah.

Unlike a few master
sommeliers I could name.

I like your turtle.

The one downstairs.
His bowl said "Clyde."

Thanks.

So, you used to cut people open
for a living,

and now you're a private eye.

Why'd you quit?

You develop an allergy
to making money or something?

I'm a little busy right now;
Mateo Peña just turned over

footage from the robbery.

I'm about to get a look
at the thieves.

Looks like
we're about to

get a look
down my blouse, too.

You don't like me
very much, do you?

You're a client.
I don't have to like you.

I just have to help you.

Is that, like, the detective's
code or something?

You were with him, too,
weren't you?

Mycroft?

You were.

Wow. Guess he had
a type, huh?

Do you mind?

Do you think
he dumped you for me?

Is that why you don't like me?
He didn't dump me.

Oh, my God.

Was he seeing us
at the same time?

That's what you think.

You think he was
two-timing you.

Say he was. That would mean
he was also two-timing you.

True, but it's not like
he and I were exclusive.

You said you were about
to move in together.

Sure, but that
wouldn't have meant

we had to stop having fun.

You're missing the show,
by the way.

What happened?

Miss Watson, can you hear me?

Agent McNally?

Yeah, it's been a while.

I'd like you and your friend

to put your hands on the table
away from the computer.

Now!

What is this?

The end of your investigation,
I'm afraid.

We're confiscating the footage
you were watching.

It and your laptop
are being wiped.

Hold on. That's evidence
for a murder investigation.

The NSA can't do this.

Actually, we just did.

And tell your partner
to stay away from this one.

What are you talking about?

Sherlock?
Let there be light.

Bullocks.

Is that my sports bra holding up
a flashlight on your head?

Couldn't find my miner's helmet
in the dark.

The irony's not lost.

I thought the electric
company was gonna be able

to turn the power on
from their end.

They found the glitch
in their system.

Our board was shortened,
however,

by the restoration of power.

Next time I see
Agent McNally,

I'm going to invoice him
for my labor.

This stunt was excessively
juvenile, even for an agency

which self-identifies
as "Big Brother."

That's funny,
because I came down here

to talk to you about your brother.
By all means.

Distract me why I'm holding
240 volts in my hand.

I take it you still think
there's something amiss

about Ms. Wen's connection
to your ex-lover.

It's more than a feeling.

That's why I reached out
to your father yesterday.

I asked him
to get a message to Mycroft.

So, you risked Mycroft's safety

and indebted yourself
to Morland Holmes.

Well, Morland e-mailed me back;
he said that Mycroft is safe

and alive on some
Grecian island.

I have no idea which one.
But here's the thing.

He has never heard of Lin Wen.

Do you think it's possible
that they were lovers?

What?

Mycroft and Ms. Wen.

Well, she claimed they were.
Then isn't it also

possible that he was just trying
to spare your feelings

in his own self-serving
kind of way?

Yes, it's possible.
I warned you when

you took up with the man that
he's not without his faults,

and I'm not just talking about
his webbed toe.

He has a webbed toe?

Looking for bugs?

Maybe.
Don't bother.

The NSA is slightly
more sophisticated

than a cheating poker player.

If they wanted to spy on us,
there are any number of devices

in our home which could serve
as hot mics--

computers, phones, televisions.

We have little choice
but to do as they say.

But somebody tried to kill me,
and they did kill Ian.

Are you seriously just gonna
walk away from that?

I'm sorry. It's over.

You can stay with us
if you like.

The matter may soon resolve
itself of its own accord.

Thank you.

Now if you don't mind,

this is where I usually
listen to music and think.

This is a minor setback.

We don't take orders
from the NSA.

We just need to approach

your list of players
from a different angle.

Actually, the overhead angle of
the game was very interesting.

I noticed one of the thieves
had really bad hair plugs.

I'm talking
baby doll hair.

So?

So there can't be that many
hair restoration surgeons

in New York who are still
punch-grafting.

Find the guy who did the work,
we find the thief.

How did you get this?

My medical records
are private, no?

This might shock you, Mr. Celik,

but we didn't find
a single ethical clerk

in any of the three cheapest
hair clinics in the city.

It would cost more to purchase
one of these hookers than it did

to buy the files of all their
military-age male patients.

But that's illegal.

Oh, completely.

This file would not be
admissible in a court of law.

- No question.
- It's also irrelevant.

I mean, no one's facing charges
for getting cheap hair plugs.

No, all the evidence
presented at your trial

will be about armed robbery
and murder.

My trial? What are you saying?

You wore a hockey mask,
but the Saturday before last,

you robbed a poker game.

I saw it on tape.

And then I saw this
and recognized the hairline.

The Saturday before last,
I was home.

I read a book.

Then it must be
an astronomical coincidence

that you stock these.

The man who suffocated
Ian Walker

left the scent
of coconut and charcoal

all over the back
of his sweatshirt.

Smelled just like
these hookah coals.

Then it is a coincidence.

I was home.

You won't take my word?
Take my brother's.

Murat!

Buraya gel!

These people want to know
where I was a week ago.

Actually, it was more than
a week ago. It was last...

We were home that night.

Let me guess,

you were
both reading.

You think
we can't read?

Gentlemen, you must

excuse my partner and I.

We were mistaken.

Good luck with
the book club.

What happened in there?

Those guys are the right
height, the right build,

and their alibi...
Is preposterous.

Reasonable questions
of literacy aside.

Okay, so then why did
we stop questioning them?

Because we can expect
more interesting answers

from more interesting people.

Your body odor is revolting,
even from here.

I know the job is demanding, but
you should find more occasions

to get into a shower.
Excuse me?

The parking tickets
you've planted on the windshield

are ancient, so I think
it's safe to assume

that you've been keeping tabs
on the Brothers Celik here

for quite some time.

NSA?

How they failed to notice
this van a-rocking

and not come a-knocking
is beyond my comprehension.

But I will draw their attention
over here

if I don't get an audience
with Agent McNally.

Washington Square Park.

I'll be at the chess tables
on my own.

Have someone pick me up there
in half an hour. Understood?

Excellent.

You're going alone?

I think it's best
that way.

If I'm abducted by
the men in black,

you can alert the authorities
that we do trust.

What are you doing?

Borrowing these.

I would've asked, but that
would require me calling you

on the phone, and I didn't want
another speech.

And where do you think you're going?

You mean where do I know
I'm going?

I have a life, bills, a job.

I have to show a place
today, or I'm gonna lose

my best client.

It's a pocket listing;
nobody's gonna know.

Too risky. Not a good idea.

Fine, then. Keep them.

Sorry I asked.

I know you've been lying to us.

You never
dated Mycroft.

As far as I can tell,
you never even knew him.

I...
Listen, Lin,

I know, so please
tell me the truth.

How did you know about him?

About me and
Sherlock.

What made you think
to come here?

How's this for the truth?

I'd rather take my chances
on my own

than spend another minute
living here with you.

Some of my guys wanted
to send you a gift basket.

They were really
sick of that van.

Could've spared us
all the cloak and dagger

by just explaining why you were
confiscating the footage.

Anything I said
would've been a lie,

so it seemed better
not to say anything.

"Omission is
the most powerful form of lie."

Yeah, we get a lot of George
Orwell quotes around here.

Uh, I'm a fan of "Four
legs good, two legs bad."

I'm guessing you're
not here to wax poetic

about 20th
century authors.

I find nothing poetic
about a government agency

watching passively
as two Turkish agents

rob, maim and murder
American citizens.

You mean the Celik brothers.

You expect me to believe
that the NSA is surveilling them

because they are not spies?

I'm sorry. You said two agents.

There's three.

The brothers
and-and their boss,

who you actually met.

You just didn't know it.

The dealer from the game.

Oh, we've been on
them for months.

Bank statements, video of the
store, audio of their homes.

It wasn't enough.

They're careful.

We didn't know

that they had robbed that game

or killed that kid
until you came along.

And yet when those things
were brought to your attention,

you did nothing.

There was
nothing to do.

Nothing that we
caught on tape

would've gotten you
an indictment,

so why blow our cover?

Frankly, the U.S. government
has bigger fish to fry

with Szofi Demir.

We don't know
what kind of op

that robbery is
meant to finance

or who she's really working for.

We have a highly placed source
who's confident

that she's a
double agent.

The identity of her new
employer is unclear.

So we thought it would be
better, we'd learn more

if we left her on the street
a while longer.

Give me the files.
You'll have your answers,

and the NYPD will close the case
within a matter of days.

See, that's the thing.
We don't have days.

After you visited
the smoke shop,

Szofi and her pals
requested extraction.

They're on a flight to
Istanbul in seven hours.

Congratulations, Holmes.

You just helped three spies
get away with murder.

I think I know why
the NSA gave us the footage

of the robbery back;
there's nothing in here

that we don't already know.

Still, good to be reminded

of the dangers of bashing your
friends with Hungarian weapons.

Is it just me or

are Szofi and the Celik brothers
awfully careless for spies?

I wish I was in a position
to judge them more harshly.

But absent
the discovery

of fresh evidence,
it appears that they are

three and a half hours from
besting us, and I shall be back

to the olfactory grind
of sniffing out wine fraud.

Is that why you've been brushing
your teeth for half an hour?

Mm-hmm. I will be unable to
sully my sinuses with fluoride

and flavorants
until that case is complete.

I do not intend to fail
in my duties twice in a row.

Well, maybe they will beat us,
but it'll be an ugly win.

I mean, their
little fund-raiser

was a mess.

Szofi got hurt,

the lookout
was killed.

Don't forget how inefficient
the entire enterprise was.

They had to use half their haul
on a frame-up because they chose

to rob a game with such...
dangerous players.

Oh. You could
just ask me to move.

Move, please.

What if Szofi and her stooges
aren't as...

reckless as we thought?

Looks pretty reckless
to me.

There.

Still there.
What's still there?

Proof.

That the robbery
was not designed

to fund some heretofore
unidentified scheme.

It was designed to conceal some
heretofore unidentified scheme.

Boy, that's tough to watch.

Yes, it is.

Why would you bring me here
and make me relive this?

And who is this man?

- I'm not a friend.
- He's here because

espionage doesn't fall in
the jurisdiction of the NYPD.

But you already knew that,
Szofi.

The robbery
wasn't about the money.

It was kabuki theater,
a distraction

from what was
really happening.

Which was?

Keep your eye on the keys.

Here,

and then again...

here.

Aside from the set
of keys

he makes a show of stealing,

he only moves
one other set of keys.

The whole purpose
of this robbery

was to create a wax impression

of a key which opens
the server room at Semper Apex.

You had to do that
without alerting the key's owner

that you'd compromised
his business.

Semper Apex?

I'm unfamiliar.

Yes, you are.

The machines inside

Mateo Peña's closet facilitate

diplomatic communications
for half a dozen countries.

You can't get so much as a
Wi-Fi signal in or out of there

unless you have a key.

This is an interesting theory,
but I have a plane to catch.

I'm traveling with friends.

It's not a theory.

Your friends visited Semper Apex

the day after the robbery.

They posed as clients.

And in the middle
of Mateo's sales pitch,

Vural stepped out
to take a call.

He then used his duplicate key
to slip in

and plant this.

It's a ghost jack.

The I.P. address
which it was slaved to

does not belong to the Celiks
or to the Turkish government.

It belongs to you.

The NYPD doesn't care about
who reads Uzbekistan's e-mails.

You want the person

who killed Ian Walker,
and I don't want to see

the inside of a courtroom.

Maybe we can make a deal.

Maybe, but I'm not with
the NYPD, and these guys

can't entertain a deal without
you first going on record

about what it is you do
and who you do it for.

And I'm not
talking about Turkey.

Who's your real boss?

Don't say it. Write it down.

Not everyone needs to know.

No, that's not what I said.

I did not claim to be able
to read her penmanship

from across the room; what I
observed were her pen strokes.

Oh. So now you can make out
what someone's writing

by watching the top of their pen
bob all around?

The top is connected to the
bottom, and I know what I saw.

I just don't see why someone
would develop a double agent

in Lower Manhattan.

I suppose they're ambitious.

No country wants an economy
dependent on goat meat forever.

I have an errand.
I'll meet you at home.

I don't have a cold.
There was dust in there.

Yes, you keep
telling yourself that.

You'd be wise to pencil in
some time on the trampoline.

It's the little things
you can't even see

that end up killing you.

And, trust me, copper pipes

beat galvanized
across the board.

So worth it.

Anyway, don't hesitate
to call.

I have a ton
of other listings

if you want
something less modern.

Thanks again for coming by.

I'm working.

At least I'm not crashing
in here with a gunshot wound

and a wad of stolen cash.

We're gonna clear
some things up.

First, I'm not crazy.
You lied about knowing Mycroft.

Are you calling me a liar?

That is not a question.
I am stating a fact.

Okay.

I didn't know Mycroft. So what?

So everything else
about your story was true.

Why lie about that?

Maybe I did it to annoy you.

I think that's partly true.

Which is weird,
because you don't even know me.

Right? The other day,

you called your mother
from one of our burners.

I checked the listing.
It was her home line.

Jing-Mei Wen.

She sure is
all over social media.

Posts tons of
sweet childhood photos of you.

A few friends commented

on how much fun they used
to have at Mrs. Yun's house.

That used to be your name, too.

Did you know
that the name Yun

dates back to the Qing Dynasty?

I do, because,
before my stepfather adopted me,

I was Joan Yun.

Why don't you just admit
you're my half-sister?

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man