Original subtitles

Watson, I've gone to a meeting.

Please review the matter of the Six Napoleons,

as the client has asked for an update.

I'll join you when I return.

I advise you not to use the refrigerator this morning.

My experiments in fermentation

find themselves at a critical stage.

Good morning.

I'm calling on Sherlock Holmes.

He's not here right now.

I'm his partner, Joan Watson.

Can I help you with something?

You look familiar.

Are you a friend of Bill W?

More like a friend of a friend.

But you've been to meetings at St. Olaf's

with Sherlock?

My name is Holder.

I was wondering if I might

leave something with you.

Sherlock's not really big on hats,

so I'm not sure he's gonna want a crown.

It's a coronet, technically.

Holmes calls it my "beryl coronet."

Uh, the stones are replicas, of course.

The entire thing's a simulacrum.

I'm certain it'll be very well received.

He says it reminds him of a case from London.

Um, if you don't mind me asking,

why are you giving him a beryl coronet?

Holmes did a favor for me.

I have a recovering addict's hatred for owing favors.

I mailed several checks

to compensate him for his time, but

they went uncashed. This, perhaps,

will settle the matter between us.

Mm-hmm.

Well, you're welcome to leave it here,

but if you'd rather give it to him in person,

uh, Sherlock is actually at a meeting at St. Olaf's right now.

St. Olaf's-- you sure?

I'm positive. Why?

We haven't seen Sherlock there in ages.

In fact, he told us specifically he was going

to another regular session in Greenpoint.

Variety, you know.

Really? Are you sure?

Well, I don't live there,

but I am a regular.

I'd put it at a month since

we've seen Sherlock.

Is everything all right, my dear?

Yes, yes. I just...

I didn't realize he had made the switch.

Mm.

Anyway, I'm happy to keep an eye on your crown.

Um, your coronet.

Did Hawes tell you what we're doing here?

I did not ask.

He knows we discriminate in the work we take on,

so I trust his judgment.

How was the meeting?

Oh, capital.

The usual, St. Olaf's?

Yeah, that's right.

Morning, sir. Morning.

This is Efraim Albright,

He died last night from an allergic reaction

to romifidine hydrochloride.

They market that as a product called Equithesia.

Animal tranquilizer used primarily

in equine surgery.

It's potent stuff.

I think Mr. Albright here took it by accident,

but there's a lot more I'd like to know

before I issue the autopsy report.

Man ingests horse tranquilizer and dies.

That's hardly a problem for the ages.

Why did you contact us?

You didn't let me finish.

I'm pretty sure there's foul play here.

I don't think Mr. Albright

ingested the horse tranquilizer directly.

There appear to be sausage casings

inside Efraim Albright's stomach.

According to the toxicology report,

the meat in those casings contains human remains.

That meat is tainted with Equithesia.

So he didn't die from taking a horse sedative.

He died from eating someone who took a horse sedative?

I think so. Yes.

♪ Elementary 5x08 ♪ How the Sausage is Made Original Air Date on Novemb

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

I'll spend some time over in Missing Persons,

but I'm pretty sure they won't be looking

for anyone who matches the description of a hot dog.

Sausage.

Oh, a sausage.

That'll clear things up.

So the question is

did Albright know he was eating someone?

We've already put him under a microscope.

He donated big chunks of his salary to charity,

sings tenor in the Brooklyn Gay Men's Choir.

I'm not ruling anything out yet,

but so far, Albright doesn't strike me as a cannibal.

Oh, he is a cannibal.

But is he a witting one

or an unwitting one?

These are the contents of his stomach.

Sausage casings and all.

Are you okay?

The trick is to suppress the gag reflex.

It was an illuminating whiff.

I'm sensing strong notes of

anise-- you might recall...

Oh, yeah, we traced all the major

buyers of anise in the city

when we were looking into what's his name?

Musgrave.

As it happens...

there is one such consumer who seems

of particular interest in this case.

Sorry, I'm confused.

You think I sold a sausage with a person in it?

Anise is your trademark ingredient, is it not?

Yeah, but my meat comes from cruelty-free sources.

Meat which you then grind on the premises,

if your sign outside is to be believed.

Of course it is.

Wait, you think I ground somebody up?

That's crazy.

Do you have any proof?

Other than the smell of anise in a dead guy's stomach?

No, but we would like to investigate.

Nothing happened in my shop.

Does anyone else have access to this place?

Employees with keys?

I open and close the place myself every day.

We did have a break-in last week.

Somebody snapped the padlock off the storm doors outside.

They never got upstairs, though.

I keep a deadbolt on the basement doors.

The grinder's downstairs, isn't it?

Okay, so someone killed the man

who Efraim Albright ate.

Or woman.

The victim could as easily been female.

Fine, the cannibal was equal-opportunity.

Whoever the victim was, he, or she,

was killed, dragged here,

dropped into the basement,

and then ground up?

That's more or less my theory, yes.

And this is all based on the fact that

you smelled anise in Albright's stomach?

It's pretty thin, don't you think?

I think that a unique set of circumstances

calls for a flexible intellect

to act as interpreter.

Well, I-I assume

we're gonna have to make our way

to that meat grinder,

eventually.

Yeah.

You know, it's been a while since

we talked about your recovery.

I mean, we used to talk about it all the time,

and now it's just something you do.

Well, we used to talk about it all the time

because you were my sober companion.

And now we're partners

in the consulting detective concern.

We're also friends. It wouldn't be so weird

if we checked in with each other once in a while.

My recovery's part of my routine.

I don't discuss it with you any more than

I discuss my, uh...

inhalations.

Wait...

What, did you find something?

That's skin and hair.

That is less than ten days old.

So if someone

unconscious, or barely conscious was dragged down here,

they might have banged their head and left this behind.

Both skin and hair are entirely without pigment.

Yet both are

robust and springy.

So whoever left this behind wasn't old.

You think he was an albino?

Or she.

Albinism is equally common between both sexes.

I think we should call Marcus.

The parameters of our missing persons search

may just have narrowed considerably.

Watson.

Hmm?

It's morning. You fell, you fell asleep.

Mm, yeah.

I just, uh...

I know that Benson Durant did not maintain

his security cameras outside his meat shop.

They were all down.

But I noticed there were shops on either side

that had working cameras, so I called them

and asked them to send me footage.

And you checked for albinos?

Well, until I fell asleep.

I didn't find anything. I did.

I've been up here for 40 minutes looking

at the footage you procured.

Alas, no albinos.

However, protestors had begun to frequent

the meat shop we visited yesterday.

Apparently, its owner, Mr. Durant,

had been giving a few lessons

on how to butcher your own meat,

and that attracted the attention

of the animal rights movement.

None of the protestors suffered from albinism,

however...

That guy has vitiligo.

Yeah, we're not looking for an albino.

We're looking for this fellow here.

And who is he? Got no idea.

The woman he's having a heated discussion with, however,

that's a nurse at Mountview Hospital

in Bayside. I see the scrubs,

but there's no way to read the I.D. tag

from this angle. Don't need to read it.

It's orange.

Mountview Hospital is the only hospital

in the five boroughs that has orange identification badges.

I sent a still from this to Marcus,

and he's trying to see if she works there.

While he's doing that, I'm going to go out.

You should wait for his call.

Are you going to St. Olaf's.

I find it best to tick that particular box

first thing in the morning.

Quick bite to eat, and then I'm gone.

Hey. Hey.

I sent a message to Sherlock, too-- he coming?

Yeah, he'll be along after he checks his phone.

We can get started.

So, the guy we think wound up in that sausage

was arguing with a woman named Alma Cabrera.

She's a nurse in the oncology department at Mountview.

Sure.

That's Joaq.

Joaq?

Joaquin Pereya.

He's a great guy, we hang out sometimes.

Kind of an off and on thing.

Have you seen him in the past week or so?

No, but that's not unusual.

He gets really caught up in his work.

Is everything okay?

Do you have anything of Mr. Pereya's here?

Toothbrush, comb, anything that might have a DNA sample

on it?

"DNA sample"?

What happened to Joaq?

We're not sure yet.

They finally got him, didn't they?

Who are "they"?

Joaquin was a biotechnologist.

He called himself a tissue engineer.

If you listen to his colleagues,

he was a genius, his work was gonna change everything.

If Joaquin is really gone

and you want to know what happened,

I'd start right here.

I'm not exactly sure what you're talking about,

but I really hope that didn't used to be a person.

So it isn't actually meat,

it's some kind of fake meat?

No, it's actually meat.

It's 100% American beef.

We just...

grow it here in the lab

instead of on a cow.

You do see how those ideas don't go together.

Well, muscle is made of cells, right?

We harvest those cells humanely from living animals

and replicate them here.

Obviating barbaric industry

practices, animal slaughter,

and... climate-destroying methane.

Well, that is our hope.

Big Meat must be quaking in their boots.

"Big Meat"?

The cattle industry at large.

May I? Mm.

It's a bit antiseptic.

We're still perfecting texture.

Fat to protein ratio.

And what the cell's grown in,

that must affect the flavor as well, yeah?

It's a solution of amino acids, mineral supplements.

Mostly sugar.

So, it's what a cow would taste like

if it was raised on, um...

breakfast cereal.

It's a work in progress.

And Joaquin Pereya's role in all this?

We haven't told the rest of the team

that he might be dead.

I... I still can't believe it myself.

He is dead, I just got a message from the forensic lab.

The DNA that we found was Mr. Pereya's.

Sorry.

Well, we'll gather everyone this afternoon

and let them know.

Now, Brendan knows that something might be up.

He was second in command to Joaquin.

He stepped up when we thought that Joaquin had... flaked.

This was his desk.

Joaquin was our lead bioengineer.

He was a genius.

He, uh, worked out most of the science

that made this possible.

Our Mozart of Meat.

So, girlfriend,

Alma, may have been on to something.

If someone wanted to hurt their chances of succeeding,

killing Joaquin was a good place to start.

That lady in the white coat,

does she have any reason to use this desk?

Corrine? No.

Why?

Corrine, this is Detective Bell

and his consultant, Mr. Holmes.

We just re-checked your references.

Care to explain

why the phone numbers you gave

for your last two employers

are now disconnected?

Excuse me?

I could explain.

Your recent work history's a fiction.

You're a spy sent here

to gather intelligence on Next Century Meats'

linchpin scientist, Joaquin Pereya.

But Werner, I have no idea

why the numbers aren't working.

Your shoes, Ms. Brighton,

are the creation of celebrated French designer,

Christian Louboutin. Yes.

And? Early in his career,

Monsieur Louboutin, in a fit of artistic peak,

used red nail polish to lacquer the soles of his shoes.

And that's been a trademark of the brand ever since, yeah.

Unfortunately for you, the soles scuff,

so I quite literally followed your footprints

over to Mr. Pereya's workstation

where, judging by the copious scuffage,

you've been a very busy bee.

Whoever placed you here,

might've had Joaquin Pereya murdered.

So unless you killed him yourself,

you'd be smart to get in front of this.

Wait.

Joaquin is dead?

I was placed here by Midwest Cattle Ranchers.

Oh, my God.

They just said I was supposed to share information.

I never signed on for murder.

I don't know much.

But I'll help you if I can.

Any smoking guns from Ms. Brighton's communiqués

with Big Meat?

You really love saying that, don't you?

Yeah, more than I enjoy saying "Midwest Cattle Ranchers."

Well, not yet, anyway.

Plenty on what we already know.

They faked her job history, they set her up to spy on

Joaquin Pereya, but so far no e-mails saying "Great work.

We're gonna kill him, we'll take it from here."

You going out?

While you were perusing, uh, Ms. Brighton's correspondence,

I was nosing about Midwest Cattle's computers,

and I hit a firewall I couldn't crack,

so I asked Everyone for help.

Their task Du jour is that I deliver

five minutes of observational comedy

at open Mic night at a place called The Joke Hole.

I'd invite you to come,

but my plan is to stink.

Oh, uh, your friend Holder came by yesterday.

He wanted me to give you this.

Doesn't really go with anything I own.

Yeah, I told him the same thing.

So I take it he informed you I've not been going

to St. Olaf's in quite some time.

The man needs a lesson in the meaning

of anonymity.

He said that you needed a change.

That you're going to a different meeting.

Is that what's going on?

Well, you followed me to Van Kirk Park this morning,

so... I'm sure you know

that it isn't.

I'm well versed in the art of detecting a tail, Watson.

Yeah, I probably should not have done that.

Well, I probably shouldn't have lied.

So let's put an an end to it, shall we?

The change that I needed to instate

is that I'm not going to meetings anymore.

Why?

I needed to inject an element of derring-do

into my sobriety.

Remove the safety net, if you will.

And you, even if no longer in an official capacity,

are part of that safety net, so I kept you out of the loop.

The daily business

of staying sober, of going to meetings

with people not nearly my intellectual equal,

has become a bore.

I've said before

my mind rebels at stagnation.

The process of recovery has become stagnant,

so I've increased the level of difficulty,

in order to remain engaged.

What I have not done, I assure you,

is waiver in my commitment one iota.

You're arrogant.

I beg your pardon?

Your problem is that you think you're smarter

than everyone else.

I am smarter than everyone else, demonstrably.

I didn't say you weren't, you are.

I said you think you are, you think

that being smarter makes you different.

Don't you think other people get bored at meetings, too?

It-it was one of the most common things I used to talk about

with my clients.

Everyone gets bored at meetings.

It doesn't make you different, it makes you typical.

But you know what the ones who stay sober do?

They keep going to meetings.

Have you considered the possibility

that I experience my boredom more acutely

than others experience theirs?

I've been relating to my sobriety like a tourist

who visits the Grand Canyon.

But doesn't go near the edge for fear of falling in.

Yes, and that's how you stay sober.

It is also how you lull yourself into a torpor.

If addiction is an abyss,

shouldn't the addict tiptoe up to the edge once and a while?

Stare down into the gorge.

You know what?

The first thing you said was right.

I'm not officially anything to your sobriety

other than your friend.

You have the right to do whatever you want.

My vote is sober and bored.

You know what? Uh, there's another...

box of Corrine's files downstairs,

I'm gonna go through it.

You got to your open Mic,

I'm sure you'll kill.

Two breakfast sandwiches.

One made with sausage from our own larder.

The other was concocted from "shmeat,"

which I brought home from Next Century Meats.

"Shmeat"?

A term of art among scientists in the field,

a "sheet of meat."

You're not interested in the blind taste test I devised?

No offense. I appreciate the gesture,

or part of it, but...

I'm gonna pass on the lab-grown meat thing.

If you wanted a skin graft, you'd prefer cells grown

in a lab over ones from a cadaver, no?

Why should what you put in your mouth be any different?

'Cause I don't eat my own skin.

I'm surprised. You're a woman of science.

Yeah. And I've been around plenty of labs.

It's not a place where you want to go shop for groceries.

Have you ever been around an industrial slaughterhouse?

How'd your comedy set go?

Oh, wonderfully. Boos abounded.

A gentleman backstage told me

I needed to be more relatable.

The access

I was granted by Everyone, however,

proved much more fruitful.

According to Big Meat's accounting records,

they recently paid $100,000

to a "performance consultant" named Thomas Cockburn.

Mm... What's a "performance consultant"?

I have no idea. And I'd bet no one at Big Meat does either.

Did a little digging into Thomas Cockburn.

He's attracted the attention of both federal

and local authorities in multiple jurisdictions

over the last six years, in connection

with eight other murders.

In each case, a company with reason to want the victim dead

paid Cockburn as a consultant around the same time.

So, he's a corporate hit man.

That is what the authorities believed,

but they were never able to prove it.

Cockburn provided a definitive alibi

for each of the murders, showing that he was in

an entirely different city at the times they were committed.

But?

But I noticed something the authorities missed.

Cockburn has an adult daughter, named Grace.

The two are ostensibly estranged

after Cockburn's divorce from her mother.

It's why she was never considered,

but I think they're much closer than they let on.

So, she's been in each city

when a murder happened. You think they're partners.

Grace happens to live in New York.

Marcus is inviting her to the station as we speak.

So, make yourself an alternate breakfast.

We should have Joaquin Pereya's murder solved

by the time you get dressed.

We get that you never expected anyone

to connect you to these murders, but...

it still would have been a good idea

not to keep so much evidence

in your apartment.

Our search turned up building plans,

travel receipts and this coded log book

that Mr. Holmes here cracked in no time.

I mean, it's really quite easy to break a cipher

if you know what it's going to say.

Feds are picking up your dad in Miami,

and a whole bunch of other cities are gonna

want to talk to you, but we get you first.

And our D.A. is gonna want to close this quick,

before the FBI takes over. So...

help us wrap up Joaquin Pereya,

and you're in a strong position to make a deal.

I would, honestly.

Except I didn't kill Joaquin Pereya.

Is there a point in denying it now?

We have evidence that you killed nine people.

The game's lost.

You have proof that we killed eight people.

My father and I had nothing to do with Pereya's death.

You had his info

in your apartment.

Records that you were tailing him.

Because Midwest Cattle Ranchers did hire us to kill him.

We had a plan. We were ready to go through with it.

But MCR canceled the contract before we did the job.

Why would they do that?

An FDA ruling came down, about the food Pereya was developing.

The government classified it as "meat substitute,"

instead of recognizing it as meat.

So, Next Century Meats' product will be relegated

to the tofu aisle,

along with veggie burgers, and other fringe foodstuffs.

So, Midwest Cattle's panic

went from five-alarm fire to a minor annoyance.

They didn't need to kill him anymore, so they called us off.

Why would I bother lying?

You're right that I am screwed when the Feds get here.

But we didn't kill your guy.

Someone else did.

I understand congrats are in order.

You picked up a team of hit men that the FBI's been hunting

for years? Unfortunately,

neither one of them killed Joaquin Pereya.

Well, Holmes texted me.

"Big Meat innocent. Further suspects to come."

"Further suspects."

I guess that's what you're doing?

The people Pereya worked with?

They called him the Mozart of Meat.

Sherlock says he knows a little something about genius,

and that... "No truly exceptional intellect

would knowingly submit flawed work."

Now, the FDA has consistently ruled

that if two products are genetically identical,

then they're legally the same thing.

Even if one's natural and

one's grown in a lab.

Now, Pereya obviously knew that.

So, Sherlock thinks there's no way

he would've submitted bad research to the FDA.

So, he went to Next Century Meats,

and got them to give us Pereya's undoctored research.

And you're comparing it to the work

that was submitted to the FDA.

You think someone doctored Pereya's work?

Sherlock does.

I'm agnostic.

But right now I'm along for the ride.

Oh! What?

This chart in the official report. It looks identical

to the one in Pereya's research, except...

couple numbers are different.

I'm sending pictures off to Sherlock.

I'm sure it'll be a minute before I hear back.

If you've got stuff to do...

Hmm.

That's him.

"Get here immediately."

He used an eight to make it

easier to type out "immediately."

"Our so-called 'Mozart of Meat'

had his very own Salieri."

Mr. Farley, you were Mr. Pereya's understudy.

If his work failed

and then he disappeared in disgrace,

n-no one stood to benefit more than you.

Whoa, Joaq was my boss, but he was also my friend.

I hope you're not suggesting I killed him.

We know someone sabotaged

the data, Mr. Farley.

You had access to Joaquin Pereya's computer

and you have the technical expertise alter his work.

We'll prove that, 'cause we've already been granted access

to Pereya's hard drives. Your digital fingerprints

are in there somewhere.

It's the only explanation that makes any sense.

Theoretically speaking,

let's say you find the guy who fudged

Joaq's research. That doesn't mean

you found the guy who killed him.

Is that a theoretical admission

to being the saboteur?

You guys have got messing around with Joaq's numbers

all tied up with killing him.

One's a try at getting

a leg up in the office. The other's life in prison.

It wasn't necessarily the same person.

So, convince us they're not tied together.

Okay, look.

You dig around enough, you're gonna see,

it was me who fudged the data. I'm not proud of it,

and I hope you don't tell my boss and ruin my career.

But Mr. Platz called your office

to learn what he could about Joaq's murder.

Apparently, he was killed between Wednesday and Friday

of last week?

That's what we think, yeah.

I was at a wedding in Curacao last week.

Left Monday, landed at JFK middle of the day Friday.

I'm telling the truth! I was at the ceremony!

You can ask the bridesmaids I hit on.

It's as we suspected.

Brendan Farley's three-quarter alibi is 100% percent true.

He was harassing bridesmaids in Curacao.

So, it wasn't him.

Who else wanted Joaquin Pereya dead because he made

a lucrative breakthrough in the field of cultured meat?

Well, I'm already going through the company reports

for Next Century Meats.

I think you're bored with recovery

because you're not saying what's on your mind.

What's on my mind is that I'm bored.

And that's exactly what you need to be talking about.

That, and everything else you said yesterday.

Including the bit about being the smartest person in the room?

See, recovery only works if you say what you're thinking.

Those people in the room, whatever their I.Q. is,

they've been through a lot.

They can handle you being an arrogant jerk.

I mean, will it be awkward?

Probably, but when's that

ever stopped you?

It's a better way to re-engage.

I worked with a lot of clients before, and...

every time sometimes tries to go it alone, it always ends badly.

S...

Watson, you may want to compose yourself

before coming downstairs.

A salon of sorts is in progress.

It's so new!

Aye, so true, so true.

Now, we eat, uh, eggs, yes?

These are cells taken from an animal.

The chicken is presumably still alive.

That's an interesting example. Mm-hmm.

Oh, good morning.

Now, if we could only find those chickens.

Why is there some sort of

world peace convocation going on upstairs?

Those are leading scholars of their respective faiths.

We've had a very productive morning.

We reached conclusions on some knotty issues.

And now it's time to eat.

Jews and Muslims are united by more than conflict, Watson.

Both groups have labored under dietary restrictions

for millennia.

Including very strict guidelines

over the slaughter and consumption of meat.

Why would someone doctor research

to prevent a lucrative breakthrough

from being labeled as such?

Only, I now believe,

if it was more profitable to have another label.

Are you familiar with the word pareve?

Uh, it's a kosher thing, right?

Mm. The laws of kashrut state

that permissible foods are divided into groups--

dairy, meat.

But there's a third classification.

Pareve. Water is pareve.

Carrots are pareve.

Okay, so pareve is like... neutral?

Exactly, it's the Switzerland of food.

Now, if shmeat is ruled to be actual meat,

that obviously opens up the carnivore market,

but it also subjects it to the Gordian Knot of halal and kosher

certification.

If it is a mere meat substitute,

then it sits, forlorn, in the vegan aisle.

But if shmeat can thread the needle,

if it can be actual lab-grown meat,

but not be classified as such...

It would be pareve,

neutral to the kosher and halal rules about meat.

Imagine, Watson.

Observant Jews finally being allowed

a cheeseburger.

Religious Muslims indulging

in pulled-pork Cubanos.

There is what?

Over a billion Muslims in the world.

It's a huge untapped market.

Probably way more profitable

for them to not label shmeat as meat.

Hence the doctored research.

So, if Joaquin Pereya wasn't on board for faking the data,

that would mean that whoever's

in charge of that place

would have reason to kill him.

And that would be...

Werner Platz, CEO of Next Century Meats.

Can we prove he was involved?

We can if his coconspirator

will talk to us.

Mr. Farley, thank you so much

for coming on short notice.

I thought I already answered your questions.

Well, we had one set of questions for you

when we thought that you killed Joaquin Pereya.

We no longer think that.

Oh, okay.

Good. We now think

that you were part of a conspiracy to kill him.

After you.

This is the intersection

of 65th street and Metropolitan Avenue.

Street racers use this stretch of Metropolitan.

A concerned citizen tried to catch

some of their license plates on camera.

She overheard a patrolman asking

for security camera footage, volunteered to share this.

Am I supposed to be looking at something?

That's your boss, Werner Platz.

So?

Mr. Farley, that intersection

is a half block away

from Brooklyn's Best Wurst.

This footage was gathered the same night someone

broke into the store and ground Joaquin Pereya

into so much mince.

We can place your boss right by the scene,

on the night it happened.

I've also had

an informal peek at your banking records.

"Informal peek"?

What does that mean?

It means I have friends

who are digitally nimble.

Don't look at him.

He had nothing to do with it.

We'll get an authorized

look soon enough.

They'll show a judge what we already know.

Someone recently paid

your mortgage in full.

It was paid by a third party.

We're already trying to link that to your boss.

What does that have to do with Joaquin?

Werner Platz wanted

Mr. Pereya to alter his... shmeat

so the FDA would classify it as a meat substitute.

Then he could sell it to the kosher and halal markets.

But Pereya was a true believer.

He cared more about disrupting the meat industry

than he did about the profits.

He wouldn't make the change.

So, Platz killed Pereya

and found himself a cringing mediocrity

who would take a fee to alter the data.

And that was you, Mr. Farley.

Testify against Werner Platz.

I already offered you one chance to get in front of this.

You won't get another.

And if I say no, what happens?

You take that video to a judge.

All that shows is Werner driving down the street.

Why'd he pay my mortgage?

'Cause I'm a great employee

and I just got a promotion.

You guys have nothing on me

and I'm pretty sure you've got nothing on Werner

or you wouldn't be trying to get me to turn on him.

It was a nice try, guys,

but I'm going to leave my lawyer's number.

Don't call me again.

So, Brendan Farley and Werner Platz killed a man

and ground him into sausage...

and not only do they get to walk free...

They'll both be rich the moment the shmeat hits the market.

God bless America.

We'll canvass the neighborhood

near the meat shop again tomorrow.

Perhaps we missed someone who saw Werner Platz

carrying a body down the stairs.

The patrolman went door to door twice.

It's my party. I'll clean up.

You should rest. You seem a little tense.

I'm frustrated.

Uh, we found the people who broke into the Leviathan.

We arrested half of Le Milieu

to get your brother off the hook.

We brought down Moriarty.

I mean, these guys are not criminal geniuses.

They're just a couple of idiots who killed for money.

Granted, it's not the perfect crime,

but occasionally, criminals walk free due to dumb luck.

It's not a... perfect universe, is it, Watson?

Well, that sounds like

giving up. I mean, I know no one's quitting.

I-I just hate that these guys are getting away with it.

We might not be able to prove our case in court...

but that doesn't mean we can't punish them.

What, are you gonna whip them with a cherry Danish?

No, I'm going to use this.

We need to reconvene

the council of rabbis and imams.

Do you seriously think this is gonna work?

I have no earthly idea.

Morning.

We'd like to see the coconspirators

in the murder of Joaquin Pereya.

Our lawyers are on their way here.

I'm gonna do everything I can

to sue you two for harassment.

Gentlemen, we have unearthed

no new evidence against you.

Despite our best efforts,

we are unable to prove

that the two of you

murdered Joaquin Pereya.

Then what are you doing here?

We can make a compelling circumstantial argument

that you are guilty and we did

last night...

to the Convocation of Orthodox Rabbis

and the I.C.H.,

their equivalent in the Muslim faith.

Are you familiar with those bodies?

They're the ones who will be deciding whether or not

your shmeat can be sold

to the halal and kosher communities.

They asked us to pass on a message.

Murder is not kosher.

Oh? And what is that

supposed to mean?

We demonstrated to the satisfaction

of various religious worthies that your shmeat

became eligible to be pareve

by virtue of foul play.

The imams and the rabbis have got no intention

of rewarding murder.

They're never gonna bless you with the labels

that you seek and they're going to use

their influence to see to it

that other certifying bodies

follow their lead.

You can still sell it in the vegan aisle,

but good luck staying in business.

So, this is some kind of retribution.

You are going to rob the world of our product

because you can't prove your insane theories.

Maybe your shmeat will go to market.

Maybe it won't.

The rabbis and imams

have agreed to change their minds

on one condition: someone has to be convicted

of Joaquin Pereya's murder.

I don't understand.

But we don't need you to.

Our appeal is to Mr. Farley.

He committed the actual murder.

Ground a corpse into sausage meat.

All you did was fake some data.

When we explained that

to our captain, he called the D.A.

They're willing to be flexible.

In exchange for your testimony,

they will arrange a plea that sees you serve

no jail time.

He'll be convicted

of Joaquin Pereya's murder.

The shmeat will be, uh,

deemed kosher and halal

and you can participate in the profits

while he rots in jail.

Brendan, don't listen to them.

For all you know, they're bluffing.

Or you can remain united in relative penury.

I mean, you know, he's really good to his partners.

He skinned the last one and, uh...

ground him into sausage.

It's your choice, Mr. Farley.

Details of a shocking crime continue to emerge as CEO,

Werner Platz, is arrested for the murder of Joaquin Pereya,

the chief scientist at his company.

So, one coconspirator

gets off nearly Scot-free

in exchange for which the other

is imprisoned for murder.

Satisfactory outcome?

I'll take it.

It's a random universe.

...of the actual murder...

Where are you going?

A meeting.

Will you be following me to confirm?

Do I need to?

♪ Life is like a storm ♪

♪ When we find out, it's gone... ♪

If no one else wants to share, we'll wrap up for tonight.

Okay, then.

Yes. It's nice to see you again.

Please.

Thanks. Uh...

Hello, my name is Sherlock and I'm an addict.

Hello, Sherlock.

I'm also...

...I'm the cleverest person in the room.

Now, I'm... I'm so much cleverer than my peers

that I've come to believe I feel boredom more acutely

than everybody else...

♪ Would you care at all? ♪

...which leads me to my recent quandary...

arrogance.

My-my own arrogance, you know, to be precise.

And the possibility that that might be

an Achilles' heel to my recovery.

♪ Would you care at all? ♪

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

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