SHERLOCK

Irene Adler: A few times, each century, an artist gives birth to a particularly distinctive kind of character. A society needs its heroes, no?  Even, or maybe especially, those that are flawed and imperfect.  Now we all must have a fairly clear image in our mind of who our Sherlock is, who is our hero?  You know, the tall, astoundingly intelligent man with the pointy nose?  There have been many representations. My favorite among them, the female. Re-tellings and re-tellings. In this adventure we’ll meet quite a few of them. As well as other characters we’ve grown to love.  Dr. Watson, of course, his dutiful foil. There’s lovely Mary, who we first encounter as Sherlock’s client.  She positively captures John Watson’s heart. Then there’s his brother, Mycroft, and his arch nemesis, Professor Moriarty, with fingers of crime that reach far and wide, the man behind it all. (In a whisper) And why couldn’t it be a woman… behind it all?  Perhaps you know of me or perhaps not.  I’m Irene Adler, one of the only to ever outwit Sherlock. 

Ensemble: You never know just who you’re going to meet.  When you’re walking down a busy London street. Mrs Orchids, Mrs Brown, any subject of the crown. Oh, you never know, just who you’re going to meet. So…….you better hold your topper in your hand. Just in case you meet a lady on the strand.

Girls will think you’re kinda sweet, and your day will be complete. Oh, you never know, just who you’re going to meet…” “Now a gentleman is judged by his appearance.”

“Yes, a gentleman is judged by how he talks. Now, he’s much better off when he’s acting like a toff, especially if he’s taking him a walk.”

Watson: What on earth is this outlandish place? 

Sherlock: A rendezvous for actors.

Watson: Actors? 

Sherlock: Buskers, old boy. You’ve seen them a thousand times. Actors who entertain the cues waiting outside theaters. 

Ensemble: You never know just who you’re going to meet, when you’re walking down the busy London Street? So you’d better wear your best. Oh, it pays to look your best, cause you never know just who you’re going to meet.. So… you better keep your manners right in view. Just in case a Lady gives a how-to-do.. Keep your trousers in a fleet, shine your shoes, and keep them neat ’cause you never know just who you’re gonna meet. 

Watson: Sherlock Holmes, master detective and loyal friend whose adventures have brought considerable fame to a certain retired  doctor now living in Northern California.

Sherlock: What’s in your hand?  The game’s afoot.

Watson: I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion and spent much of my time endeavoring to unravel it.  I have my eye on a suite on Baker St, he said, which would suit us down to the ground.  

Watson: His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge; as the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life gradually deepened and increased.

Watson: 1. Knowledge of Literature – Nil; 2. Philosophy – Nil; 3. Astronomy – Nil; 4. Politics – feeble; 5. Botany – variable; Geology – practical but limited; Chemistry – profound; Anatomy – accurate but unsystematic; Sensational Literature – immense; plays the violin well; is an expert single-stick player, boxer, and swordsman; has a good practical knowledge of British law.  But as eccentric as all his other accomplishments, that he could play pieces and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request, he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s lieder and other favorites.  When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his armchair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally, they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly, they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy, was more than I could determine. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion and spent much of my time in endeavoring to unravel it.

This is the letter which I read to him: My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, there has been a bad business during the night at three, Lawrenceton Gardens, off the Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, and as the house was an empty one, he suspected that something was amiss.  He found the door open, and in the front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, well-dressed, and having cards in his pocket bearing the name of Enoch J Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.  There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks of blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. Indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler.  He whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifying glass from his pocket. With these two implements, he trotted noiselessly about the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face.

Echo: A study in Scarlet, eh?

 

Watson: Now, Doctor, turning to me, are those ordinary pills?  They certainly were not. Poison, said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off.  One other thing Lestrade, he added. Turning round at the door. Rache is the German for revenge. So don’t lose your time looking for Miss Rachel.

Different Voice: Who found the body? Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland.

Watson:  Our duty is to unravel it. 

Different Voice: A woman’s wedding ring. 

Different Voice: Very well, take him to the mortuary.  There’s nothing to be gained by keeping him. 

Echo: A study in Scarlet, eh? 

Sherlock: Watson! Great Scott!

Different Voice: Sergeant Thompson? He was killed between the hours of 11 and 2 o’clock this morning, Mr. Holmes.

Sherlock: The thief who steals an oddity like a musical box passes up one worth 500 pounds for one of almost no value at all.

Watson: It was only worth 2 pounds.

Sherlock: It was worth a man’s life, Watson.

(PHONE RING)

Different Voice: The oldest green station reports they’ve just found Sergeant Thompson’s body. From the tire marks on his clothes, he was apparently run over by a taxi.

Sherlock: What an unfortunate accident. Not an accident, my dear fellow. I’m afraid it’s murder.

(HORSE)

Sherlock: Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in the world. I’m a consulting detective, if you can understand.

Echo: I’m a consulting detective, if you can understand here in London, we have lots of government detectives and lots of private ones. They lay the evidence before me, and I am genuinely abled by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. 

By a man’s fingernails, by his coat sleeves, by his boot, by his trousers, by the colossities of his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs, by each of these things a man’s calling is plainly revealed. 

New Voice: Very well. Now, what have we here?

New Voice: Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I’m not easily intimidated. However, when I find a note pinned to my pillow which reads, Beware, if you proceed with the marriage, the chandelier will dip blood.

Echo: The chandelier will dip blood… 

Woman’s Voice: It all began with the death of the Russian princess herself. She had a bit of a temper, it seems. No one could polish her silver chandelier to suit her. Bridget or Noro, whatever her name was, snatched the little whip from her mistress’s hand and then, looking her straight in the eye, she laid on her the terrible, strangler’s curse of Donegal. Then she strode from the room and slammed the great door after her.

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

 

Man’s Voice: Sonia, Sonia, let us in.  Sonia, unbolt the door! Come, ________ the woman, we shall have to break in the door. Boris, stop that!

Man’s Voice: Who’s discovered the body?

Child: Me, sir. The gentleman asked to be called for breakfast. I’ve come up and there he was, right everywhere.

Man’s Voice: One, two, three…someone give me the torch.   Good lord, the chandelier.. She’s hanging from the chandelier…she’s strangled by her own hair…

Watson: They will call upon you tonight at a quarter to eight. A gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Do you remember that letter, Holmes? It was written over two years ago. An interesting case, devilishly interesting. Irene Adler, what a striking looking woman from the brief glance I had of her.  It seems only yesterday. What charm, what poise, and what a mind. Sharp enough and brilliant enough to outwit the great Sherlock Holmes himself. 

Sherlock: I take it the new issue of the Strand Magazine is out, containing another of your slightly lurid tales.

Watson: Yes, indeed.

Sherlock: And what do you call this one?

Watson: I call it a Scandal in Bohemia. Not a bad title, huh?

Sherlock: Hmm. If you must record my exploits, I do wish you’d put less emphasis on the melodramatic and more on the intellectual issues involved.

Watson: More on the inte… What do you mean by that?

Sherlock: Well, I do hope you’ve given, uh, the woman a soul. She had one, you know.

Watson: By the woman? I suppose you mean Irene Adler.

Sherlock: Yes. I shall always remember her… as The Woman.  Irene Adler, born in New Jersey in the United States in 1858, contralto. Premadonna Imperial Opera Warsaw, retired from the operatic stage. Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back. If this young lady should produce her letters for blackmailing purposes, how should she prove their authenticity?

King:  It’s the handwriting.

Watson: That could be a forgery, your majesty.

King:  But it was private notepaper.  Stolen.

King:  My own seal.

Sherlock:  Imitated.

King:  My photograph. Both.

Watson:  What?

King: They are both in the photograph.

Watson: Oh dear, oh dear. Very bad. Your Majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion.

King: It must be recovered.

Sherlock:  Perhaps if you were to put up enough, the photograph might be bought? She refuses to sell.

Sherlock:  Stolen.

King:  Ah, five attempts have been made. Twice, Burglars in my pay ransacked the house. Once we heard of her luggage when she travelled. Twice, she has been waylaid. There has been no result.

Sherlock:  Oh dear. That’s quite a pretty little problem.

King:  It is a deadly serious one to me.

Watson: Your Majesty, what does Miss Adler intend to do with the photograph?

King: It’s to ruin me.

Sherlock: Oh, how?

King:  Well, I…. I am about to be married to the second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct will put an end to it.

Sherlock: And Irene Adler threatens to send the photograph to your concierge?

King: Yes, and she will do it.

Watson: What’s our first move, Holmes?

Sherlock: A good night’s rest, I think. We’ll meet here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.

Watson:  And then?

Sherlock:  My dear fellow, we will see what we can find out about Miss Irene Adler.

Watson:  Holmes, there you are. You have the photograph?

Sherlock:  No. I know where it is. She showed me it. I told you she would. There’s no mystery, old chap.

Watson:  How did my throwing the rocket help you?

Sherlock:  It was all important, my dear fellow. When a woman thinks her home is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the things she values most. A married woman grabs her baby, an unmarried… reaches for her jewel box. In this case, of course, it was a photograph.

Watson:  Well, where was it?

Sherlock:  In a recess in the living room, I caught a glimpse of it as she half drew it out. When I made it known that the fire was a false alarm, she replaced the photograph.

Watson:  And what do we do now?

Sherlock:  Drive to the Langham Hotel, inform his majesty what has happened. Then return in  fair time..After that, my dear chap, the case will be ended.

Echo King:  You’re certain the photograph will still be there, Mr. Holmes?

 

Echo Sherlock:  I have every reason to believe so, Your Majesty.

King:  Is the photograph there, Mr. Holmes?

Sherlock:  There is a photograph, but it’s a photograph of the lady alone.

Sherlock: My dear, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you really did it very well.  Until after the fire alarm, I had no suspicion. But then, when I realized how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I’d been warned that if the King employed an agent, it would certainly be you.

Echo: It would certainly be you. May I congratulate you on your disguise as the dear old clergyman.

 

Watson:  Great Scott!

King: What else does it say?

Sherlock:  Uh, let me see. My husband and I both thought that the best recourse was flight. His Majesty may rest in peace. Thank goodness for that. I leave another photograph, however, you might care to possess. And I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very truly yours. Irene Norton, née Adler. What a woman! What a woman!  What a magnificent woman! She fooled me completely!

Echo Sherlock: She fooled me completely! I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’ve been unable to bring your business to a more successful conclusion.

King:  On the contrary, my dear sir. Nothing could be more successful. The incriminating photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire.

Watson:  I’m glad to hear your majesty say so…

King:  I am immensely indebted to you. Now, pray tell me in what way I can reward you.

Echo Sherlock: This photograph.

King:  Irene’s photograph. But certainly. However you must let me give you something more substantial.

Sherlock:  Your Majesty this is something I should treasure all my life. This and a golden sovereign I received from the lady’s hand; they will remind me that I was once tricked by a woman, a woman that I shall never forget!

(BOOM!)

 

Suffragette:  Come on!  You’d arrest me if I was a man!……Under the banner of free speech, I call on the women of England to demand equal rights with men.  Under the banner of free speech, I call on the women of England to demand equal rights with men.

Man:  Well you know these suffragettes, they’re capable of anything.

Suffragette:  Under the banner of free speech, I call on the women of England to demand equal rights with men.  Have me defeated while you’re at it.

Lestrade: Good heavens, are they using bombs now?

Suffragette(Mary):  Oh, just teeny ones. 

Watson: Now, just what’s going on here?

Le Strade:  This young lady, doctor, Oh hello Mr. Holmes.

Sherlock:  Oh, good day Wilkins.

LeStrade: She’s a…

Suffragette (Mary):  A Suffragette! We demand that women be given the right to vote.

Man: Ha ha ha ha ha.

Lestrade: She and some other suffer, suffragettes started demonstrations..

Lestrade:  We were getting them to move on and this young lady broke loose and chained herself here.

Lestrade:  Sometimes I don’t know where modern England’s going.

Suffragette: Women of England, keep out of the kitchen.

Sherlock:  I believe I can help you.

Mary:  I don’t want any help.

Watson:  She wants to vote.

Suffragette: Halt, free speech. You say something men don’t like, they tell you to move on.

Echo:  Men don’t like, they tell you to move on.

 

Sherlock:  But I don’t see what chaining yourself to iron railings is going to obtain for you.

Suffragette:  You wouldn’t understand. You’re a man.

 

Suffragette song:  Men tell us its fit that wives should submit to their husbands submissively, weakly. Though whatever they say, their wives should obey, unquestioning, stupidly, meekly.

 

Man:  She probably wants to wear trousers, too.

Suffragette song:  Our husbands wouldn’t make us their own dictum take without ever a wherefore or why for it. But I don’t and I can’t and I won’t and I shan’t. No, I will speak my mind if I die for it.

 

Man:  Now go on and cook your old man his supper.

Suffragette song:  For we know it’s all fudge to say men’s the best judge of what should be and shouldn’t and so on. That woman should bow nor attempt to say how. She considers that matter should go on.  I never yet gave up myself as a slave, however my husband might try for it, for I can’t and I won’t and I shan’t and I don’t, but I will speak my mind if I die for it,

 

Man:  Give them the vote now.  In five years time they’ll be running the country and, oh, ladies, I hope, who with husbands do cope with the rights of this sex will not trifle.

Suffragette song:  We all, if we choose, our tongues but to use, can all opposition soon stifle? Let man, if he will, then bid us be still and silent, a price you’ll pay high for it, for we won’t and we can’t and we don’t and we shan’t, let us all speak our minds if we die for it.

 

Lestrade:  Detain her.

Man 2: But nevertheless, bombing seems a bit drastic, even for Suffragettes.

Lestrade: Well, so is this business of them wanting a vote.

Sherlock:  Well, why not give them a vote? They couldn’t do any worse with it than we have.

Lestrade: I’ll leave it in your hands if I may, Mr. Holmes. 

Sherlock: Come, Watson.

(THUNDER)

(HAWK)

Watson:  Well, you see, the affair started in weather exactly like this. On Monday, a dense yellow fog had settled down upon London. On Thursday, it was still there, thicker and murkier than ever. Holmes’ patience snapped. Holmes, if you must pace around in circles, I wish you’d change directions now and then, you’re making me dizzy.

Sherlock:  Ah, it’s inexcusable, Watson, inexcusable, no initiative, no imagination, nothing ever gets done.

Watson:  If you’re alluding to the inactivity in this last session of Parliament my dear.

Sherlock:  I’m not speaking of our lawmakers, Watson, but of our lawbreakers. The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow.

Watson:  Makes you sure?

Sherlock:  Look out of the window. Ideal weather for committing a crime. Criminal advances on its intended victim practically unseen. He pounces and disappears into thin air.

Watson:  There have been numerous petty thefts, I believe

Sherlock: Petty thefts, pickpockets, ragamuffins. What’s the country coming to? Now, if I were a criminal, Watson.

Watson:  I for one would move to America.

Sherlock. Oh, hello, hello, Mrs. Hudson is knocking excitedly. What’s up, I wonder?

Mrs. Hudson:  Here you go sir.

Watson:  Well, what’s it say?

Sherlock:  Oh, wait until I open it, can’t you? Ah, dear me, what next? Most unusual, Watson, most unusual.

Watson:  What’s most unusual, Watson? What’s it say?

Sherlock: Well, it’s from my brother, Mycroft. You remember him. I must see you about Cadogan West; coming at once.

Watson:  Cadogan West? Why, that’s the young chap that was found dead in the underground on Tuesday morning, I remember reading about it in the paper.  Oh?  A man had apparently fallen out of a train and killed himself. He hadn’t been robbed, and there was no reason to suspect violence. Quite an uninteresting case, if I remember correctly.

Sherlock:  Yet, It’s serious enough to cause Mycroft to alter his habits. No Watson. This must be an extraordinary event. And do you recall any other facts about the affair? What articles were found on the body?

Watson:  Two pounds fifteen, I believe it was. A checkbook and… Oh yes, yes, yes. Two dress-circle tickets for the Woolwich Theatre, dated for that evening. Theater tickets, eh? Then it wasn’t suicide. A man doesn’t procure theater tickets for the evening on which he intends to end his life. Anything else?  Watson, have I ever told you what Mycroft is?

Watson:  Your brother, of course.

Sherlock: No, no, no, Watson. Do you have to be so dense? I mean, do you know what he does? His position is unique. He made it for himself. The conclusions of every government department are passed on to him. He’s the central exchange, the clearinghouse. Again and again, his word has decided the national policy. He thinks of nothing else.

Watson: And yet he’s coming here? Yes. Jupiter is descending on us today.

Sherlock: Ah, here he is, if I’m not mistaken, to speak for himself. Come in, come in.  Hello, Mycroft. What’s up? What’s up? You look flustered.

Mycroft:  Dear me.

Sherlock:  Now, sit down. Mycroft, sit down. You know Watson, of course. Yes, yes, yes.

Mycroft:  I’m trying to find a chair that I can trust to hold me.

Sherlock:  But you certainly haven’t got any thinner.

Echo:  But you certainly haven’t got any thinner. But you certainly haven’t got any thinner.

Sherlock:  Ah, just what were the technical papers found on the body?

Mycroft:  Shh, for the love of heaven not so loud. The most important papers in our government archives. Under no circumstances could they be removed from the office.

Sherlock: And yet we find them in the pockets of a dead junior charge in the heart of London. Yeah, from an official point of view, it’s deplorable, my dear Mycroft. Simply deplorable.

Mycroft: You may laugh, Sherlock, but this country won’t be safe until they’re recovered.

(THUNDER/LIGHTNING)

(HAWK)

Sherlock:  No? Hmm, nice little problem, eh, Watson? Why did Cadogan West take the papers? How did he die? How did his body reach the place where it was found? And where are the missing papers?
(GUN SHOT)
The Princess! She’s been shot! Come on, Watson! Out of the way, please! Out of the way!

Man 1: Your husband, the Earl, was killed in the explosion.

(BOOM)

 

Sherlock: She was shot through the brain. She died instantly.

Man 2:  Stephanie is dead?  Stop that devilish music! Lock all the doors! There’s a murderer to be found!

(BOOM)
(DOOR SLAMS)

 

Watson: A limping ghost, clad in a suit of amour, always appeared at Lochner Castle before and after the death of the current Earl. (GUN SHOTS)  It’s Mia Walstine. She’s been shot! (GUN SHOT)

 

Man 6:  Sir James, sir. Sir James is dead.

Watson: Good heavens, dead.

Man 6:  He died this morning. It’s terrible, terrible.

Sherlock: Meanwhile, we have a ballroom full of suspects. Well, it’s hard to think of the criminal world when one looks at such a gathering.

Sherlock: And yet Count Soprano knows as well as I do that the criminal is not confined to class or environment.

Le Strade:  Indeed, no, Mr. Holmes. We take no chances.

Watson:  Good. We can’t afford to. There’s enough jewelry being worn here tonight for a King’s ransom I would say.

(TRAIN HORN)

 

Sherlock: Leave that part of it as it was eh Watson?  Yes, right you are.

Le Strade:  Good. I’ve got a cab waiting outside to take the place where the body was found. I can give you the details on the way.

(HORSE)

 

Sherlock:  Watson

Watson:  Yes, Holmes?

Sherlock: Strike that, will you? There’s a figure here that’s slumped on the landing.
(MATCH STRIKE) It’s a body, a body of a girl.

Sherlock:  And a very beautiful girl, too. Shot through the forehead. You were wrong Watson. The Death Waltz is infallible. But I swear to you that the killer has struck for the last time.

(TRAIN HORN)

 

Man:  Magnificent. Never has Fraznova danced better.

Woman:  Have you ever seen such exquisite pirouettes?

(SHOTS) (ORGAN)  [repeat]

Man:  Six deaths in four weeks, Sherlock. All beautiful women and all, killed to the music of the Warlock Waltz. A suicidal madman at the large in Vienna. There’s only one thing to be done. Only one thing to be done. Only one thing to be done. 

(TRAIN)

 

Echo:  Only one thing to be done…Only one thing to be done…Only one thing to be done…

(BIRD)

 

Watson:  It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last words in which I shall ever record.

Echo: The Final Problem.

Watson:  In an incoherent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion… I have endeavored to give some account of my strange experiences in his company, from the chance which first brought us together at the period of the Study in Scarlet, up to the time of his interference in the matter of the Naval Treaty.
It was my intention to have stopped there, and to have said nothing of that event which has created a void in my life, which the lapse of two years has done little to fill. My hand has been forced, however, and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred. It lies with me to tell for the first time what really took place between Professor Moriarty and Mr Sherlock Holmes. I alone know the absolute truth of the matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come when no good purpose is to be served by its suppression.

Slow Watson:  Moriarty…The final problem.

 

Sherlock:  Good evening, Watson.

Watson: Ah, good evening, Holmes.

Sherlock:  Have you a cigarette for me?

Watson:  Great heavens, man, how ill you look.

Sherlock: Oh, I daresay I’ve been using myself up rather too freely and late, old friend. A match. Give me a match, will you, my dear fellow?

Watson:  Yes, of course.

Sherlock: You’ve no objection if I close your window shutters?

Watson:  No, of course not. You…You’re not afraid of anything, are you?

Sherlock:  Well, to tell you the truth, I am rather.

Watson:  Well, it’s not like you, Holmes. What is it?

Sherlock:  This very morning, in those old rooms of ours Baker Street, I saw him face to face, I spoke to him.

Watson:  Moriarty.

Sherlock:  Your distinguished professor, within him a criminal strain of the most diabolical kind. That great white dome of a forehead, those hooded eyes, and the white face pushed forward, oscillating from side to side like a snake. I’ve worked for years to follow a thousand different threads, and every one of them has led to Moriarty. He’s the Napoleon of Crime, Watson, the secret organizer of almost everything evil that goes undetected in this great city of ours. There he sits, motionless like a spider in the center of its web, a web with a thousand strands, and he controls them, every one. But slowly, Very slowly, my own secret plans to expose him have borne fruit. Every day, my knit is drawing tighter, and he knows it, Watson. He knows the danger he is in, and that was why today he came to see me.

Moriarty:  Mr. Sherlock Holmes, your efforts on the side of law and order have seriously inconvenienced me. The situation between us is becoming an impossible one, Mr. Holmes. It simply cannot go on. One or the other of us must die. Must die, Mr. Holmes. 

Watson:  To fill in every detail of the final scene is hardly possible since there was no witness to it. Yet, from a certain source that I cannot yet divulge, I do know something of that last encounter. I went with him, on that last day of all, on a visit to the Falls of Reichenbach, forever hallowed, and yet cursed in my memory. It’s a fearful place indeed, with a torrent plunging far below into a tremendous abyss, a chasm lined by cold, black, loosening rock. We stood there, giddily and marveling at the great spectacle.  And on the instance came a message for me by a village lad to say that an English lady back at the hotel was seriously ill and needed my immediate attention. I turned to go. I looked back, and I saw Holmes leaning against a rock with his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters. It was the last I saw.

(WATERFALL)

 

Sherlock: Moriarty.

Moriarty:  Well, Sherlock Holmes.  You see, I found you after all. And alone.

Sherlock:  Alone, as indeed you must be, too. Now that your Confederates are all under lock and key, I’ve heard from Scotland Yard.

Moriarty:  I escaped. I was too clever for them, Holmes.

Sherlock: I don’t doubt it.

Moriarty:  You know of course that the message of Dr. Watson was a false word. Oh yes, of course I knew it at once. And that it could only come from one source.

Moriarty: And yet you let him go?

Sherlock:  Yes, Professor, I let him go. I am not without some affection for him. I do not wish to put his life in danger, too. And besides…

Moriarty:  Besides?

Sherlock:  I’ve looked forward for a long time to this final duel between us.

Moriarty:  I believe it, Holmes. You’re a very remarkable man, in many ways. In many ways, sir. I’m proud to have known you. Oh, and I you, Professor.

Sherlock:  Now, how shall it be, Moriarty?

Moriarty:  I did not bring a pistol, Holmes.

Sherlock:  Thank you. Your courtesy puts me to shame, sir. There is my pistol… It goes into the falls.

Moriarty:   Hand to hand?

Sherlock:  Yes. Goodbye, Professor Moriarty.

Moriarty:  Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.

(WATERFALL)

 

Echo: Sherlock Holmes.

 

Watson:  When I returned to that broken pathway, it was only too clear what had happened. It needed no great application of Holmes’s own methods of deduction. Two sets of footsteps to the verge, and none returned. Locked in each other’s arms as they fought, they had gone down to the abyss.

Echo Watson:  It was the last I saw of him…

 

Irene:  A simply tragic ending, isn’t it?  This is where Sherlock’s story was supposed to end, at least that’s what his creator wanted.  But the sheer will and earnest love of the people convinced his creator to acquiesce, and after eight long years of a great hiatus, Sherlock magically reappeared…using one of his crafty disguises to waltz his way back from a fake death to Watson and their life of adventure.  Well, like any true piece of art, Sherlock and all the rest of us, these characters in his escapades, we live on….you simply can’t get rid of us.  We ignite your imaginations.  We spark your sinister curiosities.  And so Sherlock and I, we look forward to seeing you there, in those new stories that will surely come … .You never know who you’re going to meet…

French Watson:  Comment allez-vous? Je suis le Dr. Watson et ce est monami Msr. Holmes.

French Woman:  Oh Msr. Sherlock Holmes!

Argentine Sherlock:  A este le llevó otra función en fin de astutas vueltas y vueltas, hasta el ex Profesor Moriarty…

Japanese Sherlock: [speaks in Japanese]

Argentine Sherlock:  La celebridad matemática.

Japanese Sherlock: [speaks in Japanese]

 

Italian Sherlock:  [speaks in Italian]

 

(SLAP SOUND)

 

Ensemble:  You never know just who you’re going to meet, when you’re walking down the busy London Street. So you’d better wear your best. Oh, it pays to look your best, cause you never know just who you’re going to meet.. So… you better keep your manners right in view. Just in case a Lady gives a how to do… Keep your trousers in a fleet, shine your shoes, and keep them neat cause you never know just who you’re gonna meet.

 

Watson: Great Scott!