A Scandal in Belgravia
& Moriarty: You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.& Moriarty: Do you mind if I get that?
Sherlock: Oh, no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.
& Moriarty: Sorry... Wrong day to die.
Sherlock: Oh. Did you get a better offer?
& Watson: What happened there?
Sherlock: Someone changed his mind. The question is... who?
& Sherlock: What are you typing?
Watson: Blog.
Sherlock: About?
Watson: Us.
Sherlock: You mean me.
& A geek: We have this website, it explains the true meaning of comic books, cos people miss a lot of the themes. But then all the comic books started coming true.
Sherlock: ........ Oh... interesting.
& Sherlock: Geek Interpreter, what’s that?
Watson: That’s the title.
Sherlock: What does it need a title for?
& Sherlock: Do people actually read your blog?
Watson: Where do you think our clients come from?
Sherlock: I have a website.
Watson: In which you enumerate 240 different types of tobacco ash. Nobody’s reading your website.
& Sherlock: People don’t really go to heaven when they die, they’re taken to a special room and burned.
& Lestrade: This man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday, but instead he’s in a car boot in Southwark.
Watson: Lucky escape.
Lestrade: Any ideas?
Sherlock: Eight so far. ... OK, four ideas. ... Maybe two ideas. ... No, no, no, don’t mention the unsolved ones!
& Mrs. Hudson: Boys! You’ve got another one!
& Sherlock: Tell us from the start, DON’T be boring.
& Lestrade: Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?
Carter: Who?
Lestrade: Well, you’re about to meet him now. This is your case, it’s entirely up to you, this is just... friendly advice, but give Sherlock five minutes on your crime scene, and listen to everything that he has to say. And as far as possible... try not to punch him.
& Watson: When did we agree that?
Sherlock: We agreed it yesterday. Stop! ’Closer.’
Watson: I wasn’t even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin!
Sherlock: It’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.
& Sherlock: Did you see him? Morbidly* obese, the undisguised halitosis* of a single man living on his own. The right sleeve of an internet porn addict, the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy, and you think he’s a criminal mastermind?!
& Watson: You wearing any pants?
Sherlock: No.
Watson: OK. ... At Buckingham Palace. Right. Ha, ha. Aah, aah, I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.
& Watson: You don’t trust your own secret service?
Mycroft: Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.
& Sherlock: Who is she?
Mycroft: Irene Adler. Professionally known as “The Woman”.
Sherlock: Professionally?
Mycroft: There are many names for what she does. She prefers “dominatrix”.
Sherlock: Dominatrix...
Mycroft: Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.
Sherlock: Sex doesn’t alarm me.
Mycroft: How would you know?
& Mycroft: She doesn’t want anything. She got in touch. She informed us that the photographs existed. She indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour.
Sherlock: Oh... a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it.
& Watson: OK, the smoking, how did you know?
Sherlock: The evidence was right under your nose, John, as ever you see, but do not observe.
Watson: Observe what?
Sherlock: The ashtray.
& Irene Adler: Kate? We’re going to have a visitor. I’ll need a bit of time to get ready.
Kate: A long time?
Irene: Hmm... ages.
& Watson: What are you doing?
Sherlock: I’m going to into battle, John. I need the right armour.
& Sherlock: Thank you, that was... OK, I think we’re done now, John!
Watson: You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people!
Sherlock: You were a doctor!
Watson: I had bad days!
& Kate: What are you going to wear?
Irene: My battle dress.
Kate: Oh, lucky boy.
& Irene: Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes?.. However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.
& Irene: Brainy is the new sexy.
& Irene: I don’t understand.
Sherlock: Oh, well try to.
Irene: Why?
Sherlock: Because you cater* to the whims* of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It’s the new sexy.
& Sherlock: Noises are important. They can tell you everything. For instance... On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.
& Sherlock: You should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit is always on the first key used, that’s a 3, but after that, the sequence is impossible to read. I see it’s a six digit code. It can’t be your birthday, no disrespect, but you were born in the ’80s and 8’s barely used, so...
& Irene: It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it. This is how I want you to remember me... the woman who beat you. Goodnight, Mr Sherlock Holmes.
& Irene: An accomplished sportsman recently returned from foreign travel with... a boomerang. You got that from one look? Definitely the new sexy.
& Watson: What was that?
Sherlock: Text.
Mycroft: But what was that noise?
& Mycroft: I can put maximum surveillance on her...
Sherlock: Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is The Whip* Hand.
& Sherlock: I’ll leave you to your deductions.
Watson: I’m not stupid, you know.
Sherlock: Where do you get that idea?
& Molly: Molly: How’s the hip?
Mrs. Hudson: Oh, it’s atrocious*, but thanks for asking.
Molly: I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.
& Molly: The face is a bit sort of bashed-up, so it might be a bit difficult.
Mycroft: That’s her, isn’t it?
Sherlock: Show me the rest of her. ... That’s her.
Mycroft: Thank you, Miss Hooper.
Molly: Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from... not her face?
& Sherlock: Just the one. Why?
Mycroft: Merry Christmas.
Sherlock: Smoking indoors, isn’t there one of those... one of those law things?
Mycroft: We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.
& Sherlock: Look at them... They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?
Mycroft: All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.
& Watson: Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?
Mycroft: No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.
Watson: I’ve got plans.
Mycroft: No.
& Watson: Oh, hi. You OK?
Sherlock: ... I hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time!
& Watson: Listen, has he ever had any kind of girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?
Mrs. Hudson: I don’t know.
Watson: How can we not know?!
Mrs. Hudson: He’s Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?
& Watson: You know, Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.
& Watson: You’ve texted him a lot!
Just the usual stuff.
Watson: There is no usual in this case.
& Watson: You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?
At him. He never replies.
Watson: No, Sherlock always replies to everything. He’s Mr. Punchline*. He will outlive God trying to have the last word.
& Watson: Who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes? But for the record, if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.
Irene: Well, I am. Look at us both.
& Mrs. Hudson: Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock...
Sherlock: Don’t snivel*, Mrs Hudson, it’ll do nothing to impede* the flight of a bullet. What a tender* world that would be...
& Watson: Jeez, what the hell is happening?
Sherlock: Mrs. Hudson has been attacked by an American, I’m restoring balance to the universe.
& Lestrade: And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?
Sherlock: It’s all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count.
& Sherlock: Shame on you, John Watson.
Watson: Shame on me?!
Sherlock: Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall.
& Watson: Hey, Sherlock...
Sherlock: We have a client.
Watson: What, in your bedroom? ... Oh.
& Irene: ... It’s not working.
Sherlock: No, because it’s a duplicate I had made into which you just entered the numbers 1058. I assumed you’d choose something more specific than that, but thanks, anyway. ... ???
Irene: I told you that camera-phone was my life. I know when it’s in my hand.
Sherlock: Oh, you’re rather good.
Irene: You’re not so bad.
& Watson: Hamish.
???
Watson: John Hamish Watson, just if you were looking for baby names.
& Irene: What can you do, Mr. Holmes? Go on, impress a girl.
& Sherlock: Apparently it’s going to save the world, I’m not sure how, but give me a moment, I’ve only been on the case eight seconds.
& Sherlock: Oh, come on, it’s not code, these are seats on a jet. Look, no ’I’ because it can be mistaken for one. No letters past ’K’ ... the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear not in sequence, but the letters have little runs of sequence families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo’s wide enough for a letter ’K’ or rows past 55, so there’s always an upstairs. A row 13 eliminates superstitious airlines. The style of the flight number, ’007′, eliminates a few more. Assuming a British point of origin because of the original source, and assuming the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the 6.30 to Baltimore tomorrow from Heathrow. Please don’t feel obliged to tell me that was amazing, John’s expressed that in every possible variant available in English.
Irene: I would have you right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice.
Sherlock: ... I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.
Irene: Twice.
& Irene: Have you ever had anyone?
Sherlock: I’m sorry?
Irene: And when I say had, I’m being indelicate.
Sherlock: I don’t understand.
Irene: I’ll be delicate then.
& Irene: Mr. Holmes, if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night... would you have dinner with me?
Mrs. Hudson: Sherlock?
Irene: Too late.
Sherlock: That’s not the end of the world, that’s Mrs. Hudson.
& Mrs. Hudson: Sherlock, this man was at the door, is the bell still not working? He shot it.
& Mycroft: We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning ... finished.
Sherlock: Your MOD man. That’s all it takes.
Mycroft: One lonely, naive man, desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.
Sherlock: You should screen your defence people more carefully.
Mycroft: I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock, I’m talking about you! The damsel* in distress*. In the end, are you really so obvious?
& Mycroft: Because this was textbook. The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption. Then give him a puzzle and watch him dance.
& Irene: Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.
Sherlock: So do I, there are a number of aspects I’m still not clear on.
Irene: Not you, Junior, you’re done now.
& Irene: I’m not playing any more. A list of my requests, and some ideas about my protection once they’re granted. I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of a nation, but... then I’d be lying.
& Irene: I can’t take all the credit, I had a bit of help. Jim Moriarty sends his love. {...} Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man... and the Virgin. ...
Mycroft: And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played.
Sherlock: No.
Irene: Sorry?
Sherlock: I said no. Very, very close, but no.
& Irene: There’s no such thing as too much.
Sherlock: Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathise, but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.
Irene: Sentiment? What are you talking about?
Sherlock: You.
Irene: Oh, dear God. Look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you?.. Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?
Sherlock: No. Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive.
& Sherlock: I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.
& Irene: Everything I said, it’s not real. I was just playing the game.
Sherlock: I know. And this is just losing.
& Sherlock: Sorry about dinner.
& Mycroft: She will survive and thrive... but he will never see her again.
Watson: Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won’t even mention her by name, just ’The Woman’.
Mycroft: Is that loathing or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters.
& Mycroft: My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?
Watson: I don’t know.
Mycroft: Neither do I. But, initially, he wanted to be a pirate.
& Sherlock: Clearly you’ve got news. If it’s about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Did nobody notice the earring?
& Sherlock: When I say run... run! The Woman. THE Woman.
--
Morbidly — патологически
undisguised — неприкрытый
halitosis — дурной запах изо рта
cater — угождать
whims — капризы
whip — кнут; хлыст
atrocious — жестокий; зверский; ужасный; отвратительный; свирепый
Punchline — Изюминка
snivel — хныкать
impede — препятствовать
tender — нежный; ласковый; мягкий; деликатный; хрупкий
damsel — девица
distress — бедствие
On Imdb.
__ Greatest. Show. Ever.
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