The Six Thatchers

Sherlock 4×1

& Mycroft: What you’re about to see is classified beyond top secret.

& Mycroft: Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?
    Sherlock: I am taking it seriously! What makes you think I’m not taking it seriously?
    Mycroft: «#OhWhatABeautifulMorning»?

& Porlock: You’re high as a kite!
    Sherlock: Natural high, I assure you. Totally natural.

& Porlock: Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you.
    Sherlock: No, no, he would never be that disappointing. He’s planned something, something long-term. Something that would take effect if he never made it off that rooftop alive. Posthumous revenge. No, better than that — posthumous game.

& Lady Smallwood: What are you going to do?
    Sherlock: Wait.
    Lady Smallwood: Wait?!
    Sherlock: Of course wait. I’m the target — targets wait.

& Sherlock: Look, whatever’s coming, whatever he’s lined up, I’ll know when it begins. I always know when the game is on. Do you know why?
    Lady Smallwood: Why?
    Sherlock: Because I love it.

& Watson: So, basically, your plan is just to sit there solving crimes like you always do?
    Sherlock: Awesome, isn’t it?

& Watson: Sherlock...
    Sherlock: It’s never twins.

---

& Watson: And, uh... you too, Sherlock?
    Sherlock: You too what?
    Watson: Godfather, we’d like you to be godfather.
    Sherlock: God is a ludicrous fiction, dreamt up by inadequates who abnegate all responsibility to an invisible magic friend.
    Watson: Yeah, but there’ll be cake. Will you do it?
    Sherlock: I’ll get back to you.

& Watson: ...Rosamund Mary.
    Sherlock: Rosamund?
    Molly: It means «Rose of the world». Rosie for short. Didn’t you get John’s text?
    Sherlock: No. I delete his texts. I delete any text that begins «Hi.»

& Sherlock: As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe. To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery, whereas, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy — that is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time, if you want to keep the rattle, do not throw the rattle.

& Watson: ...The body in the car, dead for a week.
    Sherlock: Oh, this is a good one. Is it my birthday? You want help?
    Lestrade: Yes, please.
    Sherlock: OK. One condition. Take all the credit. It gets boring if I just solve them all.
    Lestrade: Yeah, you say that, but then John blogs about it, and you get all the credit anyway...

& Watson: It’s obvious though, isn’t it, what happened?
    Sherlock: John, you amaze me. You know what happened?
    Watson: Not a clue. It’s just you normally say that at this point.

& Sherlock: Not sure, I just... By the pricking of my thumbs.
    Watson: Seriously? You?
    Sherlock: Intuitions are not to be ignored, John. They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend.

& Watson: Mrs Welsborough, my apologies. It is worth letting him do this.
    Mrs Welsborough: Is your friend quite mad?
    Watson: No, he’s an arsehole, but it’s an easy mistake.

& Sherlock: I know what happened to your son.
    Mrs Welsborough: You do?
    Sherlock: It’s quite simple, superficial, to be blunt.

& Lestrade: How did you notice that?
    Sherlock: I lack the arrogance to ignore details. I’m not the police.

& Sherlock: I can’t stand it, never can. There’s a loose thread in the world.
    Watson: It doesn’t mean you have to pull on it.
    Sherlock: What kind of a life would that be?

& Sherlock: That’s mine. You two take a... bus.
    Watson: Why?
    Sherlock: I need to concentrate, and I don’t want to hit you.

& Sherlock: Maybe it’s Moriarty. Maybe it’s not. But something’s coming...
    Mycroft: Are you having a premonition, brother mine?
    Sherlock: The world is woven from billions of lives, every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable. As inevitable as mathematics.

& Mycroft: Appointment In Samarra...
    Sherlock: I’m sorry?
    Mycroft: The merchant who can’t outrun Death. You always hated that story as a child.

& Lestrade: What’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased.
    Sherlock: I am pleased.
    Lestrade: You don’t look pleased.
    Sherlock: This is my game face. And the game is on.

& Watson: Better?.. Hang on, Mary’s better than me?
    Sherlock: Well, she is a retired super-agent with a terrifying skill-set. Of course she’s better. Nothing personal.

& Mary: You should have seen the state of the front room. It was like The Exorcist...
    Watson: Huh. Was Rosie’s head spinning round?
    Mary: No. Just the projectile vomiting.
    Watson: Nice!
    Mary: Now, you think we’d have noticed, when she was born.
    Watson: Hmm? Noticed what?
    Mary: The little 666 on her forehead.
    Watson: Hmm, that’s The Omen.
    Mary: So?
    Watson: Well, you said it was like The Exorcist. They’re two different things. She can’t be the devil and the Antichrist...
    Mary: Yeah, can’t she? I’m coming, darling. Mummy’s coming.

& Craig: Have you heard of that thing? In Germany?.. Ostalgie. People who missed the old days under the communists. People are weird, aren’t they?
    Sherlock: Hmm.

& Craig: Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin. Time’s a great leveller, innit? Thatcher’s like, I dunno, Napoleon now.

& Sherlock: Congratulations, by the way.
    Lestrade: I’m sorry?
    Sherlock: Well, you’re about to solve a big one.
    Lestrade: Yeah, until John publishes his blog.
    Sherlock: Yeah, until then, basically.

& Mary: Sherlock, the dragon-slayer.

& Sherlock: Families fall out.

& Mycroft: But remember this, brother mine, agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way.
    Sherlock: Not. On. My watch.

& Passenger: Did you have a nice time in London?
    Mary: It was OK, I guess. But did somebody hide the sun? Ha-ha.

& Mary: ’I know you’ll try to find me but there is no point. Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes can anticipate the roll of a dice.’

& Sherlock: Mary, no human action is ever truly random. An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability, mapped onto a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual, can reduce the number of variables considerably. I myself know of at least 58 techniques to refine a seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables. But they’re really difficult, so instead I just stuck a tracer on the inside of the memory stick.

& Mary: Oh, you bastard! You bastard!
    Sherlock: I know, but your face!
    Mary: «The mathematics of probability»?
    Sherlock: You believed that.
    Mary: «Feasible variables»?
    Sherlock: Yes, I started to run out about then.

& Sherlock: I will keep you safe. But it has to be in London. It’s my city, I know the turf.

& Sherlock: How’s your Latin, brother dear?
    Mycroft: My Latin?
    Sherlock: Amo, amas, amat.
    Mycroft: I love, you love, he loves. What...?

& Sherlock: Work is the best antidote to sorrow, Mrs Hudson.
    Mrs Hudson: Yes. Yes, I expect you’re right. I’ll make some tea, shall I?

& Sherlock: Mrs Hudson?
    Mrs Hudson: Yes, Sherlock?
    Sherlock: If you ever think I’m becoming a bit full of myself, cocky or over-confident...
    Mrs Hudson: Yes?
    Sherlock: ...would you just say the word Norbury to me? Would you?
    Mrs Hudson: Norbury?
    Sherlock: Just that.

& Mary: ...I’m giving you a case, Sherlock. Might be the hardest case of your career.

& Mary: I need you to do something for me...

& Mary: Go to hell, Sherlock!


On the IMDb

Σ Overwhelming.