Sherlock S1 - quotes

Therapist: How's your blog going?
John Watson: Yeah, good. Very good.
Therapist: You haven’t written a word, have you?
John: You just wrote "still has trust issues."
Therapist: And you read my writing upside down. You see what I mean? John, you're a soldier. It's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.
John: Nothing happens to me.

Sherlock Holmes: [Unzips a body-bag, smiles at what he sees] How fresh?
Molly Hooper: Just in, 67, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him, he was nice.
Sherlock: Fine. We'll start with the riding crop.
[Cut to Sherlock vigorously beating the dead body with a riding crop. He stops suddenly.]
Molly: Bad day was it?
Sherlock: I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.
Molly: Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later when you're finished—
Sherlock: You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before.
Molly: I, uh, I refreshed it a bit.
Sherlock: [beat] Sorry. You were saying?
Molly: I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?
Sherlock: Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs.
[Sherlock leaves the room]
Molly: ...Okay.

John: [Looking around at the morgue's lab equipment] Bit different from my day.
Mike: You've no idea.
Sherlock: Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.
Mike: And what's wrong with the landline?
Sherlock: I prefer to text.
Mike: Sorry, it's in my coat.
John: Er, here, use mine.
Sherlock: Oh, thank you.
Mike: This is an old friend of mine, John Watson.
Sherlock: Afghanistan or Iraq?
John: Sorry?
Sherlock: Which one was it? In Afghanistan or Iraq?
John: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you...?
[Molly enters]
Sherlock: Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you. What happened to the lipstick?
Molly: It wasn't working for me.
Sherlock: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now.
Molly: ...Okay.
Sherlock: How do you feel about the violin?
John: I'm sorry, what?
Sherlock: I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometime I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.
John: You told him about me?
Mike: Not a word.
John: Then who says anything about flatmates?
Sherlock: I did. Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap.
John: How did you know about Afghanistan?
Sherlock: Got my eyes on a nice little place in central London, we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.
John: Is that it?
Sherlock: Is that what?
John: We've only just met, and we're going to go and look at a flat?
Sherlock: Problem?
John: We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name.
Sherlock: I know you're an Army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. You've got a brother worried about you, but you won't go to him for help, because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife, and I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think? The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon.
[He leaves. John glances at Mike.]
Mike: Yeah, he's always like that.

John: [upon first seeing Baker Street] Well this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.
Sherlock: Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, is giving me a special deal. She owes me a favour. A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.
John: You stopped her husband from being executed?
Sherlock: Oh, no. I ensured it.

Sherlock: Brilliant! YES! Four serial suicides and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas! Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Put the kettle on. [Rushes out]
Mrs. Hudson: I had a husband like that once, always rushing about. But I can see you're more the sitting-down type. I'll get some tea, and you just rest your leg.
John: DAMN MY LEG! I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this thing is just...
Mrs. Hudson: I understand, dearie. I've got a hip.

Sherlock: You're an army doctor.
John: Yes.
Sherlock: Any good?
John: Very good.
Sherlock: Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?
John: Well, yes.
Sherlock: Bit of trouble too, I bet.
John: Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.
Sherlock: [beat] Want to see some more?
John: Oh, God, yes.

Sherlock: The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!

[In the back of a taxi]
Sherlock: Okay, you've got questions.
John: Yeah. Where are we going?
Sherlock: Crime scene. Next?
John: Who are you? What do you do?
Sherlock: What do you think?
John: I'd say private detective...
Sherlock: But...
John: But the police don't go to private detectives.
Sherlock: I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job.
John: What does that mean?
Sherlock: It means whenever the police are out of their depth—which is always—they consult me.
John: [scoffs] The police don't consult amateurs. [Sherlock looks at him askance, then gives a sly smile.]
Sherlock: When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised.
John: Yes. How did you know?
Sherlock: I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq.
John: You said I had a therapist.
Sherlock: You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone—it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're looking for a flat-share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already. [the back of the phone has been engraved "Harry Watson — from Clara xxx"]
John: The engraving?
Sherlock: Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara: who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently; this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then—six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it—he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. [beat] You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking.
John: How can you possibly know about the drinking?
Sherlock: Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see? You were right.
John: I was right? Right about what?
Sherlock: The police don't consult amateurs.
[Long beat]
John: [slowly] That was amazing.
Sherlock: [deadpan] You think so?
John: Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary.
Sherlock: That's not what people normally say.
John: What do people normally say?
Sherlock: "Piss off!"

Sherlock: Did I get anything wrong?
John: Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker.
Sherlock: Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything.
John: Harry's short for Harriet.
Sherlock: [stops walking] Harry's your sister.
John: What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?
Sherlock: [starts to stride along] Sister!
John: No, seriously, what am I doing here?
Sherlock: There's always something.

Sherlock: Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.
Anderson: It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated! Are we clear on that?
Sherlock: Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?
Anderson: Oh don't pretend you worked that out! Somebody told you that!
Sherlock: Your deodorant told me that.
Anderson: My deodorant.
Sherlock: It's for men.
Anderson: Well of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!
Sherlock: So's Sergeant Donovan. [sniffs] Ooh... I think it just vaporised. May I go in?
Anderson: Now look, whatever you're implying—
Sherlock: I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.
[Sally looks visibly embarrassed]

Sherlock: Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.
Anderson: It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated! Are we clear on that?
Sherlock: Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?
Anderson: Oh don't pretend you worked that out! Somebody told you that!
Sherlock: Your deodorant told me that.
Anderson: My deodorant.
Sherlock: It's for men.
Anderson: Well of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!
Sherlock: So's Sergeant Donovan. [sniffs] Ooh... I think it just vaporised. May I go in?
Anderson: Now look, whatever you're implying—
Sherlock: I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.
[Sally looks visibly embarrassed]

Sherlock: Shut up.
Detective Inspector Lestrade: I didn't say anyth—
Sherlock: You were thinking. It's annoying.

Lestrade: Cardiff?
Sherlock: It's obvious, isn't it?
John: It's not obvious to me.
Sherlock: Dear God. What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.

Sherlock: [about the murder victim] Her coat is slightly damp; she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too; she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket, but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff.
John: That's fantastic!
Sherlock: Do you know you do that out loud?
John: Sorry. I'll shut up.
Sherlock: No, it's... fine.

Sherlock: Did he offer you money to spy on me...?
John: Yes.
Sherlock: Did you take it?
John: ...No?
Sherlock: Pity, we could've split the fee. Think it through next time.

John: You got all that because you realised the case would be pink?
Sherlock: Well, it had to be pink, obviously.
John: Why didn't I think of that?
Sherlock: Because you're an idiot. [John looks up, insulted.] No, no, no, don't be like that, practically everyone is.

[To retrieve the suitcase, Scotland Yard executes a pretend drugs bust on Sherlock's apartment]
Anderson: We found the case! According to someone, "the murderer has the case". And we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath!
Sherlock: [with contempt] I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.

Sherlock: You can't just break into my flat!
Lestrade: And you can't withhold evidence! And I didn't break in to your flat.
Sherlock: Well what do you call this then?
Lestrade: It's a drugs bust!
John: Seriously. This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?
Sherlock: John.
John: I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day and you wouldn't find anything that you could call recreational.
Sherlock: John, you might want to shut up now.
John: Yeah, but come on... no...
Sherlock: What?
John: ...You?
Sherlock: Shut up. [To Lestrade] I'm not your sniffer dog.
Lestrade: No, Anderson's my sniffer dog.
Sherlock: What, A— [spots Anderson] Anderson? What are you doing here on a drugs bust?!
Anderson: Oh I volunteered.
Lestrade: They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drug squad, but they're very keen.
[Sgt Donovan comes out of the kitchen with a small clear plastic bag with 3 or 4 eyes in it]
Donovan: Are these human eyes?
Sherlock: Put those back!
Donovan: They were in the microwave!
Sherlock: It's an experiment!

Sherlock: Shut up everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe, I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way, you're putting me off.
Anderson: What, my face is?
Lestrade: Everybody, quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.
Anderson: Oh, for God's sake...
Lestrade: Your back! Now, please!

Sherlock: Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street.

Lestrade: But how...?
Sherlock: ...What do you mean how?
[Lestrade shrugs]
Sherlock: Rachel! ...Don't you see? Rachel!
[Everyone stares blankly]
Sherlock: ...Ha. Look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing.

Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator.

Sherlock: [sitting in the back of an ambulance as a paramedic throws a garish orange blanket over his shoulders] Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me!
Lestrade: Yeah, that's for shock.
Sherlock: I'm not in shock!
Lestrade: Yeah... but some of the guys want to take photographs.

[When Sherlock asks about the shooter]
Lestrade: Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would have had enemies I suppose. One of them might have been following him, but we've got nothing to go on.
Sherlock: Oh, I wouldn't say that.
Lestrade: Ok, give me?
Sherlock: The bullet they just dug out of the wall is from a handgun. A kill shot like that over that distance from that sort of weapon, you're looking for a crack shot but not just a marksman, his hands mustn't have shaken at all so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger so obviously has a strong moral principle. You're looking for someone probably with a history of military service and nerves of steel... [sees John and suddenly realises] Actually, you know what? Ignore me.
Lestrade: ...Sorry?
Sherlock: Ignore all of that. It's just the, uh, shock talking.
Lestrade: Wait, where are you going?
Sherlock: I just need to, uh, talk about the rent—
Lestrade: But I still have questions for you!
Sherlock: Oh, what, now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket.
Lestrade: Sherlock!

Sherlock: Are you alright?
John: Yes, of course I'm alright.
Sherlock: Well, you have just killed a man.
John: Yes... that's true, isn't it... but he wasn't a very nice man.
Sherlock: No... no, he wasn't really, was he?
John: No, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie.
Sherlock: That's true, he was a bad cabbie. You should've seen the route he took us to get here.
[They start giggling]
John: Stop it! We can't giggle at a crime scene.
Sherlock: You're the one who shot him.
[They giggle some more]

Mycroft Holmes: For goodness sake! I occupy a minor position in the British Government.
Sherlock: He is the British Government when he's not too busy being the British Secret Services or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic.

[John comes back after the self check out at the supermarket refuses to accept his credit card]
Sherlock: You took your time.
John: Yeah, I didn't get the shopping.
Sherlock: What? Why not?
John: Because I had a row... in the shop... with a chip and pin machine!
Sherlock: You had a row with a machine?
John: Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse at it.

DI Dimmock: We're obviously looking at a suicide.
John: It does seem the only explanation of all the facts.
Sherlock: Wrong! It's one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it.

[Sherlock and John reach Eddie Van Coon's apartment building. Sherlock buzzes Van Coon's apartment, but no one answers]
John: What are we gonna do now, then? Sit here and wait for him to come back? [Sherlock notices the label of Ms. Wintle, who lives directly above Van Coon]
Sherlock: Just moved in.
John: What?
Sherlock: Floor above. New label.
John: Could've just replaced it.
Sherlock: No one ever does that. [presses button]
Ms. Wintle: Hello?
Sherlock: Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. Yeah, I don't think we've met!
Ms. Wintle: No, well, er, I've just moved in.
Sherlock: [grimaces] Actually, I just locked my keys in my flat!
Ms. Wintle: Do you want me to buzz you in?
Sherlock: Yeah. And can I use your balcony?
Ms. Wintle: What?
[Cuts to Sherlock jumping off her balcony onto the one just below it. He then enters through the unlocked patio door. As he looks around, John buzzes the intercom.]
John: Sherlock? [Sherlock continues to search] Sherlock? You okay? Any time you feel like letting me in? [Sherlock sees Van Coon's dead body. Cut to crime scene technicians taking photos of the body, as Sherlock and John stand by]
John: You think he lost a lot of money? Suicide is common among city boys.
Sherlock: It never was suicide.
John: Come on. The door was locked from the inside. You had to climb down the balcony. [Sherlock looks at Van Coon's suitcase]
Sherlock: Been away three days, judging by the laundry. [gets up] Look at the case, there was something tightly packed inside it.
John: Thanks. I'll take your word for that.
Sherlock: Problem?
John: Yeah. I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear.

[Watson enters]
Sherlock: I said "Can you pass me a pen?"
John: What? When?
Sherlock: About an hour ago.
John: Didn't notice I'd gone out then?

[Examining Brian Lukis's apartment]
Sherlock: Fourth floor. That's why they think they're safe. Put the chain on the door, bolt it shut. They think they're impregnable. [spots the skylight] They never consider for a moment there's another way in.
DI Dimmock: I don't understand.
[Sherlock grabs a table, balances a chair on it and climbs up on it]
Sherlock: We're looking for a killer who can climb.
DI Dimmock: Wh-what are you doing?
Sherlock: Clings to the walls like an insect. That's how he got in.
DI Dimmock: What?
Sherlock: Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight.
DI Dimmock: You're not serious. Like Spider-Man?
Sherlock: He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building to kill Van Coon.
DI Dimmock: Hold on.
Sherlock: That's how he got into the bank: he ran along the roof and onto the terrace.

John: Where are we headed?
Sherlock: I need to ask some advice.
John: What? Sorry?
Sherlock: You heard me perfectly, I'm not saying it again.

[Sherlock and John encounter Raz, a graffiti artist, spray-painting a doorway]
Raz: Part of my new exhibition.
Sherlock: Interesting.
Raz: I call it Urban, uh, Bloodlust Frenzy. [sprays away]
John: Mm. Catchy.
Raz: I've got two minutes before a community support officer comes round that corner. Can we maybe talk whilst I'm working? [Sherlock hands Raz his phone and he scrolls through photos of the ciphers from the bank. Raz hands John his spray paint can]
Sherlock: Know the author?
Raz: I know the paint. Looks like Michigan, hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc.
Sherlock: And what about the symbols? Do you recognize them?
Raz: It's not a tag. I'm not even sure it's a proper language.
Sherlock: Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this - it’s the key to finding who killed them.
Raz: This is all you got? Not much to go on.
Sherlock: You think you could help out?
Raz: I'll ask around.
Sherlock: Someone must recognize it. [Two community police officers notice them and come running around the bend]
Community Support Officer: Oi! [Sherlock and Raz take off, leaving John with Raz's bag of spray paint cans] What the hell do you think you’re doing? This gallery is a listed public building!
John: Oh no, that wasn't me who painted it. I was just... Just holding this for... [The officers look at Raz's display, and then at the bag of spray paint]
Community Support Officer: Bit of an enthusiast, are we?

Sherlock: You've been a while.
John: Yeah, well, you know how it is, custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they? Just... formalities: fingerprints, chart sheet... and I've got to be in Magistrates' Court on Tuesday.
Sherlock: What?
John: Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday! They're giving me an ASBO!
Sherlock: [not paying attention] Good, fine.

DI Dimmock: Your friend...
John: Listen, whatever you say, I'm behind you one hundred percent.
DI Dimmock: He's an arrogant sod.
John: ...Well, that was mild.

John: [when Sherlock is not answering the door] Okay, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone, because no one else can compete with my massive intellect!

[Unknown to John, Sherlock has just recovered from almost being strangled into unconsciousness]
John: You've gone all croaky, you getting a cold?
Sherlock: [wheezes] I'm fine.

Sherlock: John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.
[Sherlock grabs John by his shoulders and begins to slowly rotate turning John as he does so]
John: Wh-what? Why? Why? What are you doing?
Sherlock: I need you to maximise your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?
John: Yeah...
Sherlock: Can you remember it?
John: Yes, definitely!
Sherlock: You remember the pattern?
John: Yes!
Sherlock: How much can you remember it?
John: Well, don't worry!
Sherlock: Because the average human memory on visual matters is only 62% accurate.
John: Yeah, well, don't worry, I remember all of it.
Sherlock: Really?
John: Yeah, well, at least I would, if I could get to my pockets! Took a photograph...
Sherlock: Oh...

[Soo Lin is polishing a teapot]
Sherlock: Fancy a biscuit with that?
[She gasps and drops the teapot, Sherlock catches it]
Sherlock: Centuries old...don't want to break that...

[Sherlock runs through museum, hides behind display to dodge bullets]
Sherlock: Careful! Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old! Have a bit of respect! [gunfire stops, silence] ...Thank you!

Sherlock: I need to get some air; we're going out tonight.
John: Actually, I've got a date.
Sherlock: What?
John: It's when two people who like each other go out and have fun...
Sherlock: That's what I was suggesting.
John: No, it wasn't. At least, I hope not.

John: Hi, I have two tickets reserved for tonight.
Box office agent: And what's the name?
John: Uh, Holmes.
Box office agent: Actually I have three in that name.
John: No, I don't think so. We only booked two.
Sherlock: [from off screen] And then I phoned back and got one for myself as well.

Sherlock: We'll just sneak off, no need to mention this in your report.
DI Dimmock: Mr. Holmes...
Sherlock: I have high hopes for you, Inspector, a glittering career...
DI Dimmock: If I go where you point me?
Sherlock: Exactly!

Sherlock: How would you describe me John, resourceful, dynamic, enigmatic?
John: Late?

Convict: Mr. Holmes. Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this.
Sherlock: No, no, no, Mr. Bewick. Not at all. "Hanged," yes.

[John comes in to Baker Street, where Sherlock is casually shooting up a smiley face on the wall]
John: What the HELL are you doing?!
Sherlock: Bored...
John: What?
Sherlock: BORED! [continues to shoot wall] BORED! BORED! [stops, hands the gun to Watson] Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them.
John: So you take it out on the wall?
Sherlock: Oh, the wall had it coming.
John: What about that Russian case?
Sherlock: Belarus? Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.
John: [dryly] Oh, shame!

[John opens the refrigerator and finds a human head inside, does a double take]
John: It's a head. A severed head.
Sherlock: Just tea for me, thanks.
John: No, there's a head in the fridge!
Sherlock: Yes?
John: A bloody head!
Sherlock: Where else am I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you? I got it from the Barts morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. See you've written up the taxi driver case.
John: Um, yes.
Sherlock: "A Study In Pink". Nice.
John: Well, you know. A pink lady, pink case, pink phone. There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?
Sherlock: Um, no!
John: Why not? I thought you'd be flattered.
Sherlock: Flattered? "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."
John: Now hang on a minute, I didn't mean that—
Sherlock: [sarcastic] Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister, or who's sleeping with whom—
John: [somewhat bitterly] Or that the earth goes around the sun.
Sherlock: Oh God, that again! It's not important!
John: Not important? It's primary school stuff! How can you not know that?
Sherlock: Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it.
John: "Deleted it"?
Sherlock: Listen: [points to his head] This is my hard-drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters! Do you see?
John: [brief silence; looks at Sherlock incredulously] But it's the solar system!
Sherlock: [extremely irritated] Oh, hell! What does that matter?! So we go around the sun! If we went around the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference! All that matters to me is the work! Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog—or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world!

Sherlock: Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Isn't it hateful?

John: There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human live— Just, just so I know, do you care about that at all?
Sherlock: Will caring about them help save them?
John: [angrily] Nope!
Sherlock: Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.
John: And you find that easy, do you?
Sherlock: Yes, very. Is that news to you?
John: No. [pause] No.
Sherlock: [realising] ...I've disappointed you.
John: [sarcastically] That's good, that's good deduction, yeah.
Sherlock: Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.

John: [After a signature Sherlock monologue] Fantastic.
Sherlock: Meretricious.
Lestrade: And a happy New Year.

Sherlock: [watching television] No, no, NO! Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!
John: I knew it was dangerous.
Sherlock: Hmm?
John: Getting you into crap telly.

[Sherlock goes to the pool where Carl Powers died, and holds up the memory stick.]
Sherlock: Brought you a little getting to know you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance... all to distract me from this.
[John steps out from the shadows]
John: [being dictated by the bomber] Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?
Sherlock: John... What the hell—
John: Bet you never saw this coming. [John opens his coat and reveals his explosive vest] What would you like me to make him say next? Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o—
Sherlock: Stop it.
John: Nice touch, this the pool... where little Carl died. I stopped him and I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.
Sherlock: Who are you?
Jim Moriarty: [Enters through a side door] I gave you my number. I thought you might call. Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?
Sherlock: [Draws the gun, points it at Moriarty] Both.
Moriarty: Jim Moriarty... Hi. Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose that was rather the point.
[Sherlock looks at the red laser pointing at John]
Moriarty: Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see... like you!
Sherlock: "Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" "Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"
Moriarty: Just so.
Sherlock: Consulting criminal. Brilliant.
Moriarty: Isn't it? No one ever gets to me... and no one ever will.
Sherlock: I did.
Moriarty: You've come the closest. Now you're in my way.
Sherlock: Thank you.
Moriarty: Didn't mean it as a compliment.
Sherlock: Yes you did.
Moriarty: [shrugs] Yeah okay, I did. But the flirting's over now, Sherlock; Daddy's had enough now! I've shown you what I can do, I cut loose all those people. All those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear: back off. Although I have loved this, this little game of ours, playing Jim from IT, playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?
Sherlock: People have died.
Moriarty: That's what people DO!
Sherlock: I will stop you.
Moriarty: No you won't.
Sherlock: [To John] You all right?
Moriarty: [To John] You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead.
[John nods his head. Sherlock holds out the memory stick to Jim]
Sherlock: Take it.
Moriarty: Ah, that. The missile plans. Boring. I could have got them anywhere.
[Throws it into the swimming pool. John grabs Moriarty]
John: Sherlock, Run!
Moriarty: [laughs] Good! Very Good.
John: Your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.
Moriarty: [To Sherlock] Mm, he's sweet. I can see why you like having him around. But then, people get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. Oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Dr Watson.
[The sniper changes his aim to Sherlock instead. John lets Moriarty go. Moriarty pats his suit down.]
Moriarty: Westwood. Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?
Sherlock: [Dryly] Oh, let me guess, I get killed.
Moriarty: Kill you? Um, no. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no no, if you don't stop prying... I'll burn you. I will burn... the heart out of you.
Sherlock: I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.
Moriarty: But we both know that's not quite true. Well, I better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat.
Sherlock: What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?
Moriarty: Well, then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would, and just a little bit... disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock: Catch... you... later.
Moriarty: [High pitched, sing-song voice] No, you won't!

[After Sherlock ripped off the explosive coat from John]
John: Oh, Christ. Ffff— Are you okay?
Sherlock: Me? Yeah. Fine. I'm fine. Fine. ...That, uh, thing that you, uh, you did that, um, you offered to do, that was, um... good.
John: Well, I'm glad no one saw that.
Sherlock: Mm?
John: You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.
Sherlock: People do little else. [smiles]

Moriarty: [returning to the room] Sorry, boys! I'm soooo changeable. It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. 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.
Sherlock: Then probably my answer has crossed yours. [points gun at Moriarty, then points it down at John's explosive coat on the floor.]