Mr. Holmes Page #6

emptiness within myself.

Only then did I begin to understand

how utterly alone I was in the world.

Mrs Hudson wrote to Watson.

He came at once.

He stayed with me, in our old rooms,

for a month more.

I told him about the case,

everything in great detail.

He brought me back from the brink.

And then Watson wrote the story.

He made me the hero.

It was his way of bestowing a kindness.

He knew no other manner in which

to write the character he had created.

After all those years,

John didn't know me at all.

Why he took the glove

I can only surmise,

was it to prevent it

becoming too powerful a reminder,

to keep it from being a well of sadness

to which I might return?

But he could not bring himself

to destroy it either.

After that, John and I were estranged.

Three years later, he too was gone,

without us ever having said goodbye.

And thus concludes the true story

of a woman who died before her time,

and a man who until recently

was certain he had outlived his.

Roger with the bees?

Like as not.

Must tell him something important.

You continue

with whatever it was you were doing.

You might ask him

where the watering can's got to!

Ambulance? Yes, this is Headly House.

- Headly?

- Yes, quickly!

And bring some supplies of adrenaline.

- Headly House?

- That's right, Headly!

Roger?

Roger!

Roger?

Oh, Roger. Oh, no!

No, no, no, no, no, no!

Roger. Oh, Roger!

Mr Holmes?

It's Inspector Gilbert.

Mr Holmes?

Yes, Inspector?

They're giving the boy injections

of adrenaline, as you said to, but...

He's not looking good.

He was fleeing his attackers.

His footprints.

Their pattern shows

that his flight was disorientated.

The swarm must have followed him

in their attack.

And before he lost consciousness,

his skin would have flushed,

accompanied by burning pain...

A drop in blood pressure, weakness.

His throat and mouth would be swollen

which explains why

he didn't call for help.

Then a drop in heart rate...

Inability to breathe...

Shock.

Did you know he was allergic to bees?

I was certain he wasn't.

No, no! No, Mrs Munro, no!

You mustn't do that!

My son... Won't wake.

He may never wake.

They sent me away till morning.

You didn't even have the decency

to tell me what'd happened to him!

I didn't think

it would make a difference.

I'm his mother!

I'm his mother...

And you stole him from me!

He's all I had!

And I've lost him now.

Why wasn't it you they did it to?

- It should've been you!

- The bees were not to blame.

They're all you care about!

No! I care about Roger.

I care about him very much.

The bees... Didn't do it.

The bees were not to blame.

It was the wasps!

Roger was trying to find out

what was killing the bees.

And he did. He found the wasps' nest.

He had to stop them wiping out the bees.

And so he did the worst possible thing.

He tried to drown them

with water from his can.

How do you know it was them?

Bees leave their stings. Wasps don't.

There were no stings left

in Roger's face.

And when they attacked,

he dropped the watering can

and ran up to protect the bees.

There are his footprints

from the apiary to the nest and back.

He was trying to save the bees.

Yes.

Yes.

There was a woman, once.

I knew her less than a day.

A quarter of an hour's conversation.

She needed my help.

She needed so desperately

to be understood by someone...

Me.

So, I laid out the particulars

of her case as I saw them...

To her satisfaction, I thought.

I watched her walk away.

And within hours she'd ended her life.

By identifying the cause

of her despair with such clarity,

I'd given her carte blanche

to do just as she intended.

I should've done

whatever it took to save her.

Lie to her, make up a story.

Take her by the hand

and hold her as she wept,

and said, "Come live with me.

"Let us be alone together."

But I was fearful.

Selfish.

She's the reason...

I came here to my bees,

so that I couldn't harm

anyone ever again.

I'm leaving you the house.

You and Roger.

House, grounds, apiary,

everything within and without.

And as I shan't change my mind

on this point, you will see, I trust,

that it will be greatly

less complicated for all concerned

if the two of you don't go off

to somewhere like... Portsmouth.

Mrs Munro?

Roger's awake.

Dear Mr Umezaki,

I write to tell you that I have at last

recalled my meeting with your father.

A woman had died

because I failed to solve her case.

Guilt and recrimination

having taken their toll on me,

my powers were far from at their best

when I received an urgent message

summoning me to the Diogenes Club

to meet with my brother Mycroft.

This gentleman has made

an offer of service.

He wishes to work for the Crown.

I'm here to be tested, Mr Holmes.

I very much want to be of use.

Do you think that I am suited?

I'm sure, sir.

Good. There is one minor issue.

Mr Umezaki has a wife

and child in Japan.

He wonders what would be

the best course.

Write a letter saying

you plan to stay on in England.

Could be a long while until your return.

Your father went on to serve

the British Empire for many years

in absolute secrecy

and with the greatest distinction,

from...

The Malay... Straits...

To the Arabian Sea.

He was a man of courage,

heart and dignity,

of whom a beloved wife and cherished son

may be deservedly proud.

Sherlock Holmes.

Hmmm.

My friend John.

My brother Mycroft.

Mrs Hudson.

Masuo Umezaki.

Maya... Umezaki.

Ann.

And who is that one for?

Me. You.

Well, not yet awhile, surely?

Did you finish what you had to do?

Yes, I did.

My first foray

into the world of fiction.

One shouldn't leave this life

without a sense of completion.

You can use this in one of your stories.

A glass, a bee...

And Roger.

Show me how to knock them out.

Go on.

- The queen runs the colony.

- Mm-hm.

The drones service the queen.

The workers do the work.

Isn't it true?

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