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It's a huge community now with loads of extra cool stuff. Patreon.com forward slash Sherlock and Co. Previously on Sherlock and Co. Let us see now. No don't touch it. Oh for fuck. Oh my. That's. See. Struggling to ID him. Yes that is rather bad isn't it. What is it? A bullet. Identical to the one taken from John's spine. Let me see. Oh wow. You think it's from Moran? Moran is operating a very bespoke rifle with improvised rounds like these. Take this to your team downstairs Gregson. All right you've got 10 more minutes. Tops. That's the bathroom. Yes. Blood seems to be under the door frame here too. I'll clue maybe in here. Sherlock. Don't move. What are you doing? Get off the ground. Leave now. What is that? Sherlock what are you holding? It is a trip fire. I have to keep it at this tension. The bathroom door was there. Holy shit. Holy shit. What are you doing? Do not touch it. We blow up together or not at all. Mariana please. Do I look like I'm going to abandon you? Do I? Come on. Make your observation. I have made it. And you deduce what? We blow up together or not at all. Thank you. Do it. Together or not at all. Together or not at all. Moran acted on a dare because he had to. The level of threat was urgent. Now he can return to his final target. Sherlock Holmes. You're under arrest. Sorry what? Tom. Tom. You're under arrest. I'm serious. For what? He's going behind bars where he's safe. You can't do this. For 24 hours I can. Yeah. By which time we can build a case to go after Moran. Please Gregson. Welcome to the final part of the empty house. I hope, well not that you've enjoyed it obviously, but I hope you are all okay. And yeah, warnings are in the episode description. Best of luck guys. How is it? I don't like the pillows too much. No? itchy? Polyester. Where are you? Just a hotel. They won't let you return to Baker street. Nope. And I can't visit John either. We said we wouldn't leave him. Yet here we are. Away from his side. Yeah. I have visualized, almost fantasized so much these past few days about being there when he wakes up. Yes. And the whole time I'm there with him, I'm just willing him. Willing and pleading. Wake up. Just wake up John. Now. Oh god I can't believe I'm saying this, but. You wish him not to. Not now. Not like this. No. But he's safe. We are safe. And we will see him again. Yeah. You're right. He may not know where we are, Marianna, but we know where he is. He's in bed. He's comfortable and that is a thought that should give us great comfort. Yeah. Right mate. I am recording this because I know what'll happen. You'll come out of this coma and you won't believe me that I've visited you every single bloody day. All right. Not every day, but most days. Yeah. And it's not because I've got an obviously I use some time to time. It's because I love you. All right. Oh. Need a wig in special coconut condition atop of I think mate. Smells faded. Let's have a look at you. Okay John, from the future, come have a look at sleeping John from the past. What the fuck? The cheeks over your head. They've covered him. Oh, shit. The monitor is off. Can I get somebody in here now? No, John. John, mate, please. Please still be with us under there. Please. Jesus. John. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Mr. Stegerson. What? You want a sneaky peek at my ass. Is that it? Want a sneaky peek? Perfect. No, no, no, no. Where's John? Yeah. If John doesn't get better soon, I think I'm going to go home again. A long time. Maybe a long time. I don't know. It can be. Yeah. Great. Okay. Okay. Yes, yes, don't worry. I'll keep you informed. Okay, okay. Kisses. Bye. Miss Chaturra. Look at the mess you are in. Well, not the hotel. It's kind of nice, but... Ugh, this. So, my little listening friends. I just spoke with my mum and I think I'm going to book a flight home for a bit if John doesn't wake up in the next couple of days. What use is it if he finally wakes up and we're in a coma right next to him? Or worse. Or worse. I am at this moment in a travel lodge. Well, to be more accurate, I'm in a big fluffy white robe. And I was going to have a glass of wine, but I'm not really that kind of girl. So, hot chocolate it is. Tears to you, guys. To John. To Sherlock in his cell. Our fates lie in the hands of the Metropolitan Police. Let's hope that... Shit. I'm... I'm... Get in my pocket, listeners. Who is it? Can you tell me who is there, please? It's okay. It's okay. Oh my god! It's not funny. I'm not laughing. Yes, you are, Lily. No, I'm not. Sherlock. Where's your aunt? Does she wish to come mock me too? No, she wishes to be asleep. It's midnight. Is this a service you provide, is it, informing prisoners of the time? You're not a prisoner. Then let me out. Nah. Then I am a prisoner. You are a person in police detention. So, under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984... Yes, yes. I know more than enough about the legal framework. Thank you. So you're just sulking, basically. We have quite enough podcasters, Lily Lestrade. We certainly do not need another. Do you like it? Got it today. Same makers your one. No, I do not like it. And it is not my one. It is John's. Cheer up, God. And why on earth would I do that? Do you remember Durham House? I remember many things. All right, genius. Do you remember when I lived with those awful foster parents at Frogsfield House? I do. Wish I didn't. I hated it. Used to pretend to aren't Gwen. Always hunky-dory, but... God. Nope. Definitely not. I was so upset about school finishing and the summer holidays starting. And then the light threw my window in the middle of the night. You broke me out that night. Remember the laser pens? Yes. And then we camped out in Savanak Forest. You must have been tired the next day. It was worth it. Worth a night in the morning. I was in the woods with my big cousin. Yes. I'm using the term big cousin loosely there, listeners. So then, how much do you think he'll pay for it? For a microphone. He already has two. And is extremely cheap. No, for the footage. The footage of what? Exactly. Of me getting you out of here. Lily. Aunt Gwen won't know. Will she? She won't. Just a couple of hours. That's all I need. Oh my god. Can I turn this off now? You broke out of prison and stole a microphone? Not a prison. A cell to hold a person in police detention. And I didn't steal it. I borrowed it. And I now borrow every second of this night. Something is wrong. Is that British understatement? Or is there another thing to add to the pile of things? Come. It is late. It is dark. The rain continues to fall and something is not right. Like what exactly? I can usually explain my workings. But this one is unexplainable. This perception that undetectable, it moves inside me like a sensation. Of an itch. Not on my person but in my world. I only know that now I reach. I reach out into the darkness to scratch. To remedy myself of this feeling. This prickle of nerves. Somewhere out in the black London night. I know where to look only by feel. And that feeling. Taxi! Sends me only to one place. 221B. Baker's Street. Oh god, I really hope you know what you're doing. Coulson d'Ola! Self-circular then outward bridge road, innit? Oh no, sorry. I meant him. Oh, can we get a move on please? We have completed the difficult part. Which is what? The deduction. Arriving at the conclusion of our thoughts and knowing his next move. This cognitive jump puts us ahead of him. For the first time since we first met our Napoleon bust. Hey, hey, what's that? Poor girl. A dead bird. The goldfinch of Camden House. And her young... ...knock. Oh no. They have been evicted. For another makes his nest in the nooks of the empty house. So he's not going for the window? No. He seeks a single point. Totally imperceptible. But his lethal compact rifle will appear as it did to Mr. Adair. Right through the glass of our front window. Speaking of guns... We cannot, I'm afraid. No? It is inside 221B. That is no longer safe. And you think the second we step in there... I wouldn't guarantee it. No. But I don't like the odds. Fair enough. The element of surprise will stun him. He is huge, Sherlock. I can call someone like... like Hopkins, right? Another police unit to assist. He has evaded their capture thus far. Lily tells me their investigation is already slowed. I will disarm him, Mariana. And I will overpower him. Not with my fighting skill alone, but with the spike of revenge... ...thundering in my veins. He'll have very little chance. He could be 7'7", 8'7". He cannot compete with what stimulates me. Come. This way. That's the offensive way. Mariana. Mariana. That's the opposite way. Mariana. Hi, this is Garolinica from Goalhangers. The rest is football. This episode is brought to you by Clana. When you open your bank app, it's not always clear what you've actually spent... ...and what's still waiting to come out of your account. Some money's gone out, other payments haven't come through yet. One charge you recognise, another you can't quite place. And you're checking different apps just to see where you stand. It leaves you without a clear picture. And at that point, keeping track starts to feel like a job in itself. That's not a great system, especially for something you use every day. Clana works the way it should. Built around the way your money actually moves. In the Clana app, everything's in one place to help you stay on top of your money. You can see what you've paid, what's coming up and exactly where you are. On top of that, you can get rewarded for the things you're already buying. So you can spend a bit less time checking apps and a bit more watching the football. Download the Clana app to get more from your money. This episode is brought to you by Expedia and Visit Scotland. Start your story in Scotland. Experience the pool of wide, untamed landscapes. And fresh cuisine that feels rooted in place. Discover castles steeped in legend. And feel the genuine warmth from locals you meet. In a place that will stay with you long after you leave. Start planning your own Scottish holiday. Today at Expedia.co.uk slash Visit Scotland. You have to turn back because I will, Mariana. Understand me. I have to head back there. I have to face down, Maran. And if I have to do it without you, then I will. You are not doing it without me. Then turn around and stop running away. Oh, I'm not running away. Yes, you are. We must get into Camden House right now. Our break-in must be silent, well-considered. Only noise at all. Yes, I know that. Which is why. Oh, I came here first. Oh, geez. Oh, I'm out of breath. Hot sense. Hot sense. My old place of work. Baker Street branch. And you know what? They never took my keycard back. You devious little genius. And don't you forget it. These are the agent's desks. But if you go back to the manager's office, they'll keep the keys for each property here. And it'll be. I'd say it would be right here. I agree. That's a lot of keys. Yep. You try selling a house in London right now. Okay, what do we have here? Um, 37 Wigmore, 19 Hammersmith, Seymour Place. Ah, 142 Baker Street. And 180 Baker Street. Ah, 242 Baker Street. Slash Camden House. Well, goodness. What are you doing? Look, the old listing. Oh, wow. I, I, God, I remember putting that down there after I met you guys. God, it feels like a thousand years ago. Yes. These pictures, it looks so empty. Look at the walls. No holes in them. No, gunshot free. No Swindon Town fixture lists or podcast release schedules. And that's where Archie's bed is now, by that wall. See how the old tenant had it. Yeah. Looks darker, colder in these pictures. Yes. Not the place you guys have made it. Your flattery is misplaced. Yeah, okay. Not the place that John has made it. Indeed. He brought the light. And I don't mean with his smart lamp. Oh. That old nail there on the wall. That's where I used to hang my coat. And then he fitted that entire Ikea cabinet with coat hooks, rails with the area for shoes and the little key stand. Yeah, he dragged me over to Wembley to help him with that. The empty windowsills now filled with plants and flowers and fan artwork. Oh, the rickety seating now cushioned couches for nights watching television together. Or when we ruminate on a case. All three of us. The best nights. Oh, there's his room. The home of his podcast. The hours. Well, days. Ha, yes. Days spent crafting his life's work. Documenting you. Documenting us. I'm going to keep this. You do that. I'm running out of time. Then let's do it. Okay, so this is the kitchen. Thank you, but this is not a viewing. Sorry, just nab it. Get behind me. We take the stairs slowly and with caution. You're totally sure about that. I am certain. Please don't do that. Down came the rain, Marianna, to wash them out. Our salvation as if from the heavens. You won't hear us over the rainfall. It will cover our approach. Oh, shit. Stanford is calling me. We can't. What if it's about John? We cannot, Marianna. Come. So he's going to be by the nest, not the window. Yes, because Moran uses a loophole. A loophole? Like a contract loophole? Ah, yes. Well, the word originates from medieval loopholes, holes in castle walls, archers, marksmen of sorts would be set back and safe to fire through. A tiny gap in a solid defense. It, must we do this now? I could explain the etymology more fully later. No, no, no. That's okay. He will be in the south-facing room that faces our lounge. His rifle, his hawk-like glare fixed upon his firing port, waiting for our activity in Baker Street. His almost meditative focus on his attack will be disastrous for his defense. Okay, one more floor. The raindrops are fading a moment. Come. He's not going to be in that room. He's up one more floor. I know. We wait until another downpour, predicted in six to seven minutes. Okay, okay. Just here, yeah? So are we like right below him, right now? Sherlock, Sherlock, what are you looking at? I am. What's out the window? Two, two, one, B. Is Moran in there or? No. Okay, then who do you see? I see myself. What? There I am. Stood in our lounge, staring out the window, just as I am now. What the f- oh my god. That's you. What is going on? Ah, shit. Stomper is calling again. Don't answer it. I know what he wishes to say. Sherlock, I'm serious. What does this even mean? It means victory is at hand. Come on, John. A little closer. What are you talking about, Sherlock? The rain is falling harder. We have to move for Moran right now. A little closer, dear Watson. John is in hospital. And Sherlock Holmes is in two, two, one, B, and yet here you are talking with him. What are you talking about? Say goodbye to our waxy friend, Marianna. Are you serious? You put him up in the flat? No, I did not. But someone has. John? And once Watson moves the figure that little bit closer to the window, Moran will have his shot. My effigy will take the bullet and we will take Moran. Is, is, is John? Holy shit, it's moving. That's it, John. Not him that much closer. He's got him holding the violin. Okay, wait, wait. Um, Sherlock, do the smart lap. On your phone, you can do it on your phone. Aha, the stupid smart lap. That's the spot. Now for the light. The trap is set. Ready? Ready? Up the stairs. Cross the hallway. Oh shit, shit. It's okay, it's okay. We wait for the shot. None eye. Great detective. The game is afucked. Hope you like my new boots. Ah, keep him down, Sherlock. Why? Keep him down. How are you? Fuck. Give it up, Sebastian. That tooth looks a little loose. Hope you were good for the tooth fairy, you. Give it up. I can't keep him down. Sherlock, let me help. Farriana. Oh dear, lad. Oh fucking dear. You are in trouble. Oh yes. Oh, this is much better, isn't it? You see, I never liked the fucking stealth kill. You know, so detached. So cold. Yeah, but having you here, scouring across the floor like a little mousey. Farriana, are you alright? She don't look it. She don't fucking look it, does she? Now then, do I shoot you? Yeah. Or do I mash your face in like I did Ronald's, eh? Or both? Your Dr. Powell got off lightly. Straight in the chest. Would you like to see him again, eh? Where do you think you're going? Heaven or hell? What you reckon? I cannot be sure. Oh dear. What about him then? Your deceased colleague. He is a doctor after all. So gotta be up there in the clouds, eh? Eh? Come on then. Where do you think he is? I don't think. I know. Oh yeah. You think he's popped inside those pearly gates, do ya? No. But a lot twist. Fuck me. Where do you think he is then? Right behind you. What? What do you mean? Are you alright, Mariana? I'm okay. You? Yes. And what about you, John? Um, they're confused. Oh yes? How so? Well, why does my hair smell of coconut? I'm not sure. I'm not sure.哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎 It had deflected off my sternum, apparently. Took some pace off it before it got stuck. Miss spinal cord, miss major nerves, paralysis, just trauma and deconditioning. Well, most of the pain, obviously, came from when I woke up in hospital and literally no one was there by my side. Please, I won't be able to do that. Please, I was there every day, every night. Well, clearly not every night. But, um... no one being there, that was my first clue. That something was afoot? Indeed, the bullet next to my bed. That I got for you, by the way? Yes, thank you, mate. Not any kind of round, I recognise, so I knew it was designed for something very specific. Small, easy to conceal. So he had a hit list. I got out of there, um... just before I got in, I saw our lovely goldfinch. On the pavement, yes, so did we. Every spring, they take that hole in Camden House. Something had forced them out. Uh... I got in Baker Street, saw your bloody wax figure on the stairs. Ah, yes, meant to clean that up. Took him upstairs. You are welcome, by the way. And that's when I spotted you across the street. And... I know... I... I know most of the time I have no idea how your mind works. But right then, in that exact moment, right when it mattered, finally... Finally? I finally heard the little Sherlock voice in my head. You weren't just over there. Across the street, you were... you were in here. Cheers to you, Watson. No. Cheers to you. No, no, cheers to being back with Archie. How about cheers for discovering you had a roof terrace after two years of being here? Ow, that's hot, man. Are those sausages done yet? Nadia's getting really, uh, really hungry. Really, really, really hungry. They need to go crispy and hard. Right. I've checked, and I don't know if it's legal to have a barbecue on this roof, so... No, come on. Boo, boo. He said he don't know. That sounds like a little power to me. God, Mum's calling again. I bet she's lost. There she is. John, can you get away from the edge, please? I'm not near the edge. Yes, you are. You're too close. Now, move back. Mum! Right, I know lots of youngsters are vegan these days, so I'm getting a Waitrose Coleslaw. Mum, Coleslaw's not vegan. Isn't it? Why are you in a Waitrose? How have you even found a Waitrose? Oh, I'll pick you up at Waitrose Magazine. That's just a book of things I can't afford, Mum. Great, she's hung up. Oh, wow. Nice roof tower. Oh, Lily, you made it. Hey, Lily. Oh, my God, John. Didn't you arrest me once? Try twice. Wiggins, Jesus, they're just burnt now, aren't they? It's not. It's chaired. Smoky chaired sausage. That's the same thing, isn't it? Oh, sure. Welcome home, John. There's no place like it. And welcome to your new roof terrace. Yeah, yeah. If only we had a half-decent estate agent that told us that. I literally told you on the phone before I even got to do to 1B for the first time. Oh, I will go over my recordings. Please do. Please don't. Well, whether you like it or not, listeners, I'm back. I thought I'd better do an outro, or else Mariana will end up taking my job. So thank you to everyone who emailed and messaged while I was under. Sorry if it got a little dicey back there, but to be where I am now, not in heaven. I mean, in my room after a day with my friends, to know the love that's out there and in here, in 221B. Well, it was worth the wound. It was worth the wound, the psychological trauma of dying alone in a tunnel. I'm not so sure. But what it did give me, I'll never let go. Time for some recuperation in Greece of all places. So I'm sure we'll see you guys soon. Peace out. I don't know why I thought I'd be able to pull off peace out. Just pretend I said something cooler than that. Later, listeners. No, not that either. Bye-bye.
