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You shouldn't do that.
Tap the glass.
How did you know I was going to?
You must forgive my son. He loves bees.
It isn't a bee. It's a wasp.
Different thing entirely.
Was that him?
Ah, the prodigal returns.
Ooh.
Outside, Roger. You know you're not allowed.
Like having a Welsh pony.
Will you be going up to your study?
No, not as yet.
Ah, yes. Home again.
Home again.
Mrs. Munro!
It would appear we've had a decrease in population.
Did Mr. Healy not come by
to take care of the apiary whilst I was gone?
Yes, but he won't be able to do it next time.
- Did Mr. Healy say that? - No, his daughter did.
She's taken him to live with her. Too feeble, she said.
- Is he too feeble? - Seemed spry enough.
- Chattier, maybe. - With you?
With himself.
Key to the study.
- Is that lunch? - Mm.
Hmm...
Watson had married and I was alone.
In fact, it was on the very day he left Baker Street
that the case which was to be my last began to unfold.
It was almost 30 years ago. The Great War had ended
and the tourists had come back to Baker Street
to catch a glimpse of the real Sherlock Holmes.
Thankfully, in his stories,
Watson had always published a false address
for our actual quarters.
So you found the right address.
- Why did you do it? - Sir?
Break into my study.
My study is my sanctum sanctorum.
Private place.
Before you went to Japan, I saw you writing that story.
I didn't know you wrote stories.
Oh, Dr. Watson, yes, he was the writer.
Well, so I borrowed Mum's key and went into your study,
and there it was.
And how much did you read?
Just to where you stopped. It was a good part too.
A man comes to Baker Street.
You say, "You've come about your wife."
How could you tell? Did you do the thing?
What thing would that be?
"The cane shows the marks of a dog's teeth.
The wood is from an island southwest of Madeira."
That thing.
And how would you tell
that a man's visit was about his wife?
He wears a wedding ring?
No. The clues are all on that page.
This sentence, to be exact.
"One day, into the room came a young man,
in newly-pressed, albeit inexpensive clothes."
The clothes are freshly-pressed. He's a young man, though.
Not expensive clothes.
Then his wife must press them. Men don't have the talent
and he can't afford a servant to do so.
Very good.
That's how you knew it was about the wife.
Well, no.
When you're a detective and a man comes to visit you...
it's usually about his wife.
So why did you stop where you did?
Ahh...
Ah, did you get the things from the chemist?
On order. Said it would be a few days.
We'll hold them to that.
Otherwise, triumphant, were you?
Like V-E Day.
Oh. Doctor's here.
- Did you catch cold in Japan? - Does it sound it?
I thought you might be coming off the tail end of something.
Lost some weight as well. Hmm.
Did you find what you were looking for,
the mysterious ashy prick?
Prickly ash.
Oh, yes, sorry.
That was the reason the fellow invited you to Japan, wasn't it?
Dig up a pile of the stuff, smuggle it home?
It can't interfere with anything you've prescribed.
- But surely it can't do me ill. - In and of itself, no.
You mean there might be side effects?
Perhaps.
- Such as? - Hope.
What was the name of the fellow who invited you to Japan?
You just spent a week with the man,
corresponded with him for months.
Do you recall his name?
There's a flat adjacent to my surgery that's gone to let...
No!
What happens when you don't recall where the telephone is,
or you forget to turn off the gas?
- You can't live alone. - I don't live alone.
I have the housekeeper.
Take this diary.
Each day you don't recall a name or place,
make a mark on the page for that day's date.
And if I forget to make the mark?
Oh... Mm.
No, no, no. No. No, no, no.
It's the royal jelly.
Yes, well, we're not using it anymore.
Instead, we're going to use this.
- It's called prickly ash. - Is it food?
Mm...
Eurgh. Looks like it came out the down-spout.
It came from Japan.
That makes all the difference.
You add it in as you would the royal jelly,
in the tea or the coffee.
And you should try cooking with it
to enhance your specialities.
Mr. Holmes?
Tamiki Umezaki.
Welcome to Japan.
I am so honoured you have accepted my invitation.
We spend tonight at my house. Tomorrow we begin our search.
I have owned your book for 20 years.
I purchased my copy when it first appeared in print.
I hope you'll do me the honour of a personal inscription.
Oh, yes. Of course.
Um...
Mr. Umezaki, how close to the city
does the prickly ash grow?
It is found mostly near the sea.
And how far shall we have to go?
Where I am thinking is two days' journey by train.
You are very eager?
I'm in the middle of a project that I'm keen to finish
and my wits must be at their sharpest.
I want to be able to benefit
from the effect as soon as possible.
- It's that urgent? - I fear it's so.
You are very great detective!
Thank you very much.
My mother, she wonders
if you have brought your famous hat.
Oh, the deer stalker.
That was an embellishment of the illustrator.
I've never worn one.
- And the pipe? - I prefer a cigar.
I told Watson, if I ever write a story myself,
it will be to correct the million misconceptions
created by his imaginative license.
Did you write such a story?
But I'm trying to do so now.
I must finish with you before I die.
"So you've come about your wife."
"You've come about your wife."
"You've come..."
Roger.
Here.
I'll see you after lunch.
I'm going to need some help with the bees.
So you found the right address.
A friendly porter at 221B.
It's just a minor fiction to mislead the curious.
Most of them seem to be American.
Have a seat, Mr. Kelmot.
So...
you've come about your wife.
- How did you know? - It doesn't matter.
Tell me what you have to say.
My wife is named Ann.
Her mother died in childbirth.
Her father was a colonel,
killed in that business at Waziristan.
We wanted very much to have children.
She lost our first child in her third month...
Our second in her fourth.
We were told it was too dangerous to try again.
Ann was... distraught.
It was as though each of them lost
had been a real child, as opposed to...
Thank you.
For a time, she even insisted I have
a pair of headstones carved
and placed in our cemetery plot,
as if their bodies were buried beneath.
She was in desperate need
of something to soothe this dangerous melancholy.
She liked music so I suggested the glass armonica.
The armonica?
My father's most prized possession.
He played it constantly till the day he died.
I had it brought to the house
and arranged a month's worth of lessons.
One hour per week.
Soon Ann asked me if she could
increase the lessons to twice a week.
Then three times. Then every day.
So, she took up the avocation you hoped she would.
Why are you here, Mr. Kelmot?
Mr. Holmes, my Ann has changed.
And it isn't just the lessons
or her obsession with the instrument.
One day I was outside the room
and suddenly her playing stopped.
And I heard her saying, quite clearly...
Grace? James?
Those were to be the names of your children?
When I confronted Ann, she denied it.
So I forbad her playing the armonica
and I forbad her taking the lessons.
The woman who teaches them, Madame Schirmer,
is a person of dangerous beliefs.
The dangerous beliefs of a music teacher?
She's put a spell on Ann,
preying upon her weak frame of mind,
for what reason I cannot say.
Have you proof of this?
Following my instructions,
she stopped seeing Madame Schirmer.
I received in the post... three receipts from the woman.
Each for the payment of one armonica lesson.
Again Ann denied it.
Consequently, my wife is no longer permitted
to withdraw money from the bank.
Then yesterday, I followed Ann
to the place where the woman gives her lessons.
Even on the pavement below I could hear her playing.
Naturally, I went inside, but the Schirmer woman said,
"Your wife is not here."
Last night, I questioned Ann.
And she said that she hadn't been to Madame Schirmer's rooms.
Not for weeks.
Do you have a portrait of your wife?
I shall take your case if you answer just one last question.
Certainly.
What perfume does your wife wear?
Roger?
It's late. Lights out like it's the Blitz.
Look at you.
Do you remember your dad?
I remember him holding my hand and taking me to the sea.
You're not remembering. That's the picture.
What about the invisible stories?
Some nights at bedtime, your dad would make up stories.
He'd... he'd say, "Give me three things."
And you'd say, "A ball, a cat and Roger."
So then he'd...
he'd make up some tale
about a ball that had a pet cat named Roger.
Always a something and something and Roger.
You don't remember any of the invisible stories?
No. Do you?
I was never any good at stories.
Sleep well.
The first thing to know is there's no danger.
Bees aren't interested in harming you.
Their only concern is self-preservation.
From people?
They're much too clever for people.
Their enemies are the weather, disease and predators.
The wasp is their particular antagonist.
Did you know that one wasp
can kill 40 honey bees in under a minute?
In consequence, we do not like wasps.
Yes, sir.
- We do not like wasps. - Ah.
The queen runs the colony.
The drones service the queen.
Hands up.
Workers do the work. As it should be.
Of concern is the latest decrease in the bee population.
We've identified the problem, and now we must solve it.
Right. There you are. Off you go.
Have you ever been bitten
by a bee? - Stung.
Bees don't have teeth. Yes, I have.
Well, not often, though.
7,816 times.
I keep a record.
You're not entirely dreadful.
You ever been bit?
No. I have never been bit.
Well, people work with bees all the time, don't they?
What is royal jelly?
It's a special secretion of the worker bees.
- And it's royal because? - It feeds the queen.
Bravo.
It was the jelly's curative powers
that prompted my monograph,
The Value of Royal Jelly
with Further Comments
on the Potential Health Benefits of Prickly Ash.
- What's that? - Prickly ash, hmm?
Well, in Japanese, hire sansho
is the common word for zanthoxylum piperitum.
It's used to treat various degenerative diseases.
Anaemia, circulatory conditions... arthritis and...
Hmm. What's it called?
Oh. Senility.
That was a witticism.
The newest research suggests that prickly ash
has far more promise than royal jelly.
Henceforth, prickly ash is all that we should use.
Have you written more about the man and his wife?
- All in good time. - Is it real?
Of course. Fiction is worthless!
The place you stopped.
Why do you want to know the wife's perfume?
- Cameo Rose, is it? - Yes.
Always leaves a trace.
Madame Schirmer.
Madame Schirmer, this is Thomas Kelmot. Let me in.
Madame Schirmer!
Herr Kelmot, I did warn!
You come, I call the Metropolitan Police!
Madame, my friend's emotional state
is such that, if denied entry,
he might not be able to restrain his passions.
Allow us both in, and I will take full responsibility.
- Thank you so much. - Who is this?
- This gentleman is a detective. - Ja? His badge, please?
His name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
You don't mind if I close this, do you? Such a draught.
No. I have seen Sherlock Holmes in the magazines.
With the hat and the pipe. It was never this person.
Madame Schirmer, I saw Ann enter this place,
I demand you produce her.
Your wife is not here.
- You said that last time. - You question my truth?
Oswald, my dear, it is a wish to know
if you are this man's wife.
- No. - You could be in disguise.
- I don't think so. - Voilà!
It is, I believe, what the English call a water closet.
She was here! I saw her!
Mr. Kelmot, if you insist on following your wife
when you have employed me to do the same,
one or the other of us will find himself made redundant.
- He is distraught. - He is a fool.
The armonica used to be thought of
as an instrument of the black arts,
said to be used to call for the dead.
Something to do with the nature of the glasses.
You don't believe that, surely?
What I believe plays no part in this matter.
When was Mrs. Kelmot last here?
Weeks now.
Then the receipts you posted to her address
were for Oswald's lessons.
Mrs. Kelmot is paying for them.
Frau Kelmot is passionate, but an amateur.
She knew it was Oswald who has the gift.
- You knew she was not here. - Of course.
Oswald doesn't wear her scent.
You are still not Sherlock Holmes!
How considerate.
You waited for me.
What are you doing?
Trying to see if I can tell where I've been.
Don't you know?
Mr. Holmes can tell things like that
just from looking at a person.
- Where are you off to? - See to the bees!
You'll eat your breakfast first!
Got a letter from your aunt the other day.
She says there's a couple in Portsmouth
opening a hotel there.
Need a housekeeper.
Why would we want to live in Portsmouth?
- Can't stay here forever. - Why not?
- Because we can't. - What's in Portsmouth?
This couple are opening a hotel there...
You said that.
You'll leave the table when you're finished and not before.
I'm not finished.
You don't eat that Japanese muck.
It's hire sansho.
I know you like working
with the hive... - It's an apiary.
And you like being given responsibility,
but I shouldn't get too close.
- Bees don't bite. - I don't mean the bees.
Mr. Holmes won't be here forever.
Your aunt says this hotel might even take you on.
- They got porters and... - Have porters.
Finished.
Chemist delivered your things.
Shall I have Roger open the crate?
No. I'll see to it when I'm finished.
Yes, sir.
Sir?
I know Roger's been a help to you. He's a good boy.
He's always been clever.
His dad and I weren't the sort to know
the things a boy like Roger takes interest in.
Exceptional children
are often the product of unremarkable parents.
I've got a sister. She lives in Portsmouth.
A couple of her acquaintants are opening a private hotel there,
say they're willing to take Roger and me on.
You have a sister?
Never would have thought it.
Is this a matter of wages?
No.
Hmm.
I shall take this under advisement.
My mother was sad to see you leave.
I'm rather sorry now I didn't bring the deerstalker.
You said you never wore one.
Well, yes, but it would've pleased her.
She wanted the fictional. You are the real.
Well, I'm not sure that's true.
I think I was real once until John made me into fiction.
And then after that, I had little choice.
Play the part as he'd fashioned it,
or become its contradiction.
I'm actually quite fond of a pipe,
but to smoke it, especially in public,
after it became so well known a prop, seemed vulgar.
So, Dr. Watson's imagination changed you?
I've never had much use for imagination.
I prefer facts.
My father would bring me here as a child.
It was designed as a miniature.
We walk as giants.
The stones represent the lives of those he has lost.
Oh...
Sherlock-san!
- Hire sansho? - Prickly ash.
- Mr. Holmes. - Hmm?
Too late to check on the bees?
Not in the least.
Bee check!
- They're quiet. - Yes.
What happens when the bees die?
Is this a metaphysical question?
I mean, do you mourn them?
Oh, I can't say that I've ever mourned the dead,
bees or otherwise.
I concentrate on circumstances.
How did it die? Who was responsible?
Death, grieving, mourning,
they're all commonplace.
Logic is rare, and so...
I dwell on logic.
Well, thank you, kind sir.
Night, bees.
Sweet dreams, bees.
Now, what do you say we go for a dip tomorrow?
- In the sea? - Yes.
It'll be brisk.
Good for the blood!
All right, then.
What sort of books do you like, hmm?
Apart from Dr. Watson's stories and books about bees.
Those are all the books I have.
Well, there's a perfectly good library right here, inside.
You can take any book you like.
Mr. Holmes?
Are we going for our swim?
I've already seen to the apiary.
Are you all right?
I'm perfectly...
I'm quite...
Perfectly fine.
All right, Roger.
You go along. I'll catch you up.
Roger! Come along or we'll lose the day.
Well done.
The photograph is her, isn't it?
The woman in the story.
Yes.
Is she why you're writing it?
I wouldn't say I was writing it...
It's more I'm trying to remember it.
Ah, thank you.
A few months ago, my brother Mycroft died.
His club, the Diogenes,
asked that I go up to London to retrieve his things.
I was given a small chest containing the Watson stories,
none of which I'd ever actually read.
They were as John always described them,
penny dreadfuls with an elevated prose style.
But one of the titles piqued my interest.
The story was familiar,
but its ending felt very, very wrong.
I'd not seen any of the cinematic depictions.
But by a fortunate chance, an opportunity soon arose.
It's strange to see a semblance of one's self 40 feet high...
- I fear for my Ann's sanity. - Fear for her sanity?
Dear man, you should fear for your life.
Whatever do you mean?
Murder, Mr. Kelmot. Murder.
...and played
as a character out of pantomime.
Poisoned?
With what means have I?
Your armonica, Madame Schirmer.
- Preposterous! - Or rather, the glasses.
It is the lead in the crystal that creates the unique tone.
Absorbed into the blood through the skin,
small exposure can produce confusion, hallucinations.
But constant, obsessive contact can end in insanity and death.
Every plot twist came with a twirl
of a moustache
and ended in an exclamation mark.
Our would-be murderer is ingenious.
Surely you're not referring to...
I'm afraid, Mrs. Kelmot, you will have to find yourself
a new music teacher.
Oh.
Absolute rubbish!
What possible motive
could that German woman have had to kill Ann?
That night I searched for something
to jog my memory of the actual case.
And there it was... Her picture.
You know, a few years ago, I could have told you everything
about the woman in that photograph.
Certainly I'd recall what had become of her,
whether she was victim or culprit.
But that night...
I couldn't remember any of it.
All I knew for certain was that the case was my last
and it was why I left the profession,
came down here,
retired to my bees.
So, I decided to write the story down on paper
as it was, not as John made it.
Get it right before I die.
You're not going to die.
Roger.
I'm 93.
I had a great uncle who lived to be 102.
Well, then, that seals my fate.
What are the odds that you would know
two men who would live that long?
Well, I didn't actually know him.
I'll see to the bees.
Ow! Mr. Holmes!
Mr. Holmes!
Aargh. Aargh.
I've been stung.
Unlike the wasp, the bee always leaves its sting.
I must have done
something stupid. - Oh, no.
Sometimes... there's no reason at all.
Right. Salt water, you drink that.
Or onion juice to prevent serious consequences.
And no need to tell your mother about all this.
We don't want to worry her, do we?
You going to go back to the story?
Is that the price for your silence?
Tight lips.
How considerate. You waited for me.
Good afternoon.
- Sir? - Tea for one in the window.
Certainly, sir. Mind the step.
Ill, do you say?
Took all the strength he had just to write out the cheque.
- There you are, sir. - Thank you.
Well, here we are.
- Have you used this before? - No. I haven't.
It is highly poisonous. A drop will more than suffice.
Thank you.
It's just Thomas is in such a state.
He insisted I made certain.
Reassure Mr. Kelmot
that the particulars of the will have not changed
since he dictated them.
Your possessions are bequeathed to him, as his are to you.
Thank you so much. It was so good to see you.
- Excuse me. - Yes, miss?
Is the 8:10 the fast service?
The 8:10's the slow one, makes local stops.
And the 9:05?
That's the fast train, goes right on through.
- All aboard! - Thank you.
All aboard.
Honeybees are attracted to you.
It's the scent. Cameo Rose.
- Oh. - She thinks you're a flower.
Must confuse the little thing no end.
May I?
Oh.
Very kind.
Ah. The iris. Amazing resilience.
Enough light and they will grow
in the most uninhabitable regions,
desert, cold, rock.
Why do you suppose it is
that something as small and insignificant as the iris
should be so much stronger than we are?
Perhaps they're less affected by what goes on around them.
Hmm.
- Are you a botanist? - Amateur only.
I am, by disposition, a hobbyist.
In fact, if I may, there is one particular
hobby of mine that might amuse you.
I can see the future.
Shall I read your palm?
I promise I'll find nothing dreadful.
What about our friend?
Oh.
Hmm. Hmm.
Your parents are gone.
Your mother long ago, your father more recently.
You had love in your heart for someone...
No, for more than one person.
But they have left you,
and your love for them has nowhere to go.
You're in pain.
But you must not allow your pain to guide your actions.
Where that leads... The lines are not so distinct.
- Why? - I beg your pardon?
You see so much.
Why can't you see what happens next?
- The lines... - Yes, you said.
Ply your parlour tricks elsewhere, Mr. Holmes.
Wait.
I can't...
I can't remember.
Mum! Mum!
Mr. Holmes!
Was it the smoke knocked him out?
Could have done.
Most likely he stood up too quickly
and lost consciousness.
It isn't the first time.
The last housekeeper didn't know what to do.
He must have decided to take it subcutaneously.
Well, now we can't leave.
No. Made sure of that, didn't he?
Where's the hire sansho?
The prickly ash.
If it's not there, I'm sure I don't know.
- Did you throw it out? - Why would I do that?
For spite and malice.
Where'd you get words like that?
The dictionary.
Like as not, he took the muck himself.
Got burnt up with the rest of it.
Those can go on the fire.
Did Mr. Holmes say you were to do this?
He always disposes of that sort.
How do you know what sort these are?
You want to know who writes to him?
Pensioners who think they've solved Jack the Ripper.
Widows who've lost their cats
and just know he's the only man on Earth who can find them.
He's the last resort for every lunatic out there.
- It's not your decision. - It is...
If I'm to be a full-bore medical staff at cook's wages.
He's an invalid. Needs a nurse, not a housekeeper.
All he did was took a fall.
Your granddad was hale and hearty
60 summers then he took a fall.
It was three weeks to the day he died.
Should be in hospital. That or one of them places.
He'll get better!
And the day he does is the day we go.
Is that clear?
Hmm.
- Oh. - Got a letter from Japan.
It's from Mr. Umezaki.
- Have you read it? - No. Wanted to.
Sin of desire. You're a Catholic.
Mum says you throw out most of the letters you get.
And why do you think that is?
The people who write want you to solve things.
If you read their letters, you'd want to help.
Oh, no. You give me too much credit.
It's just if I were to read them,
I'd feel obliged to respond.
Perhaps Mr. Umezaki's asking you to go back to Japan.
Oh. I'll never go back to Japan.
- Why not? - Long journey, old man.
- You made it before. - That was before.
Maybe you could get more prickly ash.
The prickly ash hasn't made
a bit of difference to my memory,
any more than the royal jelly did.
Yes.
The only inspiration
for any sort of recollections has been you.
Go on. You open it.
He's writing to say his mother is dead.
How could you tell?
Mr. Umezaki swore that he would never contact me again.
The only thing that would make him change his mind
would be a deathbed instruction from his mother.
A good son always does what his mother asks.
Mr. Holmes!
You're not to be out of bed!
Mrs. Munro, I have counted the steps
from the bed to the window, from the window to the...
You're not to do anything on your own.
You're to ring.
I thought it was an imposition.
It will be an imposition if you lose your bearings
and end up on the floor for me to collect!
I hadn't realised that this had become
an industrial dispute.
I've been trying to calculate the likelihood
that we should find hire sansho
in a place so utterly devoid of life.
Perhaps it is life reasserting itself.
Hire sansho.
How does it taste?
It isn't for the taste that we sought it.
Ah, now, before we leave,
there's something that I mustn't forget.
I've signed it, as you requested.
Oh.
Not certain you can read my scrawl.
"To Mr. Umezaki, who has not owned this book for long."
You haven't had this book for 20 years.
It came from the library.
The glue mark shows where you removed
the card jacket.
You know nothing about bees or royal jelly or prickly ash.
Enough to bring you here.
During our correspondence over the last few months...
was my name not familiar to you?
- No. - My father's, then?
Masuo Umezaki?
I never knew your father.
He was a diplomat in London, years ago.
He loved all things English.
The first gift he gave to me was a cricket bat.
The second was this.
In English, so as to "assist my education."
"After consulting
"with the very great detective Sherlock Holmes,
"I realise it's in the best interests of us all
"that I remain in England indefinitely.
"You will see from this book
"that he is a very wise and intelligent man,
and that his say in this matter should not be taken lightly."
We never heard from him again.
- I'm sorry. - My mother is dying.
She grew old without a husband. All because of you.
I understand.
The last time you heard from your father
was the first time you heard about me.
Masuo vanished from your life
and I arrived... in the form of a book.
One replaced the other, as it were.
I suggest you and your mother take whatever time you have
to come to terms with the facts of the case.
A man abandoned his family and wrote his son a story.
He wouldn't be the first
to cloak his cowardice in a flag of sacrifice.
I'm sorry.
But I never knew your father.
I shall not bother you any longer with my questions.
But if the prickly ash succeeds, you will let me know?
Aargh, argh!
Aargh!
Help.
Thank you.
I look like I've been attacked
by the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Can't let Mum
see you wearing that top. - No.
- It's evidence. - Yes.
What of? A murder?
Oh... I've something for you.
No.
Apis cerana japonica.
- They have bees in Japan? - Yes. Just like our bees.
Only they're Japanese.
No, it's for you. It's a gift.
Oh. Thank you.
Arigato, as they say in Japan.
Something the matter?
You lost another dozen bees today.
- A dozen? - What do you think it is?
An outbreak of mortality.
Could be a disease we've not seen before,
or a sudden mutation.
You bring up some corpses and we'll examine them.
- Yes, sir! - And my glass.
Study. Should be in one of the drawers.
Roger?
- Mr. Holmes feels better today. - Is that so?
Hmm.
Mr. Holmes feels so much better,
we're about to start an investigation.
Of what?
The crime wave that has done away
with a number of our apiary's most prominent residents.
Well. If you need suspects, you know where to find me.
Mum, wait.
I bet if we asked, Mr. Holmes would... do his thing.
The thing he does where he tells people
who they are and where they've been, just from looking.
Do Mum for her.
I'm sure your mother
doesn't need to be told where she's been.
Let's not bother Mr. Holmes with any foolishness.
It's not foolishness. Here.
You come and stand in front of Mr. Holmes. Just like that.
And he will tell you where you've been.
Do it.
You want her to turn in a circle?
No, that won't be necessary.
Turn in a circle.
You've been away most of the day.
The soot on your dress attests
that you went by train to Portsmouth,
as all other nearby rail lines which might accommodate
a return trip of this length are under repair or beyond it.
In Portsmouth, you met the couple who run the hotel.
Your hair and nails are evidence that you wished to make
a favourable impression.
They made you an offer, you accepted.
You declined tea, and did not see the sister
for whom you have no particular fondness,
using my indisposition as an excuse to hurry back.
- It wasn't an excuse. - You accepted?
Start a week Monday.
Both of us?
- We're both going. - She wants me
to be a bootblack!
Roger!
She wants me to do what she does!
There is no shame in what I do!
You complain enough about it! Always going on
about how hard things are. And you wish you had it better!
She can barely read!
Go after her.
Apologise for saying things that were meant to hurt.
You were cruel!
If you don't apologise, you will regret it.
- People always say that. - Because it's true.
Moi, je regrette tellement.
- You regret... - So much!
Your dad hated what he did for a living.
Mechanic in a garage, like his dad before him.
When he got called up, he said to me,
"My love, I'll not spend this war
"underneath the oil pan of some toff's jeep.
I'm gonna put in for the RAF."
So he did.
He trained.
Scored high marks, got assigned to a Bristol Blenheim, Mark IV.
Blown out of the sky. First time up.
All his mates who worked the motor pool
came home without a scratch.
I shouldn't have said what I said.
Lesson there, then.
Don't say everything you think.
Look.
- How did you find that? - In your desk.
- Couldn't have. - The one in the corner.
Didn't know it was a desk until I opened it.
Oh, that's not my desk, it's John's.
He left it at Baker Street when he went off to get married.
Yes, and there's a secret compartment
containing the very glove you've been writing about.
I know you say Dr. Watson didn't always
get things right, but in the story...
I am not working on that story anymore.
Yes, but in Watson's story, he does have the armonica in it.
And the German lady. And that glove.
So maybe he did get things right.
No, that's not possible.
John had gone from Baker Street by then.
Well, then why was it in there?
I don't know!
And if I ever did know, I don't remember.
If you can't remember,
then why couldn't the case have been a success
like Dr. Watson wrote it? - Because it was my last case.
And if I'd brought it to a successful conclusion,
I wouldn't have left the profession
and spent 35 years here, in this place, away from the world!
I chose exile for my punishment, but what was it for?
I must have done something terribly wrong...
And I've no evidence of what it was.
Only pain, guilt...
Useless, worthless feelings!
I wish to God I'd never even taken Umezaki's case!
- Kelmot's. - What?
Kelmot's case. You said Umezaki.
Roger. Tea's ready.
Best clear this up.
Mr. Holmes. Would you like your tea now?
Mr. Holmes?
If you die... what'll happen to the bees?
I haven't a clue.
One can't solve everything.
Said to be used to call for the dead.
Death, mourning, grief...
They're all commonplace.
Logic is rare.
The dead are not so very far away.
They're just on the other side of the wall.
Now, whenever did you say that?
Ply your parlour tricks elsewhere, Mr. Holmes.
My husband could never succeed at deception
so long as I do his laundry.
I don't know much about your profession,
but I doubt predicting
the future of women you're engaged to follow
is common practice.
It was intended only as a means
to achieve a desired result.
- That being what? - To delay your actions.
To keep you from this appointment
you seem so eager to make.
Even before I glimpsed you today,
I'd gleaned some of the passionate
feelings you have for your husband.
The man who took away the music you loved,
denied you the pleasures of your lessons,
even refused even to mark a child's grave.
All these predicted your antipathy.
And then I witnessed your actions.
Forging his signature,
drawing down his account,
purchasing poison, consulting his will,
planning an escape with a mystery man
who was paid a handsome fee.
And all for my benefit.
A convincing set of circumstances,
signalling your intention to murder your husband.
But for two errors.
We must place blame on your husband for the first.
If Mr. Kelmot had not blundered
into Madame Schirmer's atelier...
and so taken me from my course,
you wouldn't have had to loiter on the street
for such a suspiciously long period of time.
But you had no choice, so loiter you did.
I would also make the observation
that there is nothing about you
that signifies the type of woman who enjoys window shopping,
especially the window of a taxidermist.
Was that the second error?
No, merely confirmation of the first.
The second was unavoidable, and all the more damning.
The man at the station.
Everything about him,
his clothes, the patches on his trousers,
his hands, scarred and burned with acid,
announced his profession.
Stonemason.
Money must have been a dire necessity,
else you would never have forged your husband's signature.
The money was to pay for the headstones
your husband would not allow.
For Grace. For James.
For you.
Was arranging things to make it look
as if Mr. Kelmot was the intended victim
simply to keep me off the trail?
When I found the card... I was furious.
That Thomas should know me so little
that he had need to employ a detective to uncover the truth.
Then it struck me,
if anyone could understand, it would be you.
Thomas thinks I'm mad because I speak to my children.
He doesn't understand.
The dead are not so very far away.
They're just...
on the other side of the wall.
It's us, on this side, who are, all of us so...
Alone?
I have been alone...
all my life.
But with the compensations of the intellect.
- And is that enough? - It can be.
If one is so fortunate as to find a place in the world.
And another soul with whom one's loneliness can reside.
Do you know a place where two such souls might reside?
It was an offer unlike any I had ever received.
She wanted to share her solitude with me.
It was only later I realised
how fateful my decision would be.
You have a husband who loves you.
Go home to him.
Mr. Holmes...
You have my thanks.
What more, madam, could I do?
She had poured out the contents of the bottle
and, with no malice aforethought,
poisoned the innocent witness.
If it had been one of John's stories,
he would have called it a foreshadowing.
Our time together was fleeting.
Less than an hour, really.
Yet her death made me see that human nature was a mystery
that logic alone could not illuminate.
I had successfully deduced the facts of her case,
but I had failed to grasp their meaning.
Never had I felt
such an incomprehensible 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.
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-hmm.
The drones service the queen.
The workers do the work.
Isn't it true?
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