jadpdr

And it's not only Aurelie here: this was yesterday on the much-abused original telephone box on the side of St Bartholomew's Hospital, while someone imitated Benedict's signature?

Thanks, Carol! I got seven out of nine. No clue as to his pal at university, and no gossiped either, so I had no idea who he hit to protect Keira Knightly, but the questions were at least about facts, not who we think we are!

Apparently, I'm Robert Downey Jr. "Your mind is a wonderful thing, but it's only one of the many muscles you use in order to get stuff done. You're a constant ball of energy, making quick deductions and then acting on them at a speed that leaves your friends and associates panting for breath in your wake. This can make you difficult company, just because you appear to be an inspiring combination of physique and intellect, but thankfully you have a huge dose of arrogance and ego to puncture the balloon of perfection and allow more modest personalities to live with themselves. Not that you care, you're too busy swinging from the rafters and punching adversaries to notice. But if you do find yourself a bit lonely from time to time, just tone down the brashness of your personality and you'll be just fine" For a rather shy, introverted person, it is a "bit not good"!

Well, we know right from the start that Dr Watson has trust issues, anger management issues and other messy things left over from his deployment, but the way he behaves in this episode is, to say the least, ambiguous: he obviously worships the ground Major Sholto walks on, but he cannot distance himself from Sherlock either, so it seems as if he's being torn apart, by past associations, present conflicting emotions and an uncertain future, no matter how he tries to bolster his resolve by calling the wedding day "the happiest day of my life." It won't remain that way for long, it takes only one month for everything to come crashing around his ears!

I think, on this matter, as in much else in the series, there are deliberate misleading little snippets that can be interpreted several ways. They are messing with our minds, but each one can see what they want in the ambiguous scenes.

Possibly watch our favourite episodes again without the pressure of keeping a log on them?

Meaning exactly what? What kind of reputation would a moderator have, then?

I am not a fan of this Mary, so whatever they plan for her demise, preferably before the birth, is much better in their scheme of "consequences" than killing off Molly, for example. She is almost Sherlock's equal in manipulation and a former assassin, to boot. Off with her head, as the Queen of Hearts would have said.

It makes perfect sense IF Moriarty is an electronic figment and not actually alive! All women who have had an impact on his life are fair game if it is about "consequences" and chickens come home to roost, as Mr Moffat pointed out in an article about S4. I just wish they would get together and start plotting out the major themes of it ASAP!

I have a problem with Andrew's contrived ComiCon interview: he said that he had been written out of the episode! Episode, not series! Did he allude to NOT appearing in the Christmas Special? We had been assured that the Special would resolve the Moriarty conundrum. What if he didn't get a look-see at all?

Yep! But at that time and age he couldn't save body parts in a refrigerator, so they would have to work pretty quickly to prevent natural decay from setting in!

Well, we only have Leo Mc Kern as a point of reference in Rumpole's fifties, sixties and early seventies. He would not have been fat in his RAF days, nor when he "was called up to marriage", as he says in The Alternative Society. Tall is a problem, but a thin Rumpole was the one who caught Hilda's predatory eye at a social event. Besides, those robes would swirl even more spectacularly than the Belstaff

They did say that the Special would resolve the Moriarty question, but I don't remember any set pictures released from the airport and Mary was seen covered in black, not in her red coat. It's the waiting game from now on, especially since it won't be aired at the same time in every country! Of course, there should be less profile shooting, because Benedict really does not have the typical Holmes profile.

Spending time with the baby, loving the baby more than his own life, caring for it and taking pride in its growth, definitely yes; changing nappies and doing shifts on its erratic sleep patterns , especially with Benedict's hectic schedule, improbable !

Don't some of them die or retire due to extreme old age, senility or any other of the unpleasant things connected with octogenarians and over? That vital statistic must be taken into consideration, also.

As far as I am concerned, the ACD stories I read to improve my English, are canon. The rest is just any creator's take on the iconic character.

Once Sherlock arrived at the hospital, he found Sir John checking up on the baby with his stethoscope, while Dr. Watson stood by the baby's bed. The venerable paediatrician made small humming noises in between auscultations, and Sherlock could not but be impressed by how dexterously they were carried out so as to cause her the minimum discomfort. Finally, the old gentleman straightened and turned from one to the other, perhaps not quite sure whom to address. "It's all right, sir, I'm only the baby's godfather, Dr Watson is her father," Sherlock explained with a slight smile. "Very well, her condition is almost normal, I shall sign her discharge papers, but we shall have to wait for her blood tests and allergy ones to come through! Sherlock, I shall have my secretary inform you to come and pick them up! " "Yes, sir, much obliged for all your efforts, sir!" was the almost automatic reply, which elicited an eyebrow raised in questioning mode by Dr Watson. After the distinguished octogenarian had left to go deal with the paperwork, a plainly intrigued Dr Watson turned towards his friend: "What was all that about?" Sherlock had agreed with John not to lie any more after the whole Magnussen debacle. "When you contract measles at age one and a half and you are firmly held down on your mother's lap, face down so the doctor can take your temperature using a baby thermometer several times a day, you quickly learn to respect a kindly touch with that thing going up your rectum and held firmly there for the requisite two minutes." he replied tersely, although he could see John crinkle his eyes at the mental image. "Anyway, Mycroft got measles too, because it was during school break, so the entire experience with running a temperature, photophobia and baths in camomile water were worth it! Look at what I got for my goddaughter, he continued, aware that he had turned slightly pink in the face, as he pulled the pearl necklace out of his breast pocket. "What is that, and how did you come by it?" "You said you didn't want to know! " Sherlock protested. "All right! We are getting the baby home and then you give me the whole story" huffed Dr Watson. Sherlock thought back on his actions and decided that half-truths were not lies, so he smiled slightly and agreed!

Back on track since J.P. seems to be getting out of hospital today ( fingers crossed) : I seem to have watched a Benedict impromptu interview at what looked like an airport, saying that of course there would be more Sherlock, and figuratively getting his knuckles rapped by Mr Gatiss, replying "That's certainly news to me dear". Does anyone on the forum have the details of that little hiccough, where the main character is just raring to go on and one of the co-creators putting him down in such a public and, in my opinion, mean way?

In order to carry out his plan undetected, however, he would need Mycroft's help yet again! Bother! He sent a quick text requesting the location of all CCTV cameras around the Inner Temple area. "What are you doing in that part of London and why have you deleted the relevant data from your mind? MH" The thought of being able to see Sheralyn sometime next morning was the only one which prevented Sherlock from releasing the frustration of this terribly secretive case of his by using vituperative language against his brother. "It's for a case ! SH" "Anthea is on well-deserved sick leave, I shall have her replacement forward them to you, MH" When his phone pinged again with a "Thank you. SH", Mycroft's eyebrows shot up; this was the second time after Dr Watson had brought Mrs Watson's daughter to Baker Str that his little brother had shown respect for common decencies. Something was definitely wrong, but Mycroft was only human, after all, he didn't possess telepathic abilities! With the schematic downloaded, Sherlock quickly made his way to the offices of Mr Jebedaih Snooks and after ensuring that no patrolling Bobby was in the vicinity, he brought out his burglar's toolkit and went to work as quietly as possible. Once inside, he turned on his special tiny torch and immediately knew that the case would be solved to the entire satisfaction of Lady Sanderson: all wills were located in alphabetical order in drawers lining the entire surface of what he deduced was the senior clerk's room, a neat place, with its computer atop a solid mahogany desk. Apparently, Mr Nooks had inherited the business from his father and had seen no reason to change a perfectly running system! Almost with a sigh of relief, he picked the lock of the relevant drawer, located the Sanderson file, extracted it, and was in the process of relocking it, when his peripheral vision caught the reflection of a torchlight shining through the office windows! He had forgotten the night watchman, a private security guard paid by all the legal gentlemen to keep an eye out. He eclipsed himself in the Stygian gloom under the desk and swore at himself: there was always something! Fortunately for his reputation, Sheralyn's continued well-being, Lady Sanderson's interests and Mycroft's blood pressure, the guard continued on his rounds, and only then did Sherlock realise he had kept his breath all the while. With an almost audible sigh, he made his way out of the office, locking the door with a special tool that needed all his dexterity. By the time he had finished this last task, he was fairly certain he could not play his violin until his wrist had returned to its normal flexibility. What hold had Mycroft's Faerie Princess on him that he was willing to risk life and limb for her time and again? Only after he had left the area did he start walking purposefully back to Baker Str, not daring to take a cab because it's fare would show approximately where he had been. Home sweet home and a long and relaxing hot bath, then straight to bed. There were too many skeins to unravel still!

(Dear SherlockedCamper, he is her godfather, surely he knows the names he gave her! Double check with sfmpco's story and make all appropriate corrections, including losing the Belstaff, we are in summer, please) He received a text message from Sebastian, informing him that Lady Sanderson needed to see him as soon as humanly possible. This time Mycroft's help was out of the question, so he refreshed himself quickly, straightened his rebellious curls as fast as he could, finally hailed a cab and had it drive to Esher. Oh, this was all going to go on somebody's account, he fumed! This time he was shown straight in to Lord Sandeson's bedroom, where he found a distraught Lady Sanderson at her husband's bedside. The financier seemed to be suffering from a terminal cardiac crisis, his words came out in a hoarse whisper, by fits and stops. Sherlock perceived the erect figure of a doctor hovering by the window, who gave a sombre shake of his head, as if to say 'too late'! Suddenly, Lord Sanderson tried to raise himself on his pillows :"Water, please" he gasped. Lady Sanderson shot out of her chair, went to the washbasin and poured out a glass of water, not even stopping to turn it off in her haste to hand the glass to her husband. After he had taken a sip, he turned to her and smiled :"The pearl necklace... you should know... you didn't marry me out of love, but I expected you to keep to your vows... you married me because of my fortune..! I knew that, I accepted that, but I could not tolerate your recent love affairs... you have not been a good wife..! This is how you are being punished, and I accept death, I embrace it in the full knowledge that your precious pearls disappeared down the conduit... and the water is still running, so all of them have dropped down the drain by now!" Lady Sanderson once again jumped up to turn off the tap, and then returned to her husband's side "Do you hate me so much?" she asked, but was rewarded by a long breathy rattle. The doctor put a hand on her shoulder, she got up and left her dying husband in competent hands. She motioned Sherlock to follow her and went to her morning room, where she ordered tea. He kept her under observation all this time, and her suppressed agitation was palpable, but he deduced it did not come from her husband's imminent death or what he had said about the pearls. There was something more serious at stake here, and he surmised it had to do with the solicitors. He patted the pocket of his jacket, where the pearl necklace he had 'rescued' during his nightly excursion lay safely, but something held him back, the man who spewed deductions and tactless observations as soon as they came into his mind, for once silent in the face of so much agitation and anxiety!

I think it is the most successful because it's the most mischievous! Everybody loves a scandal,whether they are honest enough to acknowledge it out loud or bemoan the drop in quality level and then secretly read or watch all the lurid details, of which this episode is chock-ful! As for the sheet scene, it was lifted whole from the Jetemy Brett episode of The Master Blackmailer, and then was taken to improbable extremes. He twiddles the ashtray, the gun, the Zil spray after he blinds the American, his violin bow for Auld Lang Syne, her telephone several times, but who's counting? My favourite scene is in the lab with Molly "Well, we all make mistakes", said the poor besotted pathologist, "Yes, they do, don't they?" comes the instant reply: women are an alien species to Sherlock, both in ACD and this version!

Oh, and I just corrected everything to Sir William Shad! What is your source of information, because this pearl necklace needs a dying husband! Anyway? We can keep Sir William Sanderson alive a bit longer Once Sherlock looked at the names of the solicitors, he realised that one of them was closely connected to the plumber, as Snooks was not such a common name! He texted Sebastian to set up a meeting with the retired banker, then rushed back home, to pick up his lock pick tools and change into a black outfit consisting of black jeans, black roll-neck pullover, black elastic shoes, and stuffed a Balaklava hood in his back pocket. As per arrangement, the black limousine was already waiting in the falling darkness, and he was surprised to see that Anthea herself was driving: Mycroft aiding and abetting in a common crime was beyond comic, but he was thankful for his brother's precautions at the moment! Silently, the car pulled out onto the traffic and made its way to Esher. He tapped on the separation window to let Anthea know where to drop him off. He would make the rest of the way on foot. No need to take foolish risks, it was bad enough that she knew he was going to Esher. Any more tangible proof and even Anderson would be able to join the dots! He moved surreptitiously through the back gardens of the adjoining houses, always on the alert for any alarm system, like the one Henry Knight had installed in his garden in what seemed another lifetime at this point. Finally, he reached the Sanderson pavilion, used his tools to pick the kitchen door and then put on his infrared goggles, to make out any laser security system lying in his path to the banker's bedroom. He avoided a pressure pad just in the nick of time, easily located the others, and when he reached the banker's bedroom he didn't hesitate to use his prepared chloroform pad on the sleeping octogenarian. The old methods always worked best, he had to hand it to Mycroft. Quickly, he made his way to the washbasin, took out a wrench and a French key and went to work. Finally, with his booty in his jeans' pocket, he exited as softly as he had entered and made his way back to where Anthea was waiting for him, lights switched off. Once she saw his black-clad figure emerge from seemingly nowhere, she switched on the engine, he hopped in the limousine, and they were once more headed for London. He switched on his mobile, and the first text was from John: apparently, Sheralyn had overcome her inexplicable attack, and Sir John had requested a full spectrum allergy test. Well, Sherlock couldn't blame the old doctor, seeing as Moriarty... Moriarty's twin, he corrected himself, had almost fallen victim to the tear gas! And the he appositely remembered his remark to John when shooting the wall "What has happened to the criminal classes of England? It's a good thing I am not one of them!" and chuckled to himself : now he WAS one of them, even in a good cause!

I shall leave you to your deductions! Expect the unexpected and all that circus!

"The faerie princess, was her nickname in the society dances, dinners, even high-end clubs. You have seen her now she is forty at least, but a twenty she was an ethereal being, all charm and poise, with that beautiful contralto voice laughing in your ear as you danced with her, always keeping you at arms length and still looking as if she were ready to melt into your arms in the next South American variant. She was seemingly above it all, and there were rumors of changing lovers every month, but never hard evidence, I remember scanning her while we were doing a particularly successful tango, and my deductions were that she had come straight from her lover's bed , yet not a hair out of place and her make-up beautifully applied..." "Mycroft, you LIKED her, I am astounded!" "I still like her, and save your petty digs at my behaviour. ... Then, at twenty-six she ups and marries Sir William Shanderson. I believe the American term is "gold-digger" , but he was as utterly besotted with her as any of the rest of us, so why should she not choose financial security as well as a reputable name. Lately, as her husband's heart condition deteriorated, she was tempted into two affairs..." "Yes, yes, I know all about that, I told her so to her face!" came the impatient retort. "And she didn't slap you hard enough to make your teeth rattle? Obviously not! The lady has learned patience, then." "Mycroft, John is awaiting my instructions, Sheralyn is in the Emergency ward at Great Ormond Hospital, the lady needs an answer to the very delicate answer as to how her precious pearl necklace could have been substituted without visible evidence of a burglary, and I have very little patience at the moment!" "When did you ever? You were a sunbeam as a toddler, impossible to catch, you became a sprite as you grew older, and even now you rush into danger like there's no tomorrow! My advice to you would be to check up on Sir William's connection to the plumber. And now let me rest a bit longer." "Thank you, Mycroft" , came a soft whisper as the elder Holmes closed his eyes, followed by a featherlight touch on his cheek that felt like a kiss. One must be thankful for small mercies, he thought as he drifted off into a nap.

With an assured touch, Lady Shanderson input the standard six-digit code and opened the safe. Immediately, she took out its single enclosure, a long leather jewelry box with the initials of a famous jeweler's meme embossed on the green leather, opened it with nervous fingers and took out a beautiful three-rang pearl necklace. Mutely, she handed it to him. Sherlock took it in his hands, ran his fingers over the lustrous pearls, briefly weighted it in his hands, checked the almost perfect uniformity of the orbs and raised his eyes to meet hers:" Now I see why you need my services, Mrs Jones. When did you first discover the substitution?" "Mr Holmes you are even better than Sebastian made me believe! How did you deduce it so quickly?" "Those thieves of yours were so adroit so audacious, and yet nothing seemed to have been taken. Here's A necklace, but can you be sure it is yours?" "No, Mr Holmes, I can't because it should have a tiny date inscribed inside the clasp, and the date is inaccurate!" "Prefect, just perfect, Mrs Jones, now you understand the burglar did not simply take the original, he substituted it with a copy."