Elementary (2012–…): Season 1, Episode 15 - A Giant Gun, Filled with Drugs - full transcript

Yes?

I'm supposed to deliver some
tables and chairs to a party--

it starts in about
an hour-- and my, uh,

van broke down
just down the street.

You want me to call triple-A?

Actually, no. I need
to call my boss,

but my cell is dead.

I was hoping I could come in,

maybe charge it
for a few minutes?

Please? Look, if I
mess up this delivery,

I'm in some
serious trouble.

How about you give me
your boss's number?

I'll call him for you.

I just started today, actually.

I-I don't know my boss's number
off the top of my head.

I need to plug in my phone
so I can get it.

Tell me the name of the company,
I'll call the office.

It's after hours.
Nobody's gonna answer.

Would you please
just open the door?

I'm sorry, but I don't know you.

I can't just let you in.

Lady, come on!
I'm gonna lose my job.

Please, just leave
before I call the cops.

Yeah, Broome
Street and Ludlow.

You'll send another van?

Great, thanks.

Talk about a Good Samaritan.

Saved my ass.

And as he fled, the man
dropped his walking stick,

which the police later
mistook for a weapon.

But he did so in order
to pick up the mongoose.

Which was, of course,
responsible

for the claw marks
I found at the crime scene.

The mongoose, you see, was quite
key in identifying the man.

He was a magician.

The rodent, part of his act.

Now, once I realized
the man's true connection

to the colonel, it became
obvious to me, the latter hadn't

been murdered after all.

He'd merely succumbed

to a heart attack,
after the appearance of a man

he'd sentenced
to death so long ago.

Again,

my name is Sherlock,
and I am an addict.

That was a morning
of firsts.

First share I've ever heard
involving a mongoose.

Really?

It was also the first time you
ever contributed at a meeting.

Why am I not
surprised

it had nothing to do
with your drug history?

Ah, you know, it seems
so expected, doesn't it?

Talking about addiction at an
addiction support group meeting.

Besides, the group seemed
particularly down today.

The last thing

they needed to hear
was another depressing share.

Is that why you decided to take
the floor? To cheer everyone up?

You know me, Watson.
People person.

Hello.

Uh... Sherlock?

Can you come up here, please?

Right now?

Rhys.

I, uh... I let
myself in.

I still had the
key from last time.

I tried calling, but
your number's changed.

Oh, so you know
each other.

That's almost
a relief.

Something's wrong.

Yeah. It's Emily.

She's, uh...
she's been kidnapped.

When was she taken?

Well, a ransom demand
two days ago from her e-mail?

Video or note?
A video.

What are they
asking for?

Clearly this is
very important,

but do you think
that we could press pause

until we are all clothed?

Ah.

Love a cup of tea,
if you've got some.

Yeah.
Yeah. Right.

Um, sorry.
This is my room.

So, obviously,
he's an old friend.

Who's Emily?

His daughter.
She lives in New York.

And for clarity's sake,
Rhys isn't an old friend.

Well, not exactly.

He's, uh, my former drug dealer.

♪ Elementary 1x15 ♪
A Giant Gun, Filled With Drugs
Original Air Date on February 7, 2013

== sync, corrected by elderman ==

♪

As you may have guessed,

last time Rhys was here,
he stayed in your room.

This was when you
were still using.

Two months after
I got to New York,

before I was carted
off to rehab.

Let's talk about this.
What's to talk about?

The daughter
of an old friend is in trouble.

He's not just
an old friend.

He's the man
who used to supply me

with narcotics;
yes, I am well aware.

Doesn't make his daughter
any less kidnapped.

And it's worth noting,
he is an ex-dealer,

just as I am
an ex-junkie.

Two phoenixes risen
from the ashes.

This isn't about
what he is now.

It's about what he was
to you back then.

You think he may be some sort
of trigger?

On a giant gun filled with drugs
pointed at you, yes.

You're right.
He is a trigger.

The minute I laid eyes on him,

my mind conjured images
of heroin bubbling in a spoon.

I felt an undeniable,

almost gravitational pull.

Yet, as I've already mentioned,
I consider the man a friend.

I will not be
turning him away.

I appreciate your opinion
and your concern.

But you mistake
the support group ethos

for a complete system
for living.

It is not. At least not
to a man like me.

My sobriety

is on one plane.

The bonds I share with those

I consider friends
is on quite another.

You're just gonna have
to work a bit harder this week.

Not interrupting, am I?

Sorry again
about upstairs.

I was...
Haven't quite had

my head screwed on the last
couple of days, you know?

Should've figured
you'd have a bird over.

I'm not a bird. I live here.

I'm entirely
sober now, Rhys.

Miss Watson is
my companion.

She keeps me from
resuming bad habits.

Of which I am one.
I get it.

In which case,
let me show you this video.

If you can't help me,
I'll be on my way.

I'll just get my tea.

Your daughter's life boils down

to two numbers:
$2.2 million, four days.

If you don't pay in time,
she dies.

If you involve the police
or the FBI, she dies.

If you deviate
from my instructions in any way,

she dies.

I've left a phone for you

at her apartment;
keep it with you.

Wait for further instructions.

I went to her place
as soon as I touched down.

This is the cell phone.

Looked like there'd been
a bit of a struggle.

I was careful
not to touch it.

I'm sorry to interrupt,

but do you have
$2.2 million?

In May of 2011,
Rhys stole exactly that amount

from his Dominican suppliers.

He's been hiding out
in Thailand ever since.

Like I said, ex-dealer.

They got sloppy
with some transactions.

I saw an opportunity for
early retirement, and took it.

It never occurred to you
that you might be

putting your daughter in danger?

Well, no one knew about Emily.

But he knew 'cause
he deduced it.

But I never spoke about
her to anyone else, never.

Her mom knew, obviously, but...

She passed away
several years ago.

Did Emily know about your theft
from the Dominicans?

No. Before I disappeared, I gave
her an e-mail address, and said,

"Look, if you're ever in
trouble, you can get in touch,"

but I hadn't heard from her
till I got this video.

Well, isn't there
a simple solution?

You pay the ransom,
and you get your daughter back.

How much is left?

Uh... just under two.

$2 million
is nothing to sneeze at.

$2,000, you know, give or take.

You spent $2 million
in just 18 months?

No, I lost $2 million.

Drugs were his vice.

Cards were mine. Look, I'm
sorry. I'm even sorrier

now that I know that you're
trying to clean up. I just...

I don't mean to go stirring up
bad memories. I just didn't know

who else to turn to. Said
he'd kill Emily if I went

to the cops or the feds.

And I figured,
since I was acquainted

with the Sherlock Holmes,
I'd be a fool not to...

seek his advice, right

We have just under 44 hours
until the ransom is due.

Luxury.

That's twice what I'll need.

That's Emily's
mom... Penny.

You said she passed away.

Yeah, some kind of
cancer, I think.

Well, we were
never that close.

She was American on holiday
in London back in '91.

We met, had some fun...
then along came Emily.

How are you not
a total wreck right now?

If my kid was taken
and held for ransom,

I don't know
if I could keep it together.

You seem quite...
I don't know-- Zen.

Huh.

I made a delivery once to
Holmes at Scotland Yard.

Crazy, right?

Crazier still,

he invites me to stay
and watch him assist

in the interrogation
of this lunatic

who'd been planting car
bombs all over the city.

The police knew there was
another one out there,

but they didn't
know where it was.

Holmes is in the room with the
guy for, like, five minutes.

Figures out
where the bomb is

from a couple of stains
on the guy's shoe.

You ask why I'm
not a total wreck?

'Cause I believe
in Sherlock Holmes.

Your friends,
the Dominicans-- they were here.

Or at least
one of them was, anyway.

He waited for her here.

I found traces
of cigarette ash on the floor.

Now, how do I know
it didn't come from Emily? Easy.

She's not a smoker. No
other signs of tobacco

in the whole apartment. She
doesn't even have a lighter.

This ash comes from a Crema,
a popular Dominican brand.

You can tell the brand
by the ash?

I can identify 140 cigarette

and cigar brands
by their ash alone.

Now, if you bothered
to read my monographs,

you would know that.

So, they
struggled here.

She dropped her glass
of water that she poured.

The water spilled
on his hand.

How else do you explain this?

It's just a swirl.

It is a symbol,

that of the Taino god
of hurricanes.

The Taino, as everyone knows,
were the pre-Colombian

inhabitants of what is now
the Dominican Republic.

This, meanwhile, is a hand stamp

of a Dominican nightclub
in Brooklyn

called, appropriately enough,
Hurrikane, with a "K."

Emily's water moistened
the hand stamp

on her abductor's hand,
facilitating its transfer

to the wall.

Maybe he left some prints.

Already checked-- he wiped down
the doorknobs before he left.

How do you know the stamp
didn't come from Emily's hand?

Well, she'd just got back
from a jog, hence the water.

No nightclub would allow her in
wearing exercise gear,

let alone one as pretentious
as Hurrikane with a "K."

Her kidnapper came
from a nightclub,

and that is where we shall go.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

This is seriously
the plan?

Rhys walks around
on the off chance

he recognizes someone
before they recognize him?

Well, he's wearing a hat.

Are there other, more surgical
ways to search this nightclub?

Yes, of course, but
they would require

the manpower and resources
of an NYPD or an FBI,

and both are
off-limits to us.

But if he spots someone

from his days dealing
with the cartel,

we'll follow them.

You seem even more dour
than usual, Watson.

I would posit it was
a menstruation issue,

but I worked out your cycle--
you're good for ten more days.

Couching it as
a scientific observation

totally negates the misogyny.

And for the record,
I'm not happy

because we are in a nightclub
surrounded by alcohol,

and-and, judging by the way
people are dancing,

serious drugs.

Told you it was gonna be
a difficult few days.

Okay,

over in the corner,
the VIP area,

see the big guy in there
with a beard?

Right?
His name's Reynaldo.

He's one of
the U.K. suppliers.

Is he the one you stole from?
Technically, I stole from them all,

but, yeah, he'd be
pretty upset with me.

So, obviously,
more than a coincidence--

a man you stole from
sitting in a nightclub

that Emily's abductor was in
just before she was taken.

So what do
we do now?

Now...

I urinate.

Nice tats.

My name is Sherlock Holmes--
I'm a consultant

with the NYPD. I'm looking for a
kidnapping victim.

Her name is Emily Grant.
I believe that your friend Reynaldo

may be responsible.

Would you mind if I ask
you a few questions?

No hablo inglés.

That's strange.

I'm fairly certain
that English...

is a requirement for agents

of the DEA-- even
those deep undercover

in Dominican
drug cartels. Hmm?

What gave you
away, you ask?

Well, first it was
your tradecraft.

Out there, you used
the nearest champagne bucket

to monitor your surroundings
behind you without turning

your head-- that's not
a technique one learns

on the street, but at Quantico.
Then there are

your tattoos--
they're all perfectly thuggish,

all precisely
the same age.

Most tattoos are
acquired over time.

Hmm? Each emblem

fades and ages
differently-- not yours.

Yours would seem to suggest
you were in a hurry

to fit in with a new crowd.

Please, I have no interest
in jeopardizing your operation,

but a woman's life is at stake,

and given that you are a federal agent...
Call me a fed again,

I'll cut out your tongue
and feed it to you.

Well, perhaps your friends
in the VIP area

will be more interested
in what I have to say.

My boys love hearing
about the DEA.

Like waving red
at a bull.

Olé!

It's okay.

Guy tried to steal
my wallet, man!

Stay, please.
Just stay, stay, stay.

Stay out of it.

You didn't give me any choice--
I'm in too deep,

and I cannot let you
blow my cover.

I just need to know
where to find the girl.

Nobody in this organization
has kidnapped anyone

in New York, trust me.

Reynaldo over there, he is

the cartel in New York-- nothing
happens without his say-so.

The only thing he
cares about right now

is the turf war
with the Colombians.

I'm sorry, but you
may be looking into

the one crime in this city
the cartel isn't behind.

Suffocatingly inane.

Good morning.

This is soul-crushing
in its utter banality.

Sufficiently asinine
as to constitute

a valid argument
for eugenics.

Okay, I give up.

What are you reading?

Emily's Twitter feed.

Excruciating medium.

Demonstrates that brevity does
not protect against dullness.

That said, it does serve

as a modern-day equivalent
of a diary,

so who's to say
it won't turn up a suspect?

So you've given up
on the cartel.

For now, yes.

Though the ash and ink stain
I found does suggest to me

that Emily's abductor
was in that nightclub

before he took her.

Well, we have
an appointment at noon.

So plan your hunt
around that.

No. We visited the house
of bromides yesterday.

I am no longer required
to supplicate

at the altar of
recovery every day.

You are when your ex-drug dealer
is living with us.

So you wanted me to work harder;
this is working harder.

Fine. I suppose they
might find the case

of the blue carbuncle
entertaining.

No, you're not gonna talk
about some old case.

You're gonna share
something real about your...

Mm, he really got you, huh?

The man had a cover to protect;
I hold nothing against him.

I'm gonna put some
antiseptic on that.

Hey, I need to get in there.

Uh, yeah, yeah,
I'll be right there.

Two shakes.

It's all yours.

You're kidding me,

right?

I'm a sober companion.

You're in the home
of a recovering addict.

I opened the window.
You don't do drugs here.

That's not drugs; it's just
a little bit of wacky backy.

I mean, my daughter's
been kidnapped,

and I am under a bit
of strain right now.

I'm gonna do you the favor of
believing you're just an idiot.

Okay. Thank you.

Hey, I'm not
finished yet.

As much as I want you to
get your daughter back,

I need you to
understand--

Sherlock is my
number one priority.

So you will not do
drugs in his house,

you will not talk
to him about this,

and you will not talk about
drugs in his presence.

If I feel that you've
compromised his sobriety

in any way, I will turn
you in to the police

as a drug dealer
and a thief.

Are we clear?

Now give me the drugs.

Watson! Rhys!

Come along if you're
coming along!

Is that it?

We'll have to go
to an evening meeting, Watson.

My time wading
in the cesspool of social media

was not a complete waste.

What did you find?

Emily made
a curious Twitter entry

under the hashtag:
"that awkward moment."

Apparently,
it is a category

for documenting uncomfortable
social experiences.

Emily's read:
"When the man who used

to give you your allowance
comes to you for a loan."

Well, I never gave her
an allowance.

She was talking
about her stepfather.

Now, I cracked

her banking password--

your full name, by the way--

and I accessed
her records.

Seems she wrote

a series of checks

to a man called Derrick Hughes.

That is her stepdad,
but he's big

in real estate--
man, he's loaded.

If he's rich, then
why would he have

to borrow money from
his stepdaughter?

What...

Well, according to my friend
in the D.A. squad,

Derrick Hughes
had all kinds of money--

emphasis on "had."

Now, after the crash in '08,

banks foreclosed
on most of his properties.

Now, guy doesn't have
a criminal record, but...

he is dead broke.

Thank you, Detective.

Please let me know when
I can return the favor.

How about you just tell me why
you're interested in the guy.

Course not.

So, Derrick Hughes
has motive to kidnap Emily.

He's desperate for money.

Reduced to working
as a parking attendant.

If she confided in him
about your thievery,

maybe he saw it as
a solution to his problems.

Never liked the guy.

I never met him,
but still.

So what are we supposed to do?

We supposed to just wait here

until he
gets off work?

Well, if he has her,
he will go to her.

Well, I'm gonna
order some food,

and maybe they'll
turn on the heat.

You're doing good, man.

It's nice to see you.
I'm proud of you.

Must be like...
trying to relearn

the piano after
a stroke, huh?

What must be like trying
to relearn the piano?

Well, doing what you
do without the...

the drugs.

Ridiculous. Detective work
is a deductive science.

Drugs are a hindrance
to that, not a help.

Yeah, but
there's, like,

two parts to what
you do, isn't there?

I mean, there's the
"knowing stuff" part--

and you've got that
covered-- and then there's

the making connections.

That's, like, the-the...
the creative part.

The art, right?

I suppose so.
Some artists,

they need the drugs
to fuel the creative stuff.

Are you suggesting
that I was

a better detective
when I was high?

No, no, not exactly.

It's just, well, there'd be
no shame in it, would there?

I mean, the Stones
never made a decent album

after they cleaned up,
and look at them.

Just, it must be hard,
that's all.

Is everything okay?

Yeah. Why
wouldn't it be?

Because Derrick Hughes
is getting off work

and you guys are
just sitting here.

Public records indicate

that this is one
of several buildings

that he bought in the area.

Apparently, he made
a rather large bet

that the area would gentrify.

Bad investment.

Well, not entirely.

He came out of it with
a perfectly good place

to hide a
kidnapped girl.

You think he's got
Emily in there?

I'd like to know why he

brought groceries to
an abandoned building.

Where'd he go?

What is this place?

I can explain.

It's just for a few days.

What's just for a few days?
Where is she?

Where's who?

Emily. Where are
you hiding her?

My daughter?

You people aren't with
the Housing Authority?

She's not
your daughter!

Mr. Hughes, my name
is Sherlock Holmes.

I'm a consultant
with the NYPD.

This is Joan Watson;
she's my associate.

This...
Yeah, I've seen his face in pictures.

You're Rhys.

That's right,
and I'm here to take Emily home.

Uh, Rhys...

the groceries
were not for her.

Mr. Hughes is
squatting here.

Technically,

I still own the place.

What happened to Emily?

She was kidnapped,
Mr. Hughes.

Oh, my God.

Emily...

What, you thought I did it?

Look around all you want.

Ask me any questions you want.

I raised her.
I would never hurt her.

You took money from her.

Yeah, I'm in a pinch.

She helped me out.

You haven't been
to a nightclub

called Hurrikane
by any chance

this week, have you?

Uh, no.

I've never even heard of it.

I say he's lying.

Do I look like a guy that's
been going to nightclubs much?

Sorry to have
troubled you, Mr. Hughes.

We'll be in touch.

You could have let me
rough him up a bit.

The man's body language
spoke volumes.

He fairly reeked
of innocence.

Hey, hey.

Hello.

Did you think
I wouldn't be watching?

Wait, what?

I told you
not to involve the police.

Who are you working with?

N-No, he, uh,
he isn't the police, he...

I assure you,
I am not the police.

I'm a friend,
an independent mediator.

You just cost yourself 12 hours.

I want the money by 6:00 p.m.
tomorrow, or she's dead.

And to ensure
we all understand each other,

I've left you something.

It's outside your kitchen door.

Oh, my God.

You sure it's Emily's?

I, uh, I compared
the fingerprint

with ones I lifted
from Emily's cell phone.

The finger is hers.

Well, was hers, anyway.

You have surveillance cameras
inside the house.

Do you have any outside?

Only one. It covers
the garden level door,

and the kidnapper
never came squarely into view.

Good news is,
Emily's severed digit

may provide a clue
as to her location.

Please.

Looks like a burn.
It is a burn.

Quite a distinctive burn,
as a matter of fact.

It matches a floral design
found on a cast-iron radiator

forged at the turn
of the century.

Suggests she is
in a pre-war building.

She's likely been chained
to the radiator,

hence the burn.

Now, look under
the fingernail.

Ethiopian wat.

Spiced onion-based stew.

You can tell that
just by looking at it?

No, I can tell it
by tasting it.

It's unlikely her abductor
is preparing

elaborate ethnic meals
for her himself,

so let's assume the wat
is of the takeout variety.

Now, if the restaurant

is in the vicinity
of the kidnapper's lair,

I can use historical
building permits to identify

pre-war structures.
I then cross-reference

those addresses
with those of every

Ethiopian place in the city.

Provided the selection's
narrow enough,

I should be able to determine
which building is housing Emily.

What about you?

How are you doing?

If you're asking if
I'm on the verge of a relapse,

the answer is
a definitive "no."

Well, you just seem a
little, uh, intense.

Well, we are
on deadline, hmm?

Would you mind going downstairs
and checking on Rhys?

He went down there
37 minutes ago.

I've heard nary
a floorboard creak since.

A long time for someone of his
disposition to go motionless.

Habesha.

Brought you some tea.

How are you doing?

Well, I'd like to say
fine and dandy, but....

just saw a piece
of my little girl in a box.

How about you?

Um, Sherlock's just
examining the...

the package that
we received.

He thinks it might be able
to help him locate Emily.

He thinks it might
be able to help him.

That doesn't sound like
the Sherlock I used to know.

He just needs a little
more time, that's all.

I need some air.

Rhys, for what
it's worth...

...I believe
in Sherlock Holmes, too,

If you involve
the police or the FBI, she dies.

If you deviate
from my instructions

in any way, she dies.

I've left a phone
for you at her apartment;

keep it with you.

Wait for further instructions.

Your daughter's life
boils down to two numbers:

$2.2 million, four days.

How we doing?

I thought I was on to
something with the finger--

the connection
between pre-war buildings

and Ethiopian restaurants--

but it turns out there are
too many of both of those

to be helpful,
so I'm revisiting

the ransom video.

See if there's a detail,

a clue to her whereabouts

that I might have missed
the first time.

Light, shadow,
noises in the background,

reflection in the cornea--

any tiny detail
could be the key.

Do you remember the...
Tinsdale case?

That security nut.

Had more alarms in his house
than he had doors.

Used to lock himself in
his bedroom every night.

Died in his sleep.
Suffocated.

You were sure it was murder,
but there was no evidence

anyone else had been inside.

Huh?

I remember, uh...
I remember I brought you

a little cocaine,
watched you shoot up.

Like, within a minute,
you had the whole thing sussed.

It was the maid; she'd left
some dry ice under his bed.

And then it evaporated,
turned to carbon dioxide.

He died in his sleep, no
one was any the wiser.

Except you,

of course.

Remember?

It's time, huh?

For Emily.

Why would you do that?

You've needed it
the last two days!

I assure you, I have not!

Have you listened
to yourself?

The rubbish you've
been spouting?

Huh? About lights and shadows
and reflections and corneas.

That's not you,
that's not Sherlock Holmes.

This is some ghost of
you, some pale imitation.

You need your meds.

Get yourself right.

Please.

Please, man, I'm begging you.

For Emily.

- For Emily's life.
- What the hell is

going on down here?!

I-I need
some time, Watson.

I will be in touch.

Why is he so upset?

What-what did you say to him?

The truth.

It's the God's
honest truth.

This is Sherlock Holmes.

I would like to speak
with my father.

Good news, Rhys.

You will be reunited
with Emily within the hour.

What, you found her?

I telephoned the kidnapper.

I told him we would
pay the ransom.

But you know I don't
have the money.

I have the money,
or at least, my father does.

I reached out to him.

He agreed to loan me

$2.2 million, on condition

that I perform various errands
for him in the near future.

Don't know what
they are yet, but, uh,

knowing him, it's a virtual lock
I will be stealing candy

from infants
or clubbing young seals.

I can't believe you reached out
to your father.

Oh, man, I
don't know what

to say, man
We're going to meet

Emily's abductor
at 238th and Irwin

in, uh, just under an hour.

He will be in a blue van.

I transfer the money
electronically,

he will release her.

Watson, would you
be so kind

as to fetch my tablet for me?

I'll need it to
perform the transfer.

Sure.

Thank you.

There's something that
you need to understand.

Given a little more time,
I would have found Emily

by my own devices;
of this I have no doubt.

But it occurred to me that
a little more time with you

is a dangerous thing.

The fact that the
money I've procured

will liberate Emily
is almost incidental.

What it's really doing, Rhys,
is buying a life without you.

After today, you are never
to darken my doorway again.

Our friendship has
run its course.

Have I made myself clear?

♪

Can I help you?

Yeah, Special Agent Xande Diaz.

I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes.

I've uncovered
some information

about the girl
he's trying to find.

He needs to know
about it right away.

Hello.
It was an ambush.

A group of painters
when I arrived on the scene.

But they're not painters--
their shoes

were as clean
as they are expensive.

They're a hit squad--

employees, no doubt,
of the Dominican cartel

that we crossed paths
with the other night.

One of them used
the word "aguajero."

It's Dominican slang
for "braggart."

Someone told them
to lie in wait.

Someone who had pull
within the organization.

Someone who also knew I was
investigating Emily's abduction.

Only one person meets

those particular criteria...
The agent from the D.E.A.

The one who beat you up
the other night.

I know.

Aq, aquíuí

Your friends are alive,
Mr. Holmes.

Excellent.

How long depends on you.

Give me a moment
to secure transportation.

I'll meet you at my place.

We can talk face-to-face.

I don't think that's
a very good idea.

Speaking of friends,
I just met some of yours.

I don't think
they liked me very much.

I told them you work
for a rival gang.

But now I realize
that sending them

after you was a mistake.

Oh?

The money
that you were offering,

I thought that was coming
from Rhys.

I thought you would be
transferring it

from his account, not yours.

Now I know

that wasn't the case.

So I must've, uh, scared you
the other night.

Everything I was able
to deduce about you.

You thought you'd kill me,
then swoop

on the softer target, Rhys.

Get him to transfer the funds.

You're pretty fit, Watson.
You know that?

But more importantly,

you're a good friend.

Could you just shut up?

I need you to do
something for me.

Tell Holmes I'm sorry.

Just stay calm.
You can tell him yourself.

Uh, not after I've cut
myself loose, I can't.

What are you doing?

Back in the day,

I dealt to a
famous punker

for a brief stretch
in the '80s.

One of them gave me a little
pocketknife as a keepsake.

Since then, the only thing
I've ever cut with it

has been lines of...

I get it. I get it. Just...

Y-You need to stop now.

No. I need to right
a terrible wrong.

Maybe a few terrible wrongs.

I'm gonna save you, and then
Holmes is gonna save Emily,

and then that'll
be that.

All I ask is you get
out that door, okay?

I imagine that
you learned about the robbery

he'd perpetrated after
you infiltrated the cartel.

You know, they were never
able to find him

or the money.

But then again, they didn't
have the resources

of a powerful government agency
behind them,

did they? I imagine
you found his name

from Emily's Social Security
information?

Am I close?

Listen to me.

I want you to transfer
the money now.

As soon as I see
it in my account,

I will let your
friends go.

You just tried
to have me killed, so...

give me a reason
I should trust you.

Watson! Watson!

Sherlock, Rhys has been shot.

Guy who did it is unconscious.
Call 911!

I had nothing to do with

this woman's abduction. Until
just now, I didn't even know

what she looked like.
That's funny.

Because according to a statement
we got from Joan Watson,

you approached her and
the girl's father this morning

with information
about her whereabouts.

Totally untrue.

What is true?

That I've been working
in the New York

faction of a Dominican drug
cartel for almost a year now.

That, during my time with them,
I became aware of a man

by the name of Rhys Kinlan,
a former employee of the cartel.

This would be the same Rhys
Kinlan you shot this morning?

In self-defense, yes.

Look,

I saw Mr. Kinlan
on the street today.

I followed him to a brownstone
where he appeared to be staying.

I thought he might be useful
to my investigation.

But when I told him
I was D.E.A., he panicked.

He attacked me. I-I had
no choice but to restrain him.

Mm. And Miss Watson?

I regret that, but under
the circumstances, I....

assumed that she was working
with Mr. Kinlan.

He managed
to free himself.

He came at me with a knife,

so I fired on him.

You know, um, I heard
from a mutual acquaintance

of ours a little while ago.

Sherlock Holmes.

I believe you two talked
on the phone today.

He wishes he could be here, but
he actually went to the hospital

to see if Mr. Kinlan
pulls through.

And just-just out of curiosity,
if Kinlan does pull through,

whose version of events do you
think he's gonna agree with?

Yours? Or Miss Watson's?

I don't think I care very much

what a known drug dealer
has to say.

Hard to imagine
a jury will either.

This is...
from the District Attorney.

Tell us

where the girl is and he'll
guarantee you protective custody

while you're in prison.

You do not

want to find yourself
in gen pop, Agent Diaz.

Especially not after
your cartel friends

realize you've been
spying on them.

Look, I'm sorry.

I wish I could help.

Actually, I think
you're hoping Emily dies.

'Cause then there's no one
to testify.

You might actually get away
with everything.

Did you know that
the apartment

you're doing the
undercover stint in

is about half a block away
from an Ethiopian restaurant?

I get takeout
from there sometimes. So what?

Did you also know that there are
exactly five pre-war buildings

in a one-mile radius of that
restaurant and your apartment?

Three of those buildings
are abandoned.

It's ideal for stashing
a kidnapped girl.

Holmes shared
a theory with me.

He thinks Emily's being kept
in a pre-war building

in close proximity
to an Ethiopian restaurant.

Right now, I've got
a small army of cops

searching the
aforementioned buildings.

Now, personally, I think
it's just a matter of time

before they find her.

But considering that she needs
medical attention,

I would prefer it be sooner
rather than later.

Now, if you'd like
to reconsider

the D.A.'s generous offer,

you know where we'll be.

Wait.

Wait.

You'd think after everything
I've done to my liver,

it could deflect a
couple of bullets, huh?

Emily. Is she...

Safe.

Recovered a short while ago.

Where's your... better half?

As you can imagine,
Miss Watson was quite spent

after this morning's ordeal.

She's getting some rest.

She saved my life, you know.

As I understand it, she was
just returning the favor.

What's this?

Money.

Not my father's money.

I returned that a few hours ago.

It's just... some cash I keep
lying around the brownstone

to pay informants.
It's not much, but, um,

I assume you'll want
to go on the lam again

once you've recovered.

Is that for my benefit
or for yours?

The road to recovery,
I've found,

is as treacherous
as it is tedious.

Tests of my sobriety
arise almost daily.

You were just the most recent.

Hey.

I believe in you.

Always will.

Dad.

Emily.

And here I thought ol'
Angus had finally met his maker.

You remembered his name.

Consider us touched.

How long have I
been asleep for?

Just over six hours.

You did a remarkable thing
today, Watson.

I just stopped the bleeding
till the paramedics got there.

After you incapacitated
an armed gunman.

Angus helped.

He offered me cocaine
last night.

Rhys.

He thought I needed it
to find his daughter.

It was right there
on the table.

That's why I threw him
into the chair.

But you didn't use it.

Want to talk about it?

Not with you.

That is to say,
I think it's a tale

more suited to a...
group setting.

Others may find inspiration
in my abstinence.

Apparently.

Um, there's a meeting
in Cobble Hill in about...

15 minutes. Yeah.
So, I was thinking, um,

if you can hold off
on dinner for a bit then,

you might join me?

♪

== sync, corrected by elderman ==