The Himalayas, a Buddhist temple. The last of many candles is lit for a ceremony. A hooded monk watches the candles burn closely. A line of monks with deep cowls kneel silently as a hunched hooded monk enters. He approaches the first monk in line.

MONK (muttering, and blessing the monk): Tashi dalek.

He repeats the blessing for each monk, though he pauses at the last monk in line. He carefully flips back the hood of the monk, revealing a blonde woman. She stares up at the monk furiously.

WOMAN: You bastard!

The rest of the monks slide back their cowls and look over at the woman with surprise.

A pub. Greg Lestrade and Philip Anderson sit together at a tall bar table.

GREG (smirking): A breakaway sect of Buddhist warrior monks infiltrated by a blonde drug smuggler. That never really happened.

PHILIP: A, a blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of observation and deduction.

GREG: A blonde woman hiding among bald monks, that wouldn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes.

PHILIP: Well, perhaps it did.

GREG (insisting): He's dead. (Philip eyes him, slightly shocked by Greg's statement) I'm sorry, I wish it wasn't but he really is dead and gone.

PHILIP (looking down at his map): Well, how do you explain this? (he taps the city of New Delhi on the map) Sighting number two. (he looks dramatically up at Greg) Incident at New Delhi.

GREG (exasperatedly): You haven't been titling these?

New Delhi, a press conference room. Inspector Prakesh is holding a press conference, packed with paparazzi all taking his photograph. A large emblem of the Delhi Police adorns the back wall. Prakesh is flanked by two other police officers.

PRAKESH (confiently and boastfully): After that it was simply a matter of tracking down the killer which I did by working out the depth (he uses his hands to mime) to which the chocolate flake had sunk into the victim's ice-cream cone. (he laughs knowingly)

He smiles and there is a chatter from the media. Later he has left the press conference room. Looking up, he is unnerved by the sight that greets his eyes.

PRAKESH (nervously, looking around in caution): My friend. Will you not take any of the credit? This was all down to you.

The man he is talking to stays silent. The mysterious man is wearing a long coat.

Back at the pub.

GREG: Clever man, Inspector Prakesh.

PHILIP: Oh, ph. What police inspector could have made those deductions?

GREG (insulted): Well, thank you.

PHILIP: You remember how Sherlock never took the credit when he solved all of your cases?

GREG: He didn't solve all of my cases.

PHILIP (menacingly): He's out there. He's hiding. But he can't stop himself from getting involved. (he chuckles) It's so obviously him. If you know how to spot the signs.

GREG (still insulted by Philip's comment): The Klein brothers. The Tower House thing. The Kensington Ripper. I solved all those my self.

PHILIP (muttering under his breath): Well you got Tower House wrong.

GREG: No, I didn't!

PHILIP (moving the conversation on): Yeah, you did. (he turns over the map so it displayed Europe) OK, sighting number three. (he points to the city of Hamburg) The Mysterious Juror.

Greg slams his head into the table in frustration.

Hamburg, a jury room. The jury foreman, who looks tired and frustrated, sits at the head of the table of jurors. He speaks in German.

JURY FOREMAN: Nun wie wir alle wissen wurde diese Jury unter höchst ungewöhnlichen Umständen zusammengerufen. Aber ich muss Sie jetzt auf ein Urteil drängen. (he looks around at the jurors) Ist Herr Trephoff schuldig oder nicht schuldig am Mord seiner Frau? [As we know this jury was convened under highly unusually circumstances, but now I must press you for a judgment. Is Herr Trepoff guilty or not guilty of the murder of his wife?]

The jurors answer each turn, going down the table from the foreman.

JUROR 1: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 2: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 3: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 4: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 5: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 6: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 7: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 8: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 9: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

JUROR 10: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]

FOREMAN (exasperatedly): Nun? [Well?]

Later a suit-wearing man approaches a stand of newspapers. The headline of the CAM Global News reads "Trepoff 'Guilty' Sensation!" and features a picture of a bald man, presumably Trepoff. The paper beside it has the headline: "Sensation! Trepoff Schuldig!" The man grabs a Global News paper and soon after another person collects a copy of the other newspaper.

The pub.

PHILIP: It had to be him. There's no one else it can be, do you not see?

GREG (solemnly): I see you lost a good job fantasising about a dead man coming back to life and I know why you want that to happen. (he nods his head and grimaces) But it's never gonna.

The pair pauses, Philip shaking his head in suppressed anger. Greg takes a large swill, finishing off his drink.

GREG: Okay. (he places the empty glass back on the table) I'm gonna go and see an old friend. (he gathers his coat and prepares to leave. He turns back to Philip, who is silent in despair) You take care, okay? (Philip doesn't look up at him) I'll put a word in, see if they won't review your case.

PHILIP (mesmerised in thought) Just look at the map though. (a red, dotted line draws its way from Hamburg to Amsterdam and then to Brussels, with red crosses appearing on those cities) It's like he's coming back.

He looks up at Greg expectantly, who only nods sadly before leaving the pub.

John Watson's home. John Watson walks into the living room, placing a grey shoe box down on a table. Greg Lestrade follows after his closely. John pauses and allows Greg in front of him.

JOHN: Well, it's good to see you, Greg.

GREG (shaking hands with John): And you.

JOHN: Have a seat.

GREG (sitting down on one of the sofas): So how have you been?

JOHN (sitting on a different sofa): Yeah, good, yeah. Much better. (Greg nods) Er, so what's in the, err... (he points to the shoe box on the table)

GREG: Oh that, yeah, that's, um, that's some stuff from my office. Some stuff of Sherlock's actually. I probably should have thrown it out but I didn't know if...

JOHN: No, it's fine, yeah.

GREG (getting up and walking over to the box): Yeah, there's something here. Um, I wasn't sure whether I should have kept it in.

He lifts up the lid of the shoe box. The contents of the box include a small, black model train, a plain yellow mask, a box of nicotine patches, a phone with a pink case and a DVD. Greg picks up the DVD.

GREG: You remember the video message he made for your birthday. (John nods, reminiscing) Oh, I had to practically threaten him. (he proffers the DVD) This is the uncut version. It's quite funny.

JOHN (taking the disc): Oh right, thanks. (John looks at the disc silently)

GREG: Maybe I shouldn't have brought it.

JOHN (still looking at the DVD): Don't worry, it's okay. (he looks up at Greg) I probably won't even watch it.

John's home, later. John Watson is alone in his living room. He sits and pours himself a glass of whisky. He screws the bottle's lid back on and places the bottle back into a cupboard. He sits down into his armchair with a grunt, his glass of whisky in his hand. He pauses and sips the drink. After another pause, he leans forward, puts the glass down on the coffee table and picks up the DVD. He gets up and puts the disc into the DVD player. He sits down again as the image of the main room of 221B Baker Street appears on the television screen.

SHERLOCK: Was that supposed to happen? The light going down? Okay. Oh, ah, hmm.

Sherlock appears on the screen, pacing around 221B.

SHERLOCK (to the person behind the camera): So, what do I, what do I, what do you want me to do at the end? Shall I, umm... (he pauses in thought) Smile and wink. I do that sometimes, no idea why. People seem to like it, (he turns and walks away from the camera) humanises me.

GREG: Fine, whatever.

SHERLOCK (turning back to the camera): Why am I doing this again?

GREG: You're gonna miss the dinner.

SHERLOCK: Of course I'm going to miss dinner. There'll be people. How could John be having a birthday dinner? All his friends hate him. You only have to look at their faces. I wrote an essay on suppressed hatred in close proximity based entirely on his friends. On reflection it probably wasn't a very good choice of gift. (he pauses, thinking) What was my excuse again?

GREG: You said you had a thing.

SHERLOCK: Ah, right. Yes, that's right. A thing.

GREG: You might wanna elaborate.

SHERLOCK (confidently): No, no, no. Only lies have detail. Right, just, I need a moment to, umm, figure out what I'm gonna do.

JOHN (looking down at his glass): I can tell you what you can do. You can stop being dead. (he sips his whisky again)

SHERLOCK: Okay. (John looks up, startled) Okay, I'm ready now. (he sits in his armchair) Hello, John. I'm sorry I'm not there at the moment, I'm very busy. However, many happy returns. Oh, and don't worry. I'm gonna be with you again very soon.

The doorbell of John's home rings. He pauses the DVD and gets up to answer the door.

The pub. Philip Anderson is still sitting alone at the table.

PHILIP (excitedly): He's coming back. (he laughs to himself quietly, looking down at his map)

A London street. Greg Lestrade walks along the street, his eyes on his phone. He glances up and a man holding a copy of the newspaper the Daily Express. The back page features a picture of three football players and the headline reads "The Game is Back On!" Greg stares at it for a while before smiling wryly and turning away.

John Watson's home. The DVD goes from paused to playing. On the screen, Sherlock Holmes smiles and winks at the camera.

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