Hey, all I did was give you some fresh eyes.
Ms. Watson.
I didn't know you and Holmes were stopping by.
He's not here, just me.
Everything okay?
Uh, could we talk privately?
I haven't heard from him in over three hours.
He's not responding to texts,
he's not answering his phone.
All due respect, but you know your boss is a weirdo, right?
He's probably out trying to find Jimmy Hoffa
in some, uh, subway tunnel.
You don't understand. We have an arrangement.
We're not supposed to be apart for more than two hours,
and he's never supposed to be unreachable.
I know you two are pretty close for an assistant and a boss,
but how is that even possible?
You both have to sleep, right?
I'm... not his assistant.
I... okay, the only reason we are together all the time
is because I live at his place.
Okay.
Don't know why you guys couldn't have just told me that,
but... fine.
Okay, it's not like that.
It's... we're not together together.
Okay, what is it like?
I-I...
I-I can't say, I'm sorry.
Well, Ms. Watson, if you want me to help you,
you're gonna have to tell me what the story is, all right?
I'm a sober companion.
I work with recovering drug addicts.
Sherlock is my client.
His father hired me to help him stay clean.
The only reason I am telling you this
is because I think he may have relapsed.
I need your help to find him.
Mm.
♪ Elementary 1x04 ♪ The Rat Race Original Air Date on October 25, 2012
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
♪
Speaking of which, how is my favorite six year-old?
She's good. She's great.
Enough about her; how are you?
I'm good. Yeah?
Any new men in your life?
Uh, sort of.
But it's work, I'm not dating anyone.
Good.
Maybe you won't be as mad at me.
What are you talking about?
You split up with Ty a while ago,
and you never let me set you up, so...
Oh, Aaron!
Hi! Over here.
Are you serious? Shut up.
I'm gonna kill you.
- Hey, Em. - Hi!
Oh, I didn't realize you were meeting someone else.
Yeah, that's okay. She didn't know, either.
This is Aaron, from work.
Have a seat.
This is Joan, my oldest friend. Was.
Okay, I've got water aerobics in 20 minutes.
Wait, wait, I... I know you two are strangers, but...
you're both fantastic, and single, so...
start with that.
See where it goes.
My treat.
I think this is what you call an ambush setup.
Well, the good news is that I don't have to buy you a drink.
That's true. Although I could go for
a double vodka rocks right about now.
Do you normally drink spirits before, um, what?
10:00 in the morning? No, but...
go easy on me, I've just been ambushed.
Vanilla latte for... Aaron?
Excuse me, that's me.
Okay.
♪ There you are, you and your friends ♪
♪ Standing in a field that's... ♪
Sorry to snoop, but...
"YT? ND U ASAP?"
What, are you texting with a teenager?
A fully-grown adult, actually.
Sorry, I haven't done this in a while.
Um... I don't know where to start.
Me neither.
Oh... "CUS"?
I'm guessing that's "see you soon,"
but what is "IMLTHO"?
It means "In my less
than humble opinion."
Your abbreviations are becoming borderline indecipherable.
I don't know why,
because you are obviously capable of being articulate.
Language is evolving, Watson,
becoming a more efficient version of itself.
I love text shorthand.
It allows you to convey content and tone
without losing velocity.
Met a man, I see.
A handsome one, at that.
Um, this is the part where I ask you
how you knew that, right?
You put your hair up
when you want to look your best.
You think it's more flattering.
You're wrong, of course. It's a draw.
But it was down when you left for coffee, and now it's up.
Ergo, you unexpectedly met a man
you found attractive.
Okay, what am I doing here, anyway?
You said it couldn't wait?
I'm just trying to stick to the terms of our agreement.
You said we're not supposed to be apart
for more than two hours,
and I have a mysterious errand to run,
and I have no idea how long it's gonna take.
What kind of errand?
We have been summoned to a meeting
of the Board of Directors of Canon-Ebersole.
The investment firm. What do they want to see you about?
I have no idea.
Hence my use of the word "mysterious."
Apparently Gregson recommended my services,
and, uh, they won't tell me anything else
until I've signed a confidentiality agreement.
Uh, is that what you're going to wear?
What's wrong with it?
It... I'm pretty sure you slept in that T-shirt last night,
and, um, the guys on Wall Street are a little more...
formal in the way they dress.
Those are costumes.
I loathe bankers.
They rigged the roulette wheel of commerce,
very nearly destroyed the world economy,
and they still think if they wear suits
they'll be treated like respectable folk
instead of the crooks that they are.
My name is Jim Fowkes.
I'm the chief investment officer.
This is Daniel Cho, our chief financial officer,
another in-house board member...
Yep, you're all chief of something.
What do you want?
Mm.
This is our COO, Peter Talbott.
Every quarter, he fields a conference call with
our institutional investors.
These people control huge pension funds.
As far as they're concerned, Peter's the voice of the company.
This quarter's call was supposed to happen yesterday.
We had to reschedule, because Peter didn't show up.
Nobody has any idea where he is.
And if you don't get this call back on the books soon,
people will start to whisper.
When these people whisper, Mr. Holmes,
millions of dollars disappear.
The gentleman we spoke to,
a, uh, Captain Gregson,
he said that the NYPD couldn't get involved
until Peter had been missing for two days.
He also said that
you were the finest investigator he'd ever known.
We'd like to hire you and your, uh... associate.
Bodyguard.
Luckily for you, Mr. Fowkes,
I have a hole in my schedule.
My usual private consulting rates will apply, of course,
multiplied by a factor of 12, shall we say?
You're wondering if I'm worth it.
I could provide a demonstration, if you'd like.
I'm fairly sure,
for example, that these two are
sleeping with each other.
You really should be more careful of your body language.
And you, for some reason,
have recently used a solvent
to remove fingernail polish from your hands.
12 times your usual rate will be just fine.
I will need access to Peter Talbott's office, his computer.
My secretary will be happy to take you down there right now.
Cute couple.
Everyone here calls Peter and Alyssa
"Taylor and Burton."
You know, after the movie stars.
Fascinating.
I'll be outside if you need me.
I don't think I've ever seen you so happy,
back in the conference room.
Mastering the Masters of the Universe.
Bit of a letdown, actually.
I think I could've got 20 times my normal rate.
What is your normal rate? Oh, I don't have one.
Remind me to make one up before I leave.
Typical.
Every stuffed shirt who wants to pass for erudite
has shelves full of unread books.
None of the spines on these have ever been cracked.
Except...
this one.
Which apparently Mr. Talbott consults all the time.
Ah.
I've never been a fan of John Maynard Keynes,
but this I could sink my teeth into.
I don't understand. What is that?
It's a menu.
Each of these girls is available for a price.
See the ring symbols at the bottom?
The more rings, the more expensive the prostitute.
So you're speaking from experience?
It's just a deduction.
Though I am on an expense account.
Almost all these pages are turned down.
The more pricey girls
were his favorites.
But you can't just tell the IRS
you spend six figures a year on slappers.
No, you need to hide the expense. So...
Let's see... calendar, contacts...
Yeah.
You see?
Talbott has contact addresses for two separate accountants.
This one is for a rep for DDB.
That's a big five firm, nothing untoward there.
Probably handled the family books. But this one...
is an independent accountant by the name of Martin Rydell.
Handled something Peter calls his "Executive Private Account""
Excuse me!
Secretary?
What did Fowkes say your name was?
He didn't. It's Donna.
Well, before we leave, Donna, would you mind calling us in
a reservation for three at Villa Pacri?
We're not dressed for Villa Pacri.
We're not dressed for Canon-Ebersole, either.
When I invite Martin Rydell to lunch, it'll help if
I drop the name of one of
the most expensive restaurants in the city.
So you loathe Canon-Ebersole and everything they stand for.
But you love to spend their money.
You don't see any inconsistency there?
I'm redistributing as many of their assets as I can.
If I'm going to get in bed with the croupiers of a rigged game,
I'm going to make damn sure their wallets are lighter in the morning.
Sir? Mm.
And that is for?
It's the most expensive bottle they've got.
I don't care if it comes in a box, you're not drinking it.
It's not for me. You see that couple over there?
I observed them while you were in the bathroom.
The man's suit is frayed from dry cleaning.
I'd wager it's the only one he's got.
Therefore, he saved to come here for a special occasion.
Also, he keeps touching the inside pocket of his suit coat,
like he's checking to see that something valuable
is still there. He's about to propose.
And I'm going to send this wine over as congratulations.
It's lovely, thank you.
Mr. Holmes?
Mr. Rydell.
Won't you sit down?
Confession: I told a couple of white lies on the phone.
I don't actually work at Canon-Ebersole,
and I have no intention of opening
a private executive account with you.
What I would like is to discuss the work
you did concealing Peter Talbott's predilection
for expensive hookers.
I'm sorry, I think maybe this is a mistake.
Is it strictly legal,
the private executive accounting business? I bet not.
Yet you seemed very eager to take this meeting with me,
so I'm quite sure that Peter Talbott's not the only rich man
to avail himself of your services.
But by all means, leave.
I'm sure there's any number of magazines
would love to publish a story about
the man who hides the dirty secrets of Wall Street.
The press is so base these days.
Excuse me.
Hello. Is this the Post?
Wait!
I work with Peter. I set up a shell corporation.
We steer a little bit of his paycheck
into a quiet little slush fund.
He can do whatever he wants with it.
And if he were using this slush fund
to binge on his favorite bad habit,
where do you suppose we might find him?
I rented an apartment in Tribeca
under the name of the dummy corp.
Yes, I will! Of course I will!
That's lovely, isn't it?
This apartment, we'll need the address.
The man you met this morning,
his name's Aaron, yes?
He sent a text while you were in the bathroom at lunch,
asked if you wanted to have dinner tonight.
Didn't we already have this conversation?
You don't touch my stuff.
You said yes, by the way.
And you definitely don't accept dates on my behalf.
Why not? We're both equally aware
that you're attracted to this man.
No, we are both not equally aware of my feelings.
Super's office.
Yes, this is
Detective Donowicz of the NYPD.
We got a warrant to look inside apartment 2G.
We don't have a warrant.
They almost never ask to see it.
This is the apartment he kept on the side?
This place is amazing.
Mr. Talbott, your bosses would like a word.
You all right?
I'm sure you already know that the support meetings,
you're not even allowed to name the drug you've abused.
Just saying it out loud
might be enough to make someone relapse.
I told you I don't pay attention in those meetings.
Heroin was one of the drugs that landed you in rehab.
You're not just hearing the word.
You're in a apartment where it's laid out in front of you.
Do you want to get away from this?
We can go outside and talk.
I'm fine. I have to be. I'm working a case.
And talking about my feelings
is not gonna get it solved, right?
Peter Talbott is right there. Your job is over.
Over? Do you see that salad sitting there?
Captain, you're classifying this as an accidental overdose, yeah?
We'll wait on the M.E. to make the final determination,
but you're looking at the same picture we are.
Indeed. But I don't think we need to wait on the Examiner
to get started-- I think there's a good chance
Peter Talbott was murdered.
Murdered? The guy's holding the needle he used
to shoot himself up.
He's holding the needle that someone used to shoot him up.
Look at his arm. There's no track marks on it.
Doesn't mean anything-- a junkie can find a vein anywhere.
Look around you. Does this look like
the typical apartment of a hardcore heroin user?
It's-It's-It's pristine!
I'd wager even the food
is perfectly arranged.
Ha. Does that look like the typical fridge
of a heroin addict?
No, not a typical one.
Heroin users are looking for oblivion.
They want the drug to dull their senses.
That's why when they overdose, usually you find them in
squalid apartments or alleyways.
They don't often keep apartments like this.
And it's rare-ish that they hold jobs as a COO
of a billion-dollar corporation.
So you're saying someone gave Peter Talbott that shot?
How? There's no sign of a struggle here.
You can't walk up to someone
and stick a syringe in their arm.
No, you would need them to be unconscious first.
Okay, granted I've never been hit with a salad container,
but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't knock you out.
The killer would need Peter to be insensate
before delivering the fatal shot.
But a drug other than heroin would
surely show up on tox screens.
So what's the most efficient solution?
If Peter Talbott was murdered,
I'd imagine the first dose of heroin came from here.
After he passed out,
the killer dragged him
to the chair where he delivered the fatal shot.
You think someone dosed his salad dressing?
I think it's worth exploring.
It's easy enough to find out if I'm right.
We just test the salad
for the presence of heroin.
I'll hold my breath on that.
Meantime, I got to notify Talbott's wife
of all... this. I'm coming.
He-he keeps a special apartment for prostitutes.
If he was murdered, surely his wife had motive.
You can watch.
She just lost her husband--
the last thing she needs to deal with right now...
is you.
Oh, my God.
Peter said he was done with it all.
The girls, the partying.
He just told me he was ready for kids
and you're saying he was using heroin? Everything cool?
Our sincere condolences. You're staring.
Ms. Talbott,
sorry to interrupt.
Would you mind telling us where you were
two nights ago between the hours of 6:00 and midnight?
What? The medical examiner
estimates that's when your husband died.
I was wondering where you where.
No. You-you think I'd hurt my husband?
No, no, everything we've seen so far
says accidental death.
Even so-- your whereabouts.
You don't... have to answer that.
I-I volunteer at Habitat for Humanity.
I was at a silent auction.
Th-There must have been 200 people who saw me there.
Thank you.
And until today,
you had no idea your husband was using heroin?
I told you, no.
I'm shocked.
But... I...
can't say I'm...
totally surprised.
He's been overwhelmed ever since they named him COO.
Peter used to say he thought the last guy dropped dead
just to get out of going into work.
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Did you just say
the previous chief operating officer
of Canon-Ebersole also died?
He was allergic to peanuts-- he died when some restaurant
put the wrong oil in his lunch.
How long ago was that?
Last October. Why? What does this
have to do with Peter?
Nothing at all.
We're finished here.
Thank you very much
for coming in.
And again, we've very,
very sorry for your loss.
Yes.
Peanut allergies?
Seriously?
Canon-Ebersole has lost two COO's in a year.
That seems like a dangerous job.
You speak Mandarin?
Not as well as I'd like. You?
Not as well as my mother would like.
Who was that?
The chef that prepared the meal
that killed Peter Talbott's predecessor at Canon-Ebersole.
Any particular reason?
I won't get the test results back
from Peter Talbott's salad for a couple of hours.
In the meantime, I suppose I'm just curious.
The previous COO of Canon-Ebersole
was a man named Gary Norris.
Terrible allergies.
Yes, noted earlier.
Did you know he was fanatical about avoiding peanut products?
He ate every single takeout meal
from the same Chinese restaurant.
He had a special arrangement with the chef,
who knew never to have peanut oil around
when he was preparing Gary Norris's meals.
Well, it only takes one slip up.
But the chef swears he didn't slip up.
He prepared that meal personally, and he believes
that someone put the peanut oil in Gary Norris's food
after it left his kitchen.
I'm starting to think he could be right.
Death by peanut oil-- that would be
a brilliant way to kill someone. Hmm.
If Peter Talbott was murdered, the M.O. is consistent:
eliminate your target
in a way that the world thinks is an accident.
Damn it!
Earlier, when I asked you about being around heroin again,
you wanted to say something?
I could tell.
I'd forgotten what it smells like.
Cooked heroin.
It brought back memories.
that they crave oblivion.
Is that what you wanted?
It's nearly 7:00.
You're gonna miss your dinner date.
I'm not going. You need me tonight.
Actually...
what I need, I believe, is privacy tonight.
I'm not gonna relapse.
Besides, if I wanted drugs, I could always just
climb out the window, whether you're here or not.
Go.
If it makes you happy, I'll take a spit test when you get back.
All right.
I am officially calling it.
"Foam" is-is not a category of food.
It just isn't.
I feel like I should take you to a restaurant
that provides actual sustenance.
That's all right. After all the bubbles subsided,
there was food underneath.
No, you're missing my point.
Can't you see that's my stealthy way
of asking you out on another date.
Oh, smooth!
Yeah. So smooth you didn't even notice.
No, I didn't. I was...
Seriously, though, I... I had fun.
Most of my dates these days
are spent talking about ex-husbands.
You didn't go there.
Well, that's easy-- I've never been married.
What about you? No.
Your chariot.
So, uh...
like I said, this was fun.
It was.
Thanks.
Thank you.
Who are they?
Employees of Canon-Ebersole
who have died over the last ten years.
It is a big company.
Odds are they're gonna lose some people along the way.
And some of these, no doubt, are random.
But there could be a pattern hidden in there.
How was your date? Good.
Fun.
I think maybe he lied to me.
It was the end of the night and we were talking
about whether or not we've been married,
and when he said he hadn't-- and this isn't something
I would've noticed before I started working with you--
but I... could swear he wasn't telling the truth.
Flexing our deductive muscles, are we?
I could burst with pride.
The next step is confirmation.
It's easy enough to find out if he was married.
What was his last name?
Whoa. Hold on.
Not a cyber-stalker.
Do you want to find out if you're right or don't you?
His last name is Ward.
Quick visit to maritalrecords.com
tells us that Aaron Ward
of New York City was...
Oh.
"Oh." "Oh"-- what does that mean?
He wasn't married.
- Oh. - He is married.
To a woman called Grace Arber.
They just celebrated their anniversary.
How could Emily set me up with a married guy?
Well, look at it this way: your instincts were right.
And you're home early, so I assume you haven't become
an unwitting adulteress.
I knew it!
Knew what? That's the NYPD lab.
They agreed to rush the tests of Peter Talbott's salad
and there were trace amounts of heroin in it.
Mm. My advice...
don't dwell on that man's petty deceptions.
You need your rest.
We're going to Canon-Ebersole tomorrow.
We're going to call another meeting of their Board of Directors.
Can you do that? You don't even work there anymore.
Not technically, but I think
they're gonna want my help in trying to figure out
whether there's a murderer working there.
Miles Durham, former head trader in your Denver office.
Mr. Durham was a volunteer with wilderness search and rescue
who always filed his travel plans with the ranger office
whenever he went camping.
We're busy people, Mr. Holmes.
What are we doing here?
Maria Filipello.
She ran your equities division in Dallas.
She suffocated in 2005
when the natural gas line running into her house ruptured.
Never been another problem with that brand of piping
before or since.
Jason Palmer.
He worked in the New York office.
Got a $5 million bonus in 2009.
Then drowned, while swimming in a lake
near his home in the Catskills.
The odd things is,
when Jason Palmer was in college,
he was a beach lifeguard at Martha's Vineyard.
Uh, respectfully, Mr. Holmes,
you found Peter, he O.D.'d, we're done.
Peter Talbott was murdered.
The police are investigating now.
I believe the man who killed him
also killed your previous COO, Gary Norris.
And these three unfortunate souls.
Possibly one or two others, as well.
I can't find a plausible motive for anyone
outside the company to have committed these murders.
These are not crimes of passion.
They're too well concealed for that.
They're crimes of opportunity.
I think you may have a sociopath in your midst.
A particularly cunning, methodical killer.
If I'm right, they wait, they analyze,
and when the time is right to give themselves a leg up,
they pounce.
You're saying someone is killing their way up the ladder?
That sounds insane to me.
I'd love to be wrong.
But someone did dose Peter Talbott's salad with heroin.
As for the rest, you let me do my work.
I'll need access to your records.
If this person is here, I'll find them.
We control billions of dollars worth of assets, Mr. Holmes.
We can't give you access to these files.
They're confidential. I don't need to audit you,
I just need to do some simple math.
There can't be that many people
who worked in Denver in 2003,
Dallas in 2005,
New York since 2009.
If I can find this person quickly,
I can wrap this up with a minimum of scandal.
All right, enough.
This is not necessary.
Are you listening to me?
There may be a murderer at Canon-Ebersole.
There's not a killer. You know how I know that?
Because the only person with the career path
that you're describing is me.
What are you saying?
That I murdered, like, what, like five people?
Well, this is a bit awkward,
but I-I'd say that you're a damn good suspect.
I thought I'd bring you your check personally.
Also, we need to talk.
Do we?
Eggs?
I'm sure I could find another fork.
I'm not hungry. I came here to end this.
Well, that should be simple enough.
Just confess.
Save us both a great deal of time and trouble.
Do you have any idea what you did to me today?
Do you know what it takes just to survive
at a place like Canon-Ebersole?
I think avoiding you would be a good start.
I've never killed anyone.
I went to parochial school, Mr. Holmes.
I've pretty much broken every commandment they ever taught me.
Father Ray probably isn't very proud of me,
but then again, Father Ray doesn't have a country house.
I was inches away from becoming COO,
which everybody knows
is where they groom you for the big chair.
And you accuse me of murder.
You think everybody in that place isn't talking?
Gossip's poison in that place.
Doesn't matter that I'm completely innocent.
I'm never gonna get that job.
Sorry. Are you done?
Every time you say "innocent," I... I tune out.
In that case, I'm just going to have to prove it to you, aren't I?
Miles Durham, the first of these so-called murders.
He disappeared during a camping trip.
August 2003, right?
He left August 7...
He was supposed to return August 9.
What is this? Medical records. Mine.
I had elective surgery, August 6, 2003.
There were, uh...
complications.
I wasn't released until August 12.
Liposuction. Rhytidoplasty.
You had a face-lift.
You see many jowly men on the cover of Barron's, Mr. Holmes?
My point is, I couldn't have murdered Miles Durham.
And I'll tell you something else.
Dan Cho-- arrogant little pissant--
no, he didn't work for Canon-Ebersole in 2003,
because he had a summer internship with us
while he was in business school.
Worked at our Denver office.
Here's his file.
We hired him in 2005, sent him to Dallas.
You think there's a sociopath working for us?
Let me let you in on a little secret, Mr. Holmes.
We're all sociopaths.
Hey.
Hey, I'm trying to read up there.
This doesn't make any sense.
Yes, Dan Cho interned in Denver
during the summer of 2003.
But he didn't benefit from the first murder.
Company didn't even hire him till two years later.
First of all, you're not even sure
Miles Durham's disappearance was a murder.
Okay, let's say it was.
Maybe this guy Dan Cho
killed him to get a charge out of it.
The-the murder was the benefit.
People who enjoy killing
like to share their enthusiasm with others.
They want everyone to know there's a murderer out there.
And anyway, even after he was hired,
he didn't benefit from the deaths
nearly as much as Jim Fowkes.
But Jim Fowkes...
Jim Fowkes didn't do the first one!
It would appear not!
Marrying man?
He just won't quit.
He says he is married,
but he wants to meet me to explain himself.
You should go. Coffee with a creep?
No, thanks. If nothing else,
it would be an interesting experiment in deduction for you.
Spot the lie.
Besides...
I need time to think,
which means it's not gonna get any quieter around here.
I...
Donna.
Can I get you something?
I'm good.
How did you find out I'm married?
Um... I thought you wanted to explain yourself,
not the other way around. Okay, wait.
I did lie to you.
I did.
But it's not what you think.
I volunteer, uh,
for a place called Shoreline Community Services.
It's a legal aid thing.
We... work with people who are seeking political asylum.
A while back,
I helped out with a woman from Kosovo.
Her father was a general in the war,
for the losing side,
and when it ended, he was shot in the street.
She would have been killed had she returned home.
But the U.S. wouldn't give her asylum.
So you married her to keep her in the country.
Do you have a relationship?
Mm...
She lives in Hoboken.
I check in on her sometimes. That's it.
We can get a divorce in a year,
without the government crawling all over us.
I would have told you eventually,
if there was an "eventually""
But, uh...
but now I'm just... I'm sorry.
Helping her was a really compassionate thing to do.
Thank you.
But if you don't mind my asking, how did you find out about it?
Excuse me.
Donna?
It is Donna, right?
No one ever remembers the secretary, do they, Donna?
Excuse me, what?
As a career choice, has its limits.
But then it does afford one a certain cloak of invisibility.
I-I don't know what you're talking about.
But I'm pretty sure that Mr. Fowkes
had you banned from the building.
You've been with him a long time, haven't you?
Until tonight, I just assumed that you'd...
come to work with him after he moved to New York.
Then I saw your name as the emergency contact
for a surgical procedure he had in Denver.
You followed him to Dallas, too, didn't you?
Mr. Fowkes is a good boss, and we're loyal to each other.
He's certainly had a meteoric rise.
And he probably owes some of that to you, doesn't he, Donna?
Jim Fowkes wasn't the only one to benefit
from the deaths at Canon-Ebersole, was he?
Do I need to call security?
By all means. Hmm. Let's loop them
into the conversation.
No?
Didn't think so.
Quite obvious when you look at it in the proper light.
Every time Jim got promoted, you had something to gain.
Pay raise, stock options.
The company even contributes to your retirement plan now.
So? I've given them years of my life.
Must be quite a feeling--
steering the fate of a giant company
from your tiny little cubicle.
Get away from me.
Question is did your boss know or were you working alone?
If you collaborated, it would behoove you to start talking.
First one to tattle gets the shortest sentence.
I've seen executives like you come and go.
A little bit of smarts, a whole lot of ego.
Take my word, you've never seen anyone like me.
Oh, sure, I have. My bosses use $5,000 suits
to get attention.
You use a scarf and an old T-shirt.
You're so proud of yourself
for what you think you discovered,
you just couldn't wait to tell me.
Even if it meant following me into an empty
parking garage.
You're awake.
Good.
Yeah, I've pursued my fair share of...
killers, Miss Kaplan.
Most of them... most of them are dreary people, but you
I-I've a certain fascination with. You, uh...
Such initiative.
Such patience.
I don't think this is gonna work out
for you though. Too rash.
Did you tell anyone about me?
Or did you just rush right down to grandstand?
Oh, I e-mailed several colleagues... No, you didn't.
We're gonna be at Mr. Fowkes'
country estate in a couple of minutes.
In a week or two, after somebody calls in an anonymous tip,
the police are going to find
your body buried on the property.
And then everyone will know that you were right
and that Mr. Fowkes killed you before you could prove it.
You're gonna frame your boss.
Daniel Cho is gonna get that promotion.
I imagine he'll need an experienced executive secretary
to watch his back as he rises to the top.
Hmm, I was wrong about you.
You are smart.
Oh, that's quite a compliment coming from you.
Canon-Ebersole should make you the managing director.
They don't have the imagination for that kind of move.
"Joan." That's the woman that you're always with, right?
That's the fifth time she texted in the last 20 minutes.
She won't stop, you know.
Very high-strung.
I wouldn't be surprised if she gets the police involved.
Well, in that case, we should let her know
that everything's okay.
I'm a sober companion.
I work with recovering drug addicts.
Sherlock is my client.
His father hired me to help him stay clean.
The only reason I am telling you this
is because I think he may have relapsed.
I need your help to find him.
What makes you think he relapsed?
The heroin from the crime scene the other day.
It affected him.
I think it brought some things back.
It's Sherlock.
He says he's fine, he's heading back.
See? There you go.
Nothing to worry about.
"See you soon."
No, seriously?
You honestly expect me to dig my own grave?
Have you ever been gut-shot?
No. I imagine it makes it difficult to do manual labor.
Shoot me, yank my fingernails out-- the answer's still no.
I categorically refuse to dig a hole for you
to bury me in, sorry.
Fine.
I'll do it myself.
It's not supposed to be that deep.
They're supposed to find you.
Tell me something.
How did you get started with all this?
You must be very proud of your projects.
It must kill you to have to keep it all to yourself, hmm?
I-I'm about to die, so now's your chance to share.
Good to share, yeah.
Tell me.
What launched the career of Donna Kaplan,
corporate sociopath?
Mr. Fowkes was a bonds salesman back in Denver,
the company was downsizing.
They were either going to cut his job...
What are they doing here?
I'm not really sure.
Bought me some time, though.
Did you know I pick locks?
Pockets, too.
I can't take a tranquilizer, but if it's not too much trouble,
I'd love ten minutes hooked up to your oxygen rig.
I'll just help myself then.
There's plenty of oxygen out here, you know.
Pure stuff's better.
It invigorates and restores.
Haven't you heard? I've been through a trauma.
That was, uh, very convenient
the local police showing up when they did.
Too convenient to be a coincidence.
It was the text message that Donna sent
from my phone, wasn't it?
"Everything's fine. Phone was off.
My mistake. See you soon." That's it.
No emoticons, no indecipherable acronyms.
It didn't read like a teenager on a sugar high.
Which meant you didn't write it.
I manipulated her into writing it for me.
I knew she'd never be able to duplicate my flair
for our evolving mother tongue.
I also knew... I-I hoped
that once you realized the message wasn't from me,
you'd know I was in trouble.
From there, it's relatively simple for the police
to run a cellular interceptor on my phone,
find my location, quick call to the local authorities...
I'm sorry, are you trying to take credit
for the fact that I saved your life?
And so soon after you promoted me to bodyguard.
It was a collaboration.
Well done, Watson.
Your deductive skills are not unworthy of further development.
I think that was a compliment, buried in a double negative,
so... thanks.
Detective?
Look, you should know,
I went to Captain Gregson when I couldn't find you.
I had to...
explain some things to him.
I'm sorry.
You might want to have a talk with him.
Come in.
You know...
You were busy at Jim Fowkes' house,
and I didn't get a chance to pull you aside.
But I didn't want to let more time pass without having a word.
We have something to talk about?
There are any number of reasons
why I didn't tell you about my history.
Um... I've told myself dozens,
all of them specious.
In the end, um, it... it is simple.
Uh, I was... I was... I was embarrassed.
Since we first collaborated,
you've always held me and my work in a certain esteem.
I guess I'm-I'm... I'm, uh... I'm m-more vain about that
than I would care to admit.
So, I'm sorry, 'cause you...
you deserved to know.
I did know.
I beg your pardon?
Do you honestly think I'd let you consult
for the NYPD without doing my homework?
You told me Joan was your personal valet.
Do you think I'm an idiot?
No.
You are above average in intelligence.
And for a policeman, I would say, top tier.
I've known about your problem for a while now.
Why didn't you say anything?
I did, sort of.
A while back, I asked you out for a drink.
You said, "No""
I figured you'd talk about it
when you were ready to talk about it.
Was I happy that you didn't tell me?
No.
But your work hasn't slipped one bit since Scotland Yard.
Thank you.
Well, not everyone
is gonna see it my way, so,
I'm gonna do us both a favor
and keep a lid on this.
Unbelievable.
What is?
It's just that green card marriage guy.
Emily's having this dinner party thing next week,
and we talked about maybe going together,
and I think now he's blowing me off.
But you know what the irony is?
I don't even want to be in a relationship right now. I...
It's just that Emily went to so much trouble.
Yet his apparent mutual disinterest irks you.
It's crazy, I know.
If I had to guess, and by sitting there talking about it--
you're forcing me to-- I would say
he finds your analytical skills intimidating.
He was a little weirded out
when I told him I looked him up online,
but he lied about being married, so we are square, right?
He might not see it that way. Doesn't, apparently.
It has its costs.
What does?
Learning to see the puzzle in everything.
They're everywhere.
Once you start looking, it's impossible to stop.
It just so happens that people,
and all the deceits and delusions
that inform everything they do,
tend to be the most fascinating puzzles of all.
Of course,
they don't always appreciate being seen as such.
Seems like a lonely way to live.
As I said, it has its costs.
♪
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
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