Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Empty Hearse- One

Chapter One

Third POV

"No, no, no, no! It's obvious! That's how he did it! It's obvious!"

"Derren Brown?! Let it go. Sherlock's dead."

"Is he?" Anderson counteracted. "There was a body. It was him. It was definitely him. Molly Hooper laid him out."

"No, she's lying. It was Jim Moriarty's body with a mask on!" Anderson argued. "A mask?!" Anderson nods eagerly. "A bungee rope, a mask, Derren Brown. Two years, and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more've you got for me today?"

"Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area, even the exact ones that he landed on, you know they were all..." Lestrade begins to interrupt. "Guilt. That's all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan." Anderson looks down, guilty. "You did this, and it killed him, and he's staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's gonna change what really happened?"

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, well that won't bring him back." Greg continues on towards where several camera crews are filming reporters. "That after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty..."

"Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion..."

"But sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago..."

"Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far." Greg and Anderson are now standing side by side, each holding a coffee cup and watching the reporters. "Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely he was able to cope with..."

"Well then. Absent friends. Sherlock." Lestrade raises his cup in respect. "Sherlock."

"And may God rest his soul."

At Sherlock's grave, John gazes down at the headstone, his eyes haunted with memories and loss. Over the last year he has grown a moustache. As he continues to look at the grave, which has several bunches of flowers, some of them fading with age, at the base of the headstone, a woman steps to John's side and takes his hand. He clasps it tightly.

Serbia - Night

A man with long straggly hair is running through a forest. Above him, a helicopter is circling around, shining a searchlight into the trees while the crew watch their infrared camera, radioing instructions in Serbian to the ground crew. Theres shouting and running and chasing of the man through the woods but eventually some of the soldiers block the way in front of the man. One of them sends a burst of automatic gunfire towards his feet and he has no choice but to stop. The soldiers surround the man and aim their rifles at him. He slumps to the ground, exhausted.

In what may be a bunker or an interrogation room, a soldier wearing a thick coat and a furry hat is guarding the entrance to a room. He has earphones in his ears playing loud music. Behind the closed door, the prisoner cries out as he is struck for what is the umpteenth time. Hearing the noise, the soldier takes out one of his ear buds and looks round to the door as the prisoner is struck again and groans. The soldier puts his ear bud back in and turns away.

Inside the room, the torturer shouts repeatedly at the prisoner, who is naked from the waist up and whose arms are chained to opposite walls of the small room, forcing him to stay upright. The man is slumped forward as far as he can, apparently exhausted by the repeated blows and unable to support his own weight.

In a dark corner of the room another soldier, well wrapped against the cold and with a furry hat on his head, sits with his feet up on a small table and watches while the torturer paces across the room. "You broke in here for a reason." The man speaks in foreign. Picking up a large metal pipe he walks towards the prisoner again. "Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?"

He draws back the pipe over his shoulder and prepares to strike the prisoner but the man quietly whispers something. The torturer stops, lowering the pipe and leaning forward. "What?" Reaching down he pulls the man's head back by the hair, leaning closer as the prisoner continues to whisper. The soldier in the corner speaks... in a voice which sounds more than a little familiar, although it is currently speaking with a heavy accent. "Well? What did he say?"

Straightening up and releasing the prisoner's head, the torturer looks down at him in puzzlement. "He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair."

"What?" The prisoner continues to whisper and the torturer relays his words to the other man. "That the electricity isn't working in my bathroom; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour!" He reaches down and pulls up the prisoner's head by the hair again. "And?" The prisoner replies briefly and the man releases his head. "The coffin maker!" Once again he bends to the prisoner, lifting his head with a fist in his hair. "And? And? If I go home now, I'll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!"

The torturer storms out the room, leaving the prisoner slumped in his chains. "So, my friend. Now it's just you and me. You have no idea the trouble it took to find you." He walks across the room to the prisoner, whose back is covered in blood and wounds from his beating. The soldier grabs a handful of the prisoner's hair and pulls his head up a little. Leaning close to the man's ear, he speaks in English and now we know who the familiar person is. "Now listen to me. There's an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear."

He releases the prisoner's head and straightens up. "Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes."

Under the long hair draped across his face, Sherlock smiles.