– A D-notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room – code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love – will ever know the whole truth. As far as everyone else is concerned, going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus... Are you tweeting?!
– No.
– Well, that’s what it looks like.
– Of course I’m not tweeting. Why would I be tweeting?
– Give me that.
– What? No. Get off. What are you doing? Get off. What...?
– Give it here.
– “Back on terra firma.”
– Don’t read them out.
– “Free as a bird.”
– God, you’re such a spoilsport.
– Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?
– I am taking it seriously. What makes you think I’m not taking it seriously?
– “Hashtag OhWhatABeautifulMorning.”
— You don't smoke.
— I also don't frequent cafes.
— There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government.
— What, for, like, really difficult sums, long division, that sort of thing?
— She predicted the exact dates of the last three terrorists attacks on the British mainland after an hour on Twitter. That sort of thing.
— Doctor Watson, why did he do that to me? That was insane!
— Er... yes, well, someone convinced him that you wouldn't tell the truth unless you were actually wetting yourself.
— Someone?
— Probably me.
— Would you like a cup of tea?
— Thank you.
— The kettle's over there.
— Why am I looking at this?
— That's her, John and Mary's baby.
— Oh, I see, yes. Looks very...fully-functioning.
— Keep me informed.
— Of what?
— Absolutely no idea.
— Appointment in Samarra.
— I'm sorry?
— The merchant who can't outrun Death. You always hated that story as a child. Less keen on predestination back then.
— I'm not sure I like it now.
— You wrote your own version, as I remember. Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city, and is perfectly fine.
— Good night, Mycroft.
— Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason.