A modern update finds the famous sleuth and his doctor partner solving crime in 21st century London.
— We don't get inspected here.
— Ever heard of a spot check? Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.
— Sir. Major Barrimore won't be pleased, sir. He'll want to see you both.
— I'm afraid we won't have time. We need the full tour. Right away. Carry on. That's an order, Corporal.
— Yes, sir!
Sherlock: — Nice touch.
John: — Haven't pulled runk in ages.
S: — Enjoy it?
J: — Oh, yeah.
— Oh, God! John, I need some. Get me some.
— No.
— Get me some.
— No. Cold turkey we agreed, no matter what. Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two miles radius will sell you any.
— Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?
— {clears throat}
— Mrs Hudson!
— Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well, don't give up now!
— Tell me where they are! Please, tell me. Please.
— Can't help, sorry.
— I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers.
— {he laughs}
— It was worth to try.
— You went on the tube like that?
— None of the cabs would take me.
People say there's no such thing as coincidence. Dull lives they must lead.
— What the hell are you doing here?
— Oh, nice to see you too!
— Oh! Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster.
— Hm. Wait until she finds out about the one in Islamabad.
— "Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please, can you help?"
— Bluebell?
— A rabbit, John!
— Oh.
— Ah, but there's more. Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous. "Like a fairy", according to litle Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry. What am I saying, it's brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit.
— Are you serious?
I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one.
— He has told me about all his oldest friends. Which one are you?
— A new one.
— I need a case.
— You've just solved one, by harpooning a dead pig, apparently!
— Oh, that was this morning.
Listen, what i said before, I mean it, John. I don't have friends. I've just got one.
— Hello, Greg.
...
— Is that why you're calling yourself "Greg"?
— That's his name.
— Is it?
— Yes. If you'd ever bothered to find out.
— Poor Bluebell had to go.
— Your compassion is overwhelming!
— I know. I hate myself sometimes.