A modern update finds the famous sleuth and his doctor partner solving crime in 21st century London.
– 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 just like this dog, don't you?
— Well, I like you.
— We'd like you to be godfather.
— God is a ludicrous fiction dreamt up by inadequates who abnegate all responsibility to an invisible magic friend.
— Yeah, but there'll be cake. Will you do it?
— I'll get back to you.
— Keep up. He's fast.
<...>
— He's not moving.
— He's thinking.
— He's really not moving.
— Slow but sure, John, not dissimilar to yourself.
— You just like this dog, don't you?
— Well, I like you.
— ... He's still not moving.
— Fascinating.
— How did you find me?
— I'm Sherlock Holmes.
— Really though, how? Every movement I made was entirely random. Every new personality, just on the roll of a dice.
— Mary, no human action is ever truly random. An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability mapped on to a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual can reduce the number of variables considerably. I myself know of at least fifty eight tecniques to refine the seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables. But they're really difficult, so instead I just stuck a tracer on the inside of the memory stick.
— Is your friend quiet mad?
— Ho, he's an arsehole, but it's an easy mistake.
— Anything to add, John?... John?
— Uh, yeah, yeah, listening.
— What is that?
— That is me. Well, it's a me substitute.
— Don't be so hard on yourself, you know I value your little contributions.
— Yeah? It's been there since 9:00 this morning.
— Has it? Where were you?
— Helping Mrs H. with her sudoku.
— If you ever think I'm becoming a bit full of myself, cocky or overconfident...
— Yes?
— Will you just say the word, "Norbury" to me? Would you?
— Norbury?
— Just that. I'd be very grateful.
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