— Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say this coffin is intended for someone of about five foot four. Makes it more likely to be a woman.
— Not a child?
— A child's would be more expensive. This is in the lower price range, although still best available in that bracket.
— That was a lonely night on Google.
— I swear my wife is chanelling Satan!
— Yes, boring, go away.
— I'm not chanelling Satan.
— Why not? Given you immediate alternative.
Explanation:
Sherlock and the clients
The man who sees through everything is exactly the man who doesn't notice... when there's nothing to see through.
There's no such thing as bad. Good and bad are fairytales. We have evolved to attach an emotinal significance to what is nothing more than a survival strategy of the pack animal. We are conditioned to invest divinity in utility. Good isn't really good, evil isn't really wrong, bottoms aren't really pretty. You are a prisoner of your own meat.
PS, I know you two. And if i'm gone, I know whay you could become, because I lnow who you really are. A junky who solves crimes to get high. And the doctor who never came home from the war. Will you listen to me? Who you really are, it doesn't matter. It's all about the legend. The stories, the adventures. There is the last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted. There is a final court for appear for everyone. When life gets too strange, too impossible, too frightening, there is always one last hope. When all else fails, there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat, like they've always been there, and they always will. The best and wisest men I heva ever known. My Baker Street boys. Scherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.
Explanation:
Sherlock wants the Watsons ' daughter to be named after him.
— Listen, before I do anything, I need to know what state you're in.
— Well, you're a doctor. Examine me.
— No, I need a second opinion.
— John, calm down. When have you ever managed two opinions? You'd fall over.
— I need to know one person who, unlike me, learnt to see through your bullshit long ago.
— Who's that, then? I'm sure I would have noticed.
— The last person you'd think of. I want you to be examined by Molly Hooper. Do you hear me? I said Molly Hooper.
— You're really not gonna like this.
— Like what?
{Doorbell rings}
— How do you capture a serial killer?
— Same way you catch any other killer.
— No, no. But most killers kill someone they know. You're looking for a murderer in a tiny social
grouping. <...> Serial killers choose their victims at random. Surely that must make it more
difficult.
— Some of them advertise.
— Do they really?
— Serial killing is an expression of power, ego. A signature in human destruction. Ultimately, for
full satisfaction, it requires plain sight. Additionally, serial killers are easily profiled. They tend
to be social outcasts. Educationally sub-normal.
— No, no, no, no, no. You're just talking about the ones you know. The ones you've caught. But, hello,
dummy. You only catch the dumb ones. Now, imagine if the Queen wanted to kill some people.
What would happen then? All that power, all that money, sweet little government, dancing
attendants. A whole country, just to keep her warm and fat. We all love the Queen, don't we? And
I bet she'd love you lot...
— It's all right, everyone. I can personally assure you that Sherlock Holmes is not about to arrest
the Queen.
— Well, of course not. Not Her Majesty. Money. Power. Fame. Some things make you untouchable.
God save the Queen!
The main feature of interest in the field of criminal investigation is not the sensational aspects of the crime itself but rather, the iron chain of reasoning from cause to effect, that reveals, step-by-step, the solution. That's the only truly remarkable aspect of the entire affair.
Breakfast has got to be cool. You know what makes it cool when you're a kid? Dangerous.
Explanation:
John is looking for a new female therapist.
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