A Study in Pink
In a bedsit somewhere in London, John Watson is having a nightmare. He is reliving his Armydays and his team is under fire somewhere abroad. A colleague cries out his name as the gunfirecontinues. Finally he jolts awake, distressed and panic-stricken. He sits up in bed wide-eyed and breathing heavily until he realises that he is safe and a long way from the war. Flopping back ontohis pillow, he tries to calm his breathing as he continues to be haunted by his memories.Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.
Some time later he has sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. It‟s still
dark outside. John sits quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, and looks across to the desk on theother side of the room. A metal walking cane is leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily,then continues to gaze into the distance. He will not be sleeping again tonight.DAY TIME. The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a dressing gown over his nightwear, hobbles across the room leaning heavily on his cane. In his other hand he has a mug of teaand an apple, both of which he puts down onto the desk. The mug bears the arms of the RoyalArmy Medical Corps. Sitting down, he opens the drawer in the desk to get his laptop. As he liftsthe computer out of the drawer, we see that he also has a pistol in there. Putting the laptop ontothe desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads,
“The personal blog of Dr.
John H. Watson”. The rest of the page is blank.
Later he is at his psychotherapist‟s office and he sits in a chair opposite her.
ELLA: How‟s your blog going?
JOHN: Yeah, good. (He clears his throat awkwardly.) Very good.
ELLA: You haven‟t written a word,
JOHN (pointing to Ella‟s notepad on her lap): You just wrote “Still has trust issues”.
ELLA: And you read my writing upside down. D‟you see what I mean?
(John smiles awkwardly.)
ELLA: John, you‟re a soldier, and it‟s gonna take you a while to ad
just to civilian life; and writinga blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.(John gazes back at her, his face full of despair.)JOHN: Nothing happens to me.OCTOBER 12TH. A well-dressed middle-aged business man walks across the concourse of a busy London railway station talking into his mobile phone.
SIR JEFFREY: What d‟you mean, there‟s no ruddy car?
(His secretary is at his office talking into her phone as she walks across the room.)
HELEN: He went to Waterloo. I‟m sorry. Get a
cab.SIR JEFFREY: I never get cabs.(Helen looks around furtively to make sure that nobody is within earshot, then speaks quietly intothe phone.)HELEN: I love you.SIR JEFFREY (suggestively): When?HELEN (giggling): Get a cab!(Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.)Some unspecified time later, sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an officemany storeys above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle which containsthree large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid as he putsthe capsule into his mouth. Later, he is writhing on the floor in agony. We can now see that theoffice in which his dying body is lying is empty of furniture.POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE. Flanked by a police officer and another man who may be her
solicitor or a family member, Sir Jeffrey‟s wife is sitting at a table making a statement to the
press.MARGARET PATTERSON (tearfully as she reads from her statement): My husband was ahappy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work
and that he should havetaken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him.