(footsteps pattering)
(door creaking)
- Mrs. Lane.
You don't normally intrude on me at night.
(latch clicks)
- Well, I thought we might get packing in the morning.
This used to be Master Sherlock's.
He never had much of a taste for school, either.
Used to run away every term.
Your father would keep sending him back.
- And Mycroft?
- Oh, he loved every second.
- Why didn't she take me with her?
- Oh that I can't answer.
- Why on my birthday?
- She would've had her reasons.
And she liked keeping secrets, your mother.
Had her own way of doing things.
Like all of you.
(kiss smacking)
I thought you might need that.
- Good night.
- [Mrs. Lane] God bless.
(knob rattles)
(footsteps clacking)
(door clunks)
- Own way of doing things.
(soft inquisitive music)
Own way of doing things.
- Oh, she's made this herself.
(drawer rattling)
(booklet thwacks)
(grunts) (pencils clattering)
(carriage clomping)
I don't know why she wrote to him.
(horn honks) (gasps)
(motor thunking)
I like those things.
(hooves clopping)
(knocker knocking)
(hinges creak)
(door slams)
(footsteps clacking)
Hello?
(gentle mysterious music)
Hello?
(mysterious music intensifies)
(bird squawking)
Ah!
(deep suspenseful music)
(wheel clicking)
(metal clunks)
(wheel clicking)
(metal clunks)
(wheels clacking) (people bustling)
(bell dings) - More macaroons,
please, Jason.
(door thuds)