Assistant: He's on his way. You were right, he thinks it's Mycroft.
John Watson: He's writing sad music. Doesn't eat, barely talks, only to correct the television.
I'd say he was heart-broken, but, er, well he's Sherlock. He does all that anyway.
Irene Adler: Hello, Dr Watson.
J: Tell him you're alive.
I: He'd come after me.
J: I'll come after you if you don't.
I: Hmm, I believe you.
J: You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you.
I: DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep.
J: And I bet you know the record keeper.
I: I know what he likes. And I needed to disappear.
J: Then how come I can see you and I don't even want to?
I: Look, I made a mistake, I sent something to Sherlock for safekeeping, now I need it back. I need your help.
J: No.
I: It's for his own safety.
J: So is this. Tell him you're alive.
I: I can't.
J: Fine, I'll tell him and I still won't help you.
I: What do I say?
J: What do you normally say?! You've texted him a lot!
I: Just the usual stuff.
J: There is no usual in this case.
I: (reads the texts) "Good morning. I like your funny hat". "I'm sad tonight, let's have dinner". "Hmm, you look sexy on Crimewatch, let's have dinner". "I'm not hungry. Let's have dinner".
J: You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?
I: At him. He never replies.
J: No, Sherlock always replies to everything. He's Mr Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word.
I: Does that make me special?
J: I don't know, maybe.
I: Are you jealous?
J: We're not a couple.
I: Yes, you are. There, "I'm not dead. Let's have dinner".
J: Who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes? But for the record, if anyone out there still cares, I'm not actually gay.