The struggling carnations are from Scotland Yard.

And the single rose is from...

...‘W’

And the black wreath – C Block, Pentonville. I’m not sure the intent was entirely kindly.

Oh, I covet your hands, Mr Holmes;

though since you’ve survived, I suppose you get to keep them.

Look at them.

The musician’s hands.

An artist’s.

Or a woman’s?

Apologies for the dampness of my touch.

You’ll get used to it.

Having shot you, the woman you know as Mary Watson left without killing me.

...which is odd, because that was the reason she came.

(softly) I didn’t pass on her identity to the police. Information like that is just too ...

... malleable to be shared.

Wouldn’t you agree?