Sherlock & Co. - The Empty House - Part One

Episode Date: April 28, 2026

HAWKS COME HOME TO ROOST - We had vowed to each other to not leave John's side. We sat with him in the hospital for as long as they would allow it. That was until, Sherlock's darkened mood began to get the better of him. I should have known better than to follow that darkness. Back into the depths of the City. Part 1 of 3 This episode contains swearing, violence, gore, blood, pain, suffering Listener discretion is advised. A new clothing store has opened: www.sherlockwear.com For merchandise and transcripts go to: www.sherlockandco.co.uk For ad-free, early access to adventures in full go to www.patreon.com/sherlockandco To get in touch via email: [e-mail] Follow me @DocJWatsonMD on twitter and BlueSky, or sherlockandcopod on TikTok, instagram and YouTube.  This podcast is property of Goalhanger Podcasts. Copyright 2026. SHERLOCK AND CO. Based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Paul Waggott as Dr. John Watson Harry Attwell as Sherlock Holmes Marta da Silva as Mariana Ametxazurra Paul Bullion as Sebastian MoranAdam Jarrell as Stamford Jemma Revell as Nadia Allon Sylvain as Mr. SigersonWritten by Joel Emery Directed by Adam Jarrell Editing and Sound Design by Holy Smokes Audio Produced by Neil Fearn and Jon Gill Executive Producer Tony Pastor Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Running a business means moving in many directions all the time. TD's new small business banking accounts are built for how your business moves. It's how we're making banking more human. Come join the Patreon. It's a huge community now with loads of extra cool stuff. Patreon.com forward slash Sherlock & Co. Marana. John, can you hear me? They're essentially saying is, is, look.

Oh God. But not zero. Hey, welcome to the empty house. case, adventure, I mean, is three parts. It contains, well, this part contains swearing and violence. Everything else is in the description. Okay, I will see you in part two. I see you. I see the man in the mirror are the reason for this. I can hardly look at you, yet I must. If it isn't the man in the mirror, it is the wax figure in my lounge. It is the pictures on the walls of this flat.

Pictures with the friend that you nearly killed. John mistook your hubris for confidence. You mistook it for certainty. And now look, he fights for his life and you for your sanity. in your bathroom. Alone, but for your reflection. Not quite alone. Our Spider listens.

Well, listen closely, Mr. Spider. Here comes the rain to wash. My name is Dr. John Watson, once of the British Army Northumberland Fuselier Regiment. Now, a true crime pot. I'm a broadcaster based in central London. I don't have much experience in criminology, so this is mostly a record of how I met possibly the most brilliant

and bizarre person I have ever and will ever know. Join me as I document the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. M.K. Donnes 1, Barnett 3, Cambridge United, 1, Salford City, 0. Fleetwood 1, Crowley Town 0. Notts County, 5, Cheltenham 2, Tranmere 0, Swindon Town 1. I already told you that, though. Shrewbury 0, crew Alexandra, Alexandra, weird, crew Alexandra 4. But, yeah, the table hasn't changed that much because Bromley, M.K. Don's, Cambridge, like, they all won, so it's not good.

but it's not bad, right? Have the nurses been doing your hair or something? It's so soft. No, that was me. Holy sh-wiggins. Where, wait, where are you? Right behind you. Oh, God, you scared me.

Sorry about that. Nice job with the hair. Thanks. Is that conditioner? Of course. Ooh, coconut. Delightful. isn't it?

Right, so this is John's floor. Tilt the camera. I can just see hallway hospital lighting. Sorry, sorry. Is that better? Yeah? Uh-huh. Okay, and then just through here. Oh, sorry.

On the phone, the stupid phones, the fools! Apologies, Mr. Sigerson. And recording. Huh? Doing the sneaky, peeky, pervert videos. What? You are a beaky pervert. No, no, I'm not. It's my wife. It's a video call, Mr. Sigerson, all right? How are you today? I want his bed. He stole my bed. He stole my bed. Who stole your bed, Mr. Sigerson? John? You're talking about John? Yes. The John man stole it. Okay. I want to take it back. I will take it back.

Nah, you won't. And Mr. Sigerson, this is. This is my wife, Nadia. Aya. Your husband is the sneaky, peaky pervert. He watches me sleep. Yes, he does that to me too. I do not what... Right, we are done with this.

All right. Goodbye, Mr. Sigerson. It's not a goodbye. It's a bad buy. A very bad buy. Who's your friend? Christ a lot. This is what happens with daily visits.

He gets to know all the John's neighbours, like Mr. Sigerson there. Right, here we go. In here. Oh, there he is. There he is. He smells a coconut in here. It's John's hair. Oh, hey, Mariana. Hey, Nadia. Congrats on the baby.

Oh, that's so exciting for you guys. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah, we're very excited. Just wish that the most excitable one was not in a coma. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Nads, that's John's bullet. I put it in a jar for him. So sweet. He'll like it when he wakes up, I'm sure.

Oh yeah. Look how crumpled up it is from whacking into his sternum. Small as well. You're no match for it, mate. Rock solid sternum. No match for your chest. Hey, pal. You're okay, Mariana. I'm okay. Bought myself some chunky new boots I liked to cheer me up.

Oh, very nice. It's okay to not be okay, isn't it, Mark? Yeah, of course. I mean, you look knackered. Mark? What? She does. No, I know. You can't say that. What? What do you mean? Mark.

Nadia, all I'm doing is I'm pointing out that she needs to go home. Home doesn't feel like home. So. No, I know, Mariana. And I'm sorry, I just... You're putting yourself through enormous stress. And that's completely normal, all right? But it's not okay to not rest. To not recover from a whole day of that worry.

Do you know what I mean? Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Got any other insults, Mark? Oh, Jesus. Right, Nads... I'm going to come and meet. you for lunch, alright? You could do with another meal.

What do you mean another meal? Because you're pregnant. Yes, I know I am. And I'm very emotional because of these stupid ones been shot. Monster Munch. Can you please bring me some Monster Munch? Of course I can, cause I can, all right? I think the machine does flaming heart. I don't want...

Oh wow. I really do look bad. Hello there, Mirror Mariana. Not looking your best, girl. Oh, no, no, no. No. Ugh, your eyes are all puffy and red. Maybe you should you just to just to cry, Mariana.

That's... Mesaup, I woulda yorea yorea I'm gonna go and probably have a night at home but you won't be alone, okay? I've got a laptop open right next to you. It's Sherlock Unco Discord. I put it on a...

on a podcast chatter channel. So your friends are right here. Sherlock will visit again. I know he will. He's just... This is all a lot. As you can see by my creepy buffy eyes. Yeah.

He's regulating in his own way. Bye, John. Sleep well? I mean, you've been asleep for a week, but... Yeah. You know what I mean. We miss you, my lord. Ugh, geez, that hair smells fantastic, damn it.

Oh my god, oh my god, Sherlock, are you okay? Please, please, no, no, no, no, no. Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! No, no, no, my friend has fallen down an entire flight of stairs. He's faced down on the ground by the front door. Oh, it's likely, uh, it's likely drug related. Can you feel a... for me. You feel for a pulse, please?

Okay, okay. Okay. I, I, I, I don't feel one. Okay. He's got no pulse. He's got, no, ears. What? His ear just came off.

It, it... Sherlock! Is, is everything okay? Do I... Yes, sorry, I... I couldn't feel a pulse because the body... is made of wax. I'm so sorry.

I'm busted. Are you serious? I'm supposed to be calming down, Sherlock. Sherlock, what exactly... Whoa, whoa, I can't see anything. God, turn a light on. Where the hell are you? Smart lamp? Do not turn on the stupid smart lamp. You can do it from your phone. I know that. Get down, Mariana.

What? Get down. On the floor. Why? Because... When the rabbit feels the wisp of displaced air in the skies above, it knows the hawk is descending. The ground where he was birthed with his brethren, where he nestled in winter. That is where he seeks protection. And that is where the great sight of the hawk has become blind.

Am I the bunny rabbit? Yes, you're the bunny rabbit. Okay. Okay. And who is the hawk? Okay. Are you a bunny as well? Shh. Okay. Okay. Is Mr. Moran in the flat with us now? No. That would be ridiculous. No. Yeah. It's just... This kind of feels ridiculous? Does it, Mariana? Does it indeed? Like the hyena that mocks. Wait, am I a damn rabbit or a hyena?

Can you please be quiet? Nobody is in here apart from you and me. Yes, but there's no need to shower. There's every need to shout. What are you doing here? We have no clients. I worked my bat off and borrowed some favors and contracted out to other investigators to make sure we can be there for John and instead you are making forts and enclosing all the curtains and talking about bunny rabbits and hawks. It's not a fort. It's a disguised command center that has a visual on the target. You are sat in a pile of cushions. What are you talking about? Camden House. Okay. What's Camden House? You should know, Mrs. Hudson. It...

Wait, you mean the house across the street? Two-for-two Baker Street? Indeed. Otherwise known as Camden House. It's empty. So what? The empty house... I feel... As a visitor.

Yeah. Sometimes... state agents show people around empty houses Sherlock it helps them become full houses come into the command center seriously come crawl oh god this fruit is disgusting oh god you need a housekeeper to keep this place clean stop you from building cushion forts not a fort a command center come in ah thank you oh oh it's actually Pretty nice in here. I know.

Crisp. No, thank you. Fine. It all occurred to me while glancing at myself in the mirror. My opposite, but fated to follow my every move. No matter how fast he tracks, he can never surpass. Yeah, that's how mirrors work. We cannot move behind Moran any longer.

We must move in front. You want to predict his next move. I already know it. Are you serious? Everything is reflected. Don't you see? No. Even this very building, this very floor,

as if a pane of glass sits right in the street, and we stare back at ourselves. And then it fluttered before me. With majesty, a dazzle of color and feather, the harbinger of spring has awoken. The goldfinch. The bird's nest across the street, yeah. It is a cavity nester.

Just a hole in the masonry. That would have held a pipe long ago. Not now. That hole bored right into the facade of Camden House. 2-21 Baker Street's opposite number. Look now, I have positioned us in such a way where we can see right into the empty house. Yet our hawk cannot appear into our borough. Um, we're below the window.

You have a periscope or something, because all I can see is our wall. Mirrors, Mariana. Mirrors. I have placed one next to the kitchen door. Uh-huh. Take the binoculars, point them at the mirror. Yeah. And now you see...

Yeah, I can see right inside the empty house. Three windows in your vision, correct? Correct. the bottom one, and the two that are level with us at 221B. Uh-huh. You'll notice the bottom one. You had complaints of our cleanliness, or lack of it, but look at that dust. Ah, yeah, that's a lot of dust.

They won't sell it in that condition, will they? Not in this economy. I like the trees on the roof terrace. You guys should do that. What? You guys never use it. We have a roof terrace. For a master detective, you are pretty bad at listening.

You have never mentioned it. It's literally one of the first things I ever said to you when we spoke on the phone before we met. Can we figure this empty house thing out, please? Fine. Look at the top two windows. One is a bathroom, one is the bedroom. Bathroom. Tell me the state of the ceiling light shade. Dusty. Web's, too. Dusty and webs. Same as downstairs.

Yeah, yeah. Correct? And now you see the nest of the goldfinch? The hole in the brick? Yeah. It sits right next to the window that looks directly into this flat. Yeah. What can you tell me of that ceiling light shade?

Not dusty. Not dusty, no. Interesting. Interesting, somewhat. Indicative. Absolutely. indicative of what? These light shades, as stylish as the installer may have thought they were,

dangle a little too low, even for Georgian ceilings. Its lowest point, as you can correlate with the height of the doorframe to the bathroom, which are UK standard. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Come on, you know your building regulations, how high should a standard internal door in the UK be? 1,981 millimeters? Exactly.

And the previous resident, it would appear, liked the symmetry of the dangling lights, ending at the uniformed heights of the doors, which leaves a distance of 1,981 millimeters from the bottom of the light shade to the floor. 1,981 millimeters or... 6 foot 6. So it would appear, Mariana, that somebody inadvertently disturbed the dust and webs that clung to that light shade. Somebody taller than 6'4.

Somebody that could be... Six foot seven. Six foot seven. Moran. He wishes to eliminate me, but his attention has been taken elsewhere. Do you know where? We begin in the dark tunnel where we found John. Oh, great.

Hello there again, Garad Deb House. Oopsie, slips. Ha, ha, whoops, I slipped too, and tore the police tape. What a shame. Oh. Yes. Rather unpleasant being back here. John's blood?

Yes. From when they pulled him out of the tunnel. Are you all right? Not really, no. You? No. Clues must be harvested. Come.

What kind of clues, exactly? The Scotland Yard investigation is still two crimes behind. They try as they might to understand Mawson and Williams, and Moran's role at the bank, what happened to the money and where he ran to upon release. Oh, and that's a bad idea? Because isn't that kind of how we do things? It's not a bad idea, no.

But it's not a particularly good one either, especially when a man is proven to be lethal. This is where we found him. Yes, every little gunshot residue from what I can see with my phone light. How come? I'm afraid it is because our burly Dr. Watson isn't tough enough to crush bullets after all.

He knows Stamford is going to tell him he is, right? Yes, but the bullet is bespoke. Moran is an exceptional marksman. He shot John dead centre in the chest in a tunnel with almost no light. He can't carry a rifle around London, but an improvised weapon, strapped to himself, nimble, light collapsible?

A man with such accuracy does not require his bullets to be packed with destructive force. Let's see here. Oh, please, please tell me you see footprints. Yes, you see. A brogue, I'd say. Size 15.

Certainly not John's footprints, but we already know he shot John and turned back on himself, eastward. See? Here. And here. Come. The police cleared these tunnels.

Yes. And why would Moran hide down here? Moran is not a man to hide. The web has been swiped at. We tried our best and we will strike again. But for now, while threads are scattered to the wind, the network must spin itself anew. It cannot hide.

It must work. It must fight. It must continue its business. Or the vacuum opens and the power gap is filled. So what? You want to stop investigating behind and start investigating ahead? That's exactly. what I intend to do.

And what does John's secret tunnel under London do for us? Exactly. Well, here, we arrive at a fork in the tunnel. How so? No, look. Oh, oh, like an actual, real one.

Um, so these lead to Victoria or Houston? Correct. Southbound or northbound. And Moran has done a rather good job of complicating our decision. He has? He has.

On the floor, here. You need my light, too? Yes. All the light I can get, please. Footprints are gone. No, more interesting than that. They change. They change?

See? Here. Oh, yeah, that's a Wellington boot. That's... Definitely a Wellington boot. Exactly. But why change from a rogue to a wellie? They will tell us.

What? Other prints. You can see somebody else's? Sherlock. Whose footprints? Nobody's footprints? What, you just said... Poor prints.

Or handprints, as they're sometimes called. Paw prints, excuse me? Here we go, old fellow. What do we think of that? Oh, Graham, what is he doing here? He is helping me understand what I saw when we came down into this tunnel once before. You saw what? Mice. I saw the indication of mice, mouse droppings.

Do mouse droppings help us? Ew, oh, is Graham eating them? Don't be ridiculous. Graham isn't eating the mouse droppings. Graham don't eat the mouse droppings. He's still kind of eating. them. Graham, face that way. There we go. When I crouched in this tunnel by John's side for that time, I collected dust, dirt, and something else upon my knees, something that interested Graham enormously when I finally got home after days at the hospital. Okay, what was it? Urine of a mouse in Eustrus.

Now, the taste to me was the same as regular mouse urine. No, no, no, no, no. But to Graham, he got rather excited. His penile bone became turgid. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, please stop. So there is a mouse, or mice, down here in Eustras. Meaning what? She's like in heat. Exactly that. She, like most mice, will be near food. She will be near water.

And that is where Moran may be. Why? Because of the Wellington boot, Mariana. Ah, Graham has chosen. The Victoria Tunnel. The Victoria Tunnel. Onwards, let's go find ourselves a Lady Mouse. You hear?

Yeah, I do. What is that? I'd say the pipe of a storm drain. The heavy rains have been and will be of great service. Keep walking. Graham has led us in the right direction. How do you know that? Because Prince are visible again once more.

The Wellington tracks? Our network of foes had secured the three houses. The houses serve primarily as their infill and exfill points. For their victims, stepping into a grand house, unsuspectingly, rather than being forced down a hole in the street, would have proved very effective, if, of course, John had not busted their entire operation after just a week or two of their relocation.

The Garadeb houses are pristine, empty, yes, but clean, slick, desirable. Like I explained, we can do what the police are doing, which is examined where Morad. has been, but it is only in a bone-dry tunnel and a spick and span house, combined with his footwear when you get an indication of his future movements. Are you listening? Yes, I was just... I was just listening to the water, running.

Moran's footprints, as we have noted, they shape-shift from light corporate rogue to Wellington Boot, but it could be an accomplice. Could it not? Possible, but... The stride. See here, two and a half feet apart. That's a big stride.

Big man. Identical to that of our footprints next to where we found John. Size 15 brove. Size 15, Wellington Boot. Two and a half foot stride. Two and a half foot stride. And no mud. Exactly.

No mud. We're anticipating his next steps, literally. And so was he. His boots were clean. then what are you doing what about when he has to wade across the basin of a storm drain to get to his desired location oh my god the rain began the day before John was shot been on and off since this thing has been in full flow there you are Graham your girlfriends are over there their hormones may have subsided somewhat I'm afraid

you took a little too long they're here for the waste. The rain has swept it down here. Indeed. Graham, do not even think about eating what they're eating. Come on, little fellow, back in the pocket. Where are we going? We do as John would do. Which is what? Get our hands, but in particular our shoes dirty. Yeah, sure. In honor of John, I'll do it. Of course, I have new boots for this. Over the basin we go. Spread carefully. Ah, it's cold.

Oh, boy, the water is cold. This is just rain, right? Absolutely. Sewer is much deeper. Farewell, male, wail, tunnel. We move on. To where? Surely, you remember the adventure of the dancing men?

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure, sure I do. Well, do you hear much traffic noise apart? All I hear is rushing water. Traffic noise dulled some time ago. Because we are under Hyde Park, we'll cross this basin, and there'll be a culvert for the Westbourne. That will take us into the park itself and... Here!

We will see where... Ah! A footprint! Where Mr. Moran went. But we know that already, don't we? Where did he go? Home. Mariana.

Went. Home. Number one, Hyde Park. The apartment block, where the police first caught him. His home. Who knew demons get hell sick? Well put, Mariana. The hawk circles back to his nest. The Met said Mawson and Williams

own most of the apartments on that top floor. And one was Moran's. Hard to believe he strolled in through the front door. Let me see now. Oh, took the binoculars with you. Good call. It wasn't a trip home. No.

It was a job. A job? What do you mean? Top floor. Fourth window from the left. Uh-huh, okay. Um, oh, oh. Is that... Is that what I think it is?

All over the window. Blood. Lots and lots. Oh, blood.