Sherlock & Co. - A Scandal in Bohemia - Part Two

Episode Date: May 20, 2025

THE BLIND PRINCE - William Ormstein was an intimidating man, both in frame, in personality but also in power. A West End mogul who seemed to have it all... but it would seem.. when we heard his tale - he could have had a lot more. The game really was afoot so Sherlock and I donned disguises, whole new characters to lure in the elusive Miss Adler. Part 2 of 5 This episode contains swearing, references to child abuse, deliberate reckless endangerment. Listener discretion is advised.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 2025.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 Karim Kronfli as William Ormstein Written 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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Register today at SunriseChallenge.ca. That's SunriseChallenge.ca. Come join the Patreon. It's a huge community now with loads of extra cool stuff. Patreon.com forward slash Sherlock and co. Previously on Sherlock and co. www.thedrn.com I already have to speak to Tom about punching a man who was later murdered. You know, I have zero interest in tiptoeing around this woman because you think she's something special. Oh my God, oh my God, the kitchen's on fire. I'm just grabbing something.

The last person who owned that drive got shot in the face, so I, funnily enough, I don't actually want it. And with access to it we can discover the identity of that cold-blooded killer Watson. Let's go to the Opera. Time to meet Miss Irene Adler. Welcome back and welcome to part two of five of A Scandal in Bohemia. This episode has a few heavy things in it so go to the episode description if you want trigger warnings in full. It is my legal responsibility to tell you to handle the information you take from the episode sensitively and with respect to

the people involved. Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll see what I mean. See you on the other side. Let's head back to the Royal Opera House. Time to meet Miss Irene Adler. Hello. Yes? We're looking for Miss Adler. She's um... yes, well, she's scurried away, it would seem, wouldn't it? She's... not in? No.

Right. Right. Do you know where she would have been? I don't know if your fans are in the business, but I would steer clear of that bloody woman. Excuse me. Well, I'm no master of deduction, but he seems a wee bit stressed, doesn't he? Indeed. I think if we maybe reach out to her... Where is... Shh.

...I think we should go. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Well, I'm no master of deduction, but he seems a wee bit stressed, doesn't he? Indeed. I think if we maybe reach out to her... Sherry, shh. Watson. Shhh.

Watson. You want to do this, do you? I hope you are fully aware this is mutually assured destruction... Ah, what are you doing? Client outreach. Oh, God Almighty. You'll never never ever work again I can pull the contract at any time

Ask your agent Conduct clause Non-disparagement breach And termination conditions I reserve the right, Irene Read it for yourself Call me immediately Quite the encore, wouldn't you agree, Watson?

Definitely had the drama Felt a little bit out of key. Hey, but at least it wasn't in Italian. What do you want? A client. And I think you'd be just right. But you wish to fire her? I thought she was rather good. Didn't you, Watson? It's complicated. Yeah, yeah, great stuff. Ten out of ten. Didn't really understand what she was singing about, but you know, I've never really understood Creed or Pearl Jam and all that. No? Not familiar with? Come on, you know Creed, right? Can you take me higher?

Right gentlemen, I appreciate the curiosity and of course the enlightening discussion, but I do have to jump on the Elizabeth Line and get home. You never gave me your full name. You don't have to. I know it now, Mr Ormstein. I wasn't asking. You're familiar with my work? I'm familiar with many things and that's what allows me to theorise. Okay. Sorry, are you...

Is there something I should be aware of here? Is this a committee thing? No, it's a crime thing. Well, I haven't committed a crime. I don't particularly care if you have or have not. Then why are you harassing me? We accompanied you on a walk through Soho from the Royal Opera House to Toppencourt Road Station, where you mostly talked about your favourable reviews, awards and the price of your house. I attempted to ask a number of questions pertaining to my area of intrigue and you've just about ignored and circumvented

every single one. On the subject of enlightening discussions, the only beaming revelations of said light illuminate with what is not being said rather than what is being said. Often we see things in what people don't do, Mr Ormstein, rather than what they do. Do. Ha! Okay. Sure. Erm... What exactly is not being said? Details of your person and your relation to Miss Adler, and how closely you guard them. I'm not guarding them. You accused him of harassing you and he asked you a basic question about it. It's... It's a personal matter. I matter. No, it's a business matter. The company.

The show. I'll deal with it. Do you know what that is, Mr Ormstein? It's a coffee shop. No, that. On its second floor. On the corner of the building. No, I don't. Probably some congestion cameras? It's a geodetic prism. Very nice. I must go. You'll see it's placed at the same height in all these buildings around here. They reflect a laser of light to one another. They were installed during the construction of Crossrail, now the Elizabeth Line of course. Below our feet was the most complicated part of its construction. Threading the needle, how to bore a new tunnel through a dense web of existing infrastructure, mere meters, sometimes less than that of its neighboring 19th century tube lines of the central and the northern line,

a masterstroke of engineering. The equivalent to performing open-heart surgery in a crowded room, they say. I think if maybe we could arrange a date to discuss what you wish to discuss. But why the prisms? Oh god, listen sir. Because of the tunneling you see. That boring, probing delve into the depths of London. It begins to weaken the very earth itself and test the foundations on which this city stands. This invasion under its skin may not present any physical changes that are obvious to us. But the prisms,

Mr. Ormstein, the prisms see those imperceptible movements, the slightest twitch and fluctuation that are nanoscopic in their course, but in their consequence, devastating. Now tell me, if you were the city, standing proudly and sternly on its quivering foundations, then what am I? Am I the machine that claws beneath the surface for answers, or am I the prism seeing, observing, and examining every minute reactionary shift in your... facade? Give me your theories then, if you've perceived that much, Mr. Holmes. It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has data. You said you have it.

I'd like all of it. And what happens if I don't provide it? Well, then Irene Adler keeps whatever she has of you on that drive, doesn't she? ... ... ... Wowzers. Echo!

I'm sure a pub would have sufficed, Mr. Ormstein. You requested a private conversation. You think a pub in Soho would provide such a thing, do you? No one listens when everyone is talking. That's what I find, anyway. People are always listening. I hope so. Get these download numbers up, eh?

What download numbers? No, nothing. So this lovely place, what is this? Piccadilly Theatre. Nice, nice. I've always been a bit of an obsessive when it came to the performing arts. Oh, you're gonna give us a tune?

Well, that was and is the thing. Never quite had the... Well, the stomach for it. The crowds. The eyes. Yes. Couldn't quite conquer what the very best are able to when they come out here. Quite remarkable, really. Gave myself the stage name but could never quite handle the stage. Funny, really. What's... what's your real name? A name like many things, Doctor, is only a shape we cast in sound.

And some have the projection to reach the upper cabins of a place like this... and reverberate back to us. People like me, well... we don't always like the hollowed whisper that returns, do we? I don't quite understand. I'm William Ormstein. My father was Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismund von Ormstein. Oh, so mouthful. His father was Harold. The father before that was Gustav.

And the one before that was John. John, yes, good strong name. Good, good sounding, much more English sounding than the rest of them. Did you do one of those Ancestry.com things? I own this theatre. I own six others, no, seven others actually. There's this motto in our family. Lux non querimus. we do not seek the light exactly yes and maybe that lineage runs deeper through me than I can truly understand

pumping through every vessel fueling my heart with the fear of this and them. The audience. And why did the Ormsteens not seek the light, William? He was blind. Who was, sorry? John. John Ormstein? John Kent.

Good Lord. What? That's what legal papers are required to call him. Not that they remain. In physical form, anyway. This truly is a scandal. Sorry, Kent. What am I missing here?

John Kent is you... What, your great-great-grandfather, yeah? John Kent was born in 1839 to Victoria Alexandrina, or Victoria of Hanover. Is that... Queen Victoria? Yes.

And he was blind from birth. Her eldest son. Oh. I didn't know that. Very few do, Dr. Watson. It was decided to keep his birth quiet until they could find another. A changeling. A local girl was found. She had a newborn boy and they paid her for him. He became Bertie and then once coronated in 1901 Edward the seventh. I know it's rather monumental, isn't it? This stranger, this outsider would become king and blind John Kent would never see the crown. There's cruel irony in there somewhere. He was sent off to Bohemia, part of the Austrian Empire back then. A rather shy young boy, as you can imagine.

It was always assumed that he'd never procreate. But this little boy, this blind prince banished from his homeland, in far-off Bohemia, found something English shores never gave him. Love. Just a teen at the time he met Josefa von Kostelek, a girl of notable lineage herself. She was forbidden from seeing John Kent due to his unknown roots. So he took it upon himself to declare his true status to the von Costalex,

to ensure the marriage of their daughter. They agreed. John and Joseph are married, and the Costalex demanded reparations from the British Crown. Blackmail? Blackmail. Victoria had little choice. With substantial funding, titles and deeds, the Ormstein name was established.

A noble bohemian family. And ever since the Ormsteens began in 1864, they have been propped up and bankrolled by the Crown. When Victoria died in 1901, you bet they took Bertie for just about everything he had. More lands, more money, more power. And when another succession crisis came about in 36 with Bertie's son... Edward VIII and Wallace Simpson. Exactly. Yet again the Ormsteins saw their opportunity, and yet again they got what they wanted.

In 38, when the Nazis annexed Czechoslovakia, the Crown even rescued the Ormsteins, and my father, just a boy at the time, to preserve the evidence. The Ormsteins, the line of John Kent, were now back in Britain. How? What form did this leverage take? Why send a child after Bohemia with paperwork confirming his hidden royal ancestry? Well, that's not what she sent him off with.

What's on the drive, William? A faint echo, Dr Watson. A reverberation of a mother's love. Of her grief. The form it takes is a simple photo. Of the Queen herself. and her newborn son, her kissing his forehead, his eyes two mil John, Windsor 1839. My father Wilhelm, after generations and generations

of extortion by the Ormsteens and guilt-ridden concessions by the Windsors, and in recognition of the family's salvation in 38, finally agreed to have the photo destroyed. And it was so. MI6 and some home office officials oversaw the whole thing. They toasted each other as it was swallowed in the flames. The deed was done.

The thorn in the side was finally clipped. John Kent was erased. But I wouldn't be speaking to you if oaths and promises were intact, would I, Holmes? You would not. My father passed away in 2021. And in clearing out his home that December, I discovered it. On his old PC when looking for some family photos, there it was. I'm an only child. I didn't have siblings to share the discovery with.

I didn't have close friends I trusted, but I did have a partner at the time. Irene. Time went on and... I'm as trustworthy, it would seem, as my father was. was trustworthy, it would seem, as my father was. He broke his word, and I broke mine. One completely foolish affair later, Irene and I were apart. And from the day she left, the image was gone Bohemia our lab OEM was recalled to the Royal Opera House following its previous run original cast I didn't expect Irene to reprise the role of Musetta but she did because she lost the image William what

she has it back now of course? How do you know for certain? Because we witnessed her take it back. It must be retrieved, Sherlock. It must. Wow. Yep. So it's like a secret royal line. Yep, one of those things. I need a new cloth. This is covered in soot now. Here.

Thank you. Is this crazy? That poor boy, John Kent? I mean, he could have been, he should have been King, King John. That's, it's like a whole double life that could be out there. A totally different story. I mean, I'm not sure if should have been King, King John. That's, it's like a whole double life that could be out there. A totally different world. It's just that one, like, genetic thing.

Yeah, it stinks. Yeah, it totally stinks. The hob. Oh. Absolutely. Yeah, that's where all the smoke smells still coming from. Can you still smell it? Yeah, it's like charcoal, kind of.

I don't think it's the same burn smell anymore. No, no, I agree. I think once we do the walls and we take the old cabinets out, the smell should go. Why is she using it against him? Well, I'm guessing she's using it against the royal family now, right? Oh, right. Right. For the usual thing, I would imagine. What's the usual thing? A big old chunk of dosh. But this is... it's like nearly 200 years ago.

Yeah, but the cover-ups and the blackmail payments and all that over the years. Yeah. I guess that's true. Well, good luck to her. American woman versus the British royal family, round three. Ding ding ding. Yeah. Bold move. Hello there. Where have you been? Opera, matinee performance. Oh, operas do matinees. There's more chance of staying awake, I guess. For schools, yes. You don't go to school?

I assumed a character and infiltrated the school trip. That's frowned upon, to say the least. By all means, frown away. Bye bye. Wait, what did you find out? Find out? Yeah. I just watched the show again.

Okay. Is this conversation concluded? No, did you speak to her? No. Why not? She disappeared again. Right, and what about- Can I go to my room now?

What's the plan? The plan is to get to my bedroom door, open it, then close it behind me. Shut... Deep thought. So it would seem. She snuck away again. Yeah, and I don't blame her. I mean, do you want to own a hard drive with the secrets of the rich and powerful?

No, thank you. Scared enough with the burden of my own internet history. Ugh, gross. John. Oh god, that song has been in my head non-stop and now he's belting it out as well. Musetta's Waltz. Yeah, well, I wish it would waltz out of my brain. For God's sake.

It was a pretty amazing rendition from her. What's her name? Irene Adler. Yeah, I mean she put that song in your head with that performance. It deserves to be in there. Inception? Yeah, there's a lot of junk in here as well, to be honest. Wait, in your head? Yeah. Yeah, I mean, quotes from old TV shows, football results, bus schedules from around 2003.

Me? Am I in there? Yeah, somewhere in the back by the bins. Oh, great. Thanks. It's not like she's hiding out. Sorry? Look, you can see her full acting profile. Her agent, she has an Instagram, where she kind of posts, like, a lot.

Oh, met her, actually. I actually found that one. Met who? The girl in that picture with her there, Daisy... Kind of posts, like a lot. Oh, met her actually. Well, she found that one. Met who? The girl in that picture with her there, Daisy something. Daisy Norton it says. Who is she? Looks... looks like her sister.

Yeah, yeah, cover for her role. I guess, dunno. Irene seems... I dunno, so nice? I can't believe she's involved in this stuff. Yep, she's a conundrum. You think she... maybe took it by accident? Mariana, she took it at knife point.

I know, and you told me that, but these... pictures, this... she just... She just doesn't seem like the kind of person to do that. Well, she did... do that. Are you sure? He's sure. And that's the bit that matters. Good afternoon. Not more outfits, Sherlock. I'm not Sherlock. No? No. Who the hell are you? My name is Dan Edmonds. You're Dan Edmonds, are you? Yes, an exhaustive disguise and character lies behind the name, I assure you. You're just wearing glasses and one of my t-shirts. And jeans, see?

And jeans. And I have a shiny product in my hair that is extremely uncomfortable. Yes, well, I admire your sacrifice, Sherlock. Dan. Dan, look, you're a very distinct person. And sometimes it takes more than just glasses and jeans to form a whole new person.

Oh, please do tell me how to mask, John. I am an ear. I'm all ears. I'm all ears. Well, let's use our ears, John, and hear him out, okay? Mariana. John. Alright, fine.

Fine. This performance, this character and how Irene first meets him is the key to unlocking her elusive resolve and subsequently this entire case. Yeah, well, you know, take it away. Should I get some popcorn or...? I, Dan, am a 32 year old. Good age. I currently work in a call centre where I am the operations manager. I use the word currently because I feel and have felt since I joined the company at the age of 25

as a CSR. B-b-b-but CSR? Customer Service Representative. Thanks. You're welcome. Since the age of 25, where I assumed the role on a part-time basis to boost my finances as my true passion, acting, was inconsistent and quite frankly insubstantial. Sherlock, there's more to-

Dan. Dan, there's more to people than this stuff. I was an only child, born in April 1993 to Suzanne and Henry Edmonds, a dog, groomer, walker, sitter and a chartered surveyor. I grew and blossomed in the dedicated glow of their love. A product of extensive and expensive IVF. Ten heart-rending treatment cycles later, I was born. Their deliverance from an unfulfilled life to this. Bliss. A hectic euphoria of parenting

that was everything it was promised and so much more. After watching Pirates of the Caribbean in 2003, the dream of acting, of performing landed in the fertile earth of my soul like a meteorite falling from the stars, shifting the tectonics of my world. Suzanne and Henry incubated my aspirations with the same unbridled care and attention that they applied to every area of my life. I became the local theatre star, the beacon of the youth productions. The local newspaper sang praise, the residents of the sheltered corner of England projected

me a star of tomorrow. The funds for the IVF were dwarfed by the acting school fees that Suzanne and Henry gladly handed over. And soon my world was different. That temperate little pond was flooded with an ocean. I was plunged into the deep amongst the fellow predators, awash in violent currents of rejection. All the while I was dropping to the blind depths where glowing beasts of anxiety, self-loathing and depression stalk those ancient silts of ashen dreams. I sank, my friends. I sank and landed, much like that meteor a decade before, but this time amongst the sands

of defeat. The love, the affection, the admiration of my parents had left me without resolve and grit, with no shell or instinct to fend off the bottom feeders that nibbled so hungrily at my soul. That parental nurture dissolved on immediate contact with nature, that great leveller, that killer of love and promise. To protect what was left of myself I jettisoned all emotion and feeling off in some hardened capsule that would float adrift in the darkness and one day I vowed to find them again. And this in turn became my greatest performance, to convince the world that behind these eyes

there remains a person. That that same boy still lives in me, here, somewhere. And on my father's deathbed, the only dormant feelings I summon are anger, frustration. Why did you do this to me, Father? I needed authority. I needed a man to carve me out of rock, not cultivate me from seed, only to wilt in the cool October air. You sent me out there wielding no weapon, carrying no shield. Why?

Punish me! Mould me! Strike me, father! Strike me, you bastard! And he fades, as they all do, and his silence swallows me, and I too die in there with him not as prey but as a parasite growing fat and lazy off his love I won't open with that just background character details are important aren't they Wow, Dan, that's really, um... No, I need a tissue. Here. Everything alright? Yeah.

No. We're good. We're good. John, mate, call me. Gwenny's given me a lot of grief about this. Like a shitload. Oh, God, I've forgotten to call Gregson again. There's no time.

Well, there is, though. We're just walking through Soho. We're not just walking through Soho. We are perfectly timing a seemingly casual interaction with our target. Also, I don't hear much rehearsing. Rehearsing? I have my character. You'll have to do better than that cap. Right, so you're gonna be Dan.

I'm not going to be Dan. I am him. I have assumed his life and personality. Right, yeah, of course. Whatever. going to be Dan I am him I have assumed his life and personality right yeah of course whatever well and I'm thinking I go with Andre just to be no no no why not you're clearly not an Andre oh just give me this chance will you no it's alright for you you're named Sherlock that's cool but mine's John what's wrong with John oh it's boring.

This is my chance to have a unique, edgy name. It is our chance to deceive Miss Adler into letting her guard down so we can make some progress on this case. All right, I'll go for Benson. Sorry, what? Benson... Jones. No. Please?

I will be Dan. You are Jack. Jack? Jack? It's basically the same as John. Except it isn't. Cap facing forward please. Oh, please. This way. So, we're performers?

Musical theatre types? Plying our trade? Big fans of her? Catching her at the stage door? Sort of thing? That's not quite where we want to catch her. And actually it's more about her catching us. Well, me. In what way exactly? Ormskeen says the last few nights she's dashed out and jumped straight into an Uber. Unsurprising given what she now possesses.

Okay. From what I gleaned at the matinee most of the performers opt for the tube at Covent Garden. The only other one that gets an Uber lives south of the river so their car turns right out of Wellington Street and towards Waterloo Bridge. Hers will turn left out of Wellington Street, so that's what we're waiting for. Right here. Wellington Street is down there. I know. Okay.

So, we're waiting for the car that she's already in? Yes. Why? To stage an introduction that feels organic and allows her to reduce her caution. Guilt will be the main ingredient but alarm will be that added kick. Is she... ride sharing? No.

Then, sorry, what are we gonna do? Wave at her as she drives past? Why would we do that? Sherlock, can you just share your thoughts with the rest of the team, please? Is the rest of the team you? Yes, just... Ah, this will be the one I hope. The white Toyota Prius?

Exactly. Fuel efficient, neutral colours, compliant with TFL private hire vehicles, PHV licence disc in the window, two separate foam mounts, I think I can see, well maintained, dash cam there as well of course. It turned left out of Wellington Street 14 minutes after Curtain of Bohemia. That's our girl. Lovely.

She's picking up a little speed now and coming this way. Well, what do we do? You look shocked on cue and I focus on the task at hand. It's all about angular momentum and kinetic transfer you you see, Watson. No, I don't, actually. My approach will be oblique, not head-on, that's too obvious. Looking for a corner bumper strike on outer thigh or glute. Convert forward motion into rotational fall. Chin

tucked to protect head and neck. Arms crossed is too obvious, sadly, but close to torso to prevent wrist or elbow injury will do. Core engaged to stabilize the trunk, knees slightly bent to absorb shock and aid the roll. Here we go. Here we go. Hey, hey, Sherlock! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. To get all five parts of A Sc in Bohemia, and so much more,

sign up for just £6 at patreon.com forward slash Sherlock and Co. I'm going to be a good boy. You