Abbey Grange - Part Three

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Previously on Sherlock and Co.

So we have a robbery.

We do.

And Eustace, I would say being the larger of the two women, bore the brunt of their attack upon entry through the window.

Yeah, quite an attack.

Multiple strikes.

Dozens and dozens.

I think I need to elevate this and stop messing around.

We are not messing around.

Guys, what?

John!

What?

She died.

Eustace died.

What's Sherlock saying about the case?

Uh, I think he's just trying to work out how these

little shits got into the room right now.

Little shits.

Yeah, sorry, so some, uh,

some gang-related incidents throughout the area right now, and they have been lingering around Abbey Grange.

That's there, be careful.

It looks like they forced entry, took out on one old woman, tied up the other, and nicked all the

valuables.

And Sherlock, did he say this?

Did he say what?

Did he say that the gun did this?

I don't think so, but they definitely did it.

They didn't do it.

What are you talking about?

I'm talking about the crime.

Margaret, recall the events for me one last time.

Can you stop interrupting my mother, please?

I don't know if you've noticed, but she's been through a lot.

Yes, through an enormous amount.

Some youths from the local park scaled the walls, burst in through her window, tied her to the chair, and beat her fellow resident to death.

Is that what happened?

Yes.

That's the sequence of events, is it Margaret?

Margaret.

They are busy tracking down the killer, Mrs.

Brackenstall.

Good.

They went looking in Randall Park.

A rather unnecessary field trip, I'd say.

Sorry, this is.

How exactly is that unnecessary?

Because, Mr.

Crocker, the killer is not in Randall Park.

The killer

is in this room.

Hi, all.

Welcome to the final part of the adventure of Abbey Grange.

Sorry again that I withheld this case for so long.

I hope, well, I think I did the right thing.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping it from you, and I hope that the themes and content in this particular adventure aren't too hard-hitting.

Trigger warnings can be found in the episode description.

I'll see you at the end.

And a local claimed that they saw you outside Abbey Grange residential home around the time of the murder.

Now.

Outside?

Outside, correct.

Well,

that local for me, then, bruv.

Right, okay.

Well, look,

it is reasonable to assume.

Reasonable.

Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah.

If this was reasonable, we'd be chatting on Road.

On my turf, helping man out.

Not in here, because you patterned it like that.

You slap me in the room, then want to hear a man talk.

Nah.

That's not reasonable.

None of this shit ain't nowhere near reasonable, big man.

What we're looking for in this situation, okay,

is cooperation.

You ain't...

No, no, no, no.

We absolutely are.

I can assure you.

I've been cooperating since this afternoon, bro.

It only cooperating to you when you hear what you want to hear.

Well, if we're not cooperating, then what are are we doing?

We be stereotyping, man.

One of us, aka fucking you in the big boy shit with the pads and the gear be stereotyping.

How so?

Please.

No, I'm serious.

I'm serious, I'd like to know.

Please, shut your mouth with that.

You're wasting tape on this recorder, you know.

Bear ass gaslighting shit.

So that's it, then, is it?

That's it.

I can't do my job

because people

might feel hard done by, they might feel judged or stereotyped.

Is that what we're saying?

We'll put it this way, an elderly woman got her face smashed in, mate.

I know it, bro.

Disgusting.

But God forbid I'm stereotyped.

God forbid I take up someone's afternoon.

Okay, he wanted to hang out in the park with his friends, but now he's got to go and help in a murder inquiry.

Poor guy, what a poor little fellow.

I lose 50 afternoons a year with this shit.

Have you heard yourself?

Sort your priorities out.

Look into my eyes.

Look.

Yeah, I'm looking.

And listen to the words that come out of my mouth.

Not a single one of us went into that place.

Not a single one.

And if I found out one of my boys, if the man them thought they were gonna pop through the window and do that kind of shit, you'd be dealing with another murder.

And I'd happily, gladly, bro, gladly take full responsibility.

While she was crying and screaming, a white guy, big build, bruv, stocky bell gym, crossfit looking, bro,

bald head.

He's filling this car with shit.

He's crazed.

Proper.

A muscly,

bald

white guy.

Well, now who's stereotyping?

You wanted the truth.

You got it.

Now, what are you gonna do about that information, bruv?

If I was in the Navy.

Sorry, what?

If I was in the Navy,

what car would I drive?

Clearly decorated.

Many years of service.

Can we return to the old woman and her son who we've just accused of being murderers?

I enjoy theatre as much as the next man Watson, but in order to discard the convenient truth and expose the inconvenient one, we need evidence.

Right, and we're just gonna walk through the car park until we find it.

Here, look.

What?

That

is clearly the car of a man that was in the Navy.

How on earth are we coming to that conclusion?

Well kept.

Old, reliable, sensible purchase.

Reasonable mileage.

Some discolouration on the brake discs.

That would mean lengthy times without use.

Can you see here?

When I put in its MOT details,

that garage.

Yes.

Two and a half miles from a naval college.

You must do some teaching, too.

Judging by what I can see through the driver's side window, we've got no jewellery.

But in fairness, whether stolen or purchased, you wouldn't leave that in a vehicle.

Uh, you also wouldn't rob your mum, mate, if we're trying to psychoanalyse here.

Let's hope that the boot offers the other significant piece of evidence.

Which is what?

Well, I can show you.

Locked, of course.

So I may have to, um...

Let me just grab Mike the mic a second.

Sure, why do you need to?

Ah!

Sorry, listeners, but thank you.

What is wrong with you?

I'm just eager to find the truth, Watson.

That's all.

Is that a crime?

Well,

yeah, apparently.

Ah.

Well.

Consider me guilty.

God.

What is that?

Evidence.

Sorry, excuse me.

Um, do you know how much longer?

It's uh oddish way.

Oddie's way.

Oh, great.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Kent policing is in dire need of recruitment.

I think nearly all public services are in dire need of recruitment, mate.

And the operating software they're using is no longer supported.

Can you not touch the computers of police officers, please?

Thank you.

Look, before you start...

Ah, Stanley.

How you doing, mate?

Good, John.

Uh, well, um, no, not good, actually.

What's wrong, PCSO Hopkins?

Did your senior colleagues fail to charge our little Randall Park friends?

They, um.

Yeah.

That seems to be the case.

Yeah.

Evidence somewhat insubstantial, I would imagine.

Yes, um, something like that.

Well, I am rather tired, and all this standing around gloating isn't helping.

So, let's crack on, shall we?

Crack on with what exactly?

The arrest.

Come, come.

Wait, what?

You just left?

No.

Well, yes, actually, but it was on official investigatory business.

Right, uh,

how so?

You broke into Margaret's son's car.

You did what?

I just needed to grab something.

What

exactly did you need to grab?

A standard-issue NHS adjustable walking metal stick with a base diameter of 30mm and a shaft diameter of 19mm, of course.

Of course.

And sorry, what if our killer gets away?

They're not allowed to.

Can only be discharged by a medical professional.

What?

What on earth?

Hello, everyone.

Good evening.

Hello.

Hi, uh, hi, Reg.

Hi, Francis.

Who are you?

Sake, I feel so used.

Hi, Bill.

Graham.

Dave.

John.

Put him down, Gillian.

You don't know where he's been.

Hello there.

Could we get an evening dosage of galantamine for Mrs.

Brackenstall, please?

In her room?

Thank you.

Sorry, well, well, hang on.

She's already had it.

I assure you, she hasn't.

Right away, please.

She's not in her room.

She will be.

I'd like to do this in private.

They're over there.

Indeed, they are.

Come, come.

Sherlock, please.

She is a delicate, sweet old woman.

Fuck off and leave me alone.

Pigs.

What the.

We didn't do anything.

And you want answers from me, do you?

Well, you can piss off.

Margaret, that's enough.

Margaret, it's.

I'm Dr.

Watson.

There, this is Sherlock Holmes.

We spoke.

Oh.

Do you remember?

You were tied up.

Little tart?

Speak properly, fool.

Margaret.

Lovely Margaret.

I was wondering if we could discuss the crime that took place in your room yesterday.

I didn't see you yesterday.

I assure you, you did.

I didn't.

I was working in Manchester.

Not that it's any of your business.

Who do you think you are?

A pair of wet shits.

This is my house.

My house, Eustace.

My house, you bitch.

Whoa, whoa, Margaret, Margaret, bitch.

Margaret, that's enough.

Mum, mum, please.

Who are you?

Get your hands on, Margaret.

Mum, it eats okay.

No, I think it's time for another film.

What do we think?

Oh, look at this.

Love in the Orient.

Does that sound good?

Eulock?

Oh, lovely jubbly.

Alright, Sherlock, take them upstairs.

Will do.

You're right, John.

You beat tense.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Not concerned that white guy's gonna do the accent again.

He's from China, that one.

No, don't think he is.

Oh, God, that's a karate kick.

Very violent, isn't it?

Yep.

Yep.

They can be over there.

In that part of the world.

Right, I'm gonna...

I should

check on Sherlock.

How is she?

Sleeping.

Please leave.

You know I can't do that.

Jack, we just want the truth.

Cause something horrific happened here.

Jack.

You don't understand who we're dealing with here.

Who, Margaret?

No, not me, mum

Eustace Yates.

I first met her when I was, oh gosh,

I don't know, eight years old.

My dad had just died.

Oh, sorry.

Yeah.

Long, long time ago now.

Obviously.

He had the jewelry place.

A few of them actually.

And we were, well, living luxury, I suppose.

First to get a snazz.

First of all, my mates to go on holiday abroad.

Nice clothes.

Got sent to a private school nearby.

But then,

yeah.

Cancer

for dad

he um

well

he passed and we

well, we moved down here.

She wanted to be back in Kent where she's from.

And when he died, mum was obviously struggling.

So she reached out to a few local WI type women just for, you know, emotional support, really.

Don't know what an eight-year-old boy can do for a woman that's just lost her husband, so

yeah.

She met Eustace and

like that they sent me away for schooling.

Just saw them on school holidays.

Sometimes not even then.

Every time I saw mum, she was

that bit poorer, that bit sadder.

Bruises, scratches, limps.

But it's me, mum, you know.

You've met her.

Not the one you've just dealt with.

The one before.

Just

look, she's delicate.

She's always been.

She's so

sweet.

Exactly.

And Eustace saw.

I obviously didn't understand it, even remotely at the time, because I was so young.

But she saw someone to exploit, to torment, to, you know,

she was like a parasite.

the worst kind,

a cancer.

My dad got it in his lungs, and mum got it in the form of Eustace.

She just

destroyed her,

but

she never knew it, you know.

She was brainwashed by that fucking evil cow,

honestly.

You know,

I think even as a young lad I knew something was wrong.

I just wanted to get even further away.

I joined the Navy and

after some

ill-advised behaviour, put it that way,

they had me meet with a counsellor type person.

And yeah,

I met my now wife.

She was a

well, she is a psychologist, and she just bang spotted it right away.

My mum and Eustace.

That thing that I'd been trying to understand from such a young age.

The bullying, the manipulation, the dependency.

My dude, it took her a few months to break it to me.

The little boy inside me just couldn't accept that mum was unhappy, I suppose.

And yeah, we took action.

Still got all the evidence at home, if you want to see it.

A brutal, sustained coercion and grooming of my mum for, well,

over a decade.

And we got her.

Eustace got banged up.

She got four and a half years, I think.

Didn't hear from her again.

The missus and I had got married, we'd had our kids, we had mum living with us for a while.

Bliss, yeah.

But it lasted.

Then things deteriorated.

I remember her asking me one day in the garden.

Her garden, really, after all the work she'd done to it.

She just said,

Where am I again, love?

Yardley's.

That that was the garden centre.

She thought we were at the garden centre.

And I

my heart just

sank.

Got worse from there.

Well, that's what it does though, doesn't it?

It got

well it just got so difficult.

The sweetness just

left, as you saw

and then

well eventually

we got her in Abbey Grange.

And how

did you find your paths crossing with Eustace Yeats after all that time?

Yeah, so

a couple of months ago actually, I'm talking to us and all I ever heard was about them not

that gang.

It's all they talk about in here.

It's like there's some enemy at the gates.

They love it.

But

this one day she's not banging on about them.

She says an old friend has moved into Abbey Grange and I'm thrilled for her, honestly.

It felt so

well I I just felt bad for putting her in here.

I mean, it's only temporary at the end of the day because

well, her needs are going to get more and more complex, so she'll be moved on again.

But I just want her to enjoy it, you know, while she can.

And I go, that's great.

She says she's going to be sharing a room with her.

She's been looking after her, caring for her, and it...

Well, it just sounds

sounded perfect.

Until I visit.

And...

After watching her in the courtroom 20 years ago,

I'm now staring at her.

Staring at this fucking monster co-living in a room with my mum.

Eustace Yates.

God almighty.

I lose it, man.

Just snap.

Gone.

Head gone.

The place banned me.

I just said, she's gone, she's out.

What's more, I'm gonna get the place shut down.

I can see the fucking bruises on her.

I can see it, man, in her eyes.

I managed to finally get everything in order.

Local authority speaks to this place and, well, I

I can I can visit again and and all this s safeguarding bollocks.

Yeah.

And and

and that was yesterday, yeah?

Yeah.

God.

Everything all right?

How's it going?

Shhh.

Shh.

Hold on, Stanley.

I'm so sorry, Mom.

Please, go.

Please don't wake her.

Can we just

can we just do this down at the station or

or or anything?

Did you kill Eustace?

Oh, God.

Stanley, please, mate, just hold on.

Jack?

Did you kill Eustace Yates?

Did you beat her to death in this room?

I...

I.

She was.

So, what happened?

Don't.

What?

Don't, Jack.

She's a very.

She's a psycho, you see.

Don't lie.

I'm not.

Please.

Please.

What you were doing is noble, but will not help your charge.

Sherlock.

He didn't kill Eustace.

Then.

Who did?

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Columbia engineered for whatever.

She changed, didn't she, Jack?

Angry.

Yeah.

Identity is something we begin to build the second we enter this world.

For many it becomes firm, unshakable, fixed deep into the foundations of who we are.

For others it wobbles, cracks, decays, and can even crumble entirely.

For her whole life, your mother built herself to be the Margaret Brackenstall that she wanted to be.

Sweet, kind, considerate, conflict averse, polite, affectionate.

These traits give you love, they give you family and friends, and when managed carefully, they can give you a fuller life than those more cynical, sceptical, and isolated types could ever imagine.

That was her construct,

and it served her well.

But

dementia is a wrecking ball.

For a long time, I didn't quite understand the need to become someone I'm not, on such a regular basis, to converse, to share feelings, to be curious about the livelihood to others, to matter to people and have them matter to me.

But I realized if I was to knock it all down, what would I be left with?

I would be left with many things, but nothing that makes life

life.

When you came in the room, Jack,

what did you see?

Eustace was

on the floor.

Just

coated.

Coated in the blood.

Her face was.

I only recognized her clothes, to be honest.

You're a man of action.

A commander in the Navy.

You faked a robbery, tied your mother up with a rather impressive knot, I must say.

It's wrong.

It's so wrong.

You were protecting her.

They're just kids, man.

I tried.

I blamed it on some poor kids who already get enough shit Jack just and then the weapon the walking stick

Eustace used a walking stick of course Yes, and Jack here took the blood-spattered walking stick of Eustace away along with the jewellery to his car a man of your frame your size would not have required so many blows against the skull of an elderly woman Your mother, on the other hand,

even when full of rage, having missed her morning medication, required multiple dozens.

You made sure her untethered mood was remedied with the pill left on the side.

You poured her a glass of water and made her swallow her dosage.

Don't please just stop.

Um, Sherlock, I was just um Jack.

This here is PCSO Stanley Hopkins of Kent Police.

He may try to arrest you, but I feel it is my responsibility to advise you on the law as I am so familiar with it.

He is not authorised to do so.

Do you understand?

Sherlock.

Not authorized to arrest you, but

his reluctance to make said arrest is not only down to his lack of authority, nor his almost non-existent experience.

He, like me, is stricken by the problem we find ourselves in.

The inconvenient truth that it is not a bunch of rowdy hoodlums, to use the word bounded around downstairs.

It was not the enemy we all craved it to be, but the hero, the friend, the ally, a beautiful, elderly woman who has had an extremely difficult life, and now who faces her hardest challenge yet in the form of mental decline.

Eustace has faced the bloody consequences of being her torturer, her captor, and her abuser all these years.

Margaret's condition, it would seem, has taken so much,

but it has returned her in that momentary fit of rage, a final taste of freedom.

Morality is something I speculate on because I often struggle to understand it.

To my colleague, however, my companion, it is purely natural, woven into his very fibre.

I will let him make this judgment.

Sherlock.

PCSO Hopkins, come.

Let Watson deliberate.

Oh,

I must have dozed off, love.

It's okay, Mum.

Don't worry.

Hello, John.

Everything all right?

Yeah,

all good.

I do just as you say,

why must I just give you your way?

Why do I die?

Why don't I try to forget?

It must have been that one thing was before me.

We are gathered here today

because,

well, my rental bike got a flat tire, but we are gathered here today, two months late, I might add.

Get on with it.

Gathered here today

on the

something of July, I think, 2025.

Good lord.

To celebrate and honour the life of Margaret Brackenstall.

A spirit that showed me the true power of personality.

What it takes to hold it all together when inside there is such turmoil.

She didn't do that for herself.

She did it for her family.

For her friends, for

for all whom...

whom?

Whom, yes.

All whom she met.

Not a single day in her life was easy or straightforward, but she never complained.

Never wanted to bring anyone else down.

Always wanted to be the sunshine,

never the rain.

Such was your charm, Margaret.

I call just about every contact I have to get you a psychiatric assessment and no prison time.

No trial, even, just

to live out your life.

Your son,

you don't know this, but I can tell you now, he actually did do some prison time, but he was allowed to visit

until they quite rightly shut the place down for

well, negligence, obviously, but

your most impressive feat, Margaret.

You got me to shelve an episode.

Hey, hey,

hey, Archie boy!

For 18 whole months.

Just because I didn't want you getting in any more trouble

or you to be ashamed.

Yeah.

Yeah, I sat on the adventure of Abby Grange.

How did it go?

Did you catch the killer?

Um,

yeah.

Yeah, we got him.

So what happened?

Oh,

you will have to listen.

Right, right.

Hey, so, Christmas decorations.

Uh, I'm listening.

I hope I did the right thing.

And that you didn't feel any shame in your final days.

Not that your mates in there could give it a listen.

Half of them couldn't even hear me when I was sat right next to them.

You know, I do think about those lot every now and again, wondering if they're still with us.

Are you quite finished?

Sorry, there seems to be a pretty abusive heckler at this funeral, Margaret.

I'm also sorry because

it has gotten properly late here now, and I'm just

standing in a graveyard, and that's a bit spooky.

But

yeah, you

may not have been case number five,

which, yes, would have been great exposure, but

I hope you don't mind being case number 31.

32.

32.

You're a lucky number, how about that?

Take care.

Hope wherever you are, you're

finally free.

Goodbye, Margaret.

Goodbye, Margaret.

Hey, you found a bike?

Indeed.

Is it a rental?

Yes, different branding in Kent.

Ah.

Okay, right.

Well, where are we off to?

Home, Watson.

Let's go home.

Let's.

Hey, that's my fucking bike.

Go now.

You took their bike.

Shut up.

Hey, everyone.

Well, I finally got to share it with you.

That was the adventure of Abby Grange from way back in 2023.

And yeah, to be honest, I would rattle off some interesting things that happened in that year, but I can't honestly remember any.

I'll tell you what happened in 2024.

I launched the Patreon.

And I am...

Well, all of us, Sherlock, Mariana, Archie, we're all so...

Graham too.

We're all so proud of it.

It's got vast mountains of content that you will love, and it is going to get so much more exciting, exclusive stuff.

I'm off into the Discord now to see what everyone thinks of the adventure and what they think of me snogging a pensioner.

Cheers.