Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn't have this bloody stupid power complex!

— Who's after you?
— People who want to kill me.
— Who's that?
— Killers.

— Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was amazing. John's expressed that in every possible variant available in English.
— I would have you right here, on the desk, until you begged for mercy twice.

No, no... It's been a pleasure. Don't spoil it. This is how I want you to remember me, the woman who beat you.

— This man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday, but instead he is in a car boot in Southwark.
— Lucky escape.

— Jeez, what the hell is happening?
— Mrs Hudson has been attacted by an American, I'm restoring balance to the universe.

I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself.

— You know, I was wrong about him. He did know where to look.
— For what? What are you talking about?
— The key-code to my safe.
— What was it?
— Shall I tell him? My measurements.

Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore.

— The flight of the dead.
— Plane blows up midair, mission accomplished for the terrorists, hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies.
— Neat, don't you think?

— There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead. Suspected terrorist bomb.
— We do watch the news.
— You said "boring" and turned over.

— You're rather good.
— You're not so bad.
— Hamish. John Hamish Watson, just if you were looking for baby names.

— People want to know you're human.
— Why?
— Because they're interested.

Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try it is always a self-portrait.

— You don't trust your own secret service?
— Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.