How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 56

(Alice’s POV: )

 Not long afterwards, a recording of a documentary was playing on the TV. Sherlock had taken off the dressing gown and exchanged it for a jacket and was sitting in his chair. John had relocated to the dining table chair near Sherlock’s, and a man was sitting in John’s chair. I was behind Sherlock’s chair, standing in my usual way. The documentary footage showed scenes of Dartmoor. Sherlock instantly looked bored.

 “Dartmoor. It’s always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here – something very real?” the narrator said. Footage of ‘Keep Out’ signs disappeared and reappeared. “Because Dartmoor’s also home to one of the government’s most secret of operations...” The narrator continued, walking along a narrow road. Sherlock’s eyes flicked repeatedly between the screen and the man in John’s chair as the footage showed a large sign saying:

 ‘AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A RESTRICTED AREA

BASKERVILLE’

 By this time Sherlock’s eyes were permanently fixed on the newcomer as he watched the documentary anxiously.

 “ ...the chemical and biological weapons research centre which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there’ve been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments: genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: are all of them still inside?” The presenter informed. The footage switched to an indoor scene where Henry was sitting in front of the camera talking to someone off-screen. A caption at the bottom of the screen showed him as “Henry Knight, Grimpen resident”.

 “I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor.” Henry began, on-screen. There was a cutaway to a child’s drawing of a huge snarling dog with red eyes. The caption said, “Henry’s drawing (aged 9)”. “It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father.” Sighing, Sherlock picked up the remote control and switched off the footage.

 “What did you see?” Sherlock asked Henry.

 “Oh.” Henry pointed to the television. “I... I was just about to say.”

 “Yes, in a TV interview.” Sherlock began.

 “We prefer to do our own editing.” I finished.

 “Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. ’Scuse me.” Henry said nervously. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a paper napkin and wiped his nose on it.

 “In your own time.” John said comfortingly.

 “But quite quickly.” Sherlock said rather rudely.  Henry lowered the napkin.

 “Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?” He asked, still quite nervous but getting more comfortable. He glanced at me after he asked. I fought back a smile, remembering the short days my family spent there when I was young. My reminiscing was interrupted by the deep voice that could only belong to Sherlock.

 “No.” The detective said dryly.

 “It’s an amazing place. It’s like nowhere else. It’s sort of... bleak but beautiful.” Henry described fondly.

 “Mmm, not interested. Moving on.” Sherlock interrupted. I discreetly pulled a lock of his hair. He tensed but otherwise didn’t react.

 “We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we’d go out onto the moor.” Henry continued.