Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Monster or Man

Project H.O.U.N.D was an experiment in a CIA facility. Leonard Hansen, Jack O'Mara, Mary Uslowski, Rick Nader and Elaine Dyson. It was based on the idea of a new deliriant drug that could render the person highly suggestible and manipulable. It was a weapon. It could have totally discombobulated the enemy using fear and stimulus. They shut it down and shoved it into the deepest depth of the facility in 1986 because of the effect it had on the test subjects...

Prolonged exposure drove them insane, they became uncontrollable and aggressive. But someone had brought it back, reopened the project. "But who?" Clara asked, looking at Major Barrymore's computer. "Who would want to do that?"

"Do those names mean anything to you, Doctor Stapleton?"

Stapleton shook her head at the Detective. "No, not a thing."

Sherlock sighed. "Five principle scientists, twenty years ago." He brought up the picture of the H.O.U.N.D group on the screen. He zoomed in on the blurred faces, squinting closely.

"What if he, or she, is in the back - old enough to be there in 1986," Clara trailed off placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and leaning towards the screen. "Frankland," she whispered, jabbing a finger at one of the faces.

"Oh my god. Bob Frankland," Stapleton exclaimed. "But Bob doesn't even work on...I mean, he's a virologist. This was chemical warfare!"

"Cell phone!" Clara blurted. "He said cell phone."
"American," Sherlock agreed. It fitted. "Nice of him to give us his number," Sherlock muttered, fishing out his phone. "Let's arrange a little meeting."

John's own phone chimed loudly. "Hello?" He answered. Clara could hear a shrill voice sobbing out of the receiver. "Whe-Where are you?" John swore quietly, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "He's gone, he attacked her - the therapist - and now he's gone."

"Who?"
"Henry - he's got a gun."

Clara snatched her phone off of the desk and hit speed dial. "Lestrade," She said, looking at Sherlock. His grey eyes glinted. "Get to the Hollow, Dewer's Hollow." Clara swallowed, pausing. She licked her lips worriedly. "Bring a gun."

.

"NO!" Clara shrieked, her feet nearly skittering over the edge of the Hollow. Henry was standing in the middle of the damp moor, pistol barrel shaking over his parted mouth. Sherlock grabbed the back of her coat but her shoes slipped over the wet leaves. He caught her around the waist and pulled her back.

"John!" Sherlock urged in an insistent growl.

"Yep, on it." He and Lestrade sprinted down to the bottom, towards Henry.
Clara slowed her breathing down and turned to face Sherlock. "Are you...Christ, are you?"

"I'm fine, fine."
"Right, yes. Of course, um."

"Henry..." Clara breathed, her brain kicking in. They shared a look and then saw Henry waving his gun wildly at John and Lestrade. They scrambled down the Hollow as fast as they could.

"You have to remember, really remember what actually happened here that night," Sherlock said, his words demanding.

Henry's face was crunched up in despair. "I thought it had got my dad – the hound. I thought..." He screamed out in anguish, raising the gun back to his head. It jittered over his nervous lips.

"No, Henry, for goodness sake," Clara lurched towards him but Sherlock held her hand. A silent plea. She might provoke him to pull the trigger.

"Henry, remember. Liberty and In. Two words a frightened little boy saw twenty years ago." Sherlock's words shot out of his mouth in rapid fire. Henry stopped trembling but the gun remained at his mouth. "You'd started to piece things together, remember what really happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry?" Henry straightened up. "It wasn't a monster. It was a man."