All was quiet in 221B Baker Street. John sat in his chair, puttering away on his laptop. No humming or “yoohoo-ing” came from Mrs. Hudson’s flat, and Y/N hadn’t yet returned from some undercover work in Kent. Sherlock was out on another case. The tall detective had been investigating mystery after mystery non-stop since about the same time Y/N had left a week and half ago. John almost wished Y/N wasn’t quite so good at her job, because then Mycroft might keep her in London with them for longer periods of time.
The door swung open with a bang. There stood Sherlock, spattered in blood from head to toe, and weilding an antique harpoon.
“Well that was tedious.” Sherlock sighed.
“You went on the tube like that?” John asked incredulously.
“None of the cabs would take me.” Sherlock growled, stalking off to shower and change.
He returned with the harpoon still in hand, but at least he’d put on a clean shirt and pants. His blue dressing gown whipped around his legs as the detective paced back and forth in front of the sofa.
“Nothing?” He asked impatiently.
“Military coup in Uganda.” John said, flipping through the paper.
“Hm.”
“Hm.” John chuckled, coming across the infamous deerstalker hat picture. “Another photo of you with the, er-”
Sherlock leaned over John’s shoulder. “Oh.” He scoffed.
John kept looking. “Well, erm, Cabinet reshuffle?”
“Nothing of importance?” Sherlock tossed the harpoon between his hands.
“Haven’t heard from Y/N yet, no.” John quipped, smiling smugly.
Sherlock gave his flatmate a venomous stare. He hadn’t seen or heard from her in 272 hours. Not that that was what was bothering him.
No. He thought.
No, it was the lack of important cases. The lack of intellectual exercise.
Sherlock slammed the end of the harpoon into the floor. “Oh God!” He shouted, frustrated.
“John,” His tone shifted. “I need some. Get me some.”
“I just told you, Y/N isn’t back yet.” John teased, laughing at his own joke.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant. Get me some.”
“No.” John said, growing serious. “No. Cold turkey we agreed, no matter what.” John returned to the paper. “Anyway you’ve paid everyone off. Nobody within a two-mile radius will sell you any.”
“Stupid idea.” Sherlock grumbled. “Whose idea was that?”
John cleared his throat. Cursing himself inwardly, Sherlock decided to change tactics.
“Mrs. Hudson!” He bellowed before beginning to wreck the place, throwing papers and opening boxes and drawers in search of cigarettes.
“Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well. Don’t give up now!” John scolded.
Sherlock continued his search. “Tell me where they are! Please, tell me. Please.”
“Can’t help, sorry.”
Sherlock turned to bribery. “I’ll tell you next week’s lottery numbers.”
John laughed at that.
“It was worth a try.” Sherlock muttered.
The curly-haired addict had begun rummaging around in the fireplace when Mrs. Hudson arrived with her signature “Yoo-hoo.”
“My secret supply, what have you done with my secret supply?” He demanded.
“Eh?” She asked.
“Cigarettes,” He was growing even more impatient. “What have you done with them? Where are they?”
“You never let me touch your things!” Mrs. Hudson protested. “Oh chance would be a fine thing.”
“I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.” Sherlock spat.
“I’m not.” Mrs. Hudson agreed.
“Argh!” Sherlock yelled, barrelling back across the room. And grabbed his harpoon again. Mrs. Hudson looked to John, who used not-so-subtle hand code to give her an idea.
“How about a nice cuppa and perhaps you could put away your harpoon?” She suggested gently.
“I need something stronger than tea. Seven percent stronger.” He whirled around maniacally and leveled the harpoon at his landlady. “You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.”
“Pardon?” She asked.
“Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking.” He began to deduce.
“Sherlock…” John warned.
“Thumbnail. Tiny traces of foil.” Sherlock continued. “Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don’t we.” He inhaled deeply. “Mmmm Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website, you should look it up!”
“Please!” Mrs. Hudson begged.
“Don’t pin your hopes from that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee, he’s got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about.”
“Sherlock!” John shouted.
“Well, nobody except me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t!” Mrs. Hudson declared shrilly, before fleeing Sherlock’s scrutiny.
Sherlock jumped into his chair, pulled his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth in the seat.
“What the bloody hell was that all about?” John demanded.
“You don’t understand.”
“Go after her and apologize.”
Sherlock raised his head and stared at the doctor. “Apologize?”
John nodded. “Mm hm.”
“Oh, John, I envy you so much.” Sherlock sighed.
John straightened up. “You envy me?”
“Your mind, it’s so placid, straight forward, barely used.” Sherlock said. “Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!” He yelled.
“You’ve just solved one!” John lost his temper. “By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!”
“Oh good lord.”
The boys turned to face the voice coming from the doorway. Y/N observed them from the doorway, leaning with her hip against the wood. Sherlock stood suddenly, but didn’t go to her. He merely stared.
“I leave for two minutes and you’re harpooning things. I thought you promised not to do anything fun without me!” She teased, taking off her coat.
John got up and gave her a big brotherly hug. “How was Kent?”
“Lovely.” Y/N smiled. “Not here though.”
Sherlock hadn’t moved from his spot, he was still frozen, staring. Y/N didn’t think twice about it, as she was distracted on how the white of his dress shirt brought out the blue of his eyes. Were his eyes always that striking? She’d missed him so much while she was away.
Y/N shook herself away from that train of thought and reverted back to the comfort of cold observation.
She addressed Sherlock with a knowing grin. “You haven’t slept in days, probably case hopping based on the conversation you were having with John. One of them involved a dog. You really want a cigarette, and you’ve just been searching for some, but we both know you won’t find any. Have you checked the website for cases yet today?”
The tall man folded his arms and mirrored her smile. “You solved your case successfully, but you were bored half to death in the debrief that went late into last night. Your case also involved a dog. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, probably lunch, and you’re itching to make a cup of tea since you skipped one at your apartment in the rush to get here after waking up late.” Sherlock finished, before gesturing to the kitchen.
Y/N obliged. While she put the kettle on, Sherlock picked up his laptop and handed it to John.
“‘Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,’” He paraphrased. “‘I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?’”
“Bluebell?” John asked.
“A rabbit, John!” Sherlock explained, becoming agitated again. “Ah, but there’s more. Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous. ‘Like a fairy,’ according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked. No sign of a forced entry.”
“Freaky.” Y/N called sarcastically from the kitchen.
“This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there’s an escaped rabbit!” Sherlock ordered John.
“Are you serious?”
Y/N walked back in and perched on the arm of John’s chair with her tea.
“It’s this or Cluedo.” Sherlock declared.
Y/N laughed, but John paled and got up, returning the laptop to the desk. “We are never playing that again.”
“Why not?” Sherlock asked.“Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock. That’s why.” John explained.
“Yeah but there’s no real deductions to be done, it’s all elimination and chance.” Y/N offered.
“It was the only possible solution.” Sherlock argued.
“It’s not in the rules.”
“Well then the rules are wrong!” Sherlock shouted.
Ring.
Everyone paused.
“A single ring.” Said John.
“Maximum pressure, just under the half second.” Added Sherlock.
Y/N smiled. “Client.”
~
“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.”
That single sentence, uttered by one Henry Knight, compelled Sherlock Holmes to take on the mysterious case from Devon.
The young man was haunted by the violent death of his father one night on the moor, years ago. Knight described an enormous creature with red eyes and black fur tearing his dad apart. He was convinced the creature had come from the Baskerville lab.
The night before his visit to Baker Street, he ventured back into the hollow where his father met his end. What he found drove him to seek out the help of Sherlock Holmes.
“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.”
The twelve o’clock train from London to Devon rattled along its tracks. Sherlock and Y/N sat next to each other with John in the seat across from them. John spent the first twenty minutes of the trip checking out a lady sitting on the other side of the car before getting up to go flirt with her. Sherlock was glued to his phone, doing research for the case. Y/N leaned her head against the window and watched the scenery fly past. Still exhausted from the late night debrief, the motion of the train and muffled humming of the tracks had her drifting off in no time.
“The experiments at Baskerville…” “Top secret…” “Genetic mutation…”
Sherlock paused his online article frenzy as he felt something touch his shoulder. Y/N had shifted in her sleep. Drawn to the warmth of another person, her head rested comfortably on his shoulder as she sighed.
Sherlock froze.
He felt the calming pattern of her breathing. He looked at her hands. He could smell her shampoo. He wanted to know what she was dreaming about.
Sherlock supported Y/N with his left hand while he relaxed into the seat. He moved closer to his companion and turned towards her a bit. He gently settled her back against him, this time with his right arm around her, and her head resting on his shoulder.
He watched her for a moment, tracing her face with his gaze. He gently touched the fading white line above her eyebrow where she’d been cut after the explosion on Baker Street.
Something inside of him twinged at the memory of that night. She’d been so lifeless, bleeding on the floor. He remembered crawling to her and saying her name and holding her in fear. Sherlock’s hand lingered on the side of her face.
Y/N hummed in her sleep and she shifted slightly.
Sherlock dropped his hand, frowning.
What was he doing? They had a case to work on. He picked up his phone and returned to his research.
Across the train car, Dr. John Watson turned back to the woman he’d been flirting with, grinning from ear to ear.
~
The moor was truly beautiful. The countryside stretched for what seemed like forever as the three friends drove through Dartmoor. Sherlock pulled the car over near a large pile of rocks so that everyone could stretch their legs and get oriented with the countryside.
Sherlock scaled the tallest conglomeration of stone so that he could survey the land better. Y/N couldn’t help but think how heroic he appeared, standing dramatically atop the world with his long black coat.The wind picked up, blowing her hair away from her face. Y/N closed her eyes and tilted her head up, enjoying the feeling of cold air and bright sun on her face. Sherlock watched her from his perch. He smiled.
John shook open the map of Devon.
“There’s Baskerville.” He pointed to the cluster of concrete buildings ahead of them on the right. “Er, that’s Grimpen Village.” He pointed behind them. “So that must be,” He looked ahead and to the left. “Yes, Dewer’s Hollow.”
Sherlock pointed to a nearby field. “What’s that?”
John grabbed his binoculars to get a closer look. “A minefield? Technically, Baskerville’s an army base, so they’ve always been keen to keep people out.”
“Clearly.” Said Sherlock.
The rented jeep pulled into Grimpen Village as a “Monster Walk” tour group was disbanding.
“Right, three tours a day. Tell your friends, tell anyone.” Said the guide, standing near a poster warning “Beware of the hound!”
“Don’t be strangers.” The young man said to his group. “And remember, stay away from the moor at night, if you value your lives!”
The tourists laughed as the three companions entered The Cross Keys Inn. Sherlock wandered about while Y/N and John reserved their rooms. One of the owners, a friendly bearded Scotsman handed them two sets of keys across the bar.
“Sorry we couldn’t get you all separate rooms. All this hound business has us pretty full up. I’ve got you a double and a single, though.”
“It’s fine.” John assured him. “There you go.” He handed the man some cash.
“Oh, ta. I’ll just get your change.” The Scotsman turned around to open the register.
“Ta.” Y/N replied with a smile.
John stared at the pile of receipts on the counter with a perplexed expression. He tore one away and handed the piece of paper to Y/N under the table as the bartender returned with their change.
“Oh, there you go.” He said, unaware of the missing bill for a large order of raw meat.
That’s odd, Y/N thought. They’re every proud of being a vegetarian restaurant.
“I couldn’t help noticing on the map of the moor, a skull and crossbones?” John inquired.
“Oh, that.”
“Pirates?” John joked.
“Ah, no.” The man answered. “The Great Grimpen Minefield they call it.”
“Oh, right.”
“It’s not what you think.” the Scotsman explained. “It’s the Baskerville testing site. It’s been going for eighty odd years. I’m not sure anyone really knows what’s there any more.”
“Explosives?” Y/N guessed.
“Oh, not just explosives.” The man warned. “Break into that place and if you’re lucky, you just get blown up, so they say. In case you’re planning a nice wee stroll.”
“Ta, I’ll remember.” John said.
“Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound.” The man laughed. “Did you see the show? The, er, documentary?”
“Yeah, we just saw it very recently, actually.” Y/N said.
“God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell.”
“Ever seen it? The hound?” John asked.
“Me? Oh no, no.” The Scotsman pointed outside to the monster walk guide. “Fletcher has. He runs the walks for the tourists, you know. He’s seen it.”
Sherlock was stood by the door, listening in to their conversation. Y/N sent him a look and together they went outside to speak with Fletcher the monster hunter.
The young man sat at one of the outdoor tables, finishing up a phone call. Sherlock grabbed an abandoned pint off of a nearby table
“Mind if we join you?” Sherlock asked once Fletcher had hung up.
Fletcher shrugged and gestured to the seats next to him.
“It’s not true, is it, you haven’t actually seen this hound thing?” Sherlock scoffed.
“Are you from the papers?” Fletcher asked, suspicious.
“No, no.” Y/N assured him. “We’re just curious. Have you seen it?”
“Maybe.” Fletcher replied.
“Got any proof?” Sherlock asked.
“Why would I tell you if I did?” Fletcher made to leave. “Excuse me.”
Y/N sighed. “I suppose you win the bet, then, Sherlock.” She said dejectedly.
“Bet?” Fletcher asked, suddenly interested. “What bet?”
“Oh, he bet me fifty quid that you could not prove you’d seen the hound.” Y/N lied. Sherlock nodded, smiling at her.
Fletcher grinned. “Well, you’re going to lose your money, mate.”
“Yeah?” Sherlock challenged.
“Yeah. I’ve seen it.” Fletcher declared. “Only about a month ago. Up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind, couldn’t make much out.”
“I see, no witnesses, I suppose.” Sherlock said doubtfully.
“No, but-”
“Never are.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“No, wait.” Fletcher pulled something up on his phone. “There.” It was blurry photo of something brown.“Is that it? It’s not exactly proof, is it?” Sherlock laughed. “Sorry, Y/N, I win.”
“Wait, wait, that’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know.” Fletcher protested. “To the Hollow. Gives them a bad sort of feeling.”
“Oooh is it haunted?” Sherlock mocked. “Is that supposed to convince me?”
“Nah, don’t be stupid! Nothing like that. But I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville escaped.”
“Like a clone?” Y/N asked, skeptically.
“Maybe.” Fletcher said. “God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could spit.”
“Is that the best you’ve got?” Sherlock challenged.
Fletcher lowered his voice. “I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing, but he never showed up. Well, not ‘till late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. ‘I’ve seen things today Fletcher,’ he said, ‘that I never want to see again. Terrible things.’ He’d been sent to some secret army place. Porton Down, maybe. Maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else. In the labs there, the really secret labs, he said he’d seen terrible things. ‘Rats as big as dogs,’ he said. And dogs, dogs the size of horses.”
Fletcher pulled a mold out of his bag. It was of an enormous pawprint.
Y/N sat back, surprised.
“I believe we said fifty?”
Sherlock pulled out his wallet and handed her the money absently. His brain was clearly working at top speed. The detective stood without another word and strode towards the rented jeep. Y/N smiled at Fletcher before jumping up and following Sherlock.
“What level security clearance are you, Y/N?” Sherlock asked her suddenly.
“Two.” She answered. “I don’t think that’s high enough to get us into Baskerville.”
“Not a problem.” Sherlock declared, getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car.
The sun sunk lower in the sky as they made their way to the military lab. Clouds rolled across the sky as wind blew along the moor. Y/N grew nervous as they approached the gate. Barbed wire sat atop high chain-link fences and soldiers with guns and dogs stood guarding the place. A middle-aged soldier held a hand out to stop them as the car approached.
“Pass please.” He asked.
Sherlock calmly handed him an ID. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” The soldier walked away to check it.
“You got ID for Baskerville? How?” John asked quietly.
“It’s not specific to this place. It’s my brother’s.” Sherlock replied. “Access all areas. I, erm,” He cleared his throat. “Acquired it ages ago. Just in case.”
Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course you did.” She whispered. “We’re going to get caught.”
“No we won’t!” Sherlock insisted. “Well, not just yet.”
“Caught in five minutes.” John agreed with Y/N. “‘Hi, we just thought we’d have a wander around your top secret weapons base.’ ‘Really? Great. Come on in, kettle’s just boiled.’ That’s if we don’t get shot.”
The gate began to open. “Clear!”
“Thanks very much.” The soldier said, handing the pass back to Sherlock.
“Thank you.” Sherlock intoned with a smile.
“Mycroft’s name literally opens doors.” John said, impressed.
“He is the British Government.” Y/N joked.
“I reckon we’ve got about twenty minutes before they realize something is wrong.” Sherlock estimated as they pulled up in front of the main lab block. A captain led them past a few blockades and scientists and soldiers walking around. A young officer jumped out of a vehicle and addressed them.
“What is it? Are we in trouble?” He asked,
Sherlock held his chin high. “Are we in trouble, sir.” He corrected.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“You were expecting us?” Sherlock asked, sounding important.
“Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security.” The soldier introduced himself. “Is there something wrong, sir?”
“I hope not, Corporal, I hope not.” Sherlock said.
“It’s just we don’t get inspected her. You see, sir.” Lyons went on. “It just doesn’t happen.”