Hazel Watson has been missing for eight years. The last time John saw his little sister was in Afghanistan before she got an emergency call and left. Two months later she turned up MIA. So when Hazel just appears out of the blue renting 221 C from M...
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Hazel's POV
After being stuck in a car with the boys for what seemed like hours, we finally stopped to figure out exactly where we were. Sherlock managed to climb to the top of a large rock with me right behind. I took a step forward, almost reaching the top when I felt some rocks slip out from underneath me. I let out a squeal when Sherlock grabbed my arm, pulling me up.
"Thanks." I say breathlessly.
He gives a curt nod and looks around at the scenery.
"There's Baskerville." John states, pointing towards the buildings ahead of us. He looks behind and points again. "That's Grimpen Village. So that must be, yeah, that's Dewer's Hollow." He confirmed after looking at his map.
"What's that?" Sherlock asks, pointing to the space in between the complex and the Hollow.
"That would be a minefield." I inform, lowering the binoculars from my eyes. "Makes sense, considering Baskerville is an army base. Keeps the people out." I say shrugging my shoulders.
"Clearly." Sherlock remarks.
"Dibs on driving!" I shout as I began to climb down the boulder.
~~~~~ "Stop complaining, my driving is fine." I say, closing the door and rolling my eyes.
"Nearly running into a boulder is not fine, Hazel." John argued, slamming his door shut.
"You're alive, aren't you?" I sassed, placing my hands on my hips.
"Barely." John mumbled, earning a hard glare from me.
The three of us walk past a tour group who had stopped in front of a sign that said in bold letters "BEWARE THE HOUND" above a picture of a hound. I roll my eyes and notice Sherlock popping the collar of his coat up.
"I'm cold." He reasoned after seeing my eyebrow lift up.
"Mmm, sure." I say sarcastically, shaking my head a bit.
We walk into the inn, John heading straight to the barman to get us checked in. Sherlock and I prowl around the pub, looking at the customers and restaurant. We take off in different directions, hoping to find something the other doesn't notice. I feel people gazing at me and feel someone grab my arm.
"Ello pretty thing." A drunk man slurred, gripping my wrist tightly. "You by your lonesome? I could use the company."
"She's with me." Sherlock hissed lowly, his arm snaking around my waist. "I suggest you let her go."
"Or what? You going to do something about it?" The man laughed, his grip loosening. I grab his finger and pull it back until I hear him cry out in pain. "You bitch!"
"He's not the one you should be worried about." I threaten quietly.
I let go as I watch the fear fill his eyes, giving a wicked smirk before being guided away. We head to another part of the pub where Sherlock has to duck to avoid the archway. He goes to a table and something catches his eye before he dismisses it altogether. I turn to head out but he grabs ahold of my elbow gently.
