The Question of Faith in Baskerville

Chapter Five: Tales of a Hound

Grimpen Village appeared to be like any other English country settlement. A cross of being stuck in some past century while also struggling to move into the mid-twentieth century. Of course, John kept such thoughts to himself, considering Sherlock thought his "poetry" funny. They passed a couple residents, a handful of tourists. The residents seemed happy for the extra tourism while some were getting tired of all the comings and goings. From the tourists, John got impressions of curiosity, even the anticipation of being terrified.

"Anything of note, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing," John answered. "Just what I would assume to be normal for a town being flooded with tourists and other outsiders. Curiosity seekers and thrill seekers. The sort of people most likely drawn to newly announced conspiracy fodder."

Sherlock only nodded as he pulled up to park at Cross Keys Inn.

As they both climbed out, John caught the tail-end of a little speech a young man was making. "Three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone!" Walking past, John saw a folding sign with a wolf hunched and snarling down from a hill painted in black and "Beware the Hound!" So, the young man was apparently a tour guide of sorts who potentially showed people where alleged sightings had taken place. "Don't be strangers," the guide continued. "And remember, stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!" Although the words themselves should have been worrying, they were said almost playfully. Like, "I know this could be terrifying, hey it is terrifying, but let's make it feel like more of a joke so that we can actually sleep at night."

Sherlock was readjusting his coat after their drive, finishing his fiddling by popping up the collar.

John rolled his eyes. It was one thing to do it around Molly to bring attention to some of his more notable features, but for some reason it grated on John when his friend just did it randomly.

"It's cold," Sherlock said, as though it would make John feel better.

"Just, behave while I sort out a room for us," John said.

"When have I ever not?" Sherlock asked.

"You really don't want me to answer that," John said. He jolted as he heard a woman shriek. But a second later, it was replaced by relieved laughter. Most likely a jump scare.

John took in the registrar desk that appeared to also double as part of the bar. He did a doubletake at the clock before checking his watch. It was just edging past 2:30, but the wall clock claimed that it was 6:30. He shook his head before tapping the bell.

A man, built like a lumberjack with black, lightly salted hair, came out from a back room. "Good day, mates," he greeted. "Gary. How may I help ya?"

"We'd like a room please," John said. "Not quite sure how long we'll be in."

"I'll see what we have," Gary said, looking through the registry.

Sherlock already bored with the interaction started wandering about the pub.

John looked about from where he stood. He briefly raised an eyebrow at a map showing a skull-and-crossbones sign on the moor. Pirates or the Baskerville minefields, he'd guess.

"It seems that we only have twin rooms available," Gary said.

"Perfectly alright," John assured him. What else would he and Sherlock use anyway?

"Well, there ya are," Gary said, handing over a couple keys. "Sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys."

John stiffened a fraction. "That's fine. We-we're not—" He stopped himself at the "knowing" smile on Gary's face. Of course it was that annoying pairing thing. He and Sherlock were flat mates. Yes, they were close. Yes, there was love between them. But it was fully platonic. If it was anything more, it was a brother thing. Unfortunately, no one ever listened to him, and Sherlock didn't seem to care.