The Question of Faith in Baskerville

Chapter Six: Breaking into Baskerville or Proof Mycroft is Getting Slow

Sherlock kept up his sulky exterior as he headed over to the Land Rover. But inside, he smiled.

It had been months since John had sat down with a pint of anything stronger than coffee. But there he had sat with a pint of beer. True, even before he started this religious phase, he didn't drink too much, most likely because he was determined not to be accused of being a drunkard like his sister. Or being a reliable role model could also have been a likely thing. But the fact that John had finally had a pint today proved something to Sherlock. Being a Christian did not make John immune to old vices, and the old John was still there. He was buried underneath that Christian exterior but still there. If nothing else, John still made mistakes.

Now, he just had to see if he could draw the rest of the old John out. Surely there would be an opportunity during this trip. Away from London. Away from the listening ears and spying eyes of John's church. Why hadn't he thought of getting them away from London sooner to get his old John back?

He gave no hint of his thoughts as John joined him in the rental car. It certainly wouldn't do any good to inadvertently show his hand. John possibly already suspected what Sherlock was doing. He couldn't confirm it by giving away solid proof.

So, Sherlock remained quiet as they headed out for Baskerville. It wasn't until they were halfway to the facility that Sherlock noticed . . . John wasn't gloating about the fifty pounds he'd just won because of Sherlock's claim. Yes, John was pleased to have the extra money, but he was being a silent victor.

Well, maybe that was better than the old John.

John forced himself to remain calm as they approached the top secret facility. He was not looking forward to this. It put him on edge. Stop it, he told himself. Sherlock probably has some brilliant plan. A note from Mycroft. Some credentials from some past work. Everything will be fine.

Then they had arrived. John was a little too aware of all the safety precautions in place to keep people out. The security cameras. Military dogs. Highly trained soldiers with top of the line firearms.

Sherlock stopped at the raised hand of a security guard.

The same guard came round to Sherlock's window. "Pass, please," he said.

Sherlock casually reached into his coat pocket and handed him a pass.

"Thank you," the guard said, walking away in order to process it.

Security with a German Shepherd walked round the car.

John knew he would regret asking, but he needed to focus on something to calm his nerves. That beer hadn't been enough. "You've got ID for Baskerville," he said keeping his voice low. "How?"

"It's not specific to this place," Sherlock said, equally low. "It's my brother's. Access all areas. I, um," he silently cleared his throat, "acquired it ages ago, just in case."

John fought to keep his reaction internal. It would do no good to be caught now. It would be worse to be caught inside. And Sherlock was actually a hint nervous! "Brilliant," he said quietly. If Sherlock was nervous, that really meant they were diving in over their heads.

"What's the matter?" Sherlock asked.

"We'll get caught," John answered, somehow managing to tense while appearing relaxed at the same time.

"No, we won't," Sherlock said. "Well, not just yet."

"Caught in five minutes," John predicted before continuing sarcastically. "'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.'

"'Really? Great! Come in, kettle's just boiled.'

"That's if we don't get shot."

"Clear," the dog handler said.