The Question of Faith in Baskerville

Chapter Seven: Finding the Pieces

John barely made out Barrymore cursing as he demanded what was going on. John couldn't answer, had no answer that would help.

"It's alright, Major," a new voice entered the fray. "I know exactly who these gentlemen are." Dr. Frankland had joined them, standing partially between John and the major.

"You do?" Barrymore asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Dr. Frankland answered. "I'm getting a little slow on faces, but Mr. Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place."

"Ah," Sherlock started, "well—"

"Good to see you again, Mycroft," Dr. Frankland said almost overtop Sherlock as he held out a hand.

John fought to keep his face neutral and his breathing even as Sherlock shook Dr. Frankland's hand.

Dr. Frankland continued, "I had the honor of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in . . ." he thought a moment, "Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna," Sherlock naturally corrected him.

"Vienna," Dr. Frankland agreed, "that's it." He turned back to Major Barrymore. "This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake."

Only after Barrymore nodded to Lyons and Lyons turned the alarms off did John feel as though he could breathe properly again.

As the hall returned to normal, Barrymore glared at Frankland. "On your head be it, Doctor Frankland," he warned.

The white-haired doctor merely chuckled, waving Lyons off. "I'll show them out, Corporal."

"Very well, sir," Lyons said.

John followed close after Sherlock as the door loudly disengaged once again. He wanted to shake himself. Wanted to banish the Darkness that was now lingering on the edges of his consciousness. It was a familiar Darkness. A Darkness that for many years he hadn't recognized until he had been freed from it. Now, it was lingering, waiting to pounce.

But Dr. Frankland was still with them. John couldn't talk it out. He couldn't pull out his phone to text or call someone who could help him. So he forced himself to keep it pulled together as they made their way into the open air.

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

"This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?" Dr. Frankland asked.

How did this man know about Henry? What was his purpose for asking? But John's sensors and nerves were in such a jumble he couldn't get a reading. What had happened? What was the Darkness doing to him?

"I thought so," Dr. Frankland said, apparently taking their silence as confirmation. "I knew he wanted help, but I didn't realize he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!"

John winced. That was a bit too loud considering how close they still were to the main building.

"Oh, don't worry," Dr. Frankland said, unaffected though quieter. "I know who you really are. I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though."

"That wasn't my hat," Sherlock said.

Dr. Frankland turned to John. "I hardly recognize him without the hat."

John fought back a chuckle as Sherlock repeated, a bit sharper now, "It wasn't my hat."

"I love the blog too, Doctor Watson," Dr. Frankland said.

"Oh, cheers," John said, allowing himself to become momentarily distracted.

"The, er, the Pink thing . . . and that one about the aluminum crutch."