Devil Take The Hindmost •Sequel To Life Is But A Dream•

•The Hounds Of Baskerville: Part Four•

Chapter Fifteen: Baskerville

I stumbled down the stairs with my backpack and out into the morning breeze of London. Sherlock and John preferred a suitcase though. Every step was one of dread.

A bang on the cafe window made me jump. The three of us looked to see Mrs. Hudson and a man screaming at each other.

"Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster." John thought out loud.
"Wait until she finds out about the one in Islamabad." Sherlock remarked, and opened the door to the cab. I too opened my door, and glanced left to see him.

The glance we shared opened the wound of my broken heart, but I quickly looked away from the kind eyes of Wyatt Roman cycling. Closing my eyes and lowering my head, I took in a breath and got in the cab. Before I knew it, my music was plugged in and I was immersed into my operatic world.
*

My legs dangled from the rock. In front of me was a field of green, trees here and there. I could spot a town not too far. Perhaps that's where this ridiculous case was.
"That's Baskerville." I heard John say from below. "That's Grimpen Village." He added, I'm assuming about the settlement behind us. I didn't glance back though. My head began to fall, and I found myself glancing at my fingers.
"...technically Baskerville's an army base so I guess they've been keen too keep people out." John explained.

"Army..." I repeated under my breath.
Soon their words began to fade as my thoughts took me back in time.
*
Less than a second. Maybe half a second or a quarter or sixteenth. Either way I knew what I had done.
Almost immediately after I had committed that act I threw the knife across the room, and it clattered against the wall. My arm burned as tears flowed out of me. I tried to muffle my sobs with my pillow, but I guess some things need to be heard. My right hand refused to be lifted from my wrist as I decided what to do. I needed John right then. To comfort me. To hold me and to guide me. I hated my mother for manipulating me into doing this.

At the same time, I felt something. Like the demons inside me were silenced for a moment. That didn't stop them from coming back and snapping me into reality.

I pulled out my phone, and with my shaking hands, called John. I just needed to hear his voice.

"Hel-hello?" I heard a soft, but panicked voice answer.
"John." I mustered through my cries.
"A-aspen! Listen I can't talk r- we're about to-" he said, but then the line went dead.

"John? John!" I yelled, and tried calling him back. No answer. Again. No answer. Not even a ring.

Silence fell, and I was alone. I knew it too. Dread filled me so much it overflowed in the form of salty tears. The only person who kept me up, my father figure, now he had left me. I shut my blue eyes and a single tear fell.

'Maybe that knife isn't so bad after all...'
*
"Aspen!" I heard my uncle call. I then realise that I am still sitting whilst him and Sherlock told at the bottom.

My hands were shaking from the memory, and I pulled down my sleeves.

I hopped down from the rock, snapping my dozy legs into order. John and Sherlock were easily ten paces in front of me. At that moment I just didn't want to see his face, for it brought back sadness.

For a change, I was in the back seat as Sherlock drove and John was by his side. This gifted me with leg room to which I extended them and tried to relax.

I waited for a moment when we finally stopped at an inn. John and Sherlock went inside, hopefully getting a room. I looked out my window and saw a young man scaring the tourists with a wolf mask. Maybe it was better inside.
The air out of the car was crisp and comforting, allowing me to get the air of London out of my lungs. Shortly after this encounter I was inside a cozy lodge, where John stood at the counter. I passed Sherlock on my way out, but still went to my uncle.

"Sorry. We couldn't do a double room for you three." An Irish man apologised to John.
"Oh that's um- okay." He stuttered. "I couldn't help but notice the skull and crossbones. Pirates?" He added, changing the subject.
"No, the Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty-odd years. I'm not sure if anyone knows what's there." He explained. I then took a seat at the bar, listening intently on the subject.

"Uh, explosives?" John asked.
"Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and – if you're lucky – you just get blown up, so they say ... in case you're planning on a nice wee stroll." he assured.
"I'll remember." John said.
"Well, this place keeps getting better and better, Uncle." I cut in.
"Aye, lass. And it nuggets up the tourism a bit. So thank god for that demon hound." The man joked. "Did you see that documentary?"

"Quite recently, yep." John answered, and I could feel him glance at me.
"Well, God bless Henry Knight and his hound from hell." The bartender exclaimed.

I couldn't believe this man. Or the tourists here. Sure, Sherlock had brought John and I here to investigate Henry's case, but I felt like this town was exploiting the poor boy's trauma. It was easily noticed out front that they would be less popular than they are if it weren't for Henry.

Another man soon came in, next to the bartender, and began chatting up with John. I cut in every once in a while, but soon it came to a stop when it was clear the two were in a relationship.
"Um, got any crisps?" John eventually asked once one of them asked if Sherlock was a 'snorer.'

Before long, John and I walked out, a coffee in his hand and a cocoa in mine. He had gotten me one if I promised not to complain anymore about the trip... to his face, he meant.
"Be right back. Just have to make a quick call." He said, and walked off.

I sighed. This was going to be a long weekend.