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Chapter 3 - The Hounds of Baskerville

"Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?" John asks as Henry lights a cigarette.

Henry takes a drag of the cigarette and exhales.

"I know. That my..." He stops short when Sherlock stands and steps close to Henry, breathing the smoke in deeply. Sherlock moves back and sits down again, breathing out.

"That must be a..." John says, trying to concentrate. "Quite a trauma. Have you ever thought maybe you invented this story, this-"

Sherlock moves forward to waft up more smoke through his nose right after Henry exhales.

"To account for it?" John continues.

Henry looks away from Sherlock and back at John. "That's what Doctor Mortimer says."

"Who?"

"His therapist." Sherlock and I answer simultaneously.

"My therapist." Henry answers at the same time.

"Obviously." Sherlock says, nodding his head to John.

"Louise Mortimer." Henry says. "She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

"And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry?" Sherlock asks. "You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?"

"It's a strange place, the Hollow." Henry says. "Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Yes, if I wanted poetry I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends – much funnier."

John heaves a sigh, I glance at him. He might actually kill Sherlock this time.

"What did you see?" Sherlock asks Henry.

"Footprints. On the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.

Sherlock leans back in his seat, seeming exasperated.

"Man's or a woman's?" John asks.

"Neither, they were-"

"Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?" Sherlock interrupts.

"Yes, but they were-"

"No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight, thank you for smoking."

"No, but what about the footprints?"

"Oh, they're probably paw prints. Could be anything, therefore, nothing." He leans forward and flicks his fingers at Henry, indicating for him to leave. "Off to Devon with you, have a cream tea on me." He stands and buttons his jacket before heading towards the kitchen, Henry turns to look at him.

"Mr. Holmes, they were footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Sherlock stops short, turns, comes to the kitchen doorway, and looks at Henry.

"Say that again."

"I found the footprints, they were-"

"No, no, no. Your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic...hound." Henry repeats.

"I'll take the case." He says immediately.

"Sorry, what?" John asks, I look at Sherlock.

Sherlock glues his hands together and raise them to his mouth, he paces in the room.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it's very promising." Sherlock says.

"No, no, no, sorry, what?" John asks. "A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they're very promising?"

"It's nothing to do with the footprints." Sherlock says, stopping in his tracks. "As ever, John, you weren't listening. Baskerville – ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely." John answers. "It's very hush-hush."

"Sounds like a good place to start."

"Ah!" Henry says. "You'll come down, then?"

"No, I can't leave London at this moment. Far too busy. Don't worry, putting my best men onto it." He looks at me.

"N-" I start.

"Actually, just man." Sherlock corrects, looking at John, walking over to him and patting his shoulder.

"What are you talking about, you're busy? You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining-"

"Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" He looks at me. "Kate, you're coming with me." He looks at Henry, who raises an eyebrow at the missing glow-in-the-dark rabbit statement. "NATO's in uproar."

"Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?"

Sherlock puts a regretful expression his face and shakes his head sadly, John groans.

"Okay." He says, standing, Sherlock smiles smugly. "Okay."

I reach over to the skull next to me and lift it from the mantelpiece, I take the packet of cigarettes from underneath it and toss it to Sherlock, who tosses it over his shoulder.

"I don't need those anymore, I'm going to Dartmoor." He walks out of the living room. "You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later."

"Er, sorry, so you are coming?"

Sherlock walks back into the room. "20 year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

Sherlock holds the taxi door open for John as he lugs a few bags out onto the street, we can easily hear Mrs. Hudson shouting at Mr. Chatterjee.

"...cruise together." She continues. "You had no intention of taking me on it..." She hurls something at the closed door, John winces as it bounces off the glass.

"Looks like Mrs. Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster." John says.

"Mm. Wait 'til she finds out about the one in Islamabad."

I smile slightly before we climb into the cab.

"Paddington Station, please." Sherlock tells the driver.