How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 63

(Alice’s POV, DAY TIME, THE MOORS: )

                Sherlock was back on the stony outcrop again, staring towards Baskerville. His eyes flicked between the complex and Dewer’s Hollow as he tried to make sense of what happened the previous night, and then he turned and looked back towards Grimpen Village. I was on the ground, waiting impatiently with my hands in my pockets. He finally came down and walked past me quickly. I groaned and followed.

(HENRY’S HOUSE)

                Sherlock knocked on the door, already preparing his ‘cheerful attitude’ for Henry. I, of course, was expected to do the same. As soon as Henry opened the door, Sherlock surged though, being loudly cheerful as I expected.

 “Morning!” He greeted happily. I plastered on a fake smile and followed him in. He was about to head straight for the kitchen but suddenly turned around and clasped Henry by the shoulders, almost knocking me over in the process. “Oh, how are you feeling?” He asked. Henry looked terrible. He clearly hadn’t slept much the previous night, and hadn’t even showered. His hands were shaking and he was at a loss on balance. Sherlock ducked his head down to get a better look into his face.

 “I’m... I didn’t sleep very well.” Henry stammered exhaustedly.

 “Clearly…” I mumbled crankily. Henry looked at me with a clueless expression. Sherlock looked at me, his eyes promising death but the stupid smile still on his face.

 “That’s a shame. Shall I make you some coffee?” Sherlock suddenly offered. He looked up at the ceiling above the door and points. “Oh look, you’ve got damp!” He announced casually. He grinned falsely at him until Henry turned his head to look, then dropped the smile and turned and walked away towards the kitchen. Henry looked at me, pointing at him in question. I shook my head in response. He sighed and let me go first, putting a hand on the small of my back as we entered. I found it strange but didn’t protest.

 “Listen ... last night.” Henry began, his hand still on me. Sherlock gave him a horrifying attempt at a friendly smile as he took the top off the coffee tin, glancing down at his arm that was on me. His eyes narrowed in the slightest.  “Why did you say you hadn’t seen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but...” He trailed off again. Sherlock had been dumping spoonfuls of coffee into the mugs without even looking, his eyes locked on Henry’s, and now he slammed the coffee tin down onto the surface and stepped closer to us, his eyes back to their normal intensity more or less.

 “Hound.” He said simply, looking to both of us for a reaction.

 “What?” Henry asked innocently.

 “Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?” Sherlock clarified.

 “Why – what do you mean?” Henry asked again, looking at me quickly.

 “It’s odd, isn’t it? Strange choice of words – archaic. It’s why I took the case. ‘Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.’ Why say ‘hound’?”

 “I don’t know! I...” Henry began, feeling threatened.

 “Actually, I’d better skip the coffee.” Sherlock interrupted. He flared out of the kitchen. Henry sighed wearily, looking at me. I gave him an apologetic look and began following Sherlock. Before I could leave the room, Henry had quickly kissed me on the cheek. I spaced out but continued walking.

 Later, Sherlock and I were walking back through the village but we stopped as Sherlock saw John in the church graveyard, sitting on the steps of a war memorial and looking through the notes in his notebook. We went through the kissing gate and walked along the path towards John, who looked up as he heard us approach. His expression became uncomfortable as he tucked his notebook into his pocket. Sherlock stopped in front of him, also looking awkward.