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Chapter 5 - The Hounds of Baskerville

The doorbell rings.

"Client." Sherlock says immediately.

"Dartmoor," A man's voice says. "It's been a place of myth and legend, but there is something else lurking out here – something very real? Because Dartmoor's also home to one of the government's most secret of operations...the chemical and biological weapons research centre which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the second World War, there've been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments – genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is – are all of them still inside?"

The footage switches to our client, Henry Knight.

"I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor. It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father."

Sherlock picks up the remote and switches the TV off.

"I've seen this before." Sherlock says. "What did you see?"

Henry points to the TV. "I...I was just about to say."

"In a TV interview, I prefer to do my own editing."

"Yes. Sorry, yes of course." Henry says. "Excuse me." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper napkin, wiping his nose on it.

"In your own time." John says.

"But quite quickly." Sherlock adds.

Henry lowers the napkin. "Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock doesn't answer for a few moments, I look at him. "Sherlock?"

"I've heard of it." Sherlock replies.

"We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

John and I glance at one another.

"There's a place. It's...it's sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow." He looks at Sherlock, as if he's supposed to know what it means. "That's an ancient name for the Devil."

"Okay..." I say.

"Did you see the Devil that night?" John asks.

Henry's face pales as he remembers. "Yes." He manages. "It was huge, coal-black fur with red eyes. It got him, tore at him. Tore him apart. I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

"Dog?" I suggest. "Wolf?"

"Or a genetic experiment." Sherlock suggests before looking away off in my direction, biting back a smile, I narrow my eyes at him. Now is not the time, Sherlock.

"Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock replies.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville, about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him, at least the TV people took me seriously."

Sherlock stares at Henry, I step forward and look at John. I nod and John clears his throat.

"Henry," He starts, I take Sherlock's arm and pull him up to his feet, leading him out of the room.

"Where're they going?" Henry asks.

"Nevermind that," John says. "They'll be back in a few. Now, Henry whatever did happen to your father, that was 20 years ago. Why come to us now?"