Hello Detective

The Hounds of Baskerville Part 2

While I slept, a client was brought into the living room. He showed Sherlock and John a documentary on the television about Dartmoor. Dartmoor was home to the military testing site Baskerville, which is rumored to be doing animal testing and genetic mutations. The client, Henry Knight, was in the documentary. He claims that a genetically mutated beast killed his father. Sherlock abruptly turned off the television and asked Henry what he saw. He argued that he was just about to say it on the documentary. To that Sherlock responded that he liked to do his own editing.
"Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?" Henry asked him.
"No." He answered.
"It's an amazing place, it's like nowhere else, it's sort of bleak, but beautiful." Henry began.
"Hm, not interested. Moving on." Sherlock said rudely.
"We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening, we'd go out onto the moor." Henry began before Sherlock cut him off again.
"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed, where did that happen?" Sherlock asked insensitively.
"There's a place, it's a sort of local landmark, called Dewer's Hollow. That's an ancient name for the devil." Henry said.
"So?" Sherlock said, unaffected.
"Did you see the devil that night?" John asked.
"Yes. 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 day's body was never found." Henry Knight said.
"Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous... dog? Wolf?" John asked.
"Or a genetic experiment." Sherlock smiled.
"Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?" Henry asked.
"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock returned.
"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." Henry said.
"And I assumed did wonders for Devon tourism." Sherlock said.
"Yeah... Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was 20 years ago. Why come to us now?" John asked Henry.
"I'm not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny!" Henry scolded, standing to leave.
"Because of what happened last night." Sherlock said, answering John's question to Henry, causing him to stop in the doorway.
"Why, what happened last night?" John asked.
"How... How do you know?" Henry asked.
"I didn't know, I noticed. You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a black coffee. The girl across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are however extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I'd be delighted." Sherlock said. Henry moved and sat back in John's chair.
"How on Earth did you notice all that?" Henry asked.
"It's not important..." John attempted to save Sherlock from making his speech, but he seemed to go on and do it anyway.
"Punched out holes where you tickets been checked." Sherlock began.
"Not now, Sherlock." John tried.
"Oh, please. I've been cooped-up in here for ages!" Sherlock protested.
"You're just showing off." John said.
"Of course. I am a show-off, that's what we do." Sherlock argued. "Train napkin you used to mop up the spilled coffee. The stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and on your lips and sleeve. Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."
"Ha. How did you know it was disappointing?" Henry asked nervously.
"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl. Female handwriting is quite distinctive, wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off, I imagine you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself in another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now though you used that napkin to blow your nose, maybe you're not that into her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers. Your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train, no time to roll one before you got on a cab here. It's just after 9:15, you're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at 5:46 am. You got the first one possible so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?" Sherlock said.
"No. You're right. You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick." Henry said and Sherlock now had a smirk on his face.
"It's my job. Now shut up and smoke." Sherlock said, and Henry began to light his cigarette.
"Henry, your parents both died and you were what, seven years old?" John asked. Sherlock stood over Henry and inhaled his smoke before sitting back down. "That must be quite a trauma. Now, have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this... to account for it?"
    "That's what Dr. Mortimer says." Henry said.
    "Who?" John asked.
    "His therapist. Obviously." Sherlock said.
    Suddenly my voice could be heard yelling from the bedroom.
    "Sherlock Holmes if you are smoking I swear to God!" I yelled when I awoke to the smell of smoke. I opened the door and walked out into the living room wearing Sherlock's blue dressing gown to see a man sitting in John's chair smoking.
    "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you had a client." I said when I saw Henry Knight.
    "You're that detective from the paper, Gregson. I didn't realize... Are you two?" Henry asked, gesturing between Sherlock and I.
    "Yes, we are, now back to your therapist." Sherlock said, he waved me over to sit on the arm of his chair. When I did, he placed an arm around me. I was feeling slightly better now with a little rest and drugs in my system.
    "Louise Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons." Henry said.
    "What happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?" Sherlock asked.
    "It's a strange place, the Hollow. It makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid." Henry began.
    "Yes, if I wanted poetry, I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends, much funnier. What did you see?" Sherlock said, I placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed him slightly, silently telling him he was being rude.
    "Footprints. On the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart." Henry said, Sherlock sat back completely in his chair. He took my hand from his shoulder and absentmindedly fiddled with it, clearly Henry was boring him.
    "Man's or woman's?" John asked.
    "Neither. They were..." Henry began before Sherlock cut him off.
    "Is that it? Nothing else? Footprints, it that all?" Sherlock said rudely.
    "Yes but they were..." Henry began.
    "No, sorry, Dr. Mortimer wins. It's a childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring. Goodbye, Mr. Knight, thank you for smoking." Sherlock said, I gave Sherlock's hand a little squeeze.
    "But... What about the footprints?" Henry asked.
    "Oh, they're probably paw prints, could be anything, therefore nothing. Off to Devon with you, have a cream tea on me." Sherlock said, standing up and waving him off.
    "Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound." Henry said, Sherlock was walking into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. He turned around slowly.
    "Say that again." Sherlock said.
    "They were the footprints of a gigantic hound." Henry said.
    "I'll take the case." Sherlock said slowly.
    "Sorry, what?" John asked.
    "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it's very promising." Sherlock said, folding his hands under his chin.
    "No, no, no, sorry what? A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they're very promising?" John asked, confused.
    "It's got nothing to do with footprints. As ever John you weren't listening. Baskerville. Ever heard of it?" Sherlock asked, he turned to me for the last part.
    "Um vaguely I guess. It's very hush-hush." I said, slipping down into Sherlock's chair.
    "Sounds like a good place to start." Sherlock said.
    "You'll come down then?" Henry asked.
    "No, I can't leave London at the moment, far too busy. But don't worry I'm putting my best man onto it. I can always rely on John to send me all the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself." Sherlock said, and I was confused.
    "What are you talking about 'you're busy'? You don't have a case! A minute ago, you were complaining..." John began to scold.
    "Bluebell, John. I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing glow-in-the-dark rabbit. NATO's in uproar." Sherlock said, making me even more confused.
    "Oh, sorry, you're not coming, then?" Henry said, and Sherlock shook his head, almost giving John a pouty face.
    "Oh. Okay. Okay." John said, standing and retrieving Sherlock's cigarettes from underneath the skull on the mantle.
"John!" I scolded. John threw them to Sherlock, he caught them and threw them behind him.   
"I don't need those anymore, I'm going to Dartmoor. You go on ahead, Henry, we'll follow later." Sherlock said.
"I'm sorry, so you are coming?" Henry asked, about as confused as I was.
"Twenty-year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Sherlock said as he walked Henry Knight out.
    When he came back he saw me sitting in his chair.
    "I'm going to need your help of course." Sherlock said.
    "Sherlock..." I sighed, "I'm sick, you seriously want me tagging along?"
    "Of course I do." Sherlock said.
    "Sherlock... I think I need to be in bed, I have zero energy, I'm not going to be much help." I argued.
    "Please Adelaide! We'll find and Inn to stay at, you can rest, you have your very own personal doctor, do whatever you're up to, then I can have someone to talk to." Sherlock said.
    "You have John to talk to." I retorted.
    "You know it's different." Sherlock said.
    "Ugh fine. But I hope I get you sick for making me do this." I told Sherlock.