Hello Detective

The Hounds of Baskerville Part 5

As Sherlock returned to his chair in front of the fire his mind raced. He was trying to save face with me, but once he was just with John he let go. He couldn't believe his own eyes in the Hollow.
"Henry's in a bad way. He's manic." John said once Sherlock sat down next to him. "Totally convinced there's some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. And there isn't, though, is there? If people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know. It'd be for sale. I mean, that's how it works. Listen, on the moor I saw someone signaling, Morse. I guess it's Morse. It doesn't seem to make much sense. U,M,Q,R,A, does that mean anything? So, okay, what have we got?"
Sherlock took in a deep breath, his hands folded under his chin as he did. Sherlock said nothing so John continued to talk.
"We know there's footprints, because Henry found them, so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something. Maybe we should just look for whoever has got a big dog." John offered.
"Henry's right." Sherlock said suddenly.
"What?" John asked confused.
"I saw it, too." Sherlock said with shaking breath.
"What?" John asked again, thinking he was joking.
"I saw it too, John." He said once more.
"Just... Just a minute, you saw what?" John asked, skeptical.
"A hound. Out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound." Sherlock said, shaking, as if he was having another psychotic break.
"Um, look, Sherlock. We have to be rational about this." John smiled, thinking Sherlock was crazy. "Okay, now you, of all people, can't just... Let's just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts."
"Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true." Sherlock said quietly.
"What does that mean?" John asked, shaking his head. Sherlock picked up his glass of whiskey, his hand shaking.
"Look at me, I'm afraid John." Sherlock laughed at himself. "Afraid."
Sherlock took another sip of his drink.
"I've always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings. But look, you see, body's betraying me. Interesting, yes, emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment." Sherlock said, clearly Henry wasn't the only one who was manic.
"Yeah, alright, Spock just... Take it easy." John said, looking around the pub to make sure no one else would see Sherlock like this. "You've been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you've just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up."
"Worked up?" Sherlock asked rudely.
"It was dark and scary..." John began, feeling like the only sensible adult in the room.
"Me? There's nothing wrong with me." Sherlock argued. He began breathing deeply, he places his fingers on his temples.
"Sherlock." John began, shaking his head, looking around once more. "Sherl..."
"There is nothing wrong with me! Do you understand?" Sherlock yelled. Everyone in the pub now had their eyes on him. "You want me to prove it, yes?"
John kept his head down with an angry look on his face.
"We're looking for a dog, yes? A great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien!" Sherlock began speaking fast. Look for the dog. "Good. Excellent. Yes. where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman."
Sherlock pointed to the two seated at a table against the wall.
"The answer's yes." Sherlock said rudely.
"Yes?" John asked, confused because no question was asked.
"She's got a West Highland Terrier named Whisky, not exactly what we're looking for!" Sherlock wailed.
"Sherlock, for God's sake!" John scolded.
"Look at the jumper he's wearing, hardly worn. Clearly he's uncomfortable in it. Maybe because of the material or more likely the hideous pattern, suggests it's a present, probably Christmas. So, he wants into his mother's good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He's treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he want to impress her but he's trying to economise on his own food." Sherlock said.
"Maybe he's just not hungry." John argued.
"No, small plate, starter. He's practically licked it clean. She's nearly finished her pavlova. If she'd treated him, he'd have had as much as he wanted. He's hungry and not well-off, you can tell by his cuffs and shoes. 'How do you know she's his mother?' Who else would give him a Christmas present like that. I suppose it could be an aunt or older sister, but mother's more likely. He was a fisherman, the scarring pattern on the back of his hands is distinctive. Fish hooks. They're quite old now, suggesting he's been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he's turned to his widowed mother for help. 'Widowed?" Yes, obviously. She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain around her neck, clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well-dressed, but her jewellery is cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it, sentimental. Now the dog. There are tiny hairs all over her leg, from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but none above the knees, suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is, West Highland Terrier, called Whisky. 'How the hell do you know that Sherlock?' She was on the same train as us and I heard her call its name. And that's not cheating. That's listening. I use my senses John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine. In fact, I've never been better, so just leave me alone!" Sherlock whisper yelled.
"Yeah, okay. Okay." John said, clearing his throat. He knew there was something wrong with Sherlock. "But, why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend." John sighed.
"I don't have friends." Sherlock said the word as if it disgusted him.
"No. I wonder why?" John said sarcastically, standing to leave. He went out the back of the pub and saw the same flashing light that he did earlier in the night. He thought it strange and decided to see where it was coming from.
After John discovered the light to be from a shaking parked car, he turned back, embarrassed. On his walk back to the pub, Sherlock texted him saying that Henry's therapist was in the pub and he wanted him to interview her. John didn't know why he should, to that Sherlock sent a picture of Dr. Mortimer, a beautiful biracial woman with long hair. John smirked and shook his head, on his way back to the pub.
An hour later, John was sitting in the pub, drinking with Dr. Mortimer.
"More wine, doctor?" John asked her smiling.
"Are you trying to get me drunk, doctor?" She replied laughing.
"Thought never occurred." John flirted.
"Because a while ago I thought you were chatting me up." She smiled.
"Oh! Where did I go wrong?" John asked, fake offended.
"When you started asking me about my patients." She said, taking a sip of her wine.
"Well you see, I am one of Henry's oldest friends." John lied.
"Yeah, and he's one of my patients, so I can't talk about him. Although he has told me about all his oldest friends. Which one are you?" She asked.
"A new one?" He joked. "Okay, what about his father? He wasn't one of your patients. Wasn't be some kind of conspiracy nutter... theorist?" John said, correcting himself.
"You're only a nutter if you're wrong." She said.
"Hm, and was he wrong?" John asked.
"I should think so." She laughed.
"But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn't he? With what they were doing in there. Couldn't Henry have gone the same way, started imaging a hound?" John asked, wanting her to join in.
"Why do you think I'm going to talk about this?" She asked, laughing. John laughed too.
"Because I think you're worried about him and because I'm a doctor too. And because I have another friend who might be having the same problem." John said. Louise Mortimer sighed, she was about to talk when Dr. Frankland suddenly appeared, slapping John on the shoulder.
"Dr. Watson!" He smiled.
"Hi." John said awkwardly, knowing Louise would never talk now.
"Hello." Frankland said cheerfully to Dr. Mortimer.
"How's the investigation going?" He asked John.
"What, investigation?" Louise asked John smiling.
"Didn't you know? Don't you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes, Sergeant Adelaide Gregson." Frankland said.
"Sherlock who?" Louise asked confused.
"Private detective, this is his PA." Frankland said.
"PA?" John asked.
"Well, live in PA." Frankland said, not sure what he was trying to insinuate there.
"Perfect!" John sighed sarcastically.
"This is Dr. Mortimer, Henry's therapist." John introduced.
"John." I called, now appearing behind John.
"Ah speak of the devil." Dr. Frankland smiled.
"Are you Sherlock?" Dr. Mortimer asked me.
"Oh no, thank God." I smiled.
"This is Sherlock's girlfriend, Sergeant Gregson." Dr. Frankland said, I smiled to the woman who seemed relieved. She must have assumed, like many do, that Sherlock and John are gay.
"Listen, tell Sherlock I've been keeping an eye on Stapleton. Anytime he wants a little chat. Alright?" Dr. Frankland said to you.
"That would be great if I could find him. " I said, that was the real reason I came out.
"He went back to the room I thought." John said.
"No, he never did." I said, and John sighed, he felt as if he was a babysitter.
The lady John was with, left in a hurry. You didn't find Sherlock until the next morning when he apparently had just come back from Henry Knight's house.
John and I were sitting outside near the small town cemetery getting some air.
"Did you get anywhere with that Morse code?" Sherlock asked John, who had filled me in this morning on his outing.
"Nah." John said, standing and beginning to walk away. Clearly he was mad at Sherlock, I wondered why. Had Sherlock yelled at him or said something rude. I was mad at Sherlock because he was out the whole night and I was worried, he didn't even tell us where he was going.
"U,M,Q,R,A, wasn't it? Umqra." Sherlock said, who began to follow John and I did the same.
"Nothing. Look, forget it. I thought I was onto something, I wasn't." John said.
"How about Louise Mortimer did you get anywhere with her?" Sherlock asked.
"No." John said simply.
"Too bad. Did you get any information." Sherlock asked, I cracked a smile but hid it when I remembered I was supposed to be mad at Sherlock.
"You're being funny now?"John asked, clearly something had happened last night.
"Thought it might break the ice, a bit." Sherlock said.
"Funny doesn't suit you. Let's stick to ice." John said with a straight face.
"What happened between you two last night?" I asked.
"Last night something happened to me, something I've not really experienced before." Sherlock said, which was a very vague answer.
"Fear, Sherlock Holmes got scared." John said, still vague.
"No, no, no. It was more than that, it was doubt. I felt doubt. I've always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night." Sherlock said.
"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster?" John asked.
"No, I can't believe that. But I did see it, so the question is, how?" Sherlock smiled. John shook his head and began to walk off. Sherlock didn't follow him this time.
"So what? You went all Coo-coo for coco puffs and yelled at him?" I asked Sherlock.
"I may have said some things that I didn't mean." Sherlock said.
"Then you know what to do. Apologize. Or else no more sex for a month." I said, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"John, wait!" He yelled, John turned around and stopped. "Listen, what I said before I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one."
"Right." John said, turning and continuing to walk away.
"John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!" Sherlock began shouting. He was going a little overboard with this apology thing. Maybe he was done apologizing, maybe he had figured something out, something for the case.
Sherlock began to run after John, I sighed, I wasn't about to run. Although I was a lot better, I was still sick.
"Yes, alright, you don't have to overdo it." I heard John say when I caught up to them.
"You may not be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable. Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others." Sherlock said, taking out his little notebook and writing something down.
"Hang on. You were saying sorry a minute ago. Probably because Adelaide made you, but still, don't spoil it. So go on, what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?" John asked.
Sherlock turned his notebook around to us. H.O.U.N.D.
"It's not a word, it's individual letters." I noticed.
"You think in an acronym?" John asked.
"Absolutely no idea..." Sherlock said, he turned and I saw he was looking at something inside the pub that I couldn't see. "What the hell are you doing here?"