Contact High → Sherlock Holmes (BBC) [on hold]

{ twenty-nine }

The three of them headed out of the graveyard and towards the village center, where the Inn was. Sherlock pulled out his notepad and began scribbling away in it. Carmen peeked over his shoulder. John trailed behind, watching the two interact with each other.

"What're you doing, Sherl?" Carmen asked, craning her neck to see what he was writing down. He shrugged her off his shoulder, "Give me a minute." She huffed a sigh, impatient to know what he was deducting. He turned around and showed both Carmen and John what he had written.

There on the page, in Sherlock's spidery handwriting, was a single word:

HOUND

"Yeah, so?" Carmen asked. Sherlock took his notepad back and scribbled some more on the page, "What if it's not a word? What if it's individual letters?" He turns the notepad back to them, which reads something a hair different than before:

H.O.U.N.D.

Sherlock put the notebook back in his coat pocket and glanced back at the pub, "I've got to do more digging. There's something I'm missing..." His eyes widened as he spied a familiar figure through the open door to the pub. It takes him a  long moment to place the face, it being so strange to see them out of their natural habitat. Carmen follows his gaze and realized what Sherlock was on about.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock shouted somewhat angrily. He walked briskly towards the pub, leaving Carmen and John to scramble to keep up. They all entered the pub to see who Sherlock was yelling at.

It was Lestrade.

He wore dark-tinted sunglasses and a deep tan. Carmen raised an eyebrow at him. It seemed strange to see him in Grimpen, she was used to seeing him framed by the grey walls of his office or the bright yellow of crime scene tape. Lestrade gave Sherlock an almost pained smile, "Ah, nice to see you too. I'm on holiday, would you believe?"

"No, I wouldn't," Sherlock snapped. Lestrade took off his glasses and gave Carmen and John a smile. "Hello, John," he nodded at the other man before turning his gaze to Carmen. She looked well, her hair was lighter than he remembered, and she had a nice scattering of freckles across her nose. "Hello, Carmen," Lestrade beamed at her. She gave him a tight-lipped smile in return.

"Greg!" John smiled, "What're you up to?"

Lestrade put his glasses in his pocket, "I heard you three were in the area. What're you all doing up here? After that Hound of Hell from the telly?"

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?" Sherlock said snottily. Carmen sighed at him, wondering why seeing a familiar face bothered him so much. "I've told you," Lestrade smiled, unperturbed, "I'm on holiday."

"You're brown as a nut, you've clearly just got back from your holiday!" Sherlock protested. John and Carmen both met eyes, exchanging an exasperated glance. Lestrade shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, "Well, I fancied another one."

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his temple, "This is Mycroft, isn't it?"

"No, I'm sure there's an explanation--," Carmen started. Sherlock interrupted her, "Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to... look after me. Is that why you're calling yourself, Greg?"

There was a drop of silence in the room. Carmen shifted closer to Sherlock, "Um, he's not your handler. You aren't a spy, Sherlock... And his name is Greg."

"Is it?" Sherlock asked, turning to glance down at Carmen. She nodded. Sherlock turned to Lestrade for confirmation.

"Yes, if you'd ever bothered to find out... Look, I'm not your handler and I don't just do what your brother tells me," Lestrade sighed. He picked up his pint of beer he had ordered and drained half the glass. Carmen was beginning to think she might need a pint as well if Sherlock kept it up.