He always knew love was a weakness, he just didn't think it would be his.
Imogen Hargreaves is a former detective that finds herself walking right back into the life she'd left behind. Not only does drama ensue but she manages to catch the eye of t...
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Upon getting to Henry Knight's home, we realise he's, well, rich. It's a large house, too large for one person, just on the outskirts of the village to allow him some privacy. If the conservatory we enter through is anything to go by then he doesn't really keep up the groundskeeping.
We knock on and he comes to the door almost immediately, exchanging greetings with us and gesturing for us to come in. My lips part in surprise at the well kept interior; the design inside compared to out is very modern. And the organisation is a far cry from Henry's mental state. Even now he seems jittery.
"This is uh..." John tapers off, looking around as we follow Henry through to the kitchen. "Are you, um, rich?" He asks bluntly, shoving his elbow into my side when I let out a snort.
"Yeah." Henry nods casually, leading us to the kitchen.
I gladly take a seat on one of the stools at the island, resting my chin in the palm of my hand while he boils the kettle. My phone buzzes so I pull it out, glancing at the text from Mycroft asking what his brother is doing. I look up at Sherlock with a playful glare, showing him the text. He takes the device, making a point of showing me him deleting the message and placing the phone face down on the counter.
"There's a couple of words, it's what I keep seeing." Henry tells us. "Liberty." He states, pushing our drinks towards us. I drop a couple of sugars into one mug before sliding it over to Sherlock. John doesn't take any - never has - and I'm trying not to.
John jots the word down, "Liberty?" He checks.
"Liberty. And in." He recalls, stirring his tea a little more than necessary. "It's just that." He sighs. Why would those words prop up now after twenty years?
John looks at Sherlock expectantly while I sip on my warm drink. "Mean anything to you?" He asks.
"'Liberty in death', isn't that the expression? The only true freedom." Sherlock recites. I nod along, glancing over at Henry putting the things away; he fidgets when he comes to the counter again, arms swinging back and forth.
"What now, then?" Henry asks us.
"Sherlock has a plan - not that he likes to enlighten us before he's ready." I tell him, sending a teasing smile towards the consulting detective. "Drama queen." I mutter into my mug. John snorts, nearly choking on his drink
"Yes." Sherlock makes a point of ignoring the comment. "We take you back out onto the moor." His big plan is to go to the moor?
Henry shifts but nods, "Okay..."
"And see if anything attacks you." He adds.
"What?" John gapes.
"That should bring things to a head." Sherlock hums nonchalantly. I blink hard, trying to comprehend what goes on in this man's head sometimes.
