Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Hounds Of Baskerville- Two

Chapter Two

A recorded documentary plays on the television. Sherlock was now in his usual suit. John relocated himself to sit at the dining table chair, next to Sherlock. I sat on the side. The documentary shows footage of Dartmoor:

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YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A RESTRICTED AREA
BASKERVILLE

- - 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? - -

Not long after Henry appears on screen:

- - 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. - -

Turning the television off Sherlock moves to ask Henry: "What did you see?"

"Oh. I... I was just about to say." Pointing towards the TV. "Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing." Sherlock places his hand against his mouth. "Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. 'Scuse me." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a paper napkin and wipes his nose on it. "In your own time."

"But quite quickly." I abbreviated. "Do you know Dartmoor, Mr Holmes? Lady Phillips?" God I love the ring to my name. "No." He turns to me in question. "I've heard stories."

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of... Bleak but beautiful."

"Not interested. Moving on." He gestures on. "We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor." Obviously Henry didn't catch the message. "Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?" I look towards John. He seemed to be praying to the gods above. "There's a place it's... It's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow." I tilt my head in question. Henry abbreviates. "That's an ancient name for Devil."

"So? Did you see the Devil that night?" I questioned. He briskly nods. "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." I stare intensely at him. "Hmm. Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous: dog? Wolf?" John questioned. "Or a genetic experiment." Sherlock bites back a smile. "Are you laughing at me, Mr Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?"

"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."

"And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism." I stated. "Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?"

"I'm not sure you can help me, Mr Holmes, since you find it all so funny." He takes his stand, heading towards the door. "Because of what happened last night." I said. "Why, what happened last night"

"How... How do you know?"

"She didn't know; She noticed."

"Oh dear lord." John mumbled. "You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. Wonder why? 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." Henry stares at Sherlock then glances across to me. I raise my brow. Hesitantly, Henry walks back to the armchair and sits down, fishing in his pocket. "How on earth did you notice all that?!"