A Consulting Detective, Ex Army Doctor, and Child Mercenary Walk Into A Room

Chapter 8: The Hounds of Baskerville

The land rover powers across the moor away from Baskerville. The headlights scythe through the darkness as it goes off road and over the moor. Sherlock screeches the land rover to a halt in the wooded area. Sherlock, John, and I leap out. We come pelting out the fog and we see Henry putting a gun to his mouth. "No! Henry, no!" Sherlock yells. Henry immediately turns the gun onto us. "Get back! Get away from me!" "Lune! Secure the perimeter. If you see Dr. Frankland, holler," said Sherlock. I stayed on top of the slope as John and Sherlock headed down to Henry.

"It's ok, it's ok, Henry. Just relax," John soothes. "I know what I've done," said Henry miserably. "Just drop the gun, Henry. It's ok." "I know what I've done." With shaking hands, Henry presses the gun to his lips. "Yeah. I'm sure you do know, Henry. It's all been explained to you, hasn't it? Explained very carefully," said Sherlock. "What?" Henry asks dully. "Someone needed to keep you quiet, Henry. Needed to keep you as a child. To reassert the dream that you'd both clung to. Because you'd started to remember." Henry turns his exhausted, stupefied eyes onto Sherlock. Henry holds the gun more firmly. "Remember now, Henry! You've got to remember. What happened here when you were a little boy ..."

"I thought it got my dad. The hound. I thought - oh Jesus. I don't know anymore," Henry strammers. He cocks the gun. "Think, Henry! Remember. Liberty. In. Two words. Two words frightened a little boy twenty years ago. You'd started to piece things together. And remembered what really happened that night. It wasn't an animal at all, was it, Henry? Not a monster ..." Henry blinks. Henry lets the gun drop from his lips just a fraction when he realizes who really killed his father. "You couldn't cope with it, Henry. You were just a child. So you rationalized it into something very different." Henry blinks again. "And then you started remembering. So you had to be stopped. Driven out of your mind so no one would believe a word of what you said." "Him. He did this. He did this to me," said Henry. "And now he's convinced you that you've killed Dr. Mortimer. Just to push you that little bit too far ..."

Henry drops the gun. John darts in and grabs it. "Ok, mate, it's ok," said John. Sherlock peers into the fog. "I'd come out if I were you, Dr. Frankland. Seems a shame to miss the party," Sherlock calls out. Nothing moves. Then there's a figure in the fog. Walking slowly forward. The fog is so thick it's impossible to see who it is. But he raises a rifle and points it at Sherlock. John aims his at the figure but another gun clicks. They turn. Lestrade and I are walking down the slope, his own pistol trained on Dr. Frankland. My two hunting rifles were trained on Dr. Frankland too. "Don't you dare try to shoot, Sherlock," I growled. "Don't do anything silly, sir," said Lestrade. Henry stares at the apparition.

"But we saw it! The hound. Last night. We did!" said Henry. "There was a dog out there, henry. Leaving footprints. Scaring witnesses. But it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it the way our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus. That's how it works. But there never was any monster," Sherlock confirms. And then, from the fog choked slope above us, we hear a growl. Sherlock freezes. And then there's another one. There's a shape in the fog, on the lip of the hollow, prowling back and forth. A huge beast. Henry shrieks. "No, no, no!" "Sherlock?" I ask. Sherlock gawps as the Hound paces. "You seeing this?" John asks Lestrade. Lestrade nods, scared stiff. "He's not been drugged, Sherlock. So what is that? What is it?" John asks, obviously worried. "Alright! It's still there! But it's just a dog. Nothing more than an ordinary dog!" says Sherlock.

At last the fog parts above the lip of the hollow revealing the hound! It's immense! As big as a fucking horse! A hound from Hell with massive, distended, drooling jaws and blazing red eyes. And it's fucking glowing! "Oh my God!" Lestrade and I say at the same time. Sherlock stares at the monster - then rushes towards the human figure in the fog. As he gets closer we see the figure is wearing a gas mask. Someone grabs Sherlock and I cock my gun at them. "Don't shoot, Lune!" said John. "The fog!!" Sherlock cries out. "What?" John asks. "It's the fog! The drug's in the fog!" Sherlock grabs the man by the lapels and shakes him, willing things to become clear. "Aerosol dispersant, that's what it said in those records. Project H.O.U.N.D. It's the fog!" Sherlock says savagely. "A minefield! A chemical minefield."