It felt strange not travelling in a cab to John Watson. Usually that was how he and Sherlock made their way about town but today was different. Today they were driving to Dartmoor.

Henry Knight had visited 221b Baker Street only this morning and now the pair were ready to investigate. John was relieved that Sherlock had finally found something to do with himself. The man was unbearable when he was bored.

The pair currently sat in the front of a truck. Sherlock was in the driver seat as resolute as ever whilst Watson peered out of the window beside him. Today they would be investigating a hound.

"Oh my god." John murmured. "Sherlock?"

"Busy thinking." the detective snapped, annoyed at his friend's interruption of their companionable silence.

Their client may have only described the creature but something seemed wrong. Sherlock was trying to figure out what and drive simultaneously. He could multi-task but preferred not to. John's voice added a whole new layer to his thinking process.

"Sherlock!" exclaimed the doctor in an alarmed tone. "Look out the window!" Holmes rolled his eyes and glanced at the scenery to satisfy his companion. His eyes widened in shock. A huge creature was racing in the fields, keeping its pace up to match their vehicle. "Is it the hound?"

"Whatever it is it's following us." replied Sherlock.

He stepped down on the accelerator but was completely unprepared for the upcoming sharp corner. It led them straight into the path of the creature. Its huge black body obscured their view. Sherlock slammed on the brakes but it was too late. They careered into the huge monster and the last thing Holmes saw was the airbag ballooning into his face. John closed his eyes.

When he re-opened them he found that he was aching all over. He groaned and undid his seatbelt before taking in the scene around him. The windscreen was completely smashed but there was no creature remains on it, let alone a sign of blood. It seemed the car had merely bruised it, if that.

John turned in his seat to face Sherlock. His friend was slumped, face down on the airbag.

"Sherlock?" John checked over the detective's body before carefully shifting him into a sitting position. He was unconscious but alive. John breathed a sigh of relief, they'd been very lucky. At the most one of them would have a concussion. He'd treated patients who were a lot worse off. John got out of the car, he needed to stretch his sore legs. There was no sign of the creature. He walked over to Sherlock's side of the car and opened the door. He gave the detective a gentle nudge. "Sher- ow! Jesus!" Watson clutched his wounded shoulder.

It appeared that the arm he'd once been shot in was far more tender now.

"Do shut up John." muttered Sherlock. He opened his eyes and quickly took in his surroundings. "Oh. John? Are you okay?" he asked violently turning in his seat. "Ow!"

"Undo your seatbelt you dummy." said John pressing the button for him. Sherlock stumbled out of the car. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine. Just a little dizzy."

John leant against the car side still clutching his shoulder. He took a few minutes to compose himself before removing his mobile from his trouser pocket with his uninjured arm.

"Who are you calling?" asked Sherlock.

John didn't bother to ask how the detective, who was facing away from him, knew that he had his phone out.

"An ambulance."

Sherlock turned.

"Oh we don't need that – " he trailed off as he analysed his friend's pale face.

"Sherlock you've been unconscious for god knows how long and I – I think my arm is bleeding again."

John fumbled with his phone nearly dropping it. Sherlock carefully took it from the doctor's hand.

"I'll do it."

John nodded and his free hand went back to clutching at his shoulder. After a few minutes the blood was staining his hand as well as shirt. John remembered only too well the last time this had happened. His mind was more focussed on the battlefield than his friend's phone call. So much red…

"Oh god."

"They'll be here soon John stay calm."

Sherlock gave the doctor back his mobile.

"S-so do you think the thing that hit us was the hound?" asked John, trying to change the subject.

"No." said Sherlock firmly.

"Well what was it then?"

"I'm not sure."

That wasn't reassuring.

"Not sure?"

"No creature of flesh and blood could be hit full on like that and not bleed."

"So what did we hit?"

A sound of a helicopter drowned out Sherlock's reply.

"Looks like the paramedics are here!" Holmes yelled over the noise.

"God Sherlock who did you call?" John shouted.

"My brother." he smiled.

Henry Knight opened his door to find Sherlock standing outside expectantly.

"Mr Holmes – I was beginning to think you wouldn't – "

"No, no Henry. Wouldn't miss a case like this for the world! I just ran into a spot of bother."

"Oh." Henry let Sherlock into the house. "What happened?"

"A car crash."

"Oh! Are you alright?"

"Yes fine, fine but John won't be joining us tonight."

As Henry led Sherlock into his living room the detective caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. He spent the next several minutes trying to rid his face of that alarmingly worried expression.

"Tea?"

"No thanks. Digestions slows my thought process down. Now tell me Henry, why did you call that creature a 'hound'?"

Sherlock had now had time to think it over and that was what sounded wrong.

"Because it's a gigantic hound!"

"Yes but why hound? It's a bit old fashioned." Henry's puzzled look said everything. "On the way here me and John were chased by something, a huge creature. When it collided with our car despite smashing the windscreen it left behind no fur or blood."

Henry immediately latched onto this.

"Yes, some people say its skin is so thick it can't be penetrated – "

Sherlock gave him a withering look.

"As far as I'm concerned there's only one logical reason for this. We didn't hit anything."

"But your windscreen - ?"

"Oh we hit something, but we only thought it was the hound."

"I'm afraid I don't quite – "

"Of course you don't, you see but don't observe and you weren't even there so even your most basic senses are useless to me." said Sherlock.

"Well what do you think it was?" asked Henry.

"That's what I am going to find out." the detective replied, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

His phone beeped. He removed it from his coat and reluctantly read the text his brother had sent him.

John's awake. He's not asking for you, but I get the impression that it would do him a world of good if you came.

M