CHAPTER 3
The next day, when Sherlock and John emerged from their tent, most students were already gathered around breakfast tables; which explained why most of the food at the self-service had disappeared.
"Hey John! How was the trip to the hollow last night?" A boy asked, smirking.
"It was great," John said sarcastically. Thankfully, before the kid could reply, Sherlock started to speak to him again. Well, speaking wasn't the right term: John was more like a wall that Sherlock bounced ideas off.
"You know, John, I'm thinking about it, and are you sure we heard howling?" Sherlock asked while John gaped at him.
"You're actuallythinking we imagined that?" John said incredulously.
"Yes, I am. We didn't find any footsteps," Sherlock explained to John, "So the only thing we can do is go back," then seeing the look on John's face, he added, "when it's day."
"That makes it all better," John rolled his eyes.
"Are you scared?" The kid who had spoken earlier now joined their table, and then his friends joined him.
"Of course he's not, let's go John," Sherlock replied before John could say a thing, and in a way he was grateful because whatever answer he would have given, there would be consequences.
"I'll pass," John said simply, although he knew that Sherlock wouldn't stop nagging until he said yes. However that said, John wanted to prove a point: that he didn't feel particular joy at eventually agreeing to do this.
"John!" Sherlock whined and John rolled his eyes and huffed.
"Fine," John muttered, crossed his arms and stalked off in direction of the hollow. When Sherlock didn't follow for a split-second, he called back, "You coming slow coach?"
So here they were again, in the exact place John had had nightmares about the last night. This certainly hadn't been one of Sherlock's brightest ideas. Although John did have to admit that by day, the hollow and its surroundings were quite picturesque. Then again, the fact that it was sunlight and not moonlight that filtered through the leaves did help an awful lot with the jovial mood.
Sherlock had departed to the other side of the hollow to check for any signs that there was, indeed, a dog. So John simply looked at the landscape. However, time ticked by very slowly, and Sherlock was taking an awfully long time. When John started to feel slightly chilly, he rolled up his sleeve to check his watch, but then realised that it was so dark that he couldn't see his watch. How long had they been there? And what was Sherlock up to?
John got up – his stiff muscles groaned – and went off in search of Sherlock. He assumed that he would probably be found before he could do any searching, but he was wrong; because Sherlock wasn't even searching.
No, sir. In fact, unknown to John, he was doing quite the opposite of searching. He was hiding. Hiding from what, you ask? Hiding from the hound.
No. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't. But apparently it was; because he had just seen it with his own eyes and his senses never failed him. When you have eliminated the impossible ... Could it be possible? Whatever remains ... this was the only way, the only solution ... no matter how mad it seems ... it was certainly mad ... but it ... must be the truth.
The legend of the Hound ... was not a legend.