**Trigger warning** There is mention of suicide in this chapter, it's around three quarters of the way down. It starts with '(...) a pale shape to my left catches my eye' and it ends with 'A pair of hands wrap around my waist'.

Just in case some readers find it upsetting.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

'But what if you just waited - '

'No, Mrs Hudson.' Mr Thompson replies wearily. 'It doesn't work like that. If I had transported myself into the correct chapter, I would have known in an instant. There would have been evidence of life there. The apartment was eerily empty... No, no I've got to try again.'

'So you mean to say, Sherlock and John are literally moving through the chapters of their own book?'

'Yes, precisely. If Audrey wasn't in the picture, then I could easily track down the duo. In fact, it would be no trouble at all - I could choose whichever chapter I wanted! But since Audrey has gotten so involved with them, she's altered the storyline entirely. Which means that, in effect, Sherlock and John aren't even legitimate characters in the stories anymore.'

'Oh dear.' A worried frown creases Mrs Hudson's brow.

'Oh dear indeed.' Mr Thompson agrees as he leafs through a copy of A Scandal In Belgravia. 'But have no fear, Mrs Hudson, I will find her.' A determined look glints across his eyes. 'And we'll get you back home.'

'His mind palace.' Doctor Stapleton repeats for the fourth time as we exit the lab. 'A palace?'

'It is a real thing though.' I state matter-of-factly. 'It's an ancient Roman mnemonic technique.' John and Doctor Stapleton stare at me incredulously. 'What? I took a Greek and Roman elective last semester.' John smiles and nods understandingly, while Doctor Stapleton continues to regard me with a suspicious expression.

'Why does Mr Holmes insist on dragging his fiancé along on his cases? Not the most romantic, is he?' She scoffs. 'Come to think of it, not really a people person, either...'

I bristle at the insinuation. 'Says the woman who experimented on her own daughter's pet rabbit!'

Dr. Stapleton, unperturbed by the accusation, raises her eyebrows at my tone. 'No need to take it so personally. I'm merely pointing out the fact that he can come across as quite…odd.' John glances worriedly at my clenched fists. 'Incredibly clever, though.' She adds as an afterthought. 'That would explain the lack of social – Are you alright?' Dr Stapleton cuts off mid-sentence once she notices my stony expression.

'Never been better.'

An awkward silence settles between us.

'So…' John starts, turning to face Dr Stapleton. 'How did you turn the rabbit into a glow stick?'

Giving her best sit-down-kids-cause-I'm-bout-to-learn-ya'll-somethin' face, the doctor divulges her secret. 'It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish.'

'Ahh.' John replies politely.

'Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know.'

This bitch…

'Fascinating.' I add in a substantially snarky, sarcastic voice that I know Sherlock would have been proud of.

'It was perfectly safe. The rabbit was never in any harm.'

'Why, though?' John asks Stapleton in a more sincere tone. 'Why go to the bother?'

'Why not? We don't ask questions like that here. It isn't done.'

'Your compassion is overwhelming.' John replies dryly.

'Listen - If you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere.' Dr Stapleton attempts to justify her work. 'Of course they are.'

'And cloning?'

'Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?'

John nods. 'What about bigger animals?'

Dr Stapleton waves her hand dismissingly. 'Size isn't a problem. The only limits are ethics and the law, and both those things can be ... very flexible. But not here – not at Baskerville.'

'Okay, but hear me out.' I interrupt, unable to keep quiet any longer. 'There's literally two books, three films, a newly released sequel - basically an entire franchise - explaining why that's a bad idea. I mean sure, John Hammond thought that extracting the millions-of-years-old dinosaur DNA from a crusty mosquito to re-create some of Earths most vicious carnivores was a good idea at first, but in hindsight? Nope, not that great of an idea.'

'What's more,' I raise my voice when Stapleton opens her mouth to interrupt me. 'Jeff Goldblum called bullshit from the start. His spidey senses were tingling and he warned them, he warned all of them that the second coming of dinosaurs was a bad idea. But did they listen? No. Was Jeff Goldblum still alive by the end of the film? Yes.'

'Now,' I raise my hand, once again silencing the doctor. 'Jeff Goldblum is my spirit animal. That man is everything I strive to be. And more. John, how many fingers am I holding up?' I turn to John with both fists clenched tightly.

'Er…none?'

'Exactly. And that is the same amount of fucks Jeff Goldblum gives. In the wise words of Dr Ian Malcolm himself – Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should.'

Both John and Dr Stapleton stare at me like I've grown three extra heads. 'That's a very…ah… detailed argument, Audrey.' John says after a rather stunned moment of silence.

'Thank you.' I reply primly, and turn to Dr Stapleton. 'Why not test on humans? You said so yourself –it's "perfectly safe".'

'Much more economic.' She replies in the same tone one would use while discussing the nutritional value of a cream cracker.

'Asserting dominance over a helpless species doesn't make you look strong.' I say coldly. 'It makes you look weak. You decided you could because they can't say no, right?'

Stapleton doesn't reply, meeting my gaze with that same look of indifference.

'Animal testing is cruel. Plain and simple.' I shrug my shoulders. John catches my eye and smiles, giving me a small nod of approval. I walk over to a row of plastic chairs lined up against the wall, underneath a bulletin board littered with newspaper clippings and hand-written memos. Just then, my phone buzzes loudly in my pocket. Digging it out, I stare at the unknown number, debating whether I should answer or not.

'I don't recognise the number.' I say to John, lifting the phone screen up to face him.

'Answer it. Just in case.'

I nod and quickly tap the green phone symbol, before the call rings out. 'Hello?'

There is no reply, only the faint sound of a woman crying.

'Hello?' I try again. 'Who is this?'

'Louise – I mean Dr M-Mortimer. You've g-got to find him. You've got to find Henry.'

I cast a wide-eyed glance at John, and mouth "Doctor Mortimer" to him. He frowns and hurries over to my side.

'Dr Mortimer, I'm going to put you on loudspeaker. John is here beside me, John Watson.' I turn up the volume as loud as it will go and hold the phone up between my and John's ear. 'What's happened?'

'Henry was ... was remembering... then ... he tried ...' She gasps, trying to calm herself down. 'He's got a gun. He went for the gun and tried to ...'

'What?' John asks in an urgent voice. 'What did he do Louise?'

The woman breaks down in tears again. 'He's g-gone. You've got to stop him. I-I don't know what he might do.'

I turn to stare at John, the same look of shock registered on his face. 'Where-where are you?'

'His house. I'm okay though, I'm okay.'

'Right: stay there. We'll get someone to you, okay?' John takes the phone and hangs up. 'Shit. This is bad.'

'What's bad?' Sherlock whips his head around the lab door, having had a sufficient amount of time in his mind palace.

'Sherlock, its Henry.' I run towards him, trying to keep the panic from my voice. 'I think he's lost it. He's just legged it to the hollow with a gun.'

Sherlock's brow creases into a deep frown. 'Well that's not ideal.'

'Not ideal!?' My voice rises a few octaves. 'Sherlock he could kill himself with that gun!'

Sherlock, taken aback with my reaction, places his hands on my shoulders and puts the smallest amount of pressure on them. The effect is rather grounding, and I calm down enough to think clearly. 'Right. You stay here with Dr Stapleton to solve the HOUND hallucinogen and John and I will go rescue Henry.' I turn to John, ignoring Sherlock's noise of protest. 'Call Lestrade and tell him to pick us up here. The three of us should be able to handle him.'

Sherlock glares at me unhappily, but my mind is set. 'Call me once you've solved it.' I begin to pull away from him but his grip tightens. Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he pulls out his pistol and slides it into my own pocket.

'Be careful.' He murmurs before stepping back from me. I nod and smile, taking his hand in mine and squeezing it.

John strides over. 'Lestrade's on the way.' He hands me my phone and faces Sherlock. 'Don't take too long, yeah?'

Sherlock throws John a look of disbelief. 'I'll call you in fifteen minutes.' He says haughtily.

John nods and walks from the room. I turn around at the doorway to give Sherlock a small smile, then hastily follow John.

True to his word, Sherlock rings exactly fifteen minutes later, just as John, Lestrade and I are walking from the carpark outside the hollow.

'It's a deliriant drug.' He says. 'Renders the user completely suggestible. It was created to use as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus.'

'Oh, so like a Boggart?' I ask.

'Come again?'

'Boggarts. They're shape-shifters that take form of the victim's worst fear.'

'Audrey,' Sherlock says somewhat wearily. 'Boggarts are fictional creatures.'

'…You're a fictional creature.'

'What was that?'

'Nothing. Just hurry up and get here!' I glance around the dark, eerie surroundings. 'Every tree looks like a person and I'm freaking myself out.'

'Okay. Don't wander off, stay close to John and Gary.'

'His name's Greg.

'Whatever. I'll be there in ten minutes.'

I hang up and stow the phone back in my pocket. Quickening my pace, I shimmy between John and Lestrade, unable to shake off the prickly feeling at the back of my neck. I pull Sherlock's pistol out from underneath my jacket and hand it to John. 'I think you're more qualified to handle this.' He takes it wordlessly, nodding his head.

'Now, when we approach the hollow, we need to stay as quiet as possible. Henry is going to have the gun aimed right into his mouth. Any sort of movement could frighten him and he could … Well, you know.' I shudder at the thought.

Lestrade looks down at me. 'And how the hell do you know that?' He asks incredulously.

Shit.

I glance at John, who is trying to appear nonchalant. 'I ah… took a suicide awareness/ prevention workshop in college last year.'

I mean, technically it wasn't a lie. I had in fact, taken a type of suicide awareness course…But instead of a speaker, there was a therapist. And I was the only other person present.

Lestrade opens his mouth to reply but John suddenly raises his hand, silencing him. He points to a clump of trees, and through the thicket I glimpse the tall, shaking frame of Henry Knight. As predicted, he was clutching a pistol tightly in his left hand.

'I'm sorry.' We hear him say tearfully. 'I'm so sorry, Dad.' Sobbing, he brings up the pistol and opens his mouth as he aims the muzzle towards it.

'No, Henry, no! Stop!' I shriek, unable to help myself, and scramble down the slope. Lestrade swears loudly, before he and John follow me.

'Get back! Get – get away from me!' Henry shouts hysterically.

John raises both of his arms, and approaches him cautiously. 'Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax.'

'Whatever happened to "any movement could frighten him"?' Lestrade says disgruntledly.

'I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!'

'Henry.' I call him softly. 'Henry, look at me. You need to put the gun down.' He gulps and lowers the pistol slowly. 'There,' I say in the same soft tone. 'It's okay Henry. We're here with you.'

An anguished expression crosses his face. 'No, no, I know what I am!'

'Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry.' A voice calls from the perimeter of the hollow.

Sherlock. I breathe a sigh of relief.

He begins to walk down the slope, speaking to Henry in a reassuring voice. 'It's all been explained to you, hasn't it – explained very carefully.'

'What?'

'Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung on to, because you had started to remember.' Sherlock moves closer to the young man. 'Remember now, Henry. You've got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy.'

Henry's gun hand begins to droop momentarily, his eyes wide with confusion. 'I thought it had got my dad – the hound. I thought...' His face screws up and he begins to shout in anguish. 'Oh Je... oh Jesus, I don't – I don't know any more!' Sobbing, he bends forward and aims the pistol into his mouth again.

John and I both lurch forward towards him. 'No, Henry! Stop!'

Sherlock begins to speak urgently now. 'Henry, remember. "Liberty In." Two words; two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago.'

Henry begins to calm a little but still remains hunched over with the gun's muzzle against his mouth.

'You'd started to piece things together, remember what really happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry?'

Henry starts to straighten up, blinking.

'Not a monster –'

Henry turns to look at him.

'But a man.'

Henry gasps as the memories begin flooding back into his mind, flashing in front of him like television screen set to fast-forward. He gapes at Sherlock, realisation dawning.

'You couldn't cope.' Sherlock continues. 'You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped – driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said.'

I quietly step forwards toward Henry, holding out my hand encouragingly. 'Okay, Henry, it's okay.' I carefully take the pistol from Henry's clenched fingers.

'But we saw it: the hound, last night. We s... we, we, we did, we saw...' Henry struggles to make sense of Sherlock's words.

'Yes, but there was a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it – saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that's how it works.'

Henry stares at him in confusion, to which Sherlock nods sympathetically. 'But there never was any monster.'

Yet in an unbelievably creepy coincidence, a sudden, anguished howl rings out in the woods around us. Every head snaps up in alarm, and John and Lestrade aim their flashlights upwards to the top of the Hollow. Through the dense copse, I make out a low shape slowly stalking along the perimeter. It snarls threateningly.

'Sherlock…' I whisper, my legs rooted to the spot with fear. Sherlock is beside me in a heartbeat, pushing my body behind his.

'It's not real, Audrey. It's not real.' He reassures me, but I detect a note of uncertainty in his voice.

'No.' Henry begins to wail in panic. 'No, no, no, no!' He backs away as Sherlock tries simultaneously to hold out a calming hand towards him while holding me firmly behind him.

'Sherlock ...' John warns, his eyes trained on the creature as it turns towards the Hollow and looks down at us, snarling viciously. Its eyes glow demonically in the torchlight as Henry continues to wail.

'Shit.' Lestrade swears in a low voice.

John turns and shines his torch into his face. 'Greg, are you seeing this?'

Lestrade glances at him momentarily before locking his eyes back onto the beast. 'Clear as day.'

'Right.' John turns around to look at Sherlock, eyes wide in disbelief and fear. 'He is not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that? What is it?!'

Sherlock screws his eyes shut for a brief moment, trying to handle the overload in his mind. He stares upwards again.

'Oh my god…' I whisper to myself. How could I have forgotten this?

'What?' Sherlock stares at me. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'It's the fog. The fog is the hallucinogen!'

'Now you decide to tell me?' Sherlock exclaims.

'I'm sorry! Seeing the hound completely threw me, I was going to tell you once you arrived here!' I explain before clamping my hand over my mouth and nose.

'It's the fog! The drug: it's in the fog!' Sherlock shouts at Henry, John and Lestrade, who take one look at me all follow suit, covering their faces with their hands. 'Aerosol dispersal – that's what it said in those records. Project HOUND – it's the fog! A chemical minefield!' He turns to the still-whimpering Henry. 'It's just a dog! Nothing more than an ordinary dog!'

However, the hound doesn't seem think so and it raises its head to let out a long, terrifying howl.

'Oh my God.' Lestrade shouts and stumbles backwards. The hound turns and leaps a short way down the slope, snarling as it moves. It now stands only a few feet away from Lestrade.

'Greg,' I warn him with some difficulty, as I try to speak out from underneath my hand. 'You need to walk back towards us… slowly…' I jump as Sherlock suddenly whips his head around, something having caught his eye. 'Sher –' I begin to ask but fall short as he lets go of me and rushes toward a clump of bushes behind us. 'Where are you going!?'

A large, white figure appears from behind the thicket, directly in front of Sherlock. I gasp in fright, inhaling half a lung-full of the contaminated fog. Coughing and spluttering, I try to shake my head clear but that only worsens the sudden vertigo. I stumble after Sherlock, towards the outskirts of the clearing, but stop abruptly when a pale shape to my left catches my eye.

I turn to look at it, and my heart drops.

'Camille.'

The limp figure of my twin sister hangs from a tall oak tree, standing just beyond the hollow. She sways gently in the wind, her skin glowing eerily. She was as pale-haired as I am dark, but her once golden locks fall in thin, dull strands now.

I choke out a sob and feel my legs give way beneath me. 'No…no Camille…'

A strong gust catches in her dress, and the tree creaks as Camille's body slowly turns, her face in illuminated by the moonlight.

I remain motionless with horror, feeling as useless as I did the day I found her hanging from the tree at the end of our garden. Her face is just as I remember it – so pale she almost looked translucent, the purple and blue veins in her eyelids so vibrant, as though they had been painted on.

'I'm sorry, Camille. I'm so sorry…' My heart is filled with such an immense sorrow, I feel as though its weight is dragging me down. 'What didn't I see? What did I miss? P-Please, Camille, come back …'

'Audrey!'

I sob uncontrollably, grief consuming me. I hear a voice calling my name but I ignore it.

'Audrey! It's not real, it's not –'

A pair of hands wrap around my waist, pulling me into a standing position. Twisting me around to face him, Sherlock shakes me hard, trying to snap me out of the drug-induced stupor. It is the sound of a gunshot, loud and ringing through the forest, that brings me back to the present. I jolt in fright, frantically turning my head to see who fired the bullet.

'It's the dog, Audrey. John shot the dog.' Sherlock pulls me back around to face him, confusion and concern etched across his features. 'What did you see, Aud – '

'Frankland!' John shouts and chases after Doctor Frankland's white form as he bolts past Sherlock and I, with Lestrade and Henry in hot pursuit. Sherlock throws me a look that says we'll-talk-about-this-later, grabs my hand and sprints after them. I hear John, Henry and Lestrade crashing through the bushes, the latter shouting out colourful profanities. As a clearing in the forest, and a large field surrounded by barbed wire, comes into view, a sudden realisation hits me like a freight train.

'STOP! DON'T CROSS THE BARBED FENCE!' I shriek at the figures ahead of me, picking up speed. 'IT'S A MINEFIELD!' Sherlock starts at the revelation, but before either of us takes another step, there is a great whooshing noise, like all of the air has been sucked into one, tiny hole, and a massive explosion rips through the air. Sherlock grabs me around the middle, hugging my body to his, and dives to the ground. We stay rigid for a few seconds, before realising that we both are, in fact, alive.

Groaning, I move under Sherlock's weight. 'Can't…breathe…'

Sherlock is standing upright in an instant, pulling me with him. 'Are you okay? Did anything hit you?'

I don't answer him, focussing instead on clicking my left hand fingers in front of my left ear, and my right hand fingers in front of my right ear. 'One ear sounds muffled, and the other is clear.' I glance at Sherlock, slightly panicked. 'Is that normal?'

'Perfectly.' He waves my concerns aside. 'Loss of hearing in one or both ears for a short period of time is a very common side effect of exposure to the blast.'

'Good to know.' I mumble, trying to shake off the sensation of ten cotton pads being packed tightly into my eardrum.

Sherlock brushes himself down, and approaches the fence. 'John? Are you alright? Lestrade?'

'All good!' John calls back to us, and I make out the three figures walking back towards us. 'Can't say the same for Dr Frankland though.'

'Oh dear.' Sherlock says without a hint of remorse.

The drive back to the inn was a silent, and slightly awkward, affair. All three men – Sherlock, John and Lestrade – had certainly seen, if not heard, how I reacted to the hallucinogen. Either they were too polite to ask, or were just going to wait until I brought the subject up.

'Oh, come out with it, then.' I say exasperatedly, after ten minutes of Sherlock's silent scrutiny back in our room.

'Who is Camille?' He asks without further hesitation, sitting forward in his seat.

I smile to myself for a second, and shake my head. 'So Mycroft didn't tell you? I guess he is a man of his word.'

Sherlock frowns. 'I don't follow.'

I sigh and sit at the edge of the bed, across from the armchair. 'Camille is – was, my sister. Twin sister, actually.' I smile at Sherlock's expression. 'Bet you didn't see that one coming, hm?' Sherlock shakes his head, but remains silent. I take that as a sign to continue. 'When we were fifteen years old, Camille took her life. She hanged herself. At the end of our garden.' I glance up at Sherlock, his expression unreadable. 'I was the one who found her.'

'The thing is… to this day, I still don't understand why she did it. Had there been the slightest sign, I would have… I would have helped. Or tried to have helped...' I find that I cannot speak any more, so the room falls into silence.

'I am so sorry, Audrey.' Sherlock finally says in a low voice, breaking the silence. 'I can't even begin to imagine what you went through.' He looks at me with such sincerity in his eyes, and I feel my voice come back to me.

'Why? Why did I see her in the forest?'

Sherlock thinks for a moment, before replying. 'It's like you said – the drug causes such strong hallucinations, taking form of our deepest fears.'

'But why didn't you see your worst fear? Or John, or Lestrade?' I frown, trying to make sense.

'I suspect it depends on the intake of the drug - the amount inhaled. Both John and Lestrade had their hands clamped tightly over their nose and mouth, while you and I became, ah…distracted.'

'But Henry had something to trigger his fear - the dog. Why did I see my sister?'

Sherlock nods, already having guessed the answer. 'Do you remember what you said to me on the phone? "Every tree looks like a person". I suspect that thought rooted itself in the back of your mind, and acted as a base on which your hallucination moulded itself.'

I nod, but another thought bubbles to the forefront of my mind. 'But you didn't see anything. You didn't have a mental breakdown – '

'Oh, I saw something.' Sherlock's expression darkens, and he clenches his jaw. 'I saw Moriarty.'

'Oh,' I say quietly. 'Oh right..'

Sherlock stares at a spot on the wall, lost in thought. Sighing, I begin shaking my head from side to side, fed up with the fuzziness still buzzing in my eardrum.

'Bloody wrackspurts…'

'Hmm?' Sherlock breaks away from his staring competition with the wall and looks at me.

'Wrackspurts. Flying, invisible creatures. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy.'

Sherlock blinks owlishly before replying. 'I'm just going to pretend like you didn't say that.'

I grin at him, and pull the duvet back from my side of the bed. 'One day,' I slip underneath the covers, 'when you're retired, you'll read Harry Potter. And you'll remember an Irish girl, who doesn't seem half as mad, now that you're educated in all things Hogwarts.'

Sherlock rises from the armchair and walks over to my side. He leans over me and places both of his hands on my pillow, at either side of my head. 'I look forward to that day.' His eyes crinkle as he smiles. He moves his head closer to mine, and presses a soft, warm kiss against my lips.

'Goodnight, Audrey.' He whispers, his lips brushing off mine. He straightens up slowly and returns to his seat.

I frown. 'Aren't you going to sleep?'

He joins the tips of his fingers together and places them under his chin. 'Not yet. I'll join you in a while.' I nod, not wanting to press him any further. But I don't like the troubled look in his eyes.

It's Moriarty, of course. It's always Moriarty.

Hope you enjoyed! You'll probably have noticed that my take on the effects of the hallucinogen isn't exactly the same as that in the show, but I remember thinking how much the drug reminded me of a Boggart, and couldn't help adding it to my story!

Please let me know what you think of the update! And I hope no one was triggered by the suicide memory.

As always, thank you so so much for reading and reviewing. I love you ALL.