Mary
Sherlock was silent for a good chunk of the drive away from Baskerville. I watched John, who squirmed in the front seat, clearly curious. Personally, I was too far into the crash from my adrenaline high to care one way or the other about what we'd just been through, so I simply sprawled across the backseat, fluttering between sleep and consciousness. John's voice caught my attention, waking me up.
"So," he began, looking over at Sherlock, "The email from Kristie about the missing luminous rabbit."
"Kirstie Stapleton," Sherlock corrected him, "whose mother specializes in genetic manipulation."
John looked out at the road, obviously still lost. "She made her rabbit glow in the dark..."
"Probably a fluorescent gene, removed and spliced, and injected into the specimen. Simple enough these days."
"So it was a firefly rabbit?" I clarified.
"Basically."
I rested my head on my arm, watching John attempt to piece the puzzle together. "So how does all this tie together?" I asked finally. "I have the feeling that it's got to, otherwise you wouldn't be interested."
"Dr. Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals, so the question is-"
"Did she make super dog?" I interrupted.
"Hound," John corrected me.
"Right. Hound."
A few minutes later, we pulled up in a driveway longer than the street I'd grown up on that led to a house I could have mistaken for a hotel. The cobblestone siding made it resemble a castle straight out of medieval times. As I hopped down from the Jeep, I noticed a greenhouse to the left of the entrance. Bursts of color bloomed from clusters of green, attracting my attention. While the boys rang the doorbell, I snuck a walk through the flowers. I almost could have become lost in their aroma if the door hadn't been answered so quickly.
"Mary, come along!" John called, waving me over to the door. Sighing, I followed him inside, greeting Henry Knight as I passed him. While Henry closed the door, I stopped in the hallway, taking a brief moment to bask in the beauty of his home. I'd never been in a house so lovely, and envy battled with awe in my mind, leaving me motionless. John seemed to share a bit of my amazement.
"This is..." he muttered, peeking into the rooms we passed as we walked. "Are you.."
"Are you rich?" I asked for him.
Henry led us into a kitchen large enough to fit a bedroom in and looked at me like I'd asked him if the sky was blue. "Yeah."
"Right," John muttered. On the counter, a gleaming silver tea set waited; the pot steamed, emitting an enticing aroma.
Fancy tea, I thought with excitement, crawling onto one of the tall bar stools. With Sherlock and John on either side of me, Henry asked us how we liked our tea and prepared it for us. As he poured the combination of tea and milk that was unique to each of us, he explained a strange series of dreams he'd been having.
"Just two words remain consistent," he said. "Liberty and in."
I looked at him questioningly. "Liberty in?"
"That's it. Are you done with this?" he asked, motioning towards the milk. I nodded, and waited until he'd turned towards the fridge to look at Sherlock, whose brain seemed to already be running at top speed. Not to be outdone, I began wracking my brain for any possibilities.
"That mean anything to either of you?" John asked, interrupting my trail of thought. Sighing, I shook my head and looked at Sherlock.
"Liberty in death," he said. "Isn't that the expression?"
I scoffed. "Morbid is what that is."
"It's the only true freedom," Sherlock replied. "Or so I've heard." He shrugged. Henry turned back to us and watched us in silence, wringing his hands. I had to fight the urge to reach out and hug him.
"So...what now then?" he asked quietly. John and I looked to Sherlock.
"You have a plan, right?" I inquired.
"Of course."
Henry slumped just a bit with relief. "Right."
"We take you back onto the moor," Sherlock began.
"Okay."
"And we see if anything attacks you."
John did a double take beside me. "Mm. What?"
Sherlock continued, unfazed. "That should bring things to a head." An awkward silence ensued as I stared at Sherlock for an extended period of time, waiting for him to say he was joking. When he said no such thing, I chuckled.
"Haha. Very funny. You know, I was thinking maybe a tad less idiotic plan than that," I hinted.
"Do you have a better one?" Sherlock challenged.
"Well...no."
"At night?" Henry interjected. "You want me to go out there at night?" The fear on his face broke my heart and I reached a hand out to him.
"No, Henry. That's just ridiculous. Sherlock-"
"Course I do," Sherlock interrupted. John gaped at him, practically offended by the idea.
"Look," he said, "that's not a plan."
"If there is a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do," Sherlock insisted. "Find out where it lives." He smiled at Henry, who gave me a look that begged me not to let our resident madman have his way. I hung my head in my hands.
John
At sunset, the four of us made our way back to the moor. The fading sunlight left the air dank and cold. Our flashlights left far too much to the imagination, and the wind whirled around us, messing with our senses. Beside me, Mary turned up the collar of her coat around her thick, red scarf. She wore a coat almost identical to Sherlock's, and a black, bell-shaped hat with a red ribbon around it. Her face was barely visible in the shadows of the boulders around us, but I could tell that something wasn't quite right with her. Her flashlight danced frantically across the hills, zipping to illuminate the dark corner of a rock face or a spot in the trees. A bird cawed in the darkness, and Mary jumped, clutching her flashlight to her chest. I moved to walk beside her and placed a gentle hand on her arm.
"Are you alright?" I asked. Holding her hat on her head, she glanced up at me, and her dark irises appeared like opal orbs against the whites of her eyes.
"I'm fine," she replied, with a smile that peeked just above her scarf. "Just not a huge fan of the dark is all."
Sherlock snorted beside me. "And coming in at number one on the list of most common childhood fears to carry into adulthood..." He trailed off.
Mary glared at him. "Shut up, Sherlock."
As night fell, we headed into a grove of trees, packed into a clump for security. A sound to my right caught my attention and I stopped, shining my light into the underbrush. Nothing moved, and for a moment, I considered ignoring it, but my instincts got the best of me. I pushed my way through the trees and bushes, searching for movement but finding nothing as I ended up in another open field. I searched the grass around me for signs of life, and found a light flashing atop a far hill. As I squinted at the flickering light, I realized that it had a pattern.
I turned, attempting to get Sherlock's attention, and stopped when I realized that I'd been left behind.
Whatever, I thought, pulling a small notebook and pen from my pocket. Watching the light flash in a sequence, I transcribed the pattern in Morse Code.
"U, m, q, r, a," I muttered to myself. Rereading what I'd written, I mumbled the letters again, trying to make sense of it. "Umqra?" I looked to the hill for another clue, but another noise startled me. I whipped around to face it, and found Mary frozen over a broken twig.
"Sorry!" she whispered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
I lowered my flashlight and breathed a small sigh of relief. "It's alright."
Mary strode to stand beside me. "I was just worried when I turned around and you were gone," she explained. "What are you doing back here?"
"That flashlight over there-" I stopped mid-sentence as I noticed that the light had disappeared. Mary looked at me questioningly. "Ah...there was a flashing light over there. I think it was doing Morse code. Here, look at this," I said, holding the notebook out towards her.
She studied it closely. "Umk...oom...umqra?" She looked up at me, confused. "John, I don't think that word's in the dictionary."
"No, but it could be an acronym for something."
"Hm. True," Mary agreed. "Let's go find Sherlock and see. This place gives me the creeps anyway."
We hurried back in the direction we'd come from, stumbling over uprooted trees and badly placed rocks. After a time, we ended up holding onto one another for balance, and falling even then. A thought gnawed at my mind as we walked, so I voiced it.
"Listen," I muttered, catching her by the arm as she stumbled, "I'm sorry about the whole room thing. I promise I didn't mean anything weird by it. I just wasn't thinking is all."
Mary smiled at me and gave a short laugh. "It's okay. I understand. Besides, I'm sure you regretted the mistake for your own sake, not just mine." She giggled and added, "The three of us sharing a bed sounds like a nightmare."
I nodded in agreement. "Especially with your drooling."
"Hey! You snore," she retorted.
"And Sherlock kicks," I reminded her. "It's a lose all around."
She laughed, but quickly fell silent as a low sound traveled on the wind. I stopped and Mary clutched my arm as I scanned the area, searching for movement.
. "Please tell me you heard that," she whispered.
"Yeah, I did," I replied. "Keep your voice down. Let's keep walking."
We continued on over the hills, searching the trees and shadows for anything suspicious. As we walked, the sound picked up again, this time gaining a sort of rhythm. The farther we walked, the louder it became. Mary's grip on my arm tightened until I could feel her nails through my jacket, and finally, she would walk no further.
"You know what?" she asked. "Please just tell me you don't hear that, and that I'm crazy, and that we should just go back to the inn, okay?"
I fought the urge to laugh. "Nonsense. Calm down and hush. Look," I instructed, pointing the beam of my flashlight at the ground ahead of us. A rusty pipe was mostly hidden beneath a bed of leaves, and a steady stream of water dripped onto the metal from the trees above, making a small noise that echoed through the pipe. Mary's fingers loosened and I felt her relax beside me, until a flash of movement passed us. We froze for a moment, watching the darkness around us.
"John?" she whispered. I placed my hand over hers on my arm.
"Sh. Hold on," I muttered. A howl sounded from behind us, and we both whipped around to face it.
"John?" she whimpered, clutching my arm tighter and leaning into it. I pulled my arm up and around her, holding her to my side protectively.
"Hush. It's alright. I promise it's alright."
"For us, maybe. Isn't that the direction Sherlock went in?"
My heart dropped. "Damnit. Let's go."
Mary
We sprinted towards the howling, which, in hindsight, seems like an idiotic idea. The trees flew past us as we searched for Sherlock and Henry. Moments after the howling stopped, two figures ran into view. Relief flooded me as I recognized them, but quickly faded as I caught a glimpse of Sherlock's expression.
"Did you hear that?" John asked.
"We saw it," Henry answered. "We saw it." I approached Sherlock to see if he was hurt, and he walked right past me without acknowledging me.
"No," he muttered, "I didn't see anything."
Henry stopped in front of John and I and looked after Sherlock, appearing utterly hurt. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
"I didn't see anything," Sherlock repeated. I reached out to grab his hand or his coat, but he walked ahead without looking back, leaving me with John and Henry, completely confused.
When we left the moor, we split up. John took Henry home, and I rode back to the inn with Sherlock. For the duration of the car ride, he remained silent, and I didn't push him to speak. He didn't move other than to turn the wheel, and his expression remained blank as an unpainted canvas.
As we reached the inn, Sherlock practically ran out of the car and into the pub, getting inside the door before I could get out of the car. By the time I made it inside, he'd already taken a seat in front of the fireplace with two glasses of scotch beside him. I hesitated for only a moment before taking the seat across from him.
His entire demeanor had changed in less than a minute. The transformation frightened me. He shook visibly, and his eyes darted from place to place around the fire. I watched him become lost in his own mind, trapped by fear. I wasn't sure how to begin a conversation, so I sat quietly across from him as he downed drink after drink.
John returned in a timely manner, and broke the silence as soon as he pulled up a chair between us.
"Well, he's in a bad place," John began.
Obviously, I thought. He's on his fourth glass of scotch, and I don't think I've ever seen him drink.
"He's manic. Totally convinced there's some mutant super dog roaming the moors," John said.
Oh. He means Henry. Then again...
"And there isn't, though, is there?" He looked to Sherlock, waiting for a response. I groaned.
My God, John. Stop talking. Sherlock, say something. I looked at John with pleading eyes. Something is terribly wrong, John. Can't you tell?
Ignoring my thoughts, John pulled a notepad from his pocket. "Listen, on the moor, I saw someone signaling Morse. At least, I think it was Morse. U, m, q, r, a. Does that mean anything?"
Tension gripped my shoulders as Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. John fell silent, watching him briefly, and continued.
"So, okay. What have we got? We know there's footprints. Henry found them and so did the tour guide. We all definitely heard something..." He paused as Sherlock took another deep breath, and looked him up and down.
Do you see it yet, John?
"Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog."
Damnit, John.
"Henry's right," Sherlock said suddenly, surprising John and I.
"What?" John asked.
"I saw it, too."
"What?"
"I saw it, too."
I squirmed uncomfortably, clasping my hands in my lap. "You saw...what, exactly?" I asked gently. Sherlock turned to face me, his eyes wide and wet with terror. The sight startled me, and I flinched.
"A hound out there in the hollow," he hissed. "A gigantic hound." He fell into himself again. I looked at John, who seemed ready to laugh.
"Um...look, Sherlock. We have to be rational about all of this. Now, you of all people can't just..." he paused, noticing that Sherlock continued to shake. "Let's just stick to what we know. The facts."
Sherlock turned to him. "Once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true."
I prayed that John would drop the doctor bit and simply empathize, but he was completely lost. "What does that mean?" he asked.
Watching Sherlock become more jittery by the second, I put a hand on John's knee. "John? Could I talk to Sherlock for a moment in private?" Looking to Sherlock and back to me, John shrugged.
"I'll be in the room."
Once John left, Sherlock and I again sat in silence, and I watched him drink. As he lifted the glass to his lips, I noticed that his hand was shaking. Looking down at it, he laughed.
"Look at me," he mumbled, slurring a bit. "I'm afraid, Mary. Afraid."
The sight frightened me and broke my heart at the same time. "Sherlock, please..."
Sherlock took a swig of the liquid and grimaced. "Always been able to...keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings, you see," he explained. "My body's betraying me," he said, raising the glass in his shaking hand. "Interesting, yes? Emotions. Grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment."
The absurdity of the statement made me laugh. "Okay, alright, Spock. Take it easy." I smiled at him and kneeled beside his leg on the floor, resting my head against his knee as I spoke to him. "Everyone gets scared, Sherlock. You know, even the great king, Mufasa, was scared once."
Confusion crossed his face. "What? Who's that?"
I narrowed my eyes. "We just talked about..." I sighed. "You know what? It's not important. The point is that fear is natural."
He scoffed. "Not for me." He began to shut down again and put his fingers to his temples. With his eyes shut and his hands shaking, I began to worry about him.
"Sherlock..." I mumbled, touching his knee lightly. His eyes sprung open.
"We're looking for people with a dog, yes? That's John's brilliant plan? Cherchez le chien? Let's start. What about them over there? The widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman."
"Sherlock, please," I begged.
"The answer's yes," he continued, ignoring me. "She's got a West Highland Terrier called Whiskey. Not exactly what we're looking for, though."
I rose to my feet and grabbed him by the shoulders, brushing sweaty curls away from his face. "Sherlock, for God's sake please. Calm down."
"The jumper he's wearing isn't very worn, possibly because of the itchy material, most likely due to the hideous pattern." The statement struck me as funny, and I began to laugh. Sherlock fell silent, watching me with confusion. "What's so funny?" he asked.
"Nothing," I answered. "Well, you. Your deductions carry so much sass. Look," I said, sitting on the arm of his chair and folding my legs to my chest. "I believe you."
His eyebrows creased as his drunken mind struggled with my words. "What?"
"I believe you. And...there's nothing wrong with being afraid. You're not Superman, Sherlock." He looked away from me, pulling a mask over his emotions. "No. No, no. Don't you do that," I demanded, gently guiding him by the chin to look back at me. "Don't hide your humanity. Sherlock, you're a genius, a scientist, and a philosopher all rolled into one crazy smart human being. And that's what you are. A human being."
"Emotions are weakness," he muttered.
"No they're not. And the sooner you realize that, the stronger you'll be," I said, reaching to take the scotch from his hand. "Now, I think we've had quite enough to drink. Don't you?"
"No," he answered, pulling the glass away from me.
"Too bad. It's bedtime," I said, gently taking the glass. Sherlock watched me as I took it, but said nothing even though I expected him to. Smiling and pleasantly surprised by his behavior, I stood in front of his chair and offered him my hand. "Come on, then."
He glanced at my hand and back up to me before shaking his head slowly. My mind insisted on getting him to bed, but I simply nodded.
"Alright. I'll see you up in the room, then."