Sherlock was becoming tiresome once again. He had solved the case of Irene Adler and had even saved her life much to everyone's lack of knowledge. But the lack of cases on offer meant he was fed up with everything. Instead his daughter rarely spoke to him and John was being civil but that was all. It wasn't until one evening in the spring time when Sherlock realised he could not continue living in the way he had been doing.

...

"I know you still have feelings for John, Alison," Sherlock informed his daughter. That was the first sentence he spoke to her when he walked her home after her late night shift at the coffee shop. He rarely walked to meet her and this had been the first time in over four weeks.

"I've been trying not to," she grumbled, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her short skirt as she looked at the floor and Sherlock sighed once and lightly.

"This has been going on for too long," he admitted to her. "John is a good man. I think we can both agree on that. But he is too old and logic suggests it wouldn't work out."

"I don't want anything to happen between us dad," she replied and Sherlock cocked a brow, placing his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he continued to walk by her side in the cool and fresh night.

"And why is this?"

"I'm a danger magnet," she simply spoke. "Everyone who I have loved has become hurt by me. Damian was used by Moriarty and then mum was killed. I can't risk being close to anyone else...you said yourself that emotions are completely useless."

"I am a sociopath, Alison," Sherlock told her. "I am not really someone you should listen to when it comes to this feeling stuff."

"But I think you're right sometimes," she said. "I know that John is older than me and I think it would be a problem. The more I think about it the more stupid I feel for ever thinking anything could happen. But I can't pretend I don't feel anything."

"I know that John is a good man," Sherlock nodded. "I just don't think it is right and I am glad you see that too. Have you told John this?"

"I haven't spoken to John since I told him nothing could happen," Alison sighed and Sherlock closed his eyes momentarily and then nodded once.

"You need to talk to him," he said. "You need to explain this, Alison. You can't leave him hanging like this."

...

Sherlock was once again at St Bart's that evening, doing experiments on corpses which many would consider worrying as well as disturbing. Alison was alone with John in the living room and she sighed once, biting her bottom lip and sitting on the sofa with her laptop in her hands.

"You alright?" she managed to ask John and he looked up from the day's newspaper which he had been reading, blinking and then nodding once.

"I'm fine," he said politely. "You?"

"No," Alison admitted. "We need to talk."

"We haven't been doing that in a while," he simply snorted and Alison closed her eyes and John shook his head. "Sorry," he whispered. "What's up?"

"The reason why I didn't want anything to happen was nothing to do with you," she told him and he chuckled once.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Would it not help if I was ten years younger?"

"Maybe," Alison whispered. "But you're not and that isn't the point. The point is that everyone who I have liked has been hurt, John. I've lost my mother...and...I lost Damian..." she told him and he noted her eyes began to form with tears and he sighed once.

"Is this because you still love Damian?"

"No," she shook her head. "I mean...it's different, John. What I am trying to say is that whilst Moriarty is out there then he has the potential to hurt anyone close to me. Why do you think I don't talk to my friends anymore?"

John remained quiet and Alison smiled at him lightly. "You're a good person John and I should have told you this earlier and I am sorry I didn't."

"You're worried we'd be hurt," he nodded. "I suppose that makes sense."

"And besides," Alison said and she stood up, walking into the kitchen. "The age would become annoying when we take it into consideration."

John nodded once, forcing himself to bite his tongue and not say anything back to her. Alison leant onto the worktop and took a deep breath, nodding to herself. It was better this way. It had to be.

...

"Devon?" Alison checked and Sherlock nodded as he handed her the ticket for the train which she took as they sat in the station and waited for the train to arrive. Sherlock had simply told his daughter to take a week off work and they were going away somewhere. Sherlock didn't say where or give any more details.

"Why are we going to Devon?"

"You remember that man who came around?" John asked her and she nodded. "Well he thinks he has seen this large Hound. He thinks it killed his dad and he keeps seeing it and thinks that it is linked to Baskerville."

"Isn't that the place which Mycroft sometimes talks about?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded to her.

"And there is some kind of killer hound on the loose?" she asked, pulling out her IPhone and typing the relevant information into Google, knowing a search engine was more useful that her father when it came to matters like this and conversation.

"Bluebell also needs to be found."

"What?" Alison asked and John shook his head.

"Don't ask."

...

"No!" Alison snapped at her father as he handed her the room key and she shook her head with haste. "I am not sharing a room with you two."

"Why not?" Sherlock simply asked her. "It is the only room left at the inn."

"Just the issue Mary and Joseph had," John said, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Who?" Sherlock wondered and Alison shook her head as Sherlock led the way up to the room and dropped his bag onto the floor, waiting for Alison to open the door and switch the light on. She entered the small room and noted a double bed along with a sofa which she presumed pulled out into a bed and she placed her large pink holdall onto the double bed, sitting down on it as Sherlock checked the bathroom and John looked out the window.

"It's quiet," he declared and Sherlock came back into the main room.

"It is twelve at night," he said. "Of course it will be quiet. Now, John you can take the sofa."

"Why can't I have the bed?" John complained and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You are always moaning that people have the wrong impression of us and sharing a bed would only confirm their beliefs. Alison will have to share with me much to my dismay."

...

"So you plan to break into Baskerville with Mycroft's ID?" Alison checked the next morning. She was still laid in the double bed as Sherlock and John tidied the room slightly. Well, John did anyway. Sherlock had brought breakfast up to the room in the form of three croissants in a bag and two polystyrene cups of tea and a small cartoon of orange juice which Alison was slurping through the straw provided.

"Yes," Sherlock told her. "I have John with me and he can act as some kind of Army official. Unfortunately there is no place for you."

"I don't even want to go," she told him. "You cannot honestly believe this is going to work?"

"Of course it will," Sherlock nodded, "for about twenty minutes."

"And if we get caught then you're taking the blame," John told Sherlock, pointing at him whilst the detective rolled his eyes and drank the tea which was in his hand as John pushed the sofa bed away.

"We won't have chance to get caught," he told his friend. "So you need to stay here and then after dinner we can go and try and find this Hound of Hell for ourselves...exciting, isn't it?"

...

"John!" Alison hissed into the darkness as she saw him wander off, his torch shining brightly into the distance as Alison looked at her father who was following Henry Knight further into the woods. Alison huffed to herself, moving behind John and grabbing onto his arm and he turned his head to look at her.

"What are you doing? They went further into the woods!" she snapped at him and John cocked a brow at her and then pointed into the distance where she saw some form of light flashing on and off.

"What do you think it is?" she wondered and jumped as she heard the snapping of a twig and grabbed onto John's arm with haste and he looked at her.

"I don't know what it is," he replied in a mutter. "Don't tell me you're scared."

"I'm petrified!" she snapped at him. "We're in the middle of some dark woods and there is apparently some large killing dog! Of course I'm jumpy at every noise which is made."

"Well...um...you can let go...or hold on...whichever you prefer really," John grumbled and Alison shook her head.

"Sorry," she said. "I...I just...well..."

"We'll go back to the inn," John decided. "Sherlock will be fine on his own."

...

Alison remained in the room whilst John went to check on Sherlock who he had seen walk back into the inn, looking behind him constantly and appearing as if he had a fright. Alison had been for a shower and was sat on the bed, running a towel through her wet hair and checking her IPhone which like normal had no messages. It was another half an hour before John walked back into the room, slamming the door shut and grumbling under his breath as Alison looked up at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sherlock!" he snapped at her. "He saw the hound."

"What?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "Now he's gone into denial and saying he doesn't need anyone. He's basically being an arse."

"I'd best go and check on him," Alison complained and stood up, grabbing her clothes and pulling her hair into a bobble and John nodded.

"I'm off to investigate the Morse Code," he said to her. "Tell Sherlock I will be back later."

...

Alison looked around the restaurant but found no sign of her father anywhere. She tried the bar area and sighed lightly and then she looked out the window. He was sat on a wooden bench outside the inn in the cold night air. Alison walked out to him and sat next to him and he looked at her. He had been sweating terribly and his eyes were blank, his hand shaking and he raised it to show her.

"I'm scared," he whispered. "I'm physically scared, Alison. My body is failing me."

"It is natural dad," she told him simply. "What did you see?"

Sherlock took a deep swig of the beer which he had purchased, hoping it would calm him slightly and he shook his head, closing his eyes and running his hands over his cheeks with haste.

"I saw the Hound," he whispered to her. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"Are you sure?" she asked him. "The dark can play tricks."

Sherlock gulped and shook his head quickly as he did so.

"No," he told her. "I saw it."

"Come inside," she said, wrapping her hand around his arm and he looked at the contact and then into her eyes. "Sitting in the cold isn't going to help dad."

"It's clearing my head," he told her.

"Well come and clear it inside," she pleaded. "Sleep will help. It takes away the human emotions which you don't like."

"Where did John go?"

"He...he isn't best pleased and he went to work something out...now come on..."

Sherlock stood up slowly, looking around the dark street as Alison grasped onto his hand and led him back into the inn. He knew what he had seen. And he wasn't going to forget.