First of all, I want to say, Thank you to all of you for sticking with me and this story. I know I've had so many delays on it, especially within the last few months, going from a weekly posting to a "whenever I can" posting. This past week has been especially difficult, as I lost a very much loved cousin who passed away in her sleep. As always, I promise that I will never purposely abandon a story, even if it's been months since I've updated. I hope that you are all doing well, and if nothing else, the loss of my cousin has reminded me that we don't tell each other often enough that we care and say I love you. So take a little time today to tell the people you love that you love them! As always, I hope you'll enjoy the story, and any mistakes are all mine.

~J.


They located Dr. Stapleton in her lab, hunched over a white rabbit. She looked up, startled as the three of them entered. "Oh, back again? What's on your mind this time?" she asked.

"Murder, Dr. Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder," Sherlock replied, reaching back to turn off the light.

Jayne blinked in surprise as the white lab rabbit that Dr. Stapleton had been examining lit up a glowing bright green.

Sherlock flicked the light back on. "Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?"

Obviously frustrated, but with no other choice, Dr. Stapleton sighed. "Okay. What do you want?"

"Can I borrow your microscope?" Sherlock asked.

Within a short period of time, Sherlock was set up behind Stapleton's microscope, looking through it at a sample of some sort. John and Dr. Stapleton were having a conversation about the genetic manipulations done in the lab, Jayne was listening in as well. Jayne had perched herself on a stool, sliding her fingers through the soft, warm fur of one of the rabbits. She wondered if Dr. Stapleton would let her take one home...

Her thought was cut off when Sherlock shouted and threw the glass sample container at the wall. "It's not there!"

"Jesus!" John exclaimed, as Jayne struggled not to drop the rabbit that was now violently struggling in her arms. She quickly put the poor thing into it's cage and locked it. "Sherlock!" she hissed at him.

But he was busy pacing, his mind racing. "Nothing there. It doesn't make any sense!"

"What were you expecting to find?" Stapleton asked.

"A drug, of course. It has to be a drug. A hallucinogenic or deliriant of some kind. There's no trace of anything in the sugar." he explained, pacing.

"Sugar?" John asked.

"The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination. I saw the Hound, saw it as my imagination expected me to see it. A genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight, he saw it too. But you didn't, John. You didn't see it. Now we have eaten and drunk exactly the same thing since we got to Grimpen, apart from one thing! You don't take sugar in your coffee."

"I see. So..." John began, getting cut off by Sherlock.

"I took it from Henry's kitchen. His sugar. But it's perfectly all right," Sherlock's frustration was becoming more evident, as he paced.

"But maybe it's not a drug," John said.

"No, it has to be a drug," Sherlock said. "How did it get into our systems. How? There must be something. Something...Something...Something buried deep. Get out." He said, pointing towards the door.

"What?" Dr. Stapleton asked.

"Get out," Sherlock reiterated. "I need to go to my mind palace."

"Your what?" she asked.

John answered. "He's not going to be doing much talking for a while, we may as well go."

"His what?" Stapleton asked again.

"Oh, his mind palace. It's a memory technique. A sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location. It doesn't have to be a real place. And then you deposit memories there. Theoretically, you can never forget anything. All you have to do is find your way back to it," John explained, as he gathered his jacket and led the way towards the door.

"So this imaginary location, it could be anything, a house or a street?"

"Yeah," John replied.

"But he said palace. He said it was a palace," Stapleton said, looking confused.

Jayne grinned as John replied, "Yeah well, he would, wouldn't he?" John turned back to Jayne, still sitting on her stool. "Coming, Jayne?"

"Nah, I think I'll stick around for a bit," she said. John nodded and led Dr. Stapleton from the room.

Jayne sighed and settled back onto her stool, leaning against the wall. She wanted to help him, to soothe him and tell him he would figure it out. She knew he was frustrated. But now wasn't the time, when he was wrapped up in his "mind palace", so she pressed her lips together and sat down on her stool to watch him work out the puzzle in his mind.

She wasn't surprised when he suddenly jerked upright, as though strings had been pulled. She moved stiffly from her spot on the stool, her legs slightly numb. "Found something?" she asked, her voice rough from disuse. He looked over at her and smiled. "Let's go," he said, and she followed him from the room. They found John and Dr. Stapleton quickly. Stapleton led them to her office, as they went through the door, Sherlock ordered John to watch the doorway.

"Project H.O.U.N.D. I must have read about it. Stored it away. Experiment in the CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana." Sherlock explained, as Stapleton took a seat at a computer and began typing in her ID and password. She waited for Sherlock's instructions as a search box appeared on the screen. "H-O-U-N-D," he said. Stapleton typed it in and pressed the search key.

After several seconds, it popped up with a "No Access" sign and "Authorization Code" request. Sherlock sighed in annoyance and Stapleton admitted that that was as far as her access could get them.

"There must be an override. A password," John said.

"I imagine so, but that'd be Major Barrymore's." Dr. Stapleton explained.

Sherlock took long strides towards Major Barrymore's office, the rest of them following after him. Jayne heard him muttering, "Password. Password. Password," under his breath. He flicked on the lamp above the Major's desk and sat in his chair looking around for clues. "He'd have sat here when he thought it up. Describe him to me," Sherlock told Stapleton.

"You've seen him," she said.

"But describe him," Sherlock said, emphasizing it.

"He's a bloody martinet. A throwback, the sort they'd have sent into Suez."

"Good. Excellent. Old fashioned. A traditionalist. Not the sort of man who uses children's names as a password. He loves his job. Proud of it. And this is work-related. So what's at eye-level?" he said, looking around the small, cramped space. He pointed out many of the works of Churchill, then several autobiographies of Margaret Thatcher. Pictures of Barrymore with his father, a veteran. A case showing medals. Mid 1980's. "Right, so Thatcher's looking more likely a bet than Churchill."

"So that's the password?" Dr. Stapleton asked, as they walked back to her computer.

"No! With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name terms would do," Sherlock said, leaning over the keyboard. He began to type in Margaret and thought better of it, before typing in "Maggie." The code was accepted and after a few seconds brought up the information Sherlock was seeking.

"My god," Jayne breathed in horror as she read some of the files over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Jesus," John concurred.

"Project H.O.U.N.D. A new deliriant drug which rendered it's users highly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorient the enemy using fear and stimulus. But they shut it down and hid it away in 1986."

"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on?" Stapleton asked.

"And what they did to others," Sherlock replied. "Prolonged exposure drove them insane. Made them almost uncontrollably aggressive"

"So someone's been doing it again?. Carrying on the experiments?" John asked.

"Attempting to refine it, perhaps. For the last twenty years."

"Who?" Stapleton asked.

"Those names mean anything to you?" John asked.

"No. Not a thing," She answered.

Sherlock sighed. "Five principal scientists, twenty years ago. Maybe our friend's somewhere in the back of the picture. Someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986." Sherlock stopped for a second, and Jayne could almost see the pieces of the puzzle clicking in his head. "Maybe someone who says 'cell phone" because of time spent in America. You remember, John?"

"Mmmhmmm," John answered.

"Gave us his number in case we needed him," Sherlock said.

"Oh my god. Bob Frankland." Stapleton said in shock.

"He even told Henry's therapist about John being a part of the investigation, Sherlock, so she would stop talking to him," Jayne said softly.

"But Bob doesn't even work on it. I mean, he's a virologist." Stapleton continued. "This was chemical warfare."

"That's where he started, though. And he's never lost the certainty, the obsession, that that drug could really work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let's arrange a little meeting," Sherlock said, taking out his phone.

At that moment, John's phone started ringing. "Hello? Who's this?" he asked. He looked concerned and turned to Jayne and Sherlock. "It's Louise Mortimer," he said, turning his attention back to the phone. "Louise, what's wrong? What? Where are you?" John asked, pacing. "Right. Stay there, we'll get someone to you. Okay?"

"Henry?" Sherlock asked.

"He's attacked her," John confirmed.

"Gone? There's only one place he'll go back to, where it all started," Sherlock said, dialing a number on his own phone. "Lestrade. Get to the Hollow. Dewer's Hollow, now! And bring a gun!"

As quickly as they could, they raced to Dewer's Hollow, their headlights glowing brightly in the dimness.. They climbed quickly from the truck and followed the path they'd taken to the Hollow just the day before, hoping to catch Henry quickly.

Jayne nearly screamed when they found him, crouched down, a gun in his mouth. But Sherlock was the one to cry out. "Oh Henry, no! No!"

Henry was clearly not himself when he shouted back. "Get back, Dad. Get away from me!"

"Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax," John tried to calm him.

"I know what I am!" Henry cried. "I know what I tried to do!"

"Just put the gun down. It's okay!" Jayne tried to tell him.

"No! No! I know what I am!" Henry repeated.

"Yes. I'm sure you do, Henry," Sherlock said, catching Henry's attention. "It's all been explained to you, hasn't it? Explained very carefully."

"What?"

"Someone needed to keep you quiet. Keep you as a child, to reassert the dream that you'd both clung onto, because you had started to remember. Remember now, Henry. You've got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy." Sherlock said, calmly.

"I thought it had got my dad. The Hound. I thought...Oh Jesus, I don't know anymore! I don't!" Henry screamed, pointing the gun at his mouth again.

"No!" Jayne screamed.

"No! Henry! Henry!" John shouted at the same time.

"Hernry, remember, 'Liberty, In, Two words. Two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago! You'd started to piece things together, remember what really happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry. Not a monster. A man." Sherlock had clearly gotten Henry's attention, the young man stared, mouth agape, as Sherlock continued. "You couldn't cope. You were just a child. So you rationalized it into something very different. And then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped. Driven out of your mind so that no one would believe a word you said."

John stepped forward to take Henry's gun. "Okay. It's okay, mate."

"Sherlock!" Greg called from the ridge above as he slowly made his way down into the Hollow.

As John took his gun, Henry turned to Sherlock. "But we saw it. The Hound. Last night. We did!"

"There was a dog, Henry. Leaving footprints, scaring witnesses. But it was nothing more than a 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. But there never was any monster." Sherlock said.

Suddenly there was a great and terrible howl, catching all of their attentions. From the ridge came the sound of growling. "Sherlock?" John called.

"No. No, no, no, no!" Henry began whimpering.

"Henry!" Sherlock called, trying to get his attention.

Henry's cries became louder. "No! No, No, No, No, No!"

"Henry!" Jayne called to him, as he crouched down, as though pulling himself inward.

"Are you seeing this? He is not drugged, Sherlock. So what is that?" John asked, his flashlight pointed at the massive dog slowly making it's way around the ridge and down towards them. "What is it?"

"All right, it's still there!" Sherlock accepted. "But it's just a dog, Henry. Nothing more than an ordinary dog!"

The animal began to make its way closer to them and Jayne sincerely wished she had her pistol from Mycroft handy. She wasn't sure if she could kill the animal, but she would be willing to wound it to keep it from hurting any of them. Suddenly something else caught her attention. The figure of a man, stepping out from the fog, wearing a breathing apparatus.

Sherlock rushed over, ripping the gas mask from Frankland's face. Jayne could hear him saying something to the man, but couldn't hear exactly what he said. "The fog!" Sherlock cried.

"What?" John asked.

"It's the fog. The drug is in the fog! Aerosol dispersant, that's what it said in those records. Project H.O.U.N.D., It's the fog. A chemical minefield."

Meanwhile, the beastly dog was making it's way closer and closer, growling murderously.

"For god's sake kill it! Kill it!" Frankland begged.

The animal began to leap towards them, and Greg fired off several rounds at the beast. John joined in with his gun and between the two of them, the animal was taken down. Sherlock hurried to Henry's side, pulling him forward. "Look at it, Henry."

"No, no, no." Henry said quietly.

"Come on, look at it!" Sherlock insisted. He shone the light on the dog, now revealed to be a larger than average rottweiler mix.

"It's just...you bastard!" Henry said, turning towards Frankland. "You bastard!" he screamed, rushing at Frankland and knocking him to the ground, throwing punches and beating at him. "Twenty years! Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?"

"Because dead men get listened to. He needed to do more than kill you! He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father. And he had the means right at his feet. A chemical minefield. Pressure pads in the ground, dosing you up every time that you came back here. Murder weapon, scene of the crime all at once." Sherlock began laughing. "Oh, this case, Henry. It's been brilliant. Thank you!"

"Sherlock!" Jayne said, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

"What?" he asked.

"Timing," both Jayne and John said.

"Not good?" he asked, looking surprised.

"No, no, it's okay. It's fine, because this means...This means that my dad was right. He'd found something out, hadn't he? And that's why you killed him, because he was right! And he'd found you, right in the middle of an experiment!" Henry declared.

They were all surprised by the sudden growling and movement from the dog they'd all thought was dead. It was a distraction that lasted just long enough (a few gunshot's worth) for Frankland to run for it. They all took off after him. "It's no use, Frankland!" Sherlock shouted at the man, who was several yards ahead of them.

They watched as Frankland hopped over the wires that led to a minefield and suddenly stop mid-stride. "Oh my god," Jayne whispered. They watched in horror as an explosion ripped through the night, sending a fireball into the air. Sherlock grabbed Jayne and turned her away from the flames.

By breakfast time the next morning, John and Jayne were sitting at the picnic bench outside of their hotel/restaurant. Neither had gotten any sleep, but they were both ravenously hungry. John ordering a full English breakfast, Jayne ordering pancakes and eggs. Sherlock came out to join them just as Billy was settling their orders in front of them.

"So they didn't have it put down then. The dog?" Sherlock asked, handing John a cup of coffee.

"Obviously. Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it," John answered.

"I see," Sherlock said.

"No, you don't," John said with a bit of a smile.

"No, I don't. Sentiment?"

"Sentiment," both John and Jayne answered with a nod.

John suddenly cleared his throat. "Mmm. Listen, what happened to me in the lab?"

Quickly trying to change the subject, Sherlock asked John if he wanted some sauce with his breakfast.

Unwilling to let it go, John continued. "I hadn't been to the Hollows. How come I heard those things in there. Fear and stimulus, you said."

Sherlock began flicking through the sauce packets in a small basket on the table. "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere. When you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes. Pretty ancient. Leaky as a sieve. And they were carrying the gas, so...Um, ketchup was it, or brown?" Sherlock asked, holding up a pair of packets.

"Hang on," John said, pausing. "You thought it was in the sugar. You were convinced it was in the sugar."

"Better get going, actually," Sherlock said, pretending to look at his watch. "There's a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want..."

"Oh god. It was you.." John said, sighing. "You locked me in the bloody lab!"

"Oh, Sherlock, you didn't! Tell me you didn't! I told you not to give him a heart attack!" Jayne said, dismayed.

"I had to. It was an experiment." Sherlock defended himself.

"An experiment!" John cried, clearly outraged.

Sherlock tried to shush him.

"I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death!"

"I thought the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee. Then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore. It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions. Well, literally. I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one."

John looked slightly offended.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

John pointed his knife at Jayne. "Why not try your little experiment out on her?"

"Hey!" Jayne said, tossing a piece of egg at John, making him smile. "Besides, he knows better. I'd make his life a living hell," she said, taking a bite of her pancakes and grinning.

John turned his attention back to Sherlock. "But it wasn't in the sugar."

"No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas."

"So you got it wrong," John said.

"No."

"You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got it wrong." John replied.

"A bit. Won't happen again," Sherlock said, sipping his coffee.

"Any long-term effects?" John asked.

"None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will."

"Think I might have taken care of that already," John said, making them all laugh.

Sherlock suddenly stood and headed towards where Billy was placing plates on a table.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"Won't be a minute. I need to see a man about a dog," he said and walked over.

John and Jayne looked at each other and shook their heads. They ate quickly, both of them ready to go home. "It is lovely. Bleak, but lovely as Henry said. But I'm ready to go home," Jayne admitted.

"Yes, Home. To home," John said, raising his coffee cup. Jayne raised her glass of orange juice and they lightly clipped the glasses together with a soft ching.