The Hounds of Silence
Silent Surprises
Rose awoke the next morning to the kind of gentle light you can only get in the early morning of a sleepy small village. She found it made a nice change to the busy city she was so used to and actually enjoyed the peace and quiet, knowing as soon as they got back to work it would be a while until she could enjoy such a relaxed setting again.
Dressing in her usual work clothes, she made her way to find a hot cup of tea, bumping into John as he was getting his own morning coffee. "Morning."
"Hey," replied the tired looking man and looking a little closer, Rose saw he appeared a little more tired than he normally did first thing in the morning.
"You look tired," she told him. "Long walk?"
"Uhh, yeah," he replied, becoming a little awkward. "Kind of ended up having dinner with Henry's therapist actually."
Rose just smirked at him. "Hu, that's a coincidence."
"Oh, no coincidence about it," he confirmed. "Sherlock set it up."
Of course, he did, she thought. "Well, how did it go...?"
"It was going well, I think, until Doctor Frankland turned up," he said, looking a little annoyed at the fact.
Understanding what must have happened, Rose pulled a face. "Ah, Uncle Bob."
John, not having heard about their previous conversation in the woods, looked confused. "Uncle?"
"Yeah," Rose said as she poured a cup of tea. "Henry was saying they were quite close."
"Well, friendly as he is, he totally blew it for me," John confirmed dejectedly.
Rose just smiled sympathetically at him. "Always another one out there."
Laughing together, they sat and just enjoyed each other's company as they waited for Sherlock to come down.
As they sat together though, John once again mentally kicked himself for not having checked on the young woman the night before. He wasn't so sure what exactly had happened the night before, but considering the impact it had on the two older men, John was rather surprised that the woman he sat with was so well put together; Henry had been close to hyperventilating it seemed and Sherlock had been the least composed he had ever see the strange man.
Yet again, however, John Watson found himself proud to know her. Despite her young age - and as much as he'd never admit it - Rose was usually the sensible one out of the three friends; level headed, calm and very rarely rattled. Even then, he'd found she knocked herself out of it quickly, using reason and logic above all else and ensuring that she didn't cave into the temptations of wild speculation. She had been with Henry and Sherlock in the woods, had obviously witnessed the same thing, but instead of panicking or lashing out, she'd steadily guided them out of the woods again, choosing not to comment on what had happened for the simple fact that she didn't entirely know.
Rose Spencer, he realised, was the truly rational one of them all.
As the minutes started to tick by though, Rose was starting to get a little apprehensive as Sherlock was usually up before her and it wasn't like him to sleep in, certainly not when they were on a case.
Spotting one of the owners from the day before, she stood up and went over to him. "Hey, you haven't seen our friend this morning, have you?" She asked, wondering if they'd already missed him.
"Oh yeah," said the shorter of the two owners. "Think he said he was off to see Henry Knight. He was up rather early; headed off about half an hour ago."
"Thanks," she told him before turning back to John with a worried look on her face. Taking a final large gulp of the tea she wouldn't get to finish she looked up at him. "I'd better go check on him."
John however threw her a quizzical look. "I'm sure he's fine, he's Sherlock."
"I mean Henry..." She told him, seeing the realisation dawn on him.
Nodding, John stood up, making his way to follow her. "Ah...I'll come with."
Starting to get their bearings in the small village, the pair took a quick shortcut, hoping to not have to do too much damage control for the madman as he disturbed their client at such an early hour, however as they approached Henry's place, they saw the madman in question coming out, meeting them as they turned to head back towards the way they had come.
Without any of a normal person's initial pleasantries, Sherlock glanced at his doctor friend. "Did you get anywhere with that morse code?"
"Nothing," John shot down quickly. The good doctor - despite his relaxed attitude over their morning cuppa's - was still rather miffed at Sherlock it seemed, the irritation of the younger man's actions the night before creeping up on him.
"Morse code?" Rose questioned, this being the first she was hearing about this lead.
"U-M-Q-R-A, wasn't it?" Sherlock asked, sounding out the unusual word. "UMQRA..."
Rose just shook her head. "Never heard of it."
"Look, forget it," said John, though if Rose didn't know better, she'd say the older man had a faint blush creeping up on him. "I thought I was on to something, I wasn't."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "Sure?"
"Yeah," he confirmed.
Sherlock just nodded and Rose realised he was actually trying to make conversation. "How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?"
"No." John deadpanned as Rose threw him a worries look; she had noticed he was still a little raw from the spat.
"Too bad," replied Sherlock. "Did you get any information?"
Rose hid her shock well having just realised that not only was he trying to make conversation, but Sherlock – the famously humourless Sherlock Holmes – was actually making a joke.
John however was not amused. Letting out a hollow laugh, he just replied, "You're being funny now...?"
"Thought it might break the ice," Sherlock said, looking to the floor, reminding Rose of a scolded child.
As soon as Rose would have forgiven him though, John wasn't having any of it. "Funny doesn't suit you; I'd stick to ice."
"John..." Sherlock called.
It was at that moment that Rose really wished she had just stayed and finished her tea, the moment between the two men seeming unusually private. She felt like she was intruding and tried to think of any excuse to leave them to sort it out.
"It's fine," John insisted but found Sherlock had reached out and caught his arm, halting his steps.
"Wait," Sherlock called again, determined to have his say. "What happened last night-" he caught himself though, glancing at Rose as he wondered if the good doctor had confided in her. Privacy was one of the many things he'd had to learn while living with his friends and while he was still getting the hang of it, he was sure this was one of those moments that wasn't supposed to be shared.
Rose – seeing his obvious discomfort – took a deep breath and forced a small smile. "I'll go get the car." She nodded to herself once as she turned but then a thought occurred to her and she thought she should probably check before wasting her time. "We are going to need it, right...?" Getting a small nod from Sherlock, she only nodded in return before walking away quickly, leaving the two men to their little moment, hoping things would be a little less awkward when they caught up.
The young woman hoped they settled things soon. She knew how cold Sherlock could be but John always seemed more sensitive to the younger man's sharp tongue. Maybe it was because they were closer, better friends, or because John always insisted on being a good person, where as she...
Well, it wasn't that she wasn't a good person, but she knew that Sherlock was who he was and cared in his own way, and while she tried to curb him when she could, she rarely succeeded and knew that to fight blunt with blunt – the head on approach – didn't get her very far and was usually more detrimental than productive. John however wasn't one to beat around the bush when it came to such actions.
Thinking about her friends brought a small smile to her lips though; they would always butt heads, but when it came down to it, they really were the best of friends.
Smile turning to a look of confusion however, Rose paused her stride and thoughts as she same the familiar – if rather tanned – inspector stood at the front desk of their little B&B.
Walking over, she was still a little surprised to see him so far from home. "Lestrade?"
"Hey, Rose," he greeted with a grin, taking off his shades. "How's it going?"
"Uh, yeah, grand as ever, I guess," she replied in a general manner, not really thinking much about the answer, "What are you doing in these parts?"
Lestrade's grin just grew. "I'm on holiday."
"No," she countered calmly, now even more curious. "You're clearly just back from your holidays, so...?"
The now rather flustered detective was cut off from his next excuse as Sherlock and John caught up with her, the pair seemingly a lot more relaxed; apart from Sherlock's reaction to the sudden appearance of their frequent colleague. "What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded as he barged in.
"Oh, nice to see you too!" Lestrade greeted, but they could see he wasn't offended. "I'm here on holiday, would you believe."
"No, I wouldn't," Sherlock immediately replied.
"I didn't either," chipped in Rose.
Lestrade was quite used to the pair and their pressing ways though and tried to avoid the matter. "Hi John."
"Hi Greg," replied the good doctor.
"I heard you were in the area," Lestrade told them looking as eager as if they were all the best of friends who happened to bump into each other at a carnival. "What are you up to? After this hound of hell, like on the telly?"
Sherlock was not having any of his evasion though. "I'm waiting, inspector. Why are you here?"
"I told you," he insisted. "I'm on holiday."
"You're brown as a nut; you're clearly just back from your holidays," Rose repeated, finding her patience was starting to wear a little thin. She put up with Sherlock because... well, because he was Sherlock – her friend, flat mate and boss – but Lestrade should know better than to try it on with her.
Lestrade faltered for a second. "I fancied another one..."
"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?" Sherlock deducted, Rose snapping her gaze from her mentor to the man in question and – seeing him deflate slightly – knew Sherlock was right.
"Now, look-" Lestrade tried to defend, but Rose cut him off.
Rounding on Sherlock, she explained further. "Of course, it is; this is your fault." At his look of shock, she sent a mocking face back at him, eyes wide as though it were obvious. "You used his ID."
"Me?!" He countered as John and Lestrade shared a knowing look; this wasn't the first time they had argued like children. "This is Baskerville. One mention and he send my handler to spy on me – incognito!"
It was Rose's turn to look shocked though as she felt her eyebrows shoot up. "Lestrade is your handler?!" She wasn't sure why, but she was genuinely offended at his offhand remark.
Sherlock didn't notice though, as usual, turning back to the inspector. "Is that why you're calling yourself Greg?"
At this they all paused though, three very confused looks being sent the consultant's way as John informed him of the fact. "That's his name..."
"Is it?!" Sherlock asked, appearing genuinely surprised.
"Yes!" Rose confirmed, still rather annoyed with him. "Did you honestly not know that?"
Lestrade just gave her a dark look. "Never bothered to find out, or remember I suppose. Look, I'm not your handler. If anyone, that's Rose." He confirmed, making her feel a little better – despite her huff - as Sherlock only frowned a little deeper. "And I don't just do what your brother tells me."
"Actually..." Rose spoke up, her change in tone catching their attention as she looked up to Lestrade. "You could be just the man we want."
Sherlock hadn't caught her train of thought though. "Why?"
Familiar smirk creeping onto her lips, she looked over at John. "Because, this vegetarian restaurant seems to order in a lot of meat."
"Oh yeah!" remembered John, digging in his pockets before pulling out a bit of paper. "That receipt."
"A nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a couple of calls..." Rose said, bigging up the inspector who seemed to have perked up a little. "Might come in handy!"
With a final glint in her eye – making John wonder just how much like Sherlock she was truly becoming – she turned on her heel and pinged the bell on the counter, calling out to whoever was in the back.