Chapter Five: Tales of a Hound
Grimpen Village appeared to be like any other English country settlement. A cross of being stuck in some past century while also struggling to move into the mid-twentieth century. Of course, John kept such thoughts to himself, considering Sherlock thought his "poetry" funny. They passed a couple residents, a handful of tourists. The residents seemed happy for the extra tourism while some were getting tired of all the comings and goings. From the tourists, John got impressions of curiosity, even the anticipation of being terrified.
"Anything of note, John?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing," John answered. "Just what I would assume to be normal for a town being flooded with tourists and other outsiders. Curiosity seekers and thrill seekers. The sort of people most likely drawn to newly announced conspiracy fodder."
Sherlock only nodded as he pulled up to park at Cross Keys Inn.
As they both climbed out, John caught the tail-end of a little speech a young man was making. "Three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone!" Walking past, John saw a folding sign with a wolf hunched and snarling down from a hill painted in black and "Beware the Hound!" So, the young man was apparently a tour guide of sorts who potentially showed people where alleged sightings had taken place. "Don't be strangers," the guide continued. "And remember, stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!" Although the words themselves should have been worrying, they were said almost playfully. Like, "I know this could be terrifying, hey it is terrifying, but let's make it feel like more of a joke so that we can actually sleep at night."
Sherlock was readjusting his coat after their drive, finishing his fiddling by popping up the collar.
John rolled his eyes. It was one thing to do it around Molly to bring attention to some of his more notable features, but for some reason it grated on John when his friend just did it randomly.
"It's cold," Sherlock said, as though it would make John feel better.
"Just, behave while I sort out a room for us," John said.
"When have I ever not?" Sherlock asked.
"You really don't want me to answer that," John said. He jolted as he heard a woman shriek. But a second later, it was replaced by relieved laughter. Most likely a jump scare.
John took in the registrar desk that appeared to also double as part of the bar. He did a doubletake at the clock before checking his watch. It was just edging past 2:30, but the wall clock claimed that it was 6:30. He shook his head before tapping the bell.
A man, built like a lumberjack with black, lightly salted hair, came out from a back room. "Good day, mates," he greeted. "Gary. How may I help ya?"
"We'd like a room please," John said. "Not quite sure how long we'll be in."
"I'll see what we have," Gary said, looking through the registry.
Sherlock already bored with the interaction started wandering about the pub.
John looked about from where he stood. He briefly raised an eyebrow at a map showing a skull-and-crossbones sign on the moor. Pirates or the Baskerville minefields, he'd guess.
"It seems that we only have twin rooms available," Gary said.
"Perfectly alright," John assured him. What else would he and Sherlock use anyway?
"Well, there ya are," Gary said, handing over a couple keys. "Sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys."
John stiffened a fraction. "That's fine. We-we're not—" He stopped himself at the "knowing" smile on Gary's face. Of course it was that annoying pairing thing. He and Sherlock were flat mates. Yes, they were close. Yes, there was love between them. But it was fully platonic. If it was anything more, it was a brother thing. Unfortunately, no one ever listened to him, and Sherlock didn't seem to care.
"Anything else I can get ya?" Gary asked.
"I could probably use a pint of beer," John answered. An alarm rang in his head, but he ignored it. Whatever Sherlock had planned, he would probably be needing something to give him a boost of strength and courage. Besides, he wasn't a drinker, and he wouldn't be drinking any more than this one pint. Shoving the little voice aside, he handed over the money needed as he was handed the glass. "There you go."
"Oh, ta," Gary said. "I'll just get your change."
"Ta," John nodded. But before he took a sip, he noticed something unusual in a pile of spiked receipts. The sign just outside claimed this establishment was strictly vegetarian. So why was there a receipt from Undershaw Meat Supplies? John quickly tore it off the spike and stuffed it in his pocket. Couldn't risk a potential clue being thrown into a wastepaper bin before they knew what to look for.
"There you go," Gary said returning with John's change.
"I couldn't help noticing on your map of the moor," John said, tucking his change away. "A skull-and-crossbones."
"Oh that, aye," Gary said.
"Pirates?" John asked, deciding to go for the slightly oblivious tourist.
"Eh, no, no," Gary answered. "The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it."
"Oh, right," John said nodding slightly.
"It's not what you think," Gary continued. "It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty-odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore."
"Explosives?" John guessed.
"Oh, not just explosives," Gary said, starting to sound like an old man sharing some secret legend. "Break into that place and – if you're lucky – you just get blown up, so they say. In case you're planning on a nice wee stroll."
"Ta. I'll remember," John said.
"Aye," Gary said, slumping a touch. "No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound!"
John inwardly winced at the casual, insincere mention of God. It still stung when he considered that he had used both his new Father's name and his Savior's name so casually, and worse, in the past.
Gary chuckled, going about his business. He asked, "Did you see that show, that documentary?"
"Quite recently, yeah," John answered. He'd barely gotten to watch the first five minutes, but he at least knew the most important information.
"Aye," Gary said. "God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell."
Yes, John added silently. God bless and help that poor man. Aloud, he said, "Ever seen it – the hound?"
"Me? No. Fletcher has." Gary pointed out the door, indicating the tour guide John had seen earlier, also bringing Sherlock's attention to the young man. "He runs the walks," Gary continued, "the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He's seen it."
"That's handy for trade," John noted, as a shorter man, possibly a cook with bright red hair, came out from a back room.
"I'm just saying we've been rushed off our feet, Billy," Gary said, explaining his conversation to John and indirectly introducing the new man in one sentence.
"Yeah," Billy said. "Lots of monster-hunters. Doesn't take much these days. One mention on Twitter and 'oomph.'" He turned to his boss/manager. "We're out of WKD."
John searched his brain for what that could be. Ah, right. Sherlock might have mentioned it as a new sort of drink that was aimed at younger drinkers.
"Alright," Gary said, coming back around the bar.
Billy turned to John again. "What with the monster and that ruddy prison, I don't know how we sleep nights. Do you, Gary?"
Gary places a tender hand on Billy's shoulder, releasing a dose of affection into the air. Affection that John must have been subconsciously attributing to past romantic dates held in the establishment. "Like a baby," Gary said.
"That's not true," Billy said. He looked at John like confiding a secret. "He's a snorer."
Embarrassment flooded the room as Gary protested, "Hey, watch it!"
"Is yours a snorer?" Billy asked.
John smiled. "I haven't thought to ask her," he answered.
Gary and Billy both contributed to the prickling, shrinking embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, mate," Gary said. "I had just assumed that—"
John held up a hand. "We get it all the time," he assured them. "The both of us just now have the advantage of having girlfriends who can help us laugh off the scenarios."
"So, where might these lovely ladies be?" Billy asked, recovering smoothly.
"Back in London," John answered. "This trip was rather last minute. My girlfriend is actually a nursery teacher, while Sherlock's is a pathologist."
"I can imagine a teacher is a little more difficult to get off short notice," Billy said sympathetically.
"Yeah," John said. He glanced back to see that Sherlock had already headed outside. "But Sherlock's girl is hoping to surprise him by coming in sometime tonight or early tomorrow."
"We won't say a word," Gary promised.
"Ta," John said. "I best be going, make sure Sherlock isn't getting in trouble."
That initiated some chuckles as John headed out. Just outside, he pulled his mobile out to call Henry. Sherlock was speaking with Fletcher, but since it appeared that things were going well, John ignored them for the time being. It was a couple rings before Henry picked up.
"Hello?"
"Henry, it's John. I just wanted to let you know that Sherlock and I just got a room at the Cross Keys in Grimpen," John said.
"Oh, that's good news," Henry said, sounding relieved.
"Sherlock is wanting to stop by Baskerville, but directly afterward we'll come by your place," John said.
"How will you get into Baskerville?" Henry asked.
"Frankly, I don't know," John confessed. "But Sherlock has a brother who is involved with the government. Hints of Sherlock formerly being an agent of some sort. I suspect that he would have the necessary clearances to get us in."
"Alright," Henry said. "Oh, while I was in therapy with Dr. Mortimer earlier, I remembered something else. I'll tell you and Mr. Holmes about it when you drop by."
"Thank you for letting me know," John said. "Now, just take it easy, and God willing, we'll come by somewhere between 4:00 and 6:00. Sorry about that wide range, but I honestly don't know how long Sherlock will feel the need to stay at Baskerville, or frankly what we'll find."
"I understand," Henry said. "I-I really don't have much to do at the moment anyway."
"Alright, we'll try to come by as soon as we can," John said. "And as difficult as it may be, try to relax."
"Right, thank you, John," Henry said.
John hung up and headed over to the picnic table where Sherlock was sitting. Fletcher appeared to be leaving so John said, "I called Henry—"
"Bet's off, John, sorry," Sherlock interrupted.
John was grateful he was mostly seated on the other side of the table. "What?" What bet was he talking about? They hadn't made a bet.
"Bet?" Fletcher asked.
"My plan needs darkness," Sherlock said, looking at his watch before turning to the sky. "Got a few more hours of light."
"Wait, wait," Fletcher said. "What bet?"
"Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound," Sherlock said.
"Yeah," John said, joining the charade as easily as he had in the past. "The guys in the pub said you could." It appeared that he'd either be fifty pounds richer or fifty pounds poorer within the next ten minutes.
Apparently, Fletcher wasn't one to back down from a bet. "Well, you're gonna lose your money, mate," he told Sherlock.
"Yeah?" Sherlock asked, disbelieving.
"Yeah," Fletcher said. "I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind. Couldn't make much out."
"I see," Sherlock said. "No witnesses, I suppose."
"No, but—"
"Never are."
It was moments like this that John had to admit that Irene had been right. A disguise always turned out to be a self-portrait. Sherlock tended to be a skeptic, questioning everything, thus making this role perfect for him.
"Wait," Fletcher said. He brought something up on his phone and showed it to Sherlock, most likely a photo or short video. "There."
"Is that it?" Sherlock scoffed. "It's not exactly proof, is it?"
Fletcher turned the phone to John then.
John had to admit the photo wasn't the best. The dark-furred creature among the green foliage could have been a black bear cub, a young pup, or their raging hound. It was impossible to tell.
"Sorry, John," Sherlock said. "I win." He moved to take a drink from a pint (that John was pretty sure he hadn't bought) as John started reaching for his wallet.
But before he could start the minor show of a losing man, Fletcher stopped both of them.
"Wait, wait," he said. "That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a . . . bad sort of feeling."
"Ooh!" Sherlock mocked. "Is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?"
"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that," Fletcher said. "But I reckon there is something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped."
Sherlock chuckled. "A clone? A super-dog?
"Maybe," Fletcher answered in all seriousness. "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit."
"Is that the best you got?" Sherlock asked, nodding at the phone.
The young man hesitated, some fear of the unknown stopping him. But he finally spoke, leaning a little closer as he lowered his voice. "I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up – well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet."
John wouldn't deny the light shiver that glanced down his spine. Not unlike when he used to sit around with his army mates when they decided to share ghost stories. He had to admit, if nothing else, Fletcher knew how to tell a good haunt tale.
"'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said," Fletcher continued, "'that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.' He'd been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe; maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else." He leaned even closer, his hands resting on his side bag. "In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he'd seen . . . terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs," he paused as he pulled something from his bag, "dogs the size of horses."
The concrete cast was a paw print, a dog's giant pawprint. It was easily the size of John's head. Yep, definitely befitting a dog the size of a horse. And worthy of belonging to Henry's demon hound.
"Did we say fifty?" John asked, inwardly smirking. He'd deny to anyone who asked him that his voice actually squeaked the slightest bit.
Fletcher smiled in triumph as Sherlock pulled out his wallet and surrendered a fifty pound note.
"Ta," John said, tucking it away. He hid his escaping smirk by finishing his drink. Oh, Sherlock was going to sulk for a while, but in no time, he'd be ready for the next phase of the case.
Author's Note: Welp, I guess Sherlock regrets that just a touch. We'll see a bit of his personal reaction in the next chapter.
Now, I tried to adhere to a proper timeline that would be faithful to the episode. So when I spied a wall clock in the pub/inn, I put my limited clock reading skills to use . . . only to find it was way off from what I figured it should be. Admittedly, I may have found the loophole in the audio commentary that the team had originally thought to have Sherlock and John visit Baskerville first before they even entered Grimpen. But due to the excessive length of time that put between the two visits, the decided on the arrangement that we see in the episode now. So, arguably, that could mean that it is merely a detail that wasn't caught after the final decision was made. It has just left it open for me to pile on a little bit more grief upon Gary and Billy.
Speaking of, very early on in the planning stages, I thought up the perfect response to the snorer question that would reveal that, yes, John is seeing someone but of the female variety. :-) I hope you enjoyed my alternative. Why doesn't Sherlock protest? I believe that he is still very much uncaring about what other people think at this point. Let them think what they will, it's not harming the Work, so why should he care. Oh, if asked point blank, or the situation otherwise calls for it, he will reveal that he is dating the most remarkable of women. Do not ask me how his mind works. I can only guess.
So, any thoughts on the chapter? Any theories of what could come up?
Oh, a touch of real life here. While I am typing this note, I am officially sitting in the new house my family bought. We aren't officially moved and won't be until the end of May, but the house is ours! It's not much of a distance change, we're not even a half-hour away from our old place, but this is our first actual house since I was under ten. All trailers of some form or fashion. Excited! So, if for some reason an update is late or early, it is probably because I am helping my family fix the house up and/or working on more packing. :-) First post from new location.