Hi! Before we carry on, I just wanted to thank everyone who's favourite-d and followed this story. It means the world to me. It shows me that my little idea can - and has - found it's way into your lives, even in a really small way.

Special thank you to everyone who's left reviews! They are most insightful. I thoroughly enjoy reading them. (Blimey, you can really tell I'm British).


Florence slept when she got back. She found herself too tired to do anything as energy-consuming like worrying, so she fell onto her bed and let her eyes close.

When they opened again, it was because the sunlight hit her eyes, and she realised with a weary sigh that she had left the curtains open. Her mind instantly switched to paranoia as she thought of the things that could have been watching her sleep.

Shaking those thoughts from her head, she quickly dressed and moved out into the corridor. Stepping lithely, fully aware of the time, she knocked on Sherlock's room door. There was no answer. She tried the door handle, knowing that if he was in there, he would have left it open, but it was locked. She sighed again, and went back into her room to shower.


Sherlock was back on the same outcrop of rocks as he had been before. The events of the previous night had left him in a state, and he was trying to clear his head.

He looked to Baskerville first, his eyes squinting to get a better look.

He had seen it.

He turned towards the Hollow, not surprised to see nothing.

His head light, he made for Grimpen Village.


Florence knew she should not have spoken to Henry Knight in the morning. Despite the fact that it was not her investigation to conduct, she really wanted to feel like she was a part of it. Sherlock was trying to include her, she could really see that he was. John was less keen, though. It made sense to her, of course, why she shouldn't be doing much. Her mind wasn't really in a good state. Every time she thought back to her friends in London, she would feel a wave of nausea wash over her. She realised with some dismay that that was not very normal, and that she would have to talk to her therapist about it. This, plus a lot more, told her that she shouldn't be talking to Sherlock's clients.

However, when she was walking aimlessly around the village, she ran into Henry – and asked him about his night.

And he told her that he had seen the hound again.

'Sherlock did see it. I know he did. You were standing right next to him, and you saw it.' Henry said, his words hesitant.

Florence thought for a bit. Should she tell him what Sherlock said last night? That he did see it? She decided eventually that that wasn't the best idea, since she really shouldn't have been talking to him in the first place.

'I don't know what he saw or didn't see. I don't know what I saw. But I know I saw something. I may have been looking in the wrong place, and he may have missed it by a second. It left as quickly as it had come.' she said, but she knew Henry could see right through her. He nodded, said 'well, see you later', and left.


'Morning!' Sherlock said, uncharacteristically cheerfully, as he stepped into Henry Knight's house not an hour later. He surged through the door, making to go to the kitchen before seemingly remembering his manners and turning around to face the other man. He placed his hands on his shoulders. 'How are you feeling?'

Henry's face looked different, and Sherlock moved his head to get a better look at it. It was obvious he had been sleeping rough. Sherlock expected immediately it was something to do with the hound.

'I'm...' Henry began, and his words came out all slurred. He was exhausted, and it was obvious. 'I didn't sleep very well.'

'That's a shame,' Sherlock said indifferently. 'shall I make you some coffee?' his eyes wandered up to the ceiling, which he raised his eyebrows at and pointed to. 'Oh look, you've got damp.'

Henry was too tired to ask if Sherlock was okay. He definitely didn't seem it, but he didn't know him that well, so how could he be sure?

Whatever was happening, he was smiling in a way that Henry severely disliked, so he looked up at the damp then down again to see Sherlock's face had dropped suddenly and he walked to the kitchen, beginning instantly to open and close cupboard doors manically until he found what he was looking for.

'Listen...' Henry said as the eccentric detective brought two mugs over to the island he was sitting at the day before. 'Last night.'

Sherlock grinned at him again, making him feel very uncomfortable once more.

'Why did you say you hadn't sen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but...'

Sherlock stopped what he was doing, his expression turning dangerously intense once more. He slammed the coffee tin he had got from the cupboard on the counter, and stepped towards Henry. His eyes hardened.

'Hound.' he said simply.

'What?'

'Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?'

'Why... what do you mean?'

'It's odd, isn't it? Strange choice of words – archaic. It's why I took the case. "Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound". Why say "hound"?'

'I don't know!' Henry exclaimed, his voice distressed. 'I-'

'Actually, I'd better skip the coffee.' and with that, he was gone.


Sherlock was just walking through the gates of the local church when Florence caught up with him.

'Henry saw the hound again last night.' she muttered, quiet enough only Sherlock could hear it. John was ahead of them, looking through the pages of his notebook.

'Explains the bags under his eyes,' he said back, equally as quiet, before raising his voice to talk to John.

'Did you, er,' he began, and Florence felt the awkwardness hit her like a brick wall. 'get anywhere with that Morse code?'

'No.' John replied. He nodded a quick greeting at Florence before beginning to walk away.

'UMQRA, wasn't it?' Sherlock continued, unaware of the fact John was clearly trying to ignore him, and kept repeating the word and the initials.

'Nothing.' John said, throwing a glance at Florence, who raised her eyebrow. Sherlock began to voice the initials again before John cut him off. 'Look, forget it. It's... I thought I was on to something. I wasn't.' his voice sounded weary, and Florence wanted to drag Sherlock away from it before it got any worse.

'Sure?' Sherlock asked.

'Yeah.'

'How about Louise Mortimer. Did you get anywhere with her?'

John sighed again, wishing this would all be over. He really wanted to go home. 'No.'

'Too bad. Did you get any information?'

John smiled that quick smile that, in the time Florence had known him, she had come to know as a dangerous smile. He was about to crack.

'You being funny now?'

'Thought it might break the ice a bit.'

Florence laughed a somewhat frustrated laugh, and Sherlock gave her a look that said more than a thousand sarcastic words could.

'Funny doesn't suit you. I'd stick to ice.'

Florence was confused. Something had obviously happened, something that she had, unfortunately, missed. Whatever it was, it was big, because when she looked at her best friend again his face was strained. 'John.'

'It's fine.' John answered quickly, definitely not sounding fine.

'No, wait. What happened last night... something happened to me, something I've not really experienced before.' Florence raised her eyebrows, amused. She would have to ask him what happened.

'Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said.' turns out she didn't have to ask.

Sherlock, clearly frustrated, sped up to match John's stride, and pulled him round to face him. 'No. It was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I've always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.'

'What the fuck did I miss?' Florence asked, fully aware that then was not the time, giving her an incentive to speak up. It gave her some sort of thrill when both of their eyes fell on hers, and they didn't look too happy.

John turned back to face him. 'You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster.'

'I do.' Florence muttered, and John pulled a face. He was getting annoyed with her, now.

'No. I can't believe that.' his lips pulling into a bitter smile for less than a second. 'But I did see it, so the question is, how?'

John said something snarky, but Florence's mind was elsewhere. What Sherlock said made a whole lot of sense. Did she really believe she had seen the hound, or did her expectations tinge reality? She saw something. It looked at her and snarled. So why did she immediately associate that with a hound?

John had walked away, and Sherlock tried once more. 'What I said before, John. I meant it. I don't have friends.'

John raised his eyebrows in disbelief, gesturing pointedly to Florence. 'That's your living proof that what you just said was a lie, Sherlock-'

'She's not my friend. But you are.'

'Right.'

Florence was about to ask him what that meant before his face brightened suddenly and he called out to John again, running to catch up with him. Florence rolled her eyes before jogging to catch up.

'You are amazing. You are fantastic!'

'Yes, all right – you don't have to overdo it.'

'You've never been the most luminous of people-' John rolled his eyes, '-but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.'

John seemed to think about this for a moment. 'Cheers. What?'

Sherlock began to pull a notebook from his pocket. 'Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others.'

'Hang on, you were saying sorry a minute ago. Don't spoil it.' he stopped, and saw Sherlock writing something down on the page. 'Go on: what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?'

Sherlock thrust the notebook in John's face. The other man squinted to read it, and after he had done Sherlock did the same to Florence.

'Hound?' Florence asked.

'Yeah?' John said at the same time.

'But what if it's not a word? What if it's individual letters?'

'You think it's an acronym?'

'Absolutely no idea, but...' he turned towards the pub, which they had been walking to, rolls his eyes and starts walking towards it as he saw none other than Detective Inspector Lestrade standing inside it. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'Well, nice to see you too!' he said sarcastically, 'I'm on holiday, would you believe?'

'No, I wouldn't.' Sherlock said, observing the colour of Lestrade's skin and the sunglasses he wore admittedly well.

He took those sunglasses off. 'Hello, John.'

'Greg!' John exclaimed, clearly happy for the extra company.

'Florence?' Lestrade asked, turning to Florence and looking doubtful. She nodded, smiling briefly before extending her hand for him to shake. She thought, that after this long, he would have remembered her name. 'I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? After this Hound of Hell like on the telly?'

'I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?' Sherlock said, his voice close to angry. Florence had seen her fair share of anger from this man, and did not wish it on anyone.

'I've told you – I'm on holiday.'

'You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just back from your holidays.'

'Yeah, well, I fancied another one.' Lestrade answered, trying desperately hard to look nonchalant, but failing miserably.

'Oh,' Sherlock said as realisation dawned on his face. 'This is Mycroft, isn't it?'

'No, look...'

'Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to... to spy on me incognito. Is this why you're calling yourself Greg?'

Florence snickered, and John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. 'That's his name.'

'Is it?' Sherlock replied, his brow furrowing. Florence laughed harder.

'Yes, if you'd ever bothered to find out. Look, I'm not your handler, and I don't just do what your brother tells me.'

'Actually, you could just be the man we want.'

Sherlock's face screwed up in confusion again. 'Why?'

'Well, I've not been completely useless, Sherlock. I think I might have found something.' From his pocket, he pulled out the receipt he had snatched from the bar the previous day. Florence craned her neck to see over Sherlock's tall shoulder, before realising it was futile and walking around him instead. 'Here. Didn't know if it was relevant – starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.'

Sherlock read it. 'Excellent.'

'Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy.' John said, causing Sherlock and Lestrade to exchange a somewhat confused look. He brought his hand down hard on the bar bell. 'Shop!'


It was clear the two men were guilty. Of what, no one quite knew. Gary was sitting at a table in the lounge next to the bar, and Billy, the chef, was sitting next to him. Both were anxious, and weren't doing their best to hide it. Lestrade, sitting across from them, was looking through previous invoices from the meat company the vegetarian restaurant had been buying from.

Sherlock, on the other side of the room, was idly pouring coffee from a filter. John was sitting at a table that was attached to the wall, and looking at the happenings curiously. Florence was avoiding Lestrade, and that was even more obvious than Gary and Billy's anxiety.

She didn't know what it was that made her afraid of him, she just was. Maybe she was used to being wary around the police. Maybe because it was him she spoke to first, after being found. She placed it as that, but couldn't help but think there was something else. Something worse.

She was vaguely aware of Sherlock and John's conversation and, like earlier, it was mainly Sherlock trying desperately to be nice, but John was not really having any of it. She heard the words 'don't' and 'sugar', and pieced it together in her head. Sherlock had made a drink and given it to John in some form of apology, since she remembered from years ago that he never made drinks, and John wasn't that impressed.

She secretly felt a bit bad for them. She had pieced together what had happened the night before, and that it must have been after their conversation because Sherlock was in a relatively good mood then. Whatever had happened, Sherlock had offended John, and she knew he couldn't help it, but it made her slightly angry. John was a great person, and she liked him. And it was clear Sherlock liked him, which made her like him more. Then she realised her mind had started wandering again, so she switched to song lyrics and sipped her water.

'These records go back two months. Is that when you had the idea, after the documentary went out?'

'It was me.' Billy said, and Florence smiled into her cup, knowing what was coming. 'I'm sorry, Gary. I had a bacon sandwich at Carl's wedding and one thing led to another.'

'Nice try,' Lestrade said, his voice amused. Florence could see Sherlock smiling, too.

'Look,' Gary began, with an apologetic smile. 'We were just trying to boost things a bit, you know? A great big dog running wild on the moor – it was heaven sent. Like us having our own Loch Ness Monster.'

'Where do you keep it?'

'There's an old mine shaft. Not too far from here. It was all right there...'

'"Was"?' Sherlock asked suddenly.

'We couldn't control the bloody thing.' Gary said, sighing sadly. 'It was vicious. And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and... you know.'

'It's dead?' John asked, frowning.

'Put down.'

'Yeah. No choice. So, it's over.' Billy replied, his expression glazed.

'It was just a joke, you know?' Gary said. Florence noted on how often he said, 'you know', and wondered if he was telling the truth.

'Yeah, hilarious.' Lestrade said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stood up and looked down on them, fuming. 'You've nearly driven a man insane!' he walked out of the room, with John on his heels. Sherlock got up to follow, but, Florence noticed, he looked into John's coffee cup before leaving. She stood up, gave the two men a pointed look, and followed them.

She got out in time to hear the word 'Asperger's', which irked her slightly. Sherlock didn't like it, and he was glaring at John as Lestrade spoke.

'So, do you believe him about having the dog destroyed?'

'No reason not to,' Sherlock answered, tearing his eyes from John hesitantly, and looking to Lestrade. Florence was just about to give them her views before Lestrade spoke over her.

'Well, hopefully there's no harm done. Not quite sure what I'd charge them with, anyway. There's not really a tier for 'harmless pranks gone horribly wrong'. I'll have a word with the local force.' he nodded generally. 'Right, that's that then. Catch you later.' he smiled, looking at each of them before continuing. 'I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out your lungs!'

John waited until Lestrade was out of earshot before speaking. 'So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?'

'Looks like it.' Sherlock said, completely unconvinced.

'But that wasn't what you saw. That wasn't just an ordinary dog.'

'No.' Florence noticed as his eyes glazed over. 'It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing' – Florence frowned – 'it's whole body was glowing.'

Florence relaxed her facial muscles before John saw them, aware that Sherlock was up to something. He shuddered, shaking the memory out of his head as if it was a wasp in his hair.

'I've got a theory, but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it.'

'How? You can't really do the whole ID thing again,' John said sceptically. They both started walking, and Florence jogged to catch up with them.

'Might just have to.' Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, and Florence watched as he reluctantly chose Mycroft's name from the list of contacts. 'Hello, brother dear.' he said, his voice dripping with blunt sarcasm. 'How are you?'


'What, Mycroft?' Sherlock growled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He sniffed, and his growing hair flopped over his eyes.

'Sherlock...' Mycroft coaxed, extending his arm, then thinking better of it and putting it down again. 'You're in over your head.'

They were sat in an alleyway, one that was so out of the way, one would have thought the inhabitant was trying to hide from someone. That, of course, was exactly what Sherlock was doing, and the man sitting beside him was the man he was trying to avoid.

'What do you mean, over my head?'

'Look at you, Sherlock. If you could see yourself from where I'm standing, even with our current relationship... it would break you.'

'Oh would it now?'

'Imagine if you saw Florence like this?' Mycroft snapped.

'You'd better tread very carefully, brother mine-' Sherlock's voice had taken a dangerous turn.

'I mean it, Sherlock. If you saw the one person in your life that you cared about-'

'Why do you keep saying I mean something to you?' Sherlock spat. He sniffed again.

'Use your brain, Sherlock...'

'My brain's slightly preoccupied.'

'You're high as a kite, Sherlock.' Mycroft said sternly.

'So? I'm still functioning.'

'What's the first twenty digits of pi?'

Sherlock thought for a second.

'See?'

'It's only been four seconds.'

'And you've lost your train of thought. You're not thinking straight. What if something happened to you?'

'What would happen to me?'

'You know more than anyone that there are bad people. You could be killed.'

'Oh, come on. I'd still outsmart them, even in this state.'

'No, Sherlock, you'd bore them to death. I don't have time for chit-chat. I'm taking you with me-'

'To hell you are.' he sniffed.

'Sherlock.' Mycroft's voice was stern again.

'No.'


Florence didn't want to go to Baskerville. She asked if she could stay in her room, but after a very dangerous look from Sherlock, she realised that was not an option. She had nearly cracked the night before, and he didn't want to risk it again. She was doing well.

She then, hesitantly, asked if she could stay with Lestrade. Sherlock figured, since technically he was higher authority than John to keep an eye on her and she would really get in the way at Baskerville, that that should happen.

So, not twenty minutes later, Florence found herself sitting opposite the man she was trying so hard to avoid.

'So,' he began, obviously awkward. 'How are you doing?' Florence gave him a pointed look. 'I'm asking as a friend, or a friend of a friend. Not as the police force. You can answer if you like, not because you have to.'

She stayed quiet for a bit, but when Lestrade said a quick 'okay' she said, 'I'm okay.' Lestrade nodded in understanding, and silently beckoned for her to continue. 'I had a few shaky days, and a couple of scares, but other than that I'm okay.'

'You're not going to tell me what those scares were, are you?' When Florence didn't reply, he sighed. 'Remember. I'm your friend, not an interrogator.'

'You continuously saying "I am not the police" makes me feel like you are the police.' Florence snapped, and Lestrade smiled, casting his eyes down. 'And no, I'm afraid I'm not going to tell you what those scares were.

'I've noticed you trying to keep away from me. Even now you're not looking at me directly. Is my ear really that interesting?'

Florence smiled lightly. She was beginning to loosen up. 'Is it because I found you?' Lestrade continued, causing her smile to drop instantly. She hadn't known he found her. 'You were dead.' he said, his expression suddenly worried. 'Your heart wasn't beating. How?'

'I can't say.' she said, and looked out of the window, signalling she really didn't want to talk.

'Okay, let's change the subject. How long have you known Sherlock?'

'Counting the years I was gone, eighteen years.'

'You know, he got on the wrong side of a lot of people trying to find you. Your grandmother won't speak to him anymore, and your uncle tries to punch him whenever he sees him. They think he hurt you.'

'He didn't hurt me.' Florence said quickly, her voice suddenly defensive. 'He didn't ever hurt me. If anything, he stopped me hurting myself. So, when he was gone...' she trailed off. She didn't like this conversation. 'Can we talk about something else?'

'Yes,' Lestrade said kindly. 'So, if you were eighteen when you went missing, and you've been back nearly two years, are you twenty-eight now?' she nodded. 'So you must have known Sherlock from a very young age.'

'Seven. He was ten.'

'When you met, were you friends instantly?'

'We were each other's only friends. It was nice, in a way – we never got distracted, and we spent every second possible in each other's company.'

'What about when he went to high school?'

'I got a bit lonely in classes, because I didn't really get along with any of my classmates. I was always the one with no father, whose mother "danced" for a living. Apparently, she was some sort of showgirl in her prime, but it just got to stripper level when she hit forty.' Lestrade grimaced.

'But you saw each other afterwards?'

'Yeah. We went to a music club together. He played the violin – quite badly, he had to use a mute – and I played the drums - again, I was absolutely shit. It was fun, until he left when he was twelve because he was too old, and I didn't like anyone. Eventually I quit too.'

'So, you basically piggybacked on him?'

'No, it was often me who made him join things, to make friends his age. I was always self-conscious, even when I was eight and nine, that he would grow tired of being friends with someone three years younger than him. It was a horrid feeling, and one I never felt comfortable talking about, until I was thirteen. Then, because he was a college student and he just seemed so much older, I felt I could be open with him, and he would listen. We got a lot closer.'

'Did you ever... date?' Lestrade somehow knew he had crossed a line, and Florence laughed slightly before answering.

'No. I felt we were too close to date. I never knew what he felt, but whenever he said anything suggestive, I thought it was an accident.'

Lestrade chuckled. 'Why did you go?'

'Wow, this is going brilliantly for a non-police investigation.' she looked out of the window to see that night was falling. Lestrade looked at her, expecting an answer. 'I don't know. And if you're going to ask, yes, I've already spoken to him about all of this, so there really isn't any point in asking anything more.'

Lestrade nodded slowly, facing submission. Suddenly, the phone on the table began to buzz. The caller I.D read Sherlock Holmes.

Florence's heart skipped a beat. Why the Hell was Sherlock calling him?

'Hello? ... Okay - uh, we're coming.'


I'm not dead - yet. Sorry for the late update, I've been busy with academic work, but now that I'm quarantined...

This chapter is a whopping 4,532 words long! Can you believe it! Me, your dear friend Heretic, posting a chapter that is more than a mere 2,000 words? The very thought!

I'm so sorry, I edited this and made it a little bit better, before I realised I hadn't deleted it from when I posted it, so I have to post it again. New content will follow very shortly, however, so don't be disappointed :)

Really hope you're still enjoying this. I appreciate the reviews, I really, really do. It makes me so happy and content when I get the email from the website, telling me someone's reviewed. everyone who reads :)