John headed back to the inn with a heavy sigh. Sherlock had returned earlier, but Sam had insisted that she stay with Henry to help give him some support. John had hesitated at first, but felt it would be best if Henry wasn't alone after what happened at the moor, and he trusted Sam enough to take care of herself if anything should happen. Returning and dealing with Sherlock was what worried him now. The man had been acting strangely when they left he moor, but without Sam there to act as a buffer between the two, he worried that something more might be going on. She warned him before he left though, to remember what she'd said.
"Sherlock will be in a foul mood, but it's understandable if you're looking at it the right way. So don't be too angry with him."
John entered and immediately saw that in Sherlock, so he tried to play it calm and sat in an armchair across from him.
"Well, Henry is in a pretty bad way. He's manic, totally convinced there's some mutant super-dog roaming the moors." John said, watching Sherlock for a reaction as he said the next bit. "Sam offered to stay with him to keep an eye on him tonight, so she's over there."
Sherlock didn't so much as blink; his hands steepled in front of his mouth and a drink at his side as he silently gazed into the fireplace.
"And there isn't though, is there?" John continued from his first line of thought. "'Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know. They'd be for sale. I mean, that's how it works."
Sherlock closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of air and let it out, trying to calm himself, though John missed the action.
"Uh, listen. Uh, on the moor I saw someone signaling. Uh, Morse. I guess it's Morse. Doesn't seem to make much sense." John explained, pulling out his notepad. "Uh, U.M.Q.R.A. Does that mean… anything?"
John then noticed how Sherlock was struggling and snapped his notepad shut, trying to help the man in any way he could. The best way, he thought, would be like Sherlock. Stick to the facts.
"So, okay, what have we got? We know there's footprints, 'cause Henry found them. So did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something."
Sherlock breathed in shakily again and John continued.
"Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog."
"Henry's right." Sherlock said then, making John blink at him. "I saw it too."
"What?"
"I saw it too, John." Sherlock admitted, his voice tight.
"Just… Just a minute." John said, leaning forward in shock. "You saw what?"
"A hound, out there in the Hollow." Sherlock said, red rimmed eyes finally meeting John's as he grit his teeth. "A gigantic hound."
John almost went to laugh, but remember what Sam had said and cleared his throat, trying to stay serious. I've got to look at this from his point of view.
"Um, look, Sherlock. We have to be rational about this, okay?" John said cautiously as Sherlock brought his hands up once more. "Let's just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts."
Sherlock looked at him, making John glad that he must have said the right thing. "Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be true."
"What does that mean, Sherlock?" John asked, understanding the concept, but not seeing what Sherlock was getting from it.
The hound is real? Fake? What?
Sherlock picked up his drink, smiling bitterly as his hand shook and he pointed it out to John.
"Look at me. I'm afraid, John. Afraid." Sherlock said, drinking.
"Sherlock?" John asked, wondering if he was going to have to deal with another case like Henry with how Sherlock was acting.
"Always been able to keep myself distant." He drank some more. "Divorce myself from… feelings. But look, you see." He held up the glass again. "Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment."
"Yeah, alright." John said, seeing that Sherlock was gaining attention from the people around them with his raised voice. "Just take it easy. You've been pretty wired lately, you know you have."
He went to continue, but paused for a moment, thinking. Sherlock just saw something that should be impossible. Sam told me to be cautious about this. Think about it from his perspective. I would be terrified too, but this is Sherlock. He's different, isn't he? It's not that there's something wrong with his reaction, but it's almost like… he believes there is.
"Sherlock, everyone gets spooked at some point."
"Me?!" Sherlock scoffed. "There's nothing wrong with me."
"I never said there was. I'm saying that this is normal!" John protested seeing Sherlock struggling once more with his hands on his temples. "I get that it's hard to see why you'd be upset, but if you just work through it like you always do then—"
"There is nothing wrong with me!" Sherlock snapped, glaring at John. "Do you understand?!"
John just stared back, unsure what he could say as Sherlock continued in rapid speed.
"You want me to prove it, yes?" Sherlock said, slightly quieter as he took another deep breath. "We're looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?"
He looked at the people in the room and gestured to two sitting across from each other.
"How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer's yes."
"Yes?" John blurted out, confused.
"She's got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we're looking for."
John began to realize what was going on and sighed.
"Oh, Sherlock, for God's sake."
"Look at the jumper he's wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he's uncomfortable in it. Maybe it's because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it's a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother's good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He's treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he's trying to economize on his own food."
"Well, maybe he's not hungry." John grumbled.
God, where is Sam when I need her…
"No, small plate. Starter. He's practically licked it clean. She's nearly finished her pavlova. If she'd treated him, he'd have had as much as he wanted. He's hungry all right, and not well-off. You can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes." Sherlock then began to mock John. "'How do you know she's his mother?' Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother's more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They're all quite old now, which suggests he's been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he's turned to his widowed mother for help. 'Widowed?'" He mocked again, making John frown and beginning to get annoyed. "Yes, obviously. She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain round her neck. Clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well-dressed but her jewelry's cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it. It's sentimental. Now, the dog. Tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact, it is. A West Highland terrier called Whisky."
John dragged a hand down his face as Sherlock again made fun of him.
"'How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?' 'Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that's not cheating, that's listening. I use my senses, John, unlike some people. So you see, I am fine, in fact I've never been better, so just leave me alone."
"Yeah." John cleared his throat. "Okay. Okay."
Sherlock looked away, angrily and John finally couldn't listen to Sam's words any longer.
"And why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend."
"I don't have friends." Sherlock snapped heatedly.
"Nah." John mused, getting up. "I wonder why."
He stormed out.
Sam wandered down into the living room again, exhausted, but knowing she needed to check up on Henry every once in a while, so she made herself some more coffee. She heard a breath then and spotted Henry sitting up with his hands over his face.
"You okay?" She called out quietly, making him look up. "Sorry if I woke you. Do you want some tea or something?"
Henry got up, but winced, covering his face as though in pain and Sam headed over carefully.
"Henry, just sit down and I'll make you something."
"Why are you doing this?" He questioned, allowing her to sit him back down on the couch. "I barely know you and you're—"
"Just a kid?" Sam smiled, forcefully.
"I-I was going to say young." Henry tried to argue and she chuckled.
"It's fine, really. But…" She paused, smile slipping. "I've been there. Where you are. Having flashbacks and being terrified of everything."
"R-Really?"
She nodded, making Henry wonder what could have happened to her at such a young age. "I was, um… taken by someone. They thought I knew things and… well, I got lucky. I was friends with Sherlock and he got me out of it. I still get nightmares though. And I'm rather terrified of large bodies of water. Can't take a bath unless it's a shower." She chuckled bitterly.
"W-What did you do?" Henry asked, wondering how she was able to move on like she had.
"Therapy." She shrugged. "It helped with the fear of water. Couldn't drink from a glass, it was so bad. But Sherlock and John helped me out with the rest. That's… That's kind of why I'm here. Support, you know?"
Henry smiled a little as she hobbled over to give him some tea. "Thanks."
He spotted the bandages on her ankle then and looked at her in worry.
"What happened? Are you alright?"
"A-Ah…" She looked down as though having to try and forget about it. "Stumbled out in the moor earlier, is all. Nicked it on a branch. Don't tell Sherlock and John though, yeah? I want to help as much as I can, and I can't do that if they shut me up in the inn the rest of the case."
She tugged him up from the couch then, confusing him.
"W-Wha—"
"Come on. You're not going to get any sleep down here. Take the bedroom upstairs where there's no TV to distract you and take some of John's medication to help you sleep. I'll keep an eye on the rest of the house."
"B-But—"
"Henry, go. You won't be much help to Sherlock and John if you're sleep deprived. I'll sleep too, but I want to make sure you're fine first. So go."
He reluctantly nodded and headed upstairs, missing the way Sam looked out the large glass windows in the living room as though there was something outside watching them.
A loud knock startled me from where I'd fallen asleep sitting on the floor staring out into the backyard, and I blinked wearily before getting up to answer the front door.
"Yes, yes. Coming." I grumbled, yawning and pulling it open only to step aside as Sherlock stormed in. "Hello to you too."
"Morning!" He called out loudly, making me wince as my head ached at the sudden assault on my eardrums and Henry came down the stairs in surprise. "Oh, how are you feeling?"
"Um, pretty good, actually." Henry said with a small smile, only to catch sight of me and look worried. "Ah, are you alright? I thought you said you were going to sleep?"
I waved him off. "I'm fine. A squirrel or something kept setting off your porchlights. I'd rather it kept me up than spook you half the night."
Henry smiled a bit. "Thanks."
"Good to see you two getting along." Sherlock chirped though I felt his smile was a bit forced. "Shall I make you both some coffee?"
He bounded into the kitchen and Henry and I trailed after him as he dug around in the cupboards.
"Listen, last night." Henry started, watching him in worry as I slumped over the counter while sitting on a stool. "Why did you say you hadn't seen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but…"
"Hound." Sherlock said then, putting the coffee down as he smiled.
"What?"
"Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?"
"Why—What do you mean?" Henry asked, looking at me in confusion, but I shrugged; keeping my chin lazily on the counter.
"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'." He quoted. "Why say 'hound'?"
"I don't know." Henry said, but before he could get further than that, Sherlock came towards me a pulled me up from the stool.
"Actually, we'd better skip coffee."
"Oh, please tell me you brought the car." I groaned.
"Around the corner." Sherlock hummed. "No sleeping, Sam. We're going back to town and you're going to wait for me at the pub while I grab John."
"Oh, you disowned him, didn't you?" I complained as he practically picked me up and put me in the passenger seat; buckling me in.
"I didn't disown him." He argued, shutting the door and coming around to the driver's side.
"No, you were just an ass." I grumbled, mocking him. "Mr. I-Don't-Need-Friends."
Sherlock frowned as he started the car, turning to look over my seat as he was backing out of the drive. "Oh, aren't you cheeky when you're sleep deprived."
"Piss off." I breathed out, closing my eyes and settling into my seat for a short nap.
Sherlock spotted John sitting on some steps in a church graveyard and headed for him, grimacing when John tucked away what he was doing and looked annoyed.
"Did you, uh, get anywhere with that Morse code?" Sherlock asked innocently.
"No." John replied, getting down from his perch and walking away.
"U.M.Q.R.A., wasn't it?" Sherlock continued, following after him. "UMQRA."
"Nothing." John insisted, not wanting to think about it.
"UMQ—"
"Look." John snapped. "Forget it. It's… I thought I was onto something. I wasn't."
"Sure?"
"Yeah."
"How about Louise Mortimer?" Sherlock asked then, hoping to be a little funny. "Did you get anywhere with her?"
"No." John frowned.
"Too bad. Did you get any information?"
John couldn't help a small smile at that, but kept walking after a short glance at him. "You being funny now? Did Sam convince you to try that?"
"Thought it might break the ice a bit. And no. I only picked her up this morning and she slept the whole way back."
"Funny doesn't suit you. I'd stick to ice." John commented, making Sherlock stop in disappointment.
"John."
"It's fine." John said, but Sherlock wouldn't leave it at that.
"No, wait. What happened last night. Something happened to me. Something I've not really experienced before."
"Yes, you said." John sighed. "Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said."
Sherlock rushed up and pulled him around to face him. "No, no, no. it was more than that, John. I've been scared before, when Sam was taken. This was doubt. I felt doubt. I've always been able to trust my senses. The evidence of my own eyes. Until last night."
"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster." John argued.
"No, I can't believe that." Sherlock smiled. "But I did see it, so the question is, how? How?"
"Yes. Yeah, right. Good. So you've got something to go on, then? Good luck with that." John said bitterly, moving on, but Sherlock wasn't done.
"Listen. What I said before John, I meant it."
John stopped and looked back at him as he went on.
"I don't have friends. I've just got two."
John looked at him for a moment, before nodding and heading off. "Right."
Sherlock looked a bit upset, before realizing something and bounding after him some more. "John! John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!"
"Yes, alright! You don't have to overdo it." John said with a roll of his eyes and a small smile.
Sherlock moved in front of him and walked backwards.
"You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable."
"Cheers." John said, before thinking that over again. "What?"
Sherlock moved to walk beside him and pulled out the notepad he'd taken off Sam; scribbling something in it.
"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others."
"Hold on. You were saying 'sorry' a minute ago. Don't spoil it." John complained. "Go on. What have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"
They stopped outside the pub and Sherlock showed John the notepad with the word HOUND written in all caps.
"Yeah?" John asked, confused.
"But what if it's not a word? What if it is individual letters?" Sherlock said, showing it again.
H.O.U.N.D.
"You think it's an acronym?"
"Absolutely no idea, but I can ask Sam to confirm and…" Sherlock trailed off as he spotted Sam slumped over the bar asleep with someone hovering over her in concern.
Someone familiar and someone Sherlock was not pleased to see.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock snapped at Lestrade.
"Oh, nice to see you too." Lestrade complained. "I'm on holiday, would you believe and what did you do to Sam? She's out cold!"
"Nothing. She didn't sleep much last night and no, I wouldn't believe that." Sherlock snipped as Lestrade smiled at John and took off his sunglasses.
"Hello, John."
"Greg." John greeted.
"I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?" Lestrade asked.
"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?" Sherlock pressed.
"I've told you, I'm on holiday."
"You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just back from your holidays." Sherlock deduced easily.
"Yeah, well I fancied another one."
"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?" Sherlock complained.
"No, look—"
"Of course it is. One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to, to spy on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself Greg?"
"That's his name." John informed him, making him frown.
"Is it?"
"Yes." Lestrade grumbled. "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." He said, picking up his drink and gesturing to Sam. "Though it is my job to check up on this one every once in a while. Looks like you're running her ragged."
"She's running herself ragged." Sherlock snipped with a roll of his eyes, before John came up with an idea then.
"Actually, you could be just the man we want."
"Why?" Sherlock asked, curious now.
"Well, I've not been idle, Sherlock. I think I might have found something." John smiled, pulling out the receipt he'd snatched from the bar when they first arrived. "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 grinned. "Excellent."
John smiled as well as he turned to Lestrade. "Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy."
They all exchanged a few looks, before John rang the bell on the counter.
"Shop!"
"I'm up!" Sam said loudly too, snapping upright on the stool after being startled out of her nap and earning amused looks from the group. "Oh God." She groaned, dropping her head onto the table. "This is never going to end, is it?"
"Come on, Sam. We've got business to take care of." Sherlock hummed and they went into the back room at the bar where Lestrade could look over the owner's receipts.
Sherlock had left John and Sam by the mantel nearby while he prepared some coffee, heading over and offering it to the two.
"What's this?" John asked.
"Coffee. I made coffee." Sherlock replied innocently as Sam yawned and John frowned.
"You never make coffee."
"I just did." Sherlock argued. "Don't you want it?"
John eyed him. "You don't have to keep apologizing."
Sherlock looked away with a small disappointed sigh and John gave in, taking it from him as Sherlock nudged the half-conscious Sam with the other.
"Thanks." John said as Sam grumbled something resembling the same.
Sherlock grinned as John sipped it, only to grimace.
"Mm. I don't take sugar."
Sherlock's smile fell into a more disappointed look and John held back a groan, forcing himself to drink more of the coffee until Sherlock looked away and he set it aside. Sam hardly cared, already knowing nothing was wrong with the sugar. And despite liking her coffee black, 'beggars can't be choosers' came to mind and she accepted any form of caffeine she could get. The two owners didn't take long to reveal that they'd secretly been feeding a large, vicious dog in the moor and the group headed outside to discuss things before Lestrade left the trio on their own.
"So, that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?" John questioned, missing how Sam shifted with a wince onto her other leg as she stood there with them.
"Looks like it." Sherlock replied, having also missed the action.
"But that wasn't what you saw." John said, trying to connect the dots. "That wasn't just an ordinary dog."
"No." Sherlock looked out, dazed. "It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John, Sam. Its whole body was glowing." Sherlock shook it off and turned to head back to the car. "I've got a theory, but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it."
"How?" John questioned. "Can't pull off the ID trick again."
"Might not have to." Sherlock smiled, pulling out his phone. "Hello, brother dear. How are you?"
I shivered slightly, not liking this at all. It's fine. I'll be fine. The hound wasn't that scary. Some drug induced hallucination will be no problem. I attempted to reassure myself as I trailed after John. We'd just exited the lift and were heading towards Stapleton's lab as the last few scientists left and flicked out some of the lights. I hated the fact that I was slightly more awake now, thanks to the coffee and grumbled quietly under my breath as I looked around the room.
"Oh, I'm going to kill him when we're out of here."
"Sam, over here!" John called an I begrudgingly followed after him as he opened a door.
He tapped on the glass of the next one before getting us through, and we looked around until I spotted the leaking pipe.
"I hope this is supposed to be leaking." I muttered as John and I headed back, only to be suddenly blinded by lights.
"Oh, God." John grimaced as I did the same, opening my eyes and finding the room far brighter than I wished.
An alarm went off then, making me groan and bring a hand to my already aching head as John grabbed my hand and tugged me back to the door we'd entered through. He slid the ID we had, but it wasn't opening the door. And then, everything went dark. John pulled out a torch and I winced upon remembering what had happened in the moor, my ankle having been throbbing ever since. Trying to hide a limp is harder than it looks.
"Hello?" John called out as we both tried to blink the after image of the lights from our eyes.
"John, can I kill him? Please tell me I can kill him once we're out of here."
John didn't answer when there was a clatter and he dropped my hand to go check it out only to pull off a few sheets until he reached the one to the monkey's cage. I cringed when it screeched.
"God, I hate monkeys!" I shouted, before John called out in concern.
"Sam? Sam, come look at this."
I shuffled over to see him pointing his torch at a dented up cage, before he grabbed my hand and tugged me to the other door to try again to get it to open.
"No, come on. Come on." He breathed out before abandoning that to try and call Sherlock. "No, you… Don't be ridiculous, pick up. Oh, dammit." He whispered, pulling me along.
"John, there's nothing here." I pressed, hoping that by letting him know now would prevent him from possibly dragging me along with him.
Dammit, why did that damn dog have to grab my ankle?! I mentally shouted as John pulled me down behind some crates before making a bolt for a third door.
"John, it's not going to work! It didn't work on the other two, so why—"
"I'm not giving up, Sam." He snapped at me, letting me go to try anyway, only to whip around in fear.
"John?" I asked, knowing that he could hear the hound, but I'd yet to hear or see anything myself.
He covered his mouth before suddenly running for it, leaving me behind.
"John! John, it's not real!" I called out, but he wasn't listening as he locked himself in one of the cages in his panic. "Dammit, John. Come on." I breathed out, before I heard it.
I stiffened, freezing in place, because I hadn't heard the growl of the hound. Oh, no, it was far worse than that.
"J-John? Please tell me that's you laughing."
It wasn't though. I knew exactly who it was, but I also knew what was happening, and I refused to let it get to me.
"S-Sherlock? Sherlock, you can stop now." I said, stuttering as my body reacted in fear despite my mind telling me the laughter wasn't real. "I-I know what's going on. I know w-what you're trying to do, but i-it's r-really not nice. P-Please?"
"Well, since you asked so nicely.~"
I jumped, scrambling away from the voice that had breathed into my left ear. "Sherlock!" I cried out, panic welling up in me as I tripped trying to run from the cackling laughter of Moriarty growing closer and closer.
"Let's play a game, Sammy.~"
I was beginning to panic, grimacing in the pain in my ankle as I shifted away from the figure attempting to approach me. My back hit a wall and I shoved the side of my hand into my mouth to keep from letting out a cry of fear. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real! And then the lights flicked on and it was gone.
"It's here." John breathed out, seeing the shadow of the hound moving towards him, before the sheet was pulled aside and Sherlock stood there; the lights now back on in the lab.
"Are you alright? John?"
"Jesus Christ." John breathed out, getting out from the cage he'd shut himself in and speaking breathlessly. "It was the hound, Sherlock. It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. It must… It must…" John looked around in concern. "Did... Did… Did you see it? You must have!"
"It's alright. It's okay now." Sherlock attempted to calm him, casting a short glance around for Sam.
"No, it's not!" John shouted at the top of his lungs. "It's not okay! I saw it. I was wrong."
Sherlock made a face. "Well, let's not jump to conclusions."
"What?" John questioned as Sherlock turned to look around some more.
"What did you see?" Sherlock countered.
"I told you. I saw the hound."
"Huge, red eyes?"
"Yes." John nodded.
"Glowing."
"Yeah."
"No." Sherlock countered, moving towards the desks and spotting Sam in a corner of the room.
"What?"
"I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged."
"Drugged?" John breathed out, but Sherlock frowned then. "What? What is it? Sherlock, what—"
"I've made a mistake." Sherlock breathed out, eyes shifting wildly over Sam as he held John back with a hand. "A grave mistake."
"What mistake, Sherlock? What is it? I—" John cut himself off as he spotted what Sherlock had found. "Oh, God. Sam."
The young woman was cowering in a corner, tears slipping down her face as her frantic eyes locked onto them. She had her hand stuffed in her mouth in a vain attempt to hide the panicked breathing and whimpers; biting hard enough to draw blood.
"The hound did this?" John questioned, both of them cautious about approaching her and possibly causing her to panic further.
Sherlock shook his head. "No. She knew about the hound. About all of this. No, this is something else. You saw the hound because that's what you expected to see. She never expected to see the hound because she knew it wasn't real. The actual hound doesn't exist. She expected to see whatever this drug is supposed to do." He concluded, mind racing as he tried to figure out the point behind the drug and why Sam was in this condition. "Why did the drug show the hound to Henry Knight? What is the hound to him?"
"What he's afraid of." John answered, still confused until Sherlock looked at him on concern.
"And what is Sam afraid of?"
John's eyes widened. "Oh, God. Moriarty. She thought Moriarty was coming after her again. But she knew it wasn't real!"
"Doesn't mean the drug's effects don't appear real." Sherlock countered, moving towards Sam slowly and kneeling down. "Sam? Sam, it's alright. You're safe."
Sam was looking right at him and Sherlock was hoping that the drug had worn off enough that she was seeing him and not Moriarty. He reached out slowly, stopping when she tried to shift backwards for a moment, before trying again. He lightly grabbed her wrist and she relaxed slightly at his touch as he called to her.
"Sam, it's okay. It wasn't real. It was a drug. You're safe. I promise you."
She nodded shakily, allowing him to tug her hand from her mouth as a small choked sob escaped her and she started to shake slightly. Sherlock didn't do well with people who cried, and he was sure she understood that, judging by her previous actions when she felt the need arising. Right now though, things were different. Sherlock had done this to her by not thinking things through thoroughly enough. While it wasn't okay to do this to either of them, believing you were being hunted down by someone who had tortured you, was not what Sherlock had wanted to do. Having Sam go through that experience once was bad, causing it to happen again because he wanted proof of something? That was far worse.
So when she started to cry and paw at her face with her uninjured hand to stop the tears for him, he felt the need to do something in the way of comforting the distraught young woman. So he pulled her into his arms and sat back on the ground as she cried into his shoulder and he shushed her softly. John was rather surprised by the display of caring from Sherlock himself, but for once, he wouldn't tease the man about his feelings for Sam. She was hurting, and this was the least Sherlock could do.