Spoilers: Hounds of Baskerville

Ch 25 in which our hero Sherlock decides to indulge himself in some smoke and some mystery.

Sherlock was bored with the clip on the television. He was bored with their new client although he wanted him to be interesting it was clearly just inventing things but he wanted to smoke and Sherlock wanted him to smoke so he deduced away waiting for him to light the cigarette, not really interested in the case at hand.

"Are you laughing at me, Mr Holmes," the man was offended and Sherlock amused by his readiness to go out without even trying to convince Sherlock otherwise.

"You're just showing off," John scorned him and confused Sherlock.

"That's what we do," he said irritated.

To show off his deduction skills was the main point of their joined detective business. John of all people should know that. He did it a lot on his blog.

Anyway, he deduced away about Henry's morning, it wasn't hard to do. Even John could do it if he bothered to notice the obvious.

"Do please smoke, I'll be delighted," he concluded his observation.

Why was everyone so lazy to notice things?

Henry finally lit up his cigarette and Sherlock sniffed in the smell of it. It was just as he wanted it. It filled the space in his nose and mouth relieving a part of his inner pressure.

He went on talking of footprints and Sherlock declared it boring.

"Thank you for smoking," he said and got up to find something interesting, something to ease the pressure of boredom.

"Mr Holmes," Henry called out after him. "There were footprints of a gigantic hound."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. That was a very odd way of phrasing that. An outdated specific way and there was an undertone of fear and dread below those words.

Sherlock stepped back and asked him to repeat those exact words to listen to them. Strangely enough, he was able to reproduce the exact same words in the exact same manner. People were rarely, if ever, capable of repeating things exactly the same. They would feel it less profoundly when they would know they were repeating.

Nothing changed in the depth of Henry's expression when he repeated them. That must be fake. Phrases like that, something exotic like the east wind, had to be keywords that meant something deeper, something repetitive and annoying that you can ever reach, that is there just underneath your thoughts but never clear enough to see.

A coded phrase could mean that someone planted it there on the boy, on the young impressionable boy unable to differentiate between the reality and the lie.

If someone of a certain age was influenced in such a way, there was a fair chance he would never get to the bottom of it. But if he had help, he just might.

"I'll take the case," Sherlock said calmly feeling his mind focusing on this new elusive task.

"Sorry, what," John was slow in catching on.

Sherlock thought about the Baskerville secret facilities, there should be scientists capable of imprinting a phrase that might survive twenty years locked in the back of a boy's mind.

"So, you're coming then," Henry said weakly.

"No, I can't leave London right now, far too busy," he said thinking of Moriarty and his move that can be drawn in any moment now. "But don't worry I'm putting my best man to it," he tapped John on his shoulder.

When going out of London, John was a good choice. Sherlock could stay in the middle of his net and John would always transmit all the relevant data although he didn't understand it. He was good at that, collecting data.

John objected challenging him of not having a case. Sherlock spoke of Blue Bell, the glowing in the dark rabbit to throw him off. Moriarty was out there but there was no need in mentioning his name when unnecessary. There was no need for him to know how anxiously Sherlock is waiting for his move.

Surely, he's drawing his moves in the dark unseen while all Sherlock can do is wait. Patience was never his strong suit.

John was irritated, as he always was, that he has to go out there alone. Sometimes Sherlock entertained himself by calling John's irritation 'separation anxiety'.

Now John sighed and then just smiled slightly looking at Henry. He got up popping out his chest in his good soldier pose. The only thing that spoiled that pose was his hands. They were clenched in fists and his left hand was opening and closing. There was an action John wanted but restrained. It was clearly directed at Sherlock's direction but Sherlock had a difficulty to determine did John wanted to punch him or hug him.

Sometimes he thought John wants to hug him but he never would. That was also one of his tells that he likes men as much as he did women. Men who didn't find men attractive never restrained themselves denying their hands hug or a pat, or any contact whatsoever.

Then John turned, and as Sherlock watched him walk with resolution in his movements, Sherlock thought of the fun this trip could be, the intricate web of unconscious clues and mysteries and John in the middle of it. John out of his element where everyone is observing his every move and he's just trying to do everything right.

With that thought, John exposed the pack of cigarettes cunningly hidden underneath the skull Sherlock would never move. That man knew him all too well. As John turned, Sherlock was sure he won't miss out on this mystery for any Moriarty's plan, he'll just have to wait for them to return.

John threw the cigarettes to Sherlock and he just threw them away. He had no desire for them anymore. He wanted something different altogether. He wanted for this case to be as promising as it sounds and for John to break his reserve and do something, anything of those things he's restraining himself against.

I feel like Sherlock now, I would like to consume this whole fic in one evening.

So, let us see how will they cope and will Sherlock's plans go as he wants them to.