Spoilers: Hounds of Baskerville
27 in which our Sherlock is cold because he has no scarf.
Sherlock felt nervous leaving London unprotected so he spent most of their journey on his phone checking on the news and gossips. Everything seemed fine. Mycroft will inform him if anything out of the ordinary happens. That's why he turned towards their new case. He studied the area.
There were many places they can make their base, Sherlock had no plan whatsoever to accept Henry's invitation to stay at his place that was just too enclosing. They needed to feel the area, to find out what is going on from the locals.
They needed a nice pub where all the gossip is gathering. Without difficulty, he found a pub where the centre of the hound activity was found. They advertised themselves with the hound. That could be a motive, local profit by making an eccentric rich kid crazy from delusions.
Farfetched, but still. Sherlock would rather for it to be Baskerville related. It just sounded so much better. Even if it isn't, Sherlock will use his brother's ID that was sitting on the bottom of his valet for ages.
When he went to book the room, Sherlock noted that the owners were gay. That suited his purposes just fine. An unsuspecting environment will make John relax. Sherlock ordered a double room in John's name. That way Sherlock can just stay quiet and pretend that it was a misunderstanding, an assumption at their end.
When they arrived at the station John wondered about Sherlock's driving skills. True, they weren't often in use but he kept his skill fresh driving different kinds of vehicles in his mind. You never know what kind of transportation you will need to get ahead in a case.
The countryside seemed utterly boring. There were no people to study, no buildings to memorise, no outlays, just following a straight line. How boring life could get?
John had his map spread out in his lap but there was no need for it really. How difficult is to remember to drive down the straight line.
After a while, Baskerville appeared on the horizon. Finally, something worth studying.
Sherlock stopped and climbed the rocks to get a better view. The better view told him what he already knew that there isn't anything out here but nature.
As he went down from the rocks, Sherlock was careful not to slip. It wouldn't be the best of his moments if he would need medical attention out here. Sure, he had his doctor surgeon at hand but still, it was best to stay on top, in control.
In the pub, Sherlock kept himself behind, letting John deal with the owners.
"Sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys," the owner said and Sherlock cursed his luck.
A big bed would be such a convenient tool of accidental happenings.
"We're not…" John started but gave up quickly seeing that there is no judgement on the owner's face.
After that, John did what he always does, he already started an inquiry. He was good at that. Better than he imagined. Sherlock would often let him ask his obvious questions and his unassuming nature would make people honest towards him. Often, Sherlock in the background would pick up important pieces John would miss. Like the tour guide outside.
Sherlock observed him and noticed a betting newspaper in his back pocket. A betting junky would spill all of his beans if confronted with a challenge. Sherlock just needed a disguise.
He looked around and noticed a half-full glass of beer abandoned on the table. Someone left in a hurry. That was a disguise enough. Sherlock grabbed it and went to the guide to pretend to be an irritating tourist with a betting habit.
He made the bet into a fifty quid to invest the guide. Such an amount for trivial information was thrilling for a junky. John came in and seamlessly played along. They were a good team, John and Sherlock. Even if John hated to lie, he was really rather good at it. Maybe even more convincing because people didn't dare to doubt him as they did Sherlock.
Soon the print was revealed and it was really impressive.
"That was fifty," said John and absently Sherlock gave him the bill.
They shared expenses anyway. Sherlock didn't see the difference was the money in John's pocket or his, they would spend it on food and rent anyway.
Locals efficiently interrogated. Baskerville was in order after that.
Entering the base was a joke. Sherlock didn't fear rifles. Shoot first wasn't really in the training for the boys serving at home.
The first soldier approached them and Sherlock opened his mouth to take control over the situation when John stepped in and pulled his rank. Sherlock closed his mouth and let him lead. John was under pressure and Sherlock could clearly see the adrenalin on his posture but the soldier posture was so natural for him that he barely noticed the danger.
He spoke in his Captain's voice and Sherlock enjoyed the sight. To be dominant and in control suited John better than helpless frustration, which the civil world provoked in him.
They scoured through the base quickly racing against Mycroft's security checks. There was nothing interesting really. Just experiments, animals and cages. Sherlock was interested in the human factor and that was always harder to flesh out than just results of experiments.
At the end of their tour, the woman spoke up and her name sounded familiar. After a short scour through his memory her surname appeared, Stapleton, that can't be an accident. A genetic scientist and a daughter with a rabbit that glows in the dark. Sherlock used his unexpected knowledge to throw her out of balance but she proved to be steady on her feet. There was no guilt on her, just defiance. Still, best criminals had no guilt whatsoever.
The other scientist who paid any attention at them seemed too cheerful for this grim place.
The message came from Mycroft and Sherlock smiled because he was slower for a full three minutes than the last time he used his card.
They were almost at the door when the alarm was set. John persisted keeping their cover and Sherlock waged his chances. He would rather for this to be resolved by itself than being forced to call on Mycroft and pretend that this was an inspection of their security.
Then that cheerful scientist came and lied about their identity calling Sherlock Mycroft.
As they walked out, it turned out that it was a fan of theirs. The man talked but refused to tell anything nice about his colleague Stapleton. That was a bit suspicious. He was willing to throw her under the bus before he even knew what the bus was. Not very cheerful of him.
They went towards the car and Sherlock lifted his collar up against the wind.
"Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?" John suddenly stopped.
"Do what?" Sherlock was confused.
"You being all mysterious, with your cheekbones, and your collar up so you look cool."
"I don't do that," Sherlock frowned.
"Yeah, you do," John said with conviction.
As they entered the car Sherlock thought about it. There was already a moment before they entered the pub when Sherlock felt the urge to justify his turning his collar up.
When he exited the warm car, he lifted it up because the wind was uncomfortable on his neck, he didn't wear his scarf because he thought it will be warm enough. Without a thought, he turned his collar up and John observed his move as it was something strange.
"Cold," Sherlock said to justify himself to John.
He still didn't have his scarf and he forgot to pull his collar up when they exited so now he pulled it around his neck to give it some warmth. It was a logical thing to do. Still, John felt the need to voice out his objection to Sherlock's handling his collar our loud.
'With your cheekbones,' he said irritated.
In the car, Sherlock thought how it probably a good sign. John noticed Sherlock's appearance enough to be annoyed by the fact that he was affected by it. But that was inconsequential. There was no need for John to be especially involved for Sherlock's plan to work and now they had work to do. Still, Sherlock left his collar up. If John liked it there was no way of changing it.
They came to Henry's house and there John was slow in catching on.
"Are you rich," he said standing in his huge house.
It was obvious that he's rich as soon as he walked through their door. Everything betrayed him. From his shoes to his vest. Mycroft and Sherlock were smartly dressed but they always knew their level of education and heritage. There were no mistaking rich boys dressing up in their codded clothes so they can recognize each other at one glance.
If there weren't for his clothes, there would be a fact that he had time to indulge in his childhood trauma and linger in it exhausting himself and his therapist with repetition. Anyone with lesser social status would just bury it down under and never thought about it again. There were more pressing matters of surviving for the lower classes.
Sherlock suggested the only natural course of action, to go monster hunting, and John objected. That was strange to Sherlock. What else was there to do? They examined the locals. Scooped out two suspects in Baskerville, all that was left was to find where the monster lives.
Henry agreed and they went to the hollows. Only first, Sherlock took out his scarf. It was far too cold to keep being 'cool, with his cheekbones, and collar turned up'.
As they walked, Sherlock started to interrogate Henry about the cheerful scientist. That was the best way of interrogation, to ask questions while people think they are doing something else.
Sherlock didn't really expect to find anything at the hollows but he did expect to see Henry re-experiencing his trauma and repeating his pattern. That could be very useful.
Henry talk and everything went as it should when Henry mentioned John.
"Look at you and John," he said.
"What about us?" Sherlock was instantly defensive, what could possibly be wrong with their relationship.
"Well, I mean, he's a pretty straight forward kind of a bloke, and you…" Henry looked at him and gave up. "Well, they agreed never to talk of work."
He changed the subject and Sherlock didn't fail to see the parallel. John and Sherlock silently agreed never to talk about their sexualities but still, here they were. Things that were unspoken often shaped events more profoundly than those that were voiced out.
Of we go in the depths of despair.
I used here the bellowed sentence from Johnlock gifs. 'Tell it, Captain, tell it in your Captain's voice'. We have to have fun somewhere.