Disclaimer: I do still not own a single thing
With the evidence amassed, they *have* to visit Baskerville. Frankly, Sherlock had hoped he'd find out it was all a stupid hoax, because, well…military base. It's not that he's afraid, oh no! The problem is that he's…fascinated. Way too much. If there's a thing that is not surprising at all is that his own soulmate (reluctant as the man is) should have an army past. Fine, let's call a spade a spade: the consulting detective has a military kink the size of the galaxy. Just the idea of walking in kills about half of his neurons, redirecting blood flow to useless places.
It's actually lucky that the base is so secret, and they'll have to use Mycroft's card to get in. That means that his investigation will necessarily need to be quick. Or he would be caught, and… no, no, his penalty wouldn't turn into a badly-written porno as his fantasy hopes. Listen to Captain John: they'll just be shot down. Which means he has to get in and out in a flash, before Mycroft's alarms will start blaring. Concentrate on the case. No time to dawdle, or stare.
The momentary awe in John's countenance when Mycroft's cards actually works wakes a jumble of emotions that he needs to ruthlessly quash down and file for later. On the one hand, he's missed his blogger's wonderment lately, not even realising how badly. On the other, said wonderment is now directed at Mycroft…what if John's loyalty shifts? His brother can't have John. He can't. (Not that he can trust the mere "he's my soulmate", not when it clearly means nothing to his blogger.)
At least he gets to play. Yes, of course, he cannot linger – but he needs to act. Unless he plays his part well, of someone who's used to such work, who fits in the military milieu, not even his brother ID will be worth a dime. Which means that, instead of flirting, or daring the young soldier to put him in his place, he gets to boss him around. Which is 'pleasant', in his own right. The fact that it's a bright-eyed corporal instead of an officer (and that he has his own officer stalking along) helps immensely.
It also helps that he knows first-hand his brother's obnoxious attitude, and has long practice imitating him in the art of subtle intimidation. Mycroft is a master of the understated but very much heard, "You better not have done anything I don't like, because I'll be very sorry if I have to fix it, and believe me, I'll make you sorry too."
The sleuth must come across as too politician and too little military, though. Bless John, because when the young soldier at the gate still thinks it's a good idea to talk, despite his ID being confirmed, the Captain takes over. Army lingo, army sternness… a proper introduction, including salute. Sherlock tries not to pass out by the sudden redirection of three fourths of his blood flow southward. And people wonder why he wears the Belstaff. Of course, at the start it was a matter of looking sharp, as far from his Shezza persona as possible. But even if he had a different coat, he would have had to buy one like this after meeting his soulmate.
And if that's not enough, John says the exact words, "That's an order, corporal." Can he be completely sure that he hasn't accidentally slipped into his mind palace? Because these are the words of a thousand fantasies…He manages not to get to his knees out of pure reflex, but he can't keep his lips from stretching into a smile that says, "God yes" as loud as words ever did.
As soon as the young soldier is a few paces away, possibly out of respect, the detective can't stay quiet. Especially because the situation is so very confusing – for all his 'not gay' declarations, he could swear that since they've passed Baskerville's gates, going back to a military setting, John's eyes have strayed to more than one soldier. Not in the "having to pretend we're here to inspect so I'll throw a quick look to neatness of uniform" way, but in "not-so-subtly staring at that nice ass" way.
Not that the consulting detective can blame him – God knows he would happily do the same. But this means that he's not being refused as soulmate simply because he's a man (that would be the merciful option, he supposes), but because it's him. No, no, concentrate. He needs to investigate, and he doesn't have much time. Not considering his (lack of) relationship, or worrying if the corporal went farther to show himself off to the obviously Very Important Captain.
Distracted by everything that's happening, Sherlock does praise his partner (in crime, at the moment) for the style he's just demonstrated. Their case might have been impossible to solve without an actual veteran at his side.
John, unsurprisingly, downplays himself, or attempts to, mentioning how long it is since he had to pull rank. As if he could have forgotten how to, which is ludicrous. Captain Watson is a soldier to his marrow, and probably was even before he actually enrolled, the sleuth suspects. The (causing spontaneous pants dropping) authority comes to him as natural as breathing – and much less boring. There's a smile on the not so former soldier's lips, though, that says he's not entirely unaware of his nature, nor of the effect he has on people.
Too tempted by it, the detective asks his blogger if he's enjoyed it. John likes their cases, that's a staple of their life. But he's usually so soft-spoken, versus Sherlock's arrogance, that one might be blinded to his steel core, and suspect that he will only order people about when forced to do so. That person would be an idiot, of course. Sherlock knows that, but confirmation will ensure there's no possible misunderstanding.
John doesn't lie, knowing better than do so with him, and confesses his pleasure with fervour, though speaking too low for anyone else to hear him. Now, the sleuth's quandary – just after this oh-so-unengaging case will be over – must be 'how to make his soulmate figure out that a sterner approach would be very welcome in certain circumstances'.
The consulting detective is suddenly deeply ashamed of himself. The very fact that his brain is so overtaken by dirty thoughts that a possibly rabid monkey can lunge at him and catch him unaware means that he needs to stop being an idiot, focus and solve this case now. He'd definitely sport a large bite if not for the common sense of the military scientists to keep their wild (wildest, possibly) animals into steel cages.
Sherlock startles, but at least he finally starts actually investigating. Not just walking and ogling. He tries the most stupid technique ever, openly asking about any exemplars fleeing. He counts on the military training to obey higher authority to counteract the human instinct to cover one's flaws. It doesn't work, of course. Possibly because, if an augmented dog or some other experiment managed to escape, random grunt-level soldiers have been kept in the dark themselves. It makes sense. But it was still worth a try.
Is it possible that someone – a scientist looking for more 'on the ground' tests than allowed, or an officer with a twisted sense of what a nice pet looks like – has actively removed one of their subjects and freed it in the moor to fend for itself. Or maybe it is only let out to patrol sometimes, as an extra layer of protection in case someone isn't afraid enough of the minefield. If so, the guilty party is probably on the paranoid side. But inside such a place, this could not be as much of a narrowing parameter as it would usually be.
And talking of researchers, here comes the first one. Immediately investigating on their identity, but that's to be expected. At Baskerville, there can't be many new faces. And they aren't exactly dressed as newly hired analysts needing a tour of the facilities. If the man wasn't curious, he would never have become a scientist in the first place. It's all expected.
Sherlock hates the man on sight all the same. It's not for any sort of evidence of crimes on his part, unless having an awful character has finally been turned into a crime. The sleuth suggested it to his brother many times, but Mycroft always only raised an eyebrow and pointed out how his siblings was pleading to make his own incarceration mandatory.
Still, the detective maintains that being curt and rude is not so much of a flaw of character as the false camaraderie of doctor Frankland. He's saving everyone's time each time he dismisses them with a snappish 'dull' after barely a sentence. Surely that's more courteous than listening to a long tale of woe and then offering a false excuse for why he's unable to take their case at the moment? Still, that seems to be the 'right' option according to John.
Frankland instead is the exact opposite. He quips as if they're friends from birth, but his eyes turn cold and assessing a moment later. And even his jokes…the underlying message is 'get out'. For all his apparent amiability, he's implicitly threatening them, not caring what their role is. Used to his brother as he is, the scientist's undertone is not lost on the consulting detective…
Apparently John, instead, remains blissfully unaware, offering to the other doctor nothing more than a momentary smile. The former captain keeps interrogating the soldier guiding them, in an effort to amass data for his companion.
But it's obvious that the corporal knows nothing more than the vaguest of notions... Mostly, they can be summed up as, "There's always a war somewhere, and to win those, our researchers are allowed to come up with any wild experiment they like, why would I need the specifics?" That's not even wrong. Soldiers don't need to study the creation of new weapons. They just need to be able to use them.
Useless as their conversation is, Sherlock is not about to butt in, not even when his blogger gets himself in a very awkward position by looking too unaware of what he's supervising…but his obvious military background helps him there. Their guide accepts that captain Watson is to Mr. Holmes what he himself is to the dozens of scientists in here, and doesn't pursue his uncertainty too long. Besides, Mycroft's ID is legit.
The next scientist they interrupt is a woman and, at least, she's refreshingly rude. Being interrupted mid-experiment? Snarling is what they deserve, and the consulting detective gets it. Both a very embarrassed corporal and a slightly miffed John try to suggest more politeness, but the sleuth is far from bothered by that. Honesty is what he wants. She might hold onto her secrets, understandably, but the things she will say won't be careful misdirection, or flat-out lies.
Sherlock barely keeps from laughing aloud. Despite Mycroft's teaching, it appears that sometimes coincidences do happen, and they're ridiculous. That poor, concerned little Kirsten's mum should work at Baskerville is not something he expected. But solving a case he hasn't even accepted feels oddly pleasant, and mentioning Bluebell is sure to wrongfoot doctor Stapleton.
Besides, it proves that errors happen in the research base. A fairy rabbit, with glow in the dark genes, got swapped for a child's pet. What if someone made an error with pups, too, and a murder machine modified hound was gifted to another researcher's child? And then – somehow – they didn't put it down once it killed Henry's dad, or couldn't find all its pups and more killer genes inheriting dogs are happily being walked in the moor? It all depends on how they've been brought up, and nobody could even notice…
The sleuth would love to stay and chat more, investigate deeper. But they don't have much time. Eventually, Mycroft will catch up to its ID's misuse…and they need to be out of here by then. If only because John won't forgive him if he loses other soldiers' respect, he suspects.
His blogger, in the meantime, is utterly baffled. They intruded in a super-secret military base for Henry's murderous hell beast, haven't they? When have they switched to the mysterious case of the fairy rabbit? Why would the detective even mention it when he was so outraged at being consulted about lost pets in the first place?
Not that John doesn't empathize…it's pretty much what he had to go through, switching from on the field surgery to general medicine, and he knows better than anyone that adapting to not being as useful takes time and mental effort. So why are they back to investigating Bluebell? Whose leg is Sherlock trying to pull? All theirs, most probably… but being given a subtle nod or something, to reassure him that his flatmate has not lost his mind entirely, would be nice.
Before he can regain his bearings, the consulting detective turns on his heels and announces sharply that they'll be leaving. It takes everyone by surprise, of course. The researcher who's seen her family life questioned by a surprise inspector. The poor corporal, that expected them to have a Very Important Conversation (definitely deserving of all caps) with the commander of the base, and a lengthy and in-depth examination of every single ongoing experiment. A surprise inspection lasting barely a quarter of an hour? What can anyone figure out in that time?
John would love to tell him that Sherlock can deduce in a minute all the knowledge that would take a normal man – even a highly trained person – at least an hour and half to acquire. But now it's not the time to linger, if the detective's sudden haste has the reason the blogger suspects. They knew it was a get in – get out job from the start. If they're about to be outed as impostors, he'll hurry along without a word.
This is what makes the consulting detective's behaviour – his insistence on the poor unfortunate rabbit – such an utterly baffling fact. With a limited time, they should have focused on the matter at hand. But John can't even imagine scolding his companion during an investigation.
In such a situation, the sleuth immediately becomes – very naturally, at that – his superior officer. Though thankfully his officers knew better than to throw themselves into battle without waiting for backup, or John would have developed a permanent headache a week into deployment. If it wasn't for the much hated spells of boredom – when, in all fairness, a completely different kind of obnoxiousness takes over the flat – John would have probably snapped a long time ago, obsessed with keeping his madman safe.
What are they going to do now? Go back to Henry and ask him if he's sure his dad was killed by a monstrous hound and not a fairy bunny? That will be an embarrassing conversation. Or is Sherlock thinking he can use the same trick again? For the safety of England, the doctor prays that – hopefully as soon as they get out – an alarm about the misuse of Mycroft's ID will be spread…certainly not annulled because whoever used it is already off the premises anyway. Actually, they will probably have a visit at the inn very soon, but hopefully a call to the real Holmes sibling in question will somehow smooth things before they're thrown in jail without letting them explain.
There's no time to be distracted, though. They come across that funny doctor again…what was it? Frankland? Shouldn't he be busy, oh…anywhere else? The man looks as if he's been waiting for them. If the scientist is on his coffee break, or something, he should certainly have something more enjoyable to do than stand around and ambush them again. Unless he has reasons to investigate what a supervisors' commission gets up to? Concerned, maybe? It does seem that all kind of things are happening in here…
Before John can even follow this line of thought fully, they're interrupted…exactly at the wrong moment. By a very stern and unhappy officer. The former captain doesn't even wait for the introductions to be over. Only the base's commander would have the gall to look as thunderous in front of someone sent to report on them.
Thank God that he's used to this kind of people. They can either submit to his power, and start trying to justify themselves to him…but that would take lots of grovelling and time they don't have. Or they can do what he does. A firm shake of hand – the man will despise them if they're any less than very energetic.
Then, a cursory acknowledgment of his authority – but as if they're peers. Being this dismissive with a major would get John reprimanded in the army, but if he's supposed to be here as overseer – tasked with reporting his judgment to a higher authority – he would automatically overrule Barrymore, no matter his grade, and treating him as a peer would actually be a courtesy.
A quick assurance from both him and Sherlock that their statement will be all praise, and they should be good to go. The major's worries should be eased, and Barrymore would certainly understand being busy, and not wanting to lose time in empty pleasantries. At least if he's like so many officers John has met.
The man is more outraged than he expected, though, insisting that Baskerville was founded to get rid of bureaucracy in the first place. This is an officer that doesn't take well at having anyone above him, especially not any civilians. What the fuck is up with this base? Everyone is insane in here.
Sherlock is all false sympathy and honest "you've been unsupervised way too long already." Which might actually be the thing that stalls them that fateful extra second. Alarms blare. Lights flash. The young corporal he bullied into being their guide is the one who got the 'fake ID' news, and feels the need to yell it way too loudly.
They're busted. John always knew they would be busted, but still followed Sherlock in this madness. Which means that he's the madman, not the consulting detective thinking they can bypass all controls. There goes his army pension. Not that he'll need it in jail. Hoping it'll be jail and not a summary shooting. He knows that if there is any kind of hereafter, he would never forgive himself for allowing the brilliant, reckless detective to die. Even if that death would be Sherlock's own fault, and God knows there's no persuading him when he's fixated on an idea.
So the captain (captain today, again) does the only thing he can think of. Keep up the charade. Deny the evidence. If he can scare the major until they've managed to get out of here, it won't matter that their unauthorised presence has been detected.
What is their evidence, after all? It's not like Mycroft popped up to berate his little brother. That would require legwork, anyway. No, it must be some sort of automated response…and tech malfunctions. Computers are hacked. Heck, even the weather sometimes can mess up circuits. At least he thinks – he might have read – he's not Sherlock, all right?
So, claiming a malfunction of the base's computers, and threatening to write up the major...well, that's his best bet. They could be spies – but they've been around less than half an hour, and it's not like they know details about any specific experiment. Or they could be big wigs, pissed off at the stupid computer virus putting a dent in their schedule and at the major that apparently doesn't have, amidst all his scientists, enough IT guys to keep the thing running properly.
It's a bet (John always had something of the gambler in him) but one he still thinks they could win… human nature is in their favour. If Mycroft's ID was different, they'd immediately be escorted out with the deepest excuses, probably…8:2. But of course the damn ID has to have a photo, and of course it's one that's not replaceable.
Now, identity document photos are famously horrible, barely looking like human beings, much less the intended target. And with Sherlock and Mycroft being brothers, it can fool someone at a glance, sure. But under the suspicious stare of someone already suspecting foul play? That's way harder.
Help comes as suddenly as the chaos, and from the last source John would expect. As much of a buffoon doctor Frankland likes to play, he didn't seem like a man who would contribute to get people snooping in here out of trouble. But that's exactly what he does, guaranteeing Sherlock's identity with the major.
His friendliness looks genuine, and the blogger thinks that the stage has lost a fine actor when this man devoted himself to science. He's used to Sherlock being a wonderful impromptu actor, but he wouldn't have judged Frankland someone capable of shamming his way without an hesitation. It is actually worrying about what his studies entail. This man could fake half his data, and bring his doctored report to a commission with a smile. No hint of nervousness. Not a side glance.
Watching the sleuth and the scientist renew their inexistent acquaintance is not any different from what John has seen at the buffets of a dozen medical conferences he's been to. What he's done there himself, meeting again colleagues that are working in a different country and he's not in regular contact with. He's mildly tempted to clap at their performance, though obviously not insane enough to give into it.
The major concedes, of course he does, because how can he doubt? He warns sternly his scientist that he'll be responsible in case of a mistake, but is actually all too relieved that his security has not really been breached. This episode might appear on a report about the base, but if Holmes and Frankland are as chummy with each other as it looks, hopefully the researcher can persuade them to just forget it. Which is why, when the researcher offers to substitute the poor corporal as their guide until they're out, nobody objects. If he had any feelings to spare about anyone else, John would pity corporal Lyons for the major's inevitable reaction to his 'error'. But he's too busy being shocked, relieved and still a bit anxious (they're not safe until they'll be outside) to worry about the young man.
Today is the day of unexpected events. If he had to guess (he doesn't deduce) a reason for Frankland's last minute saving, he would be floundering with theories…but certainly not imagine that the researcher is a fan of theirs. One that claims to be more interested in Sherlock's website than John's blog, for once.
It makes sense, of course – this is a meeting of two mad scientists, and the results could be terrifying. Still, the doctor is utterly tempted to interrogate the man. Unless he names at least 75 different types of tobacco ash off the top of his head, he can't claim to be a true fan of the science of deduction website, certainly?
If he's trying to be a flatterer, though, he's missing the mark by a mile and half. The scientist keeps mentioning the hat, as if it should be something that Sherlock picked as trademark, or should be proud of. There's little Sherlock has been more annoyed by than the media making a fuss about him. It is actually a relief for the blogger. If these two hit it off too well, the world might very well burn.
After so many surprises, what's one more? Frankland reveals himself as a family friend of their client. Henry had such an 'in' for Baskerville, and he's failed to mention it? The consulting detective is right – everyone is an idiot. Why would Henry hid someone this anxious to help?
Oh well. Maybe it's just because of his compulsive need to make quips – and cliché ones, at that. When someone is seriously concerned, having a jokester around can be simply unbearable. Frankland apparently thinks the most stale, ridiculous threat ever, in case of his secrets being disclosed, is amusing. John is quietly hopeful that the sleuth's sharp "That'd be extremely ambitious of you," in reply is partly because he knows his personal soldier would destroy anyone who would try to harm him. Sherlock knows, doesn't he?