Author's Note: I'm floored. A few days ago, I would have called ten followers the best thing that could possibly happen to this fic, and now I've got over twenty. And a few reviews. And a few favourites. Thank you. Just... thank you.
Anyway, here's The Hounds of Baskerville.
As usual: I hope you enjoy the chapter, I don't own anything, and please review.
Thank God for Henry Knight.
Not "Thank God" in the way he tells everyone who might read his blog: John actually likes a bored Sherlock, the way he shoots the walls, refuses to eat and sleep, tries (emphasis is on tries) to quit cigarettes and becomes even more unpredictable than usual. Plus, seeing Sherlock read out the little girl's mail begging for help might've been the highlight of the week, if Henry hadn't shown up.
Not "Thank God" because Sherlock can't find the cigarettes hidden behind the skull (sometimes, he wonders where Sherlock got it from, could be an interesting story, but probably not, considering Sherlock's goody-good heart beneath all that icy-virgin-I-don't-care-about-anyone-behaviour). John actually enjoys the days when Sherlock suffers from withdrawal, and luckily, Mrs. Hudson assists him in hiding the cigarettes and paying everyone who might sell cigarettes to Sherlock (with Sherlock's money, of course; John himself still has only a little money on the side, he simply couldn't explain where he got all his "consulting criminal" money from, either Sherlock or Mycroft would notice he wasn't truthful), or someone would realize how much fun he has causing Sherlock to go through withdrawal.
Not "Thank God" because Richie has suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and John suddenly has to use torture and his worst threats to keep him in check; he's used to the necessity of controlling his employees with every method imaginable, and Richie may be a good actor, but he's also a sad, pathetic, rather stupid human being. Really, John doesn't mind keeping him alive, though he gets on his nerves sometimes; it was brilliant idea to make somebody else the face of Moriarty; he just wishes Richie would recognizes the opportunity John gives him, of being so much more than a man. Isn't that what every actor longs for? He'll never understand ordinary humans – so fascinating, but so incredibly dull at the same time.
Not "Thank God" because there are more danger nights when Sherlock's unemployed. Seeing Sherlock struggle through a night full of old cravings and new temptations, refusing help, almost crying out for some release for this great mind of his (and, more importantly, only the little virgin won't admit it, that big heart of his) – John will never get tired of that, especially as Mycroft Holmes of all people chooses exactly this time to thank John for "the support" and Lestrade organizes another drug's bust, just to keep up appearances, not knowing that the man who's responsible for most of the drugs that find their way into London is standing right beside him.
And to think he needed Sherlock Holmes to realize how wonderful a game a double life could be. John should've thought of this years ago; maybe he'd never have got tired of his lifestyle. He's certainly not tired of the game, which is weird, because normally he tires of everything after a few weeks. Except of being Sherlock Holmes' best friend. And murder, that is.
He's rather amazed nobody realized that Sir James Walter was murdered; he'd have thought Mycroft would notice that some of the honoured deceased more... sensitive papers were missing (silly man, really, right now, he could enjoy his retirement on an island instead of lying in his grave, but that's the thing about patriots: they just aren't ready to betray their country, no matter what the price). John actually thought this murder would be his and Sherlock's next big case. But that's not the reason to thank God for Henry Knight, either.
No, rather it's "thank God" for Henry Knight because Sherlock's solved the case of Black Peter far quicker than John thought he would. Then again, who could foresee that a consulting detective would decide to spear a pig with a harpoon? Looking back, John is a little cross with Sherlock: why didn't he tell him about it? It must have been a truly great sight. And he'd been very proud of the Black Peter Case – investment banker who'd made himself a name as a "pirate" of sorts because he's always chosen the path of the greatest resistance, and made good money out of it, a rival had paid John to ensure he'd never earn another cent again, and John had thought it fitting that a pirate should meet his maker after the impact of a harpoon. He should really have learned not to underestimate Sherlock by now. But the detective continues to surprise him, which, come to think of it, is not a bad thing at all. John would rather be surprised than bored.
And he's rather pleased with Henry Knight and his "hound" (that got Sherlock's attention, so John doesn't have to invent a reason that he should take the case, which is a relief; Sherlock can be quite stubborn at times). He's always been curious about what goes on in Baskerville; and if not even John has been able to get a source in this lab, it means something. There has to be something there – as he's learned long ago, if you can imagine it, somebody's probably out there who's doing it right now.
Of course, it can't be a big killer dog; that would just be way too impractical on the battlefield and offer little to no new scientific breakthroughs. Everybody who understood a little science could do that; John could probably do it, Sherlock could surely do it, Mycroft has most likely already tried it and rejected the idea (God knows what the more psychopathic – he can't be a real psychopath, he cares to much about his brother – does or rather orders people to do in his spare time, when he's not reading the papers in the Diogenes club).
But that it's not a killer dog (in a way, John is glad, because while he remembers his childhood diversions fondly, he wouldn't be able to do that with a killer dog sponsored by the government) doesn't mean it's not something equally brilliant or weird or stupid but amusing. So he's glad Sherlock decides to take the case.
He's been in Dartmoor quite a few times over the past twenty years, it's a great way to get rid of unwanted bodies, but he'll never get used to its beauty.
He'll probably never get used to Sherlock's driving, or the simple fact the detective actually can drive, either.
The pub in the village is surprisingly comfortable, though. He's sorry too he can't get a double room for him and Sherlock (the only reason the barman tells him is because he asked if there was one available), he still wishes he could change that whole virgin-label, but he'll take what he can get.
Then the tour guy shows them the footprints – so someone must have let a giant dog loose on the moor, his bet is on the two Brothers Grimm in the pub, why else would they need so much meat in a vegetarian restaurant? But at least Sherlock decides they need to break into Baskerville (even John had no idea he'd nicked Mycroft's card; oh, Big Brother is certainly not amused).
By the time they've managed to piss off half of the best scientists in Britain, find Dr. Frankland, who is actually supportive (always suspicious, the supportive ones), and intimidate the mother of the girl whose rabbit started glowing in the dark, Sherlock has decided to bring Henry out to the moor and watch his mental breakdown. Good thing John enjoys watching mental breakdowns, or Richie would've died weeks ago.
Turns out, John doesn't really get to witness Henry's breakdown, because he gets lost (stupid woods, he's always felt at home in cities) and then distracted by the weird morse code he picks up. He idly wonders what the code means while he's searching for his best friend and their client; can't very well be the ghost of a prisoner who escaped from the prison that used to be there over hundred years ago and died on the moor, now, can it.
At least he gets to treat Henry (the man is a wreck, his therapist seems to be even more of an idiot than John's) and watch Sherlock slowly disintegrate over a whiskey. So Sherlock doesn't have friends. Always the little drama queen. This certainly makes up for the disappointment with the morse code though (seriously, they couldn't find a room?). But it's a pity Frankland shows up when he does; he quite likes the looks of this Louise Mortimer. Oh well...
The next morning, Sherlock actually apologizes to him (doesn't he look cute when he tries that?). And Lestrade shows up. For a moment, John fears Mycroft has finally realized which game they're playing, but his fear is unfounded.
Except for the fact, of which he is informed minutes later via text, that Richie has been captured by Mycroft's men. Why did he have to escape? John will have to punish his men severely once he's back in London. At least he's instructed Richie to keep playing his role and demand information about Sherlock, should he ever be captured, and the fool is way too scared of John not to follow his orders.
So he was right about the pub owners. Of course he was. He finds it funny Sherlock tries to drug him with Henry's sugar, though; first of all, it's too random, second of all, it would be too difficult to sneak into Henry's house and dose every new sugar he might have bought the day before.
But this means he gets to have his own mental breakdown, and it's delicious; he's never had one of those before, in fact. And the way Sherlock acts... Glorious. Just glorious.
Then, Sherlock finds out about the sugar (finally) after having blackmailed Stapleton, and he remembers the H.O.U.N.D. experiment, something John actually read about, years ago, but didn't think it worth his while to remember because he thought the experiment had been aborted. So it seems that he and Sherlock had both been wrong, in some way.
And then there's the chase over the moor and Frankland's death and he gets to lecture Sherlock about the feelings John's never felt in his entire life. Like terror or sympathy.
And the next day, he can do it all again.
"Sentiment?" "Sentiment".
To top it all of – Richie's been let go, and his people captured him immediately afterwards. The game is still on.
Time to plan the next move.
Author's note: That's right, double dose! I hope you are as happy as I am (as John would say: "Sarcasm").
Anyway... still hope you enjoyed the chapter.