You Must Love Me

"A dog?"

"No, a hound."

"That's the same thing isn't it?"

"Yes, but who uses the word 'hound' nowadays, hmm? Its most intriguing."

"So your taking this Henry Knight's case just because he used the word 'hound' instead of dog."

"Correct. Henry Knight's father was mauled to death by a mysterious creature that apparently came from a highly talked about, yet immensely secretive, army base. This could open the door to a much bigger case, something far more interesting. It's fascinating, don't you see?"

"…I'm lost."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and plops down on top of my desk, making a right mess of my papers. He came into my office about an hour ago at his normal hour of visiting (conveniently my lunch break) and immediately told me that he and John were going to Dartmoor. Apparently some man had come by their flat this morning begging Sherlock to look into the death of his father. This man, Henry Knight, believes that a mutated dog killed his father…er, rather it was a hound that escaped from the Baskerville testing center in Devon. I had heard the story before, actually; I caught the documentary on Baskerville over the weekend, but thought nothing of it. I definitely didn't think that it was of any interest to Sherlock, but I guess I was wrong.

"Look, the details of the case don't matter right now," Sherlock goes on, taking my hands into his, "what does matter is that I will be leaving for a few days. Maybe even longer depending on how much I discover about Baskerville."

"Okay," I say, "and you felt the need to tell me that in person because…"

Sherlock furrows his brow in confusion: "Well, isn't that what I'm suppose to do? As your boyfriend, I mean: Aren't I suppose to tell you all about my comings and goings?"

"I guess, but you didn't have to come down in person." I say with a smile, "Although, I will admit, I'm not opposed to the pleasant surprise."

Sherlock blushes and rubs his thumbs over my knuckles: "Well, maybe I wanted to tell you I was leaving because you're so important to me."

"Sherlock Holmes, is this your way of saying that you'll miss me?" I tease, leaning in close so that I can rest my arms on his legs.

"Perhaps." Sherlock gives me a half mouth smirk then leans in close so that his lips lock with mine in a deep kiss.

We have been together for 3 months now and I've never been happier. Who would have guessed that the man I'd fall for would be the world's only consulting detective? True, I don't usually believe in love at first sight…that is until I met Sherlock. I fell head over heels for this man and it only made me happier when I discovered he felt the same way. We didn't come together in the usually way, but that doesn't matter. I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes and that's what's important.

"When do you leave?" I ask, when our lips finally part.

"Train leaves in about an hour and a half." He replies, standing up, "Although it will probably be about 15 minutes late; trains that run during this time usually are."

I glance down at my watch and then look back at him; "Then you better get going," I say, standing up with him then adjusting his scarf, "You have to pack and-"

"Already did." He says rather matter of factly.

"Book your ticket?"

"Yes."

"Grab a cab?"

"John's waiting out front in one."

"John's out…Sherlock, you left John to wait in a cab for an hour?" I ask, playfully hitting his chest, "That's rude."

"How is that rude? I told him I had to see you before we left and he gladly offered to wait in the cab," he says in his defense, "There's no need to get all fussy about it." Sherlock then wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in as close as he possibly can. To my surprise, he starts to place soft kisses along my neck.

"Sherlock," I giggle, resting my hands on his chest, "what are you doing?"

"Loving you," he whispers, nuzzling his forehead against my own, "Do you not want me too, my darling, darling, girl?"

"Oh, quiet the opposite, Mr. Holmes. I encourage it." I whisper before we exchange another deep kiss. I've never been one to go on with public displays of affection, but with Sherlock I really don't care if anyone sees us. Of course, we have yet to make our relationship completely public: John knows and so does Mrs. Hudson, but that's it really. I told my mother and my roommate that I was seeing someone but I didn't go into full detail. It's sort of hard to explain to people who weren't there when we grew into this thing.

After a few more moments of kissing, Sherlock's phone dings in his coat pocket. Reluctantly, he pulls it out and checks the message.

"John?" I ask, even though I know that I'm right.

"Yes, apparently I need to get off you because we need to get a move on," he replies, showing me the message, "I don't understand what he means; I'm not on top of you."

"Sherlock, don't be silly," I say with a chuckle, "You know what he means."

"Do I?" he asks, furrowing his brow. I look at him in confusion for a moment but then I realize that he really doesn't know that John's just teasing. I guess it's not that surprising; I mean this is his first real relationship. I laugh at his naivety and place a small peck on his cheek:

"I'll explain it to you when you get back," I say, "Now go catch this dog, er hound…whatever it is."

"Will do," Sherlock says with a smile, "I love you."

"I love you too." I reply, "Be safe."

"I will."

"Text me when you get there?"

"Of course."

"And don't get into too much trouble."
"I won't."

"Seriously, if there's some government conspiracy going on, then-"

"Elfie, are you going to keep mothering me, or can I just kiss you and be on my way?"

I blush a bright pink and let out a small giggle. Sherlock cups my face in his hands and we exchange another quick kiss.

"I love you," I say

"I love you too," he replies, "May I call you later tonight?"

"Of course," I say, "I'd like that."

Sherlock smiles as he tucks a stray hair behind my ear. He kisses my forehead then dashes out of my office, his coat blowing behind him. I lean in my doorway and watch him until he is completely out of sight; God, I miss him already.

'Good grief, Elfie Marie,' I tell myself, 'You are hopelessly in love with that man.'

0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0

Ring! Ring! Ring!

I groan into my pillow and turn onto my side. Cautiously, I open my eyes to look at my alarm clock: 1:30am. Good Lord, who is calling me at this hour? I prop myself up on my elbows, reach over to my bedside table and grab the ringing annoyance. Allowing my eyes to adjust to the bright screen, I read over the caller ID:

Sherlock Holmes

Quickly, I unlock the screen and hit the answer button. He never calls, unless it's for a case. But he's on a case, why does he need to call me? This must be something else: something important.

"Hello?" I say, trying to hide my tiredness.

"Elfie, um, hello." He replies rather quickly "You still awake?"

"I am now."

"Good, good...good to hear. How are you?"
"Sherlock, honey, it's one in the morning." I moan, running a hand through my messy hair, "I'm tired."

"Of course, how idiotic of me. You must be tired; you worked all day and were most likely curled up in bed just now. What a stupid question to ask…stupid, stupid." His voice is shaky and unsure. This is new; he usually sounds so confident and sure of the words he's saying. Now he sounds…scared?

I furrow my brow in confusion and sit up fully; "Is something wrong?" I ask, feeling a bit worried, "You sound…off."

"Off? Why would I be off? I'm fine, there's nothing wrong. I'm perfectly fine." He spits out, "I said I'd call you and now I have. Do you wish me to hang up?"

"Um, no, no. It's fine." I say with a yawn, "I just didn't expect you to call so late."

"I am sorry," he says, "I just need to talk with someone. John's…away at the moment and I'm alone. Besides, I wanted to hear your voice. I needed to."

"Sherlock, that's…that's sweet." I say, very much taken back, "A little out of the ordinary for you, I have to say, but sweet."

"Don't hang up, alright?"

"Sure," I say, lying back down, "What do you want to talk about? How's the case going?"

"I don't want to talk about the case," he suddenly spits out, "I want to talk about you. What did you do at work?"

"Um, okay, well-We got a new Ancient America exhibit."

"Good, and what of it?"

"Sherlock, I get the feeling you didn't call just to hear me talk about work."

Its quiet on his end and I would've thought he had hung up if it weren't for his heavy breathing through the receiver: "Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He says in a low whisper, almost sounding like he's on the verge of tears, "Just…keep talking."

"Sherlock, what aren't you telling me?"

"…I saw it."

"Saw what, honey?"

"The hound. I saw it. It's real. It can't be real, I know that, but…I saw it."

I sit up fully becoming more interested in what he has to say. He sounds so unsure and frightened, like someone who has just woken up from a horrible nightmare. He saw the hound? No, that's impossible. It's not real; I can even figure that out. There are no such as gigantic, killer dogs.

"Elfie?" he asks, "Are…are you still there?"

"Yes, um, yeah I was just-Sherlock are you sure you saw it?" I ask, "I mean, it all seems-"

"Unreal? Elfie, I know that I sound crazy, but you must listen to me. I know what I saw-No, forget I said that. I don't know what I saw which is why I'm at such a loss at this moment. You must believe me when I say that I am completely sane right now. But what I saw-whatever creature that was-made me question that sanity."
"You're scaring me Sherlock." I say, pulling my knees in close to my chest, "What are you saying?"

"It was immense, Fee. Unlike any creature I have ever seen," he goes on; his voice is now harsh like he's telling a ghost story, "Like a wolf, but more muscular and…and its eyes, they were piercing and cold." Sherlock then lets out a nervous chuckle: "If you could see me right now, Ms. Stegerson, you wouldn't recognize me. A wreck, that's what I look like: A trembling, emotional wreck. Hard to believe isn't it? Me showing emotion! Stupid, stupid…"

As he's talking, I can't help but think he's not himself right now. Yes he's the love of my life, but his mental state has always been a mystery to me. One moment he is relaxed and thinking, and then in the blink of an eye he's stand offish and cold. To say the least, Sherlock is unpredictable. Before taking on this case, he was extremely on edge; apparently there weren't any cases coming in (or at least cases worth his time) and he's been bouncing off the walls with boredom…if that is such a thing. It is possible that he saw just a regular stray dog and, because he has such a need for excitement right now, he thought he saw 'the hound'. I'm not saying he's crazy; I'm just afraid he's reached his limit.

"Sherlock," I say, gulping down my nerves "I think you're a bit worked up right now."

"Ha! That's what John said," he replies with a small chuckle, "I'm not surprised your thinking the same thing as him: You think I've finally lost it, haven't you?"

"No, honey, I don't." I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose, "Look, I your tired and stressed. What you saw, whatever it was, probably was just some figment of your imagination."

"A figment of my imagination?"

"Yes; you're tired and it's late. Maybe you need to rest, take it easy for a bit. Call me in the morning and we'll talk about all of this, okay? Clear your head of all of this and…"
"Are you going to hang up?" he spits out, suddenly sounding worried and scared, "You…you can't."

"Sherlock, I have work tomorrow morning," I say in my defense, "I have to get up early. You know that I'd love to stay up and talk but I just can't."

"Elfie."

"Goodnight, Sherlock. Love you."

"Please don't leave me."

My heart drops down to my stomach.

For a moment there it sounded like he was crying? No, not Sherlock Holmes: not the king of 'no emotion'. He would never…would he?

"Sherlock?"

"Please, I know I sound childish right now," He goes on; his normally strong baritone voice cracking just ever so slightly, "But, darling, don't leave me. I can't be alone right now. Please. I…I need you."

My heart aches and I take in a deep breath. For as long as I've known Sherlock, I've come to realize that emotions are not apart of whom he is. He is a man driven by his mind and his brilliant skill to pick up on the smallest of details. Emotions, to him, are a distraction; they get in the way of his work and he has vowed to never let them cause an affect. He has, however, told me that I am his one exception to that rule:

"Love has always been a misinterpreted distraction to me," he had said, "but now I see that it's true nature can only be experienced with one other person, you have shown me that."

When he told me that, I knew that I had found the perfect man. But right now, listening to him speak on the verge of tears, begging me to stay on the line with him, has made me realize that I am completely in love with this man. He is the most human, human being I have ever had the pleasure to be with and for that reason I am in love with him.

"Fee? Fee, are you still there?" Sherlock says, breaking my train of thought.

"Yes, yes, I'm still here." I say, whipping my eyes on the sleeve of my pajama top, "I'm not going anywhere."

"If you don't want to stay on the line, I…I can accept that." He goes on, sounding ashamed, "You need your rest and-Maybe your right. Maybe I'm just imagining things and that…"
"Sherlock, I'm not hanging up." I assure him, "You want me to stay, then I'll stay. I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

I hear him give off a sigh of relief and then take in a deep breath: "You are too good to me, Elfie Stegerson and I thank you for that," he says, sounding very relieved, "For a moment there I…I thought I was going to loose you."

"I'm not leaving you and…I promise you, I never will."

"I…I love you."

"I love you too."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

'Internet Detective Solves Hell Hound Mystery.'

'What Happens to Baskerville now?'

'Who is Sherlock Holmes?'

Seated on my bed, I chuckle at the headlines as I scroll down my email homepage; my boyfriend is making the news and the press have started to pick up on his uniqueness. Sherlock had solved this Dartmoor mystery and squashed any rumor of Baskerville's sketchy reputation in just a few days. He had called and filled me in on the details while he and John were on the train home:

The hound was just a rabid dog, let loose by it's previous owners to spark tourism. H.O.U.N.D. however, was the answer to the death of Henry Knight's father all those years ago: Chemical warfare program, it turns out and poor Mr. Knight had found out about it. He threatened to expose the plan and wound up dead because of it. Henry, unfortunately, witnessed the entire murder, which had lead to a downward mental spiral. Poor guy, I can't even imagine the pain he has felt over all of these years.

"Shame isn't it?" a familiar baritone voice says from my bedroom doorway, "What with no 'hell hound' tall tale floating around, Dartmoor tourism may in fact plummet."

I turn my head to see Sherlock, dressed in jeans and his white button up but still dawning that large coat, leaning in my doorway. He gives me a small smile and I smile right back.

"Really, Sherlock, why do you do that with your coat?" I tease, patting the spot next to me, inviting him to sit with me.

"Do what?" he asks, sitting down. I playfully flick his coat collar, which is fully propped up against his cheeks, and he just rolls his eyes: "Oh, God, not you as well." He says with a hint of annoyance, "Listen, I'm not trying to impress anyone, okay. My face get's cold just like any other persons hence the large collar. It has nothing to do with my cheekbones or-or appearing mysterious."

"Yeah okay but…well, do you have to act like you're a super villain every time you do it?"

"...Do I?"

"Yeah, just a bit."

"Oh…" He looks away in deep thought and I just laugh. "What?" he asks, turning back to me, "What's with the laugh? What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing." I say, nudging as close to him as possible, "It's just…I love you, Sherlock."

"And I love you, Elfie." He replies. We lean in close and exchange a kiss. Sherlock wraps his arms around me as our kiss deepens. I quickly respond in kind, nuzzling my hands in his mop of curls. Next thing I know, we are lying beside each other on my bed, exchanging the sweetest kisses either of us have ever experienced: "Oh God, I've missed you." He whispers when our lips part.

"I offered to come down," I say, resting my hands on his shoulders, "but you said that it wasn't necessary."

"It wasn't," he says, "I was fine. After that phone call, of course." He looks away, slightly embarrassed.

"Hey," I whisper, cupping his face in my hands, "There's nothing to be ashamed of, love. You were scared, it happens to everyone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not everyone, am I?" he says, wrapping his arms around my waist, "I've always been able to keep a level head about everything and maintain a level of calm in the most hectic of situations. When I called you, I...I wasn't myself. It was awful; it felt like every part of my mind was jumbled and confused. Emotions; I told you they get in the way of everything."

"Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock Holmes, you are a human being." I say, "You have emotions and feelings just like everyone else. You were afraid and that was new for you. It was an understandable reaction. Besides, based on what John told me, that dog was pretty terrifying."

"Only if you saw it through the drug induced fog, yes." Sherlock says with a small chuckle, "Project H.O.U.N.D. didn't dispose of all their equipment when it was disbanded. That's why Henry 'saw' his father being killed by a dog. The Hollow was full of the drug, had been for years. Did John tell you that I locked him a lab to test my theory?"
"You did what?" I ask, sitting up slightly.

"Ah, well, I'll get him to tell you the story." He says with a wave of his hand, "Right now, I don't want to hear anymore talk about Baskerville or devilish dogs. Now, I just want to be with you."

"No case?" I ask in disbelief.

"Not one worth my time, no." he replies. Sherlock reaches up and strokes my cheek, lovingly. I kiss the heel of his hand and give him a small smile: God, I love this man.

"Take your big coat off and relax." I say rising up off the bed, "I was about to make some dinner. Hungry?"

"Surprisingly, yes." He says, untying his shoes.

I chuckle and head toward the door. Suddenly, a thought occurs to me: "Sherlock, how did you get into the apartment? Hattie's not here to let you in and only she and I have a key."

"I picked the lock," he says, nonchalantly, "You don't mind do you?"

"You could have just texted me and I'd let you in."

"Dull."

I let out a small laugh and turn back around to leave. He is so odd, but I don't care. Next time, though, he should just text me.

"Fee?" Sherlock says, sounding a bit like a child asking for their mother.

"Yes?" I ask, turning around to face him again. Sherlock kicks off his shoes and gets off the bed. He walks over to me and gently wraps his arms around my waist.

"Thank you for not hanging up." He says, gazing into my eyes.

I gaze right back into his perfect orbs and smile: "Your welcome, Mr. Holmes." I reply in a soft whisper, "You are very welcome."

Aww, fluff; I'm a sucker for it, what can I say?

So this is the last of the stories I had planned to tell in this prequel, but I am pleasantly surprised with the reaction it's gotten. If you guys want to read about anything else, please let me know. Thanks for all the favorites, follows and comments. This case is the last major one before "The Woman at His Side" so I guess you could saw that I've filled up that gap. But like I said, let me know if you want to read something else.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks.