The Hounds Of Baskerville- A Different Take- 7/10
Title: The Hounds Of Baskerville- A Different Take (Part 2 Of A Different Take Universe)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Original Male&Female Characters
Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship
Warnings: Death, Language, Violence,
Spoilers: The Hounds of Baskerville is the title of the second episode (or episode 5) of Season 2.
Summary: It's November. Sherlock has hit a wall in his research on Moriarty. John has had enough. He needs a holiday. They bloody both do. Over-riding Sherlock's objections, John arranges for a holiday at a country getaway called The Baskerville Hall, (an open ended offer that Sherlock had received from a case ages ago) in the Dartmoor area of Devon. Unfortunately, John finds out that even having a holiday with Sherlock bloody Holmes doesn't go the way it should.
Word Count: 2,225
******************************
Chapter 7-
The Pros And Cons Of Snooping
Location: Baskerville Hall Grounds
Time: Nearly 6 pm
Date: November 20th, 2010
******************************
"So there are five guest houses, that can hold up to six guests each."
John nods as there is no need to say anything. He knows Sherlock now is trying to eliminate buildings so that the search won't take long. He does want to indicate that it's getting dark. Not pitch black yet, but it is, and he hears thunder clouds in the distance.
"So we can rule them out. We can rule out the main building. Too much of a chance for someone one to notice something odd, or the smell. I mean several dogs at once being held... if it's sound proof, yes you may not hear them, but you can still smell them."
John nods one more time as Sherlock looks at him.
"So what we have left are six employee cabins. Five them have three employees in each. Most are not here due to not being needed due to the renovations going on."
"What about the sixth cabin?" John speaks up this time. "Sherlock, sun's almost completely set and storm clouds are rolling in," he also adds.
"I know. Sixth cabin is the home of Eliza Barrymore and her nephew. 600 meters to the right of the main building," Sherlock points towards a home. "Then we have the tool shed, which is large enough I suppose, about 600 meters to the left. So it could be either of those two."
"You already have an idea on which one it is then." John does too, ever since Sherlock explained what the journals pieced together.
"So do you. No one will be there now. All are inside, helping with the cleaning and such. We just need to get inside, find a way to get evidence of the dogs and then work out the best way to expose them."
"Right." John exhales. "But would it be best to check the other one out, if perhaps they were clever?"
"True," Sherlock begins striding towards the tool shed, and John catches up. Sherlock bends down to pick the lock, withdrawing his lock picks and John quickly stands guard, hiding the consulting detective from view. Even though there isn't anyone on the grounds, on the ready.
******************************
Hallway of Baskerville Hall
Time: Just at 6pm
******************************
Sébastienne Moran stares out the window, watching the doctor act as as look out. She had just passed this window, where she caught sight of Sherlock Holmes and his guard dog, Watson, striding towards what was the tool shed.
Part of the investigation? She knew that Sherlock had a chat into with Gregory Baskerville about the curse. She had tracked them to the ruins, and then caught a little of their conversation on the way back.
While continuing to watch, the door to the shed opens. The hunched figure of Sherlock Holmes enters. Her trigger finger itches. She wants to get out her rifle and take aim. She was the best sniper in the special forces of France. She still consider herself the best, even though she is not in the military anymore.
The sound of her mobile ringing makes her start. She didn't think it to ring now. The sky started darkening then notices storm clouds rolling in. Usually the reception went to hell about then.
"Moran." She answers briskly, knowing that she needed to take advantage of it now before she lost the chance to.
A cough. A crackle on the line indicating the poor reception. "Progress?"
"They got roped into investigating the curse."
"Make sure they stay alive then."
She wished she could put her other eye on them.
"I know you want to make up for what happened at the pool, Moran, my pet. You are. You will also get your chance, eventually. Not now though."
"Can I kill Porter at least?"
She hears the boss chuckle at that. "Not yet." The reception crackles again.
"Reception is going down the toilet."
"I will make this quick. Your recommended doctor is coming by for a check up on my progress. I simply wanted to make this call before he did. I have sent a file on Porter's phone. Once this little holiday is over, that needs to be handled. Quickly.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." More crackling. "Moran, I know you did what you thought was right at the pool. Keep those two alive, take care of the matter on the file, then come back to me. We have a some needed touches to put together before the final game starts."
"You can count on me. You know that." Finally, a little validation for what she had done.
She hears him laugh. "Oh I know."
******************************
Location: Outside
Time: 10 past 6pm
******************************
John relaxes his position as Sherlock locks the tool shed door.
"Just as I thought. Nothing. Time to go to the other one."
"Best get it done quickly then, before we get caught in the rain," John points to the now thunderous looking clouds, with some rumbling accompanying them.
Sherlock nods and strides forward, John following and keeping an eye out once more.
First when John realized that Sherlock took on the case, he wanted to lecture. He wanted to be upset. Sherlock knew it, and held it off, telling him to call him out later on it.
Although now John doesn't feel up to it The gleam, the spark in Sherlock that is usually there no matter the situation had dulled considerably since they came here. Guilt had crept into him when Sherlock explained what the journals revealed when they were in the library, that spark coming back quite ruthlessly.
"Gregory Baskerville asked me to. I could not refuse. I was in need a stimulant, my boredom was reaching very drastic levels."
Boredom.
The enemy of one, Sherlock Holmes.
For most, boredom did not result in shooting walls, trying to find new experiments, harassing the Yard for fun, occasionally haunting the morgue for stimulating cases (John was still curious about the history between Sherlock and that one mortician...) or pester Molly Hooper at St Barts.
John doesn't live with those people though.
It was either shooting up the wall or shooting up cocaine.
He can live with the other alternatives. He'd be damned if he came home to Sherlock doing that. He can deal with a lot of things, but.. not that. Never that.
"All that matters to me is the work. Without it, my brain rots."
John thinks, after nearly a year, he finally understands now. He'll tell Sherlock that later. He can only imagine what Sherlock may say.
Probably something around the lines that he was slow in understanding.
"John."
John shakes his head, chasing the thoughts away to focus on the present. Hell. Great job he was doing.
"Sorry, mind was elsewhere."
"Obviously," comes the sharp response. "Focus, John."
"Right." He stands guard as Sherlock picks the lock to the Barrymore's cabin.
It only takes a few minutes to get inside. The locks on the door being no match for Sherlock's lock-picking talent.
Everything looks normal on the inside. Simple furniture. No telly, but plenty of books lining the walls. Clean. Pictures on the wall of Eliza Barrymore. A young man with two other people.
"Her nephew, his parents are dead. He works at the stables," John hears Sherlock whisper. He just nods.
Everything looked.. normal.
The crawling in his skin said it was anything but that. Instinct makes him draw his gun.
"John," he hears Sherlock murmur and he looks to the right to see a staircase leading downwards.
He didn't see the staircase when he first entered, but he figured that was the point. There, but not automatically seen by everyone who enters.
They head downstairs, and as they go down to the bottom the smell reaches his nose, and he makes a face.
"Dog," he hears Sherlock mutter as they go further into the room.
John catches a glint of metal, almost entirely covered by large blankets. He makes out cages lining the wall of one end of the room. He hears a familiar snuffling noise. His dog always did that when he slept.
"Five cages," Sherlock whispers. John knows he's trying not to wake the dogs. They can't see them but, as Sherlock would say, it's obvious. "Large enough for two dogs each."
Ten hounds all bred to kill. A line that were specifically for that purpose. To hunt down, to keep in sight, to terrify their victims fleeing from their howls and into the woods. Only to kill with a command.
Sympathy wells up in John for those unfortunate souls. So cruelly killed because they wanted to solve a mystery.
"So, you were right," John murmurs. "It is Eliza Barrymore."
Sherlock opens his mouth but quickly shuts it. The abruptness of it combined with another crawling sensation goes up John's spine as he realizes that they are not alone.
"Partially right," a cold, commanding, chilling voice says from behind them both. "But not just Eliza, you nosy idiots."
John and Sherlock share a look.
Shite.
That's the last thought John has before his head is suddenly hurting like hell, and blackness soon follows.
******************************
Location: Inside Baskerville Hall Main Building
Time: 6:20 pm
******************************
Moran hears footsteps from her position. She takes a moment to look out from under the stairwell. Good he's coming.. without a clue in the world.
At times, they can be her favorite targets. The look of surprise on their faces is almost as fun as the dread and fear that appears when they know they are going to die.
Almost.
The look of dread and fear she prefers.
She hears the thunder boom, and the lights flicker. Perfect setting for a horror story.
The footsteps get closer. Twenty seconds before they reach her.
This one needs is going to have a lesson about snooping.
Moran raises her knee, reaching down to take out one of her combat knives. She counts down to the last second, then she grabs him. She cuts off his yelp of surprise with her other hand and then shoves him against the wall, blade against his throat.
"Vous peu de merde," she swears at him in french, and he blinks, a little fear in those grey eyes.
Yes, fear me young one.
"You've been snooping," she snarls. "I've seen you around, trying to hide, trying to sneak around. Well you're an amateur dear. You almost got away with it, but my things still were not put back in the right spot." She confronted Porter about it a few minutes before thinking he messed with her guns, but he had not. This brat here was the culprit, she knew it. "What do you know? What are you trying to find out?"
"I found out enough to know you aren't here for a holiday. Your or your companion." the teenager says with a tremor in his voice. She presses the blade against the skin, not quite cutting yet. "I overheard your phone calls. You were spying on them just as we were."
"My reasons are none of your concern--" She snarls, the desire the cut this boys throat pulsing inside her.
Suddenly she hears a click of something going off, followed by a sharp prick in her neck.
"Wrong move to make my dear," she vaguely hears as Moran touches her neck and feels a dart in it.
Merde is all she can think before blackness takes hold.
******************************
Location: Barrymore's Basement
Time: Hours Later- Unknown
******************************
Oh his head hurts.
John comes awake, slowly, to a pain in his head. He feels dried blood on the side of his face.
A groan escapes before he can stop it. John carefully opens his eyes, blinking.
It takes a few seconds, through the pain, to realize he's in a chair.
Takes about twenty seconds to realize he's tied to a chair. The pain starts to wane a bit, now just to a dull throb. John hears Sherlock moan next to him. Carefully looking up, he notices he's in the basement still, and then sees Sherlock next to him, a cut on his temple as he comes out of his own daze.
A movement near him gains his attention. He looks over to see...Sébastienne Moran, starting to come to from the looks of it.
Why is she here?
"Sherlock."
"Are you all right John?" Sherlock asks as he raises his head.
"Other than a splitting head."
"He hit us with a shovel."
"That's what I thought I felt..." John murmurs. Well, once again, being tied to a chair appears as the standard operating procedure for the criminals that cross their paths.
A friendly little reminder of that case involving with the University students and the robberies in Chelsea.
He hears Moran groan, then come to thoroughly as she raises her head.
Brown eyes blurred with confusion. The confusion does not last long. Within seconds, her eyes are clear. Moran makes a few movement, and sighs. She apparently has come to the same conclusion they came to earlier.
"When we get out of this," she says hoarsely, "I'm shooting one of you."
NEXT CHAPTER
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Original Male&Female Characters
Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship
Warnings: Death, Language, Violence,
Spoilers: The Hounds of Baskerville is the title of the second episode (or episode 5) of Season 2.
Summary: It's November. Sherlock has hit a wall in his research on Moriarty. John has had enough. He needs a holiday. They bloody both do. Over-riding Sherlock's objections, John arranges for a holiday at a country getaway called The Baskerville Hall, (an open ended offer that Sherlock had received from a case ages ago) in the Dartmoor area of Devon. Unfortunately, John finds out that even having a holiday with Sherlock bloody Holmes doesn't go the way it should.
Word Count: 2,225
******************************
Chapter 7-
The Pros And Cons Of Snooping
Location: Baskerville Hall Grounds
Time: Nearly 6 pm
Date: November 20th, 2010
******************************
"So there are five guest houses, that can hold up to six guests each."
John nods as there is no need to say anything. He knows Sherlock now is trying to eliminate buildings so that the search won't take long. He does want to indicate that it's getting dark. Not pitch black yet, but it is, and he hears thunder clouds in the distance.
"So we can rule them out. We can rule out the main building. Too much of a chance for someone one to notice something odd, or the smell. I mean several dogs at once being held... if it's sound proof, yes you may not hear them, but you can still smell them."
John nods one more time as Sherlock looks at him.
"So what we have left are six employee cabins. Five them have three employees in each. Most are not here due to not being needed due to the renovations going on."
"What about the sixth cabin?" John speaks up this time. "Sherlock, sun's almost completely set and storm clouds are rolling in," he also adds.
"I know. Sixth cabin is the home of Eliza Barrymore and her nephew. 600 meters to the right of the main building," Sherlock points towards a home. "Then we have the tool shed, which is large enough I suppose, about 600 meters to the left. So it could be either of those two."
"You already have an idea on which one it is then." John does too, ever since Sherlock explained what the journals pieced together.
"So do you. No one will be there now. All are inside, helping with the cleaning and such. We just need to get inside, find a way to get evidence of the dogs and then work out the best way to expose them."
"Right." John exhales. "But would it be best to check the other one out, if perhaps they were clever?"
"True," Sherlock begins striding towards the tool shed, and John catches up. Sherlock bends down to pick the lock, withdrawing his lock picks and John quickly stands guard, hiding the consulting detective from view. Even though there isn't anyone on the grounds, on the ready.
******************************
Hallway of Baskerville Hall
Time: Just at 6pm
******************************
Sébastienne Moran stares out the window, watching the doctor act as as look out. She had just passed this window, where she caught sight of Sherlock Holmes and his guard dog, Watson, striding towards what was the tool shed.
Part of the investigation? She knew that Sherlock had a chat into with Gregory Baskerville about the curse. She had tracked them to the ruins, and then caught a little of their conversation on the way back.
While continuing to watch, the door to the shed opens. The hunched figure of Sherlock Holmes enters. Her trigger finger itches. She wants to get out her rifle and take aim. She was the best sniper in the special forces of France. She still consider herself the best, even though she is not in the military anymore.
The sound of her mobile ringing makes her start. She didn't think it to ring now. The sky started darkening then notices storm clouds rolling in. Usually the reception went to hell about then.
"Moran." She answers briskly, knowing that she needed to take advantage of it now before she lost the chance to.
A cough. A crackle on the line indicating the poor reception. "Progress?"
"They got roped into investigating the curse."
"Make sure they stay alive then."
She wished she could put her other eye on them.
"I know you want to make up for what happened at the pool, Moran, my pet. You are. You will also get your chance, eventually. Not now though."
"Can I kill Porter at least?"
She hears the boss chuckle at that. "Not yet." The reception crackles again.
"Reception is going down the toilet."
"I will make this quick. Your recommended doctor is coming by for a check up on my progress. I simply wanted to make this call before he did. I have sent a file on Porter's phone. Once this little holiday is over, that needs to be handled. Quickly.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." More crackling. "Moran, I know you did what you thought was right at the pool. Keep those two alive, take care of the matter on the file, then come back to me. We have a some needed touches to put together before the final game starts."
"You can count on me. You know that." Finally, a little validation for what she had done.
She hears him laugh. "Oh I know."
******************************
Location: Outside
Time: 10 past 6pm
******************************
John relaxes his position as Sherlock locks the tool shed door.
"Just as I thought. Nothing. Time to go to the other one."
"Best get it done quickly then, before we get caught in the rain," John points to the now thunderous looking clouds, with some rumbling accompanying them.
Sherlock nods and strides forward, John following and keeping an eye out once more.
First when John realized that Sherlock took on the case, he wanted to lecture. He wanted to be upset. Sherlock knew it, and held it off, telling him to call him out later on it.
Although now John doesn't feel up to it The gleam, the spark in Sherlock that is usually there no matter the situation had dulled considerably since they came here. Guilt had crept into him when Sherlock explained what the journals revealed when they were in the library, that spark coming back quite ruthlessly.
"Gregory Baskerville asked me to. I could not refuse. I was in need a stimulant, my boredom was reaching very drastic levels."
Boredom.
The enemy of one, Sherlock Holmes.
For most, boredom did not result in shooting walls, trying to find new experiments, harassing the Yard for fun, occasionally haunting the morgue for stimulating cases (John was still curious about the history between Sherlock and that one mortician...) or pester Molly Hooper at St Barts.
John doesn't live with those people though.
It was either shooting up the wall or shooting up cocaine.
He can live with the other alternatives. He'd be damned if he came home to Sherlock doing that. He can deal with a lot of things, but.. not that. Never that.
"All that matters to me is the work. Without it, my brain rots."
John thinks, after nearly a year, he finally understands now. He'll tell Sherlock that later. He can only imagine what Sherlock may say.
Probably something around the lines that he was slow in understanding.
"John."
John shakes his head, chasing the thoughts away to focus on the present. Hell. Great job he was doing.
"Sorry, mind was elsewhere."
"Obviously," comes the sharp response. "Focus, John."
"Right." He stands guard as Sherlock picks the lock to the Barrymore's cabin.
It only takes a few minutes to get inside. The locks on the door being no match for Sherlock's lock-picking talent.
Everything looks normal on the inside. Simple furniture. No telly, but plenty of books lining the walls. Clean. Pictures on the wall of Eliza Barrymore. A young man with two other people.
"Her nephew, his parents are dead. He works at the stables," John hears Sherlock whisper. He just nods.
Everything looked.. normal.
The crawling in his skin said it was anything but that. Instinct makes him draw his gun.
"John," he hears Sherlock murmur and he looks to the right to see a staircase leading downwards.
He didn't see the staircase when he first entered, but he figured that was the point. There, but not automatically seen by everyone who enters.
They head downstairs, and as they go down to the bottom the smell reaches his nose, and he makes a face.
"Dog," he hears Sherlock mutter as they go further into the room.
John catches a glint of metal, almost entirely covered by large blankets. He makes out cages lining the wall of one end of the room. He hears a familiar snuffling noise. His dog always did that when he slept.
"Five cages," Sherlock whispers. John knows he's trying not to wake the dogs. They can't see them but, as Sherlock would say, it's obvious. "Large enough for two dogs each."
Ten hounds all bred to kill. A line that were specifically for that purpose. To hunt down, to keep in sight, to terrify their victims fleeing from their howls and into the woods. Only to kill with a command.
Sympathy wells up in John for those unfortunate souls. So cruelly killed because they wanted to solve a mystery.
"So, you were right," John murmurs. "It is Eliza Barrymore."
Sherlock opens his mouth but quickly shuts it. The abruptness of it combined with another crawling sensation goes up John's spine as he realizes that they are not alone.
"Partially right," a cold, commanding, chilling voice says from behind them both. "But not just Eliza, you nosy idiots."
John and Sherlock share a look.
Shite.
That's the last thought John has before his head is suddenly hurting like hell, and blackness soon follows.
******************************
Location: Inside Baskerville Hall Main Building
Time: 6:20 pm
******************************
Moran hears footsteps from her position. She takes a moment to look out from under the stairwell. Good he's coming.. without a clue in the world.
At times, they can be her favorite targets. The look of surprise on their faces is almost as fun as the dread and fear that appears when they know they are going to die.
Almost.
The look of dread and fear she prefers.
She hears the thunder boom, and the lights flicker. Perfect setting for a horror story.
The footsteps get closer. Twenty seconds before they reach her.
This one needs is going to have a lesson about snooping.
Moran raises her knee, reaching down to take out one of her combat knives. She counts down to the last second, then she grabs him. She cuts off his yelp of surprise with her other hand and then shoves him against the wall, blade against his throat.
"Vous peu de merde," she swears at him in french, and he blinks, a little fear in those grey eyes.
Yes, fear me young one.
"You've been snooping," she snarls. "I've seen you around, trying to hide, trying to sneak around. Well you're an amateur dear. You almost got away with it, but my things still were not put back in the right spot." She confronted Porter about it a few minutes before thinking he messed with her guns, but he had not. This brat here was the culprit, she knew it. "What do you know? What are you trying to find out?"
"I found out enough to know you aren't here for a holiday. Your or your companion." the teenager says with a tremor in his voice. She presses the blade against the skin, not quite cutting yet. "I overheard your phone calls. You were spying on them just as we were."
"My reasons are none of your concern--" She snarls, the desire the cut this boys throat pulsing inside her.
Suddenly she hears a click of something going off, followed by a sharp prick in her neck.
"Wrong move to make my dear," she vaguely hears as Moran touches her neck and feels a dart in it.
Merde is all she can think before blackness takes hold.
******************************
Location: Barrymore's Basement
Time: Hours Later- Unknown
******************************
Oh his head hurts.
John comes awake, slowly, to a pain in his head. He feels dried blood on the side of his face.
A groan escapes before he can stop it. John carefully opens his eyes, blinking.
It takes a few seconds, through the pain, to realize he's in a chair.
Takes about twenty seconds to realize he's tied to a chair. The pain starts to wane a bit, now just to a dull throb. John hears Sherlock moan next to him. Carefully looking up, he notices he's in the basement still, and then sees Sherlock next to him, a cut on his temple as he comes out of his own daze.
A movement near him gains his attention. He looks over to see...Sébastienne Moran, starting to come to from the looks of it.
Why is she here?
"Sherlock."
"Are you all right John?" Sherlock asks as he raises his head.
"Other than a splitting head."
"He hit us with a shovel."
"That's what I thought I felt..." John murmurs. Well, once again, being tied to a chair appears as the standard operating procedure for the criminals that cross their paths.
A friendly little reminder of that case involving with the University students and the robberies in Chelsea.
He hears Moran groan, then come to thoroughly as she raises her head.
Brown eyes blurred with confusion. The confusion does not last long. Within seconds, her eyes are clear. Moran makes a few movement, and sighs. She apparently has come to the same conclusion they came to earlier.
"When we get out of this," she says hoarsely, "I'm shooting one of you."
NEXT CHAPTER