(Alice’s POV: )

 I stared at Henry in disbelief as Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned and came back to the kitchen doorway and stared down at Henry.

 “Say that again.” Sherlock commanded.

 “I found the footprints; they were...” He began.

 “No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them.” He ordered. Henry thought for a second, and then slowly recited his words back to him.

 “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic... hound.” He repeated slowly. Sherlock raised his head.

 “We’ll take the case.” Sherlock said immediately.

“Sorry, what?” John asked, looking at Sherlock bewildered. Sherlock adopted the prayer position in front of his mouth and began to pace slowly across the living room.

 “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It’s very promising.” Sherlock thanked.

 “No-no-no, sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they’re very promising?” John asked, as confused as ever.

 “It’s nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren’t listening. Baskerville: ever heard of it?” Sherlock replied, back to his normal self. Well, normal when he’s on a case normal.

 “Vaguely. It’s very hush-hush.” John said.

 “Sounds like a good place to start.” I reasoned.

 “Ah! You’ll come down, then?” Henry asked, sounding triumphant.

 “No, I can’t leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don’t worry – putting my best man onto it.” He walked over to John and patted his shoulder.

 “Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself.” Sherlock said happily. I sighed, knowing I would be stuck here with him waiting to pounce on the phone.

 “What are you talking about, you’re busy? You don’t have a case! A minute ago you were complaining...” John began.

 “Bluebell, John! I’ve got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!” He looked at Henry. “Plus Alice. NATO’s in uproar.” He added.

 “Oh, sorry, no, you’re not coming, then?” Henry asked, disappointed. Putting on a regretful expression, Sherlock shook his head sadly. John groaned.

 “Okay.” He stood up as Sherlock smiled smugly. “Okay.” He walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up the skull, taking a packet of cigarettes from underneath it. Putting the skull down again, he turned and tossed the packet across to Sherlock, who caught it and instantly tossed it over his shoulder.

 “I don’t need those any more. I’m going to Dartmoor.” Sherlock replied. He walked out of the living room. I held in some very bad profanities as Sherlock tossed the cigarettes back. “You go on ahead, Henry. We’ll follow later.” Sherlock added.

 “Er, sorry, so you are coming?” he asked, scrambling to his feet. Sherlock turned and walked back into the room.

 “Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” He explained.

 Later, John, carrying two large bags out onto the street, shut the front door and walked over to Sherlock, who was holding the taxi door open. I, carrying my own bag (the one from the Venice trip)   looked at Speedy’s. Mrs. Hudson was shouting angrily at an unseen Mr. Chatterjee.

 “...cruise together. You had no intention of taking me on it...” She threw something at the closed door. As it bounced heavily off the glass, John recoiled.

 “Oh! Looks like Mrs. Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster.” John said a bit too cheerfully.

 “Mmm. Wait ’til she finds out about the one in Islamabad.” I said, looking at Sherlock and smiling. John sniggered and got into the taxi, only after making me get in first. Sherlock followed us in.

 “Paddington Station, please.” Sherlock said.

 DARTMOOR

We found ourselves driving across the moors in a large black Land Rover jeep. Sherlock was driving, John and I both in the passenger seat: I had refused to sit in the back, and so had John, so this was how I settled it.

Sometime later, away from the road, Sherlock was standing, dramatically skylined on a large stone outcrop while John stood at the foot of it consulting a map. I was halfway between them on some of the lower rocks. He pointed ahead of himself at a large array of buildings in the distance.

 “There’s Baskerville.” John said. He turned and pointed behind us. Sherlock turned to look. “That’s Grimpen Village.” He added. He turned and looked ahead of us again, checking the map for the name of the heavily wooded area to the left of the Baskerville complex. “So that must be ... yeah, it’s-”

 “Dewer’s Hollow.” I finished, cutting him off and looking at the forest. Sherlock pointed to an area in between the complex and the Hollow.

 “What’s that?” He asked.

 “Hmm?” John hummed. He had binoculars round his neck and now he lifted them and looked more closely at the fencing and the warning signs.

 “Minefield?” I suggested. John nodded.

 “Technically Baskerville’s an army base, so I guess they’ve always been keen to keep people out.” John reasoned.

 “Clearly.” Sherlock said dramatically.

 Later, we had driven into Grimpen Village and pulled into the car park of the Cross Keys inn. We got out and walked towards the entrance of the pub, where a young man, who was apparently a tour guide, was talking to a group of tourists.

 “...three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone!” He advertised. We walked past the group and saw that he was standing next to a large sign, on which was painted a black image of a wolf-like creature with the words “BEWARE THE HOUND!!” above it. “Don’t be strangers, and remember... stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!” Sherlock had been pulling his overcoat around him as he walked towards the pub, and now he popped up the collar. John looked round at him pointedly.

 “I’m cold.” He said, trying and failing to look nonchalant. The tourist group walked away from the guide. Once their backs were turned he put on a large shaggy wolf’s-head mask. Sherlock and John walked into the pub, which had a blackboard outside advertising “Boutique Rooms & Vegetarian Cuisine”. The guide ran over to a couple of the nearby tourists and roared. They flinched and the woman shrieked in surprise.

 (Henry’s POV: )

I flinched, my eyes closed as I sat, half reclined on my armchair. The flashbacks continued to haunt me until I opened my eyes and sighed. Doctor Mortimer was still sitting across from me, the usual pen and notepad in hand.

 “That part doesn’t change.” I said tiredly.

 “What does?” She asked. I ran my hands over my face, exhausted.

 “Oh, there’s something else. It-it’s a word.” I said, thinking heavily. Sighing deeply in concentration, I closed my eyes again and saw the word as if it was stitched or knitted into some fabric. “Liberty.” I said, opening my eyes again.

 “Liberty?” Doctor Mortimer asked.

 “There’s another word.” I added, closing my eyes again. I concentrated and saw the next word in the stitching. “In. I-N. Liberty In.” I said slowly. I looked at my therapist. “What do you think it means?” I asked. She shook her head and I sighed in frustration.

 CROSS KEYS INN

(Alice’s POV: )

As Sherlock prowled around the pub, John was at the bar checking in I was wondering as well, but I was close enough to hear John. The manager and barman, Gary, handed him some keys.

 “Eh, sorry we couldn’t do a double room for you boys... and girl.” He looked me down and I pretended not to notice.

 “That’s fine. We-we’re not...” John began. He looked at the smug knowing smile on Gary’s face and gave up.

 “They’re not.” I butted in, kissing John’s cheek for effect and going away again.

 “There you go.” John said, giving him some money for the drink he has just bought and pretending that he hadn’t just blushed.

 “Oh, ta. I’ll just get your change.” Gary said.

 “Ta.” John repeated. As Gary went to the till, John’s glance fell on a pile of receipts and invoices which had been punched onto a spike on the bar. He frowned as he saw that one wad labelled “Undershaw Meat Supplies”. Quickly he reached out and ripped it from the spike, putting it into his pocket as Gary came back with his change.

 “There you go.” Gary said politely.

 “I couldn’t help noticing on the map of the moor: a skull and crossbones.” John said.

 “Oh that, aye.” Gary replied.

 “Pirates?!” John asked, alarmed. I snickered quietly.

 “Eh, no, no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it.” Gary corrected.

 “Oh, right.” John said, somewhat sheepishly.

 “It’s not what you think. It’s the Baskerville testing site. It’s been going for eighty-odd years. I’m not sure anyone really knows what’s there anymore.” Nearby, Sherlock was still prowling around and now seemed to find something of interest at one of the tables.

 “Explosives?” John asked to Gary.

 “Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and – if you’re lucky – you just get blown up, so they say... in case you’re planning on a nice wee stroll.” Gray replied ominously. Sherlock lost interest in the table and wandered off again. I smiled at his child-like behaviour and walked up to John. I ordered a coffee while he continued talking.

 “Ta. I’ll remember.” John answered.

 “Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound!” He chuckled. “Did you see that show, that documentary?” Gary asked.

 “Quite recently, yeah.” John replied, nodding a bit. I paid the other man for my coffee and leaned on the counter, facing the door.

 “Aye. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell.” Gary said sarcastically.

 “Ever seen it – the hound?” John questioned.

 “Me? No.” Gary said, sounding thankful. He pointed out the door past Sherlock, where Fletcher was just outside the pub and talking on his phone to someone. “Fletcher has. He runs the walks – the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He’s seen it.”

 “That’s handy for trade.” John noticed. I nodded in agreement. Gary turned to a man who was clearly the inn’s cook who had just arrived behind the bar. Meanwhile Sherlock turned and followed Fletcher as he walked away from the doorway.

 “I’m just saying we’ve been rushed off our feet, Billy.” Gary said.

 “Yeah. Lots of monster-hunters. Doesn’t take much these days. One mention on Twitter and oomph.” He looked me down, impressed and then turned to Gary. “We’re out of WKD.” He added.

 “All right.” Gary groaned. He walked behind the bar again and Billy turned to John. Tired of the conversation, I walked away towards Sherlock. I heard the rest of the exchange, however.

 “What with the monster and that ruddy prison, I don’t know how we sleep nights. Do you, Gary?” Gary stopped and put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him affectionately.

 “Like a baby.” Gary said happily.

 “That’s not true.” Billy contradicted. He looked at John. “He’s a snorer.”

 “Hey, wheesht!” Gary complained, embarrassed and trying to shut him up.

 “Is yours a snorer?” Billy asked, looking at John again.

 “...Got any crisps?” John asked, trying to change the subject.

Another chapter cos I am awesome. (Not really. I just had some spare time xD) Enjoy, vote, and comment, fun peoples!! =D