(Alice’s POV: )

Outside, Sherlock swiped a half-drunk pint of beer from a nearby empty table and walked over towards Fletcher, noticing as he did so that he had a copy of the Racing Post in his trouser pocket. I caught up with him before he spoke to the guide. Fletcher had gone over to another of the tables and was just finishing his phone call.

“Yeah... No. All right? Right. Take care. Bye.” He said, sounding in a hurry to finish his call.

“Mind if we join you?” Sherlock asked, saying ‘we’ without even acknowledging I was there before he said it. Fletcher shrugged and gestured to the table. Sherlock put his pint down and sat on the bench on the other side of the table, not even drinking from it. He had used it as a prop. I chuckled quietly and sat next to him, taking a sip of my coffee.

“It’s not true, is it? You haven’t actually seen this... hound thing.” He grinned in a friendly way.

“You from the papers?” He replied, looking at us suspiciously.

“No, nothing like that. Just curious. Have you seen it?” I asked, letting Sherlock have a chance to observe Fletcher more.

“Maybe.” The guide answered, still suspicious. He looked me down, as all the men had did. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“Got any proof?” Sherlock questioned.

“Why would I tell you if I did? ’Scuse me.” He said, a bit offended as he stood up to leave. John came over with his own drink, beginning,

“I called Henry...”

“Bet’s off, John, sorry.” Said Sherlock, talking over the doctor.

“What?” John asked, sitting down.

“Bet?” Fletcher asked.

“My plan needs darkness.” He continued, looking at his watch. He looked up at the sky. “Reckon we’ve got another half an hour of light...”

“Wait, wait. What bet?” Fletcher interrupted.

“Oh, I bet John and Alice both here fifty quid that you couldn’t prove you’d seen the hound.” Sherlock explained.

“Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could.” John confirmed, catching on immediately and looking at Fletcher. I nodded and smiled smugly. Fletcher smiled and pointed to Sherlock.

“Well, you’re gonna lose your money, mate.” Fletcher said happily. I looked up at him, feigning curiosity.

“Yeah?” Sherlock asked, doing the same as me.

“Yeah. I’ve seen it.” He started, quickly looking at me and winking, then continuing. “Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn’t make much out.”

“I see. No witnesses, I suppose.” Sherlock interrupted.

“No, but...” He began.

“Never are.” I muttered.

“Wait...” He showed us Sherlock a photograph on his smart phone. “There.” We looked at the photograph, which showed a dark-furred four-legged something in the distance but, with no scale amongst the surrounding vegetation, it was impossible to tell the size – or even the species – of the animal. Sherlock snorted.

“Is that it?” I asked, unimpressed. My phone vibrated and I pulled it out. It read an unknown number.

“It’s not exactly proof, is it?” Sherlock scoffed. Fletcher showed the photo to John. “Sorry, John. I win... pay up Alice.” He picked up the stolen drink and made as if to drink from it, although he never did; still a prop.

“I can’t wait till you figure it out.” The text read. I narrowed my eyes and put it off as a wrong number, turning back to Fletcher as he continued.

“Wait, wait. That’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a... bad sort of feeling.” Fletcher bargained.

“Ooh! Is it haunted?!” I mocked.

“Is that supposed to convince us?” Sherlock asked in the same tone as me. He put the pint glass down again as I took another drink.

“Nah, don’t be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped.” Fletcher said ominously.

“A clone, a super-dog?!” Sherlock said, not really trying to hold back his sceptical snigger.

“Maybe. God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust ’em as far as I could spit.”

“Is that the best you’ve got?” I asked, nodding to the photograph. Fletcher hesitated for a long moment, uncertain whether to continue, but eventually he spoke reluctantly, lowering his voice.

“I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin’ but he never showed up – well, not ’til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. ‘I’ve seen things today, Fletch,’ he said, ‘that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.’ He’d been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else.” He leaned closer. “In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he’d seen... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs...” He reached into his bag and pulled something out, showing it to us. “...dogs the size of horses.” He was holding a concrete cast of a dog’s paw print – but the print was at least six inches long from the tip of the claws to the back of the pad. Sherlock stared at it in surprise. My stomach tightened again and I uneasily took a gulp. John immediately pounced.

 “Er, we did say fifty?” He asked eagerly. As Fletcher smiled triumphantly, Sherlock got out his wallet and handed John and I each a fifty pound note.

“Ta.” John thanked. I smiled, patted the detective’s back and shoved it in my pocket. Sulkily, Sherlock got up and walked away. John finished his drink and followed him. I took my drink along with me and walked beside Sherlock.

Okay, enjoy, vote and comment. =) Thanks (sorry. I'm tired)