(Alice’s POV, DAY TIME, THE MOORS: )

                Sherlock was back on the stony outcrop again, staring towards Baskerville. His eyes flicked between the complex and Dewer’s Hollow as he tried to make sense of what happened the previous night, and then he turned and looked back towards Grimpen Village. I was on the ground, waiting impatiently with my hands in my pockets. He finally came down and walked past me quickly. I groaned and followed.

(HENRY’S HOUSE)

                Sherlock knocked on the door, already preparing his ‘cheerful attitude’ for Henry. I, of course, was expected to do the same. As soon as Henry opened the door, Sherlock surged though, being loudly cheerful as I expected.

 “Morning!” He greeted happily. I plastered on a fake smile and followed him in. He was about to head straight for the kitchen but suddenly turned around and clasped Henry by the shoulders, almost knocking me over in the process. “Oh, how are you feeling?” He asked. Henry looked terrible. He clearly hadn’t slept much the previous night, and hadn’t even showered. His hands were shaking and he was at a loss on balance. Sherlock ducked his head down to get a better look into his face.

 “I’m... I didn’t sleep very well.” Henry stammered exhaustedly.

 “Clearly…” I mumbled crankily. Henry looked at me with a clueless expression. Sherlock looked at me, his eyes promising death but the stupid smile still on his face.

 “That’s a shame. Shall I make you some coffee?” Sherlock suddenly offered. He looked up at the ceiling above the door and points. “Oh look, you’ve got damp!” He announced casually. He grinned falsely at him until Henry turned his head to look, then dropped the smile and turned and walked away towards the kitchen. Henry looked at me, pointing at him in question. I shook my head in response. He sighed and let me go first, putting a hand on the small of my back as we entered. I found it strange but didn’t protest.

 “Listen ... last night.” Henry began, his hand still on me. Sherlock gave him a horrifying attempt at a friendly smile as he took the top off the coffee tin, glancing down at his arm that was on me. His eyes narrowed in the slightest.  “Why did you say you hadn’t seen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but...” He trailed off again. Sherlock had been dumping spoonfuls of coffee into the mugs without even looking, his eyes locked on Henry’s, and now he slammed the coffee tin down onto the surface and stepped closer to us, his eyes back to their normal intensity more or less.

 “Hound.” He said simply, looking to both of us for a reaction.

 “What?” Henry asked innocently.

 “Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?” Sherlock clarified.

 “Why – what do you mean?” Henry asked again, looking at me quickly.

 “It’s odd, isn’t it? Strange choice of words – archaic. It’s why I took the case. ‘Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.’ Why say ‘hound’?”

 “I don’t know! I...” Henry began, feeling threatened.

 “Actually, I’d better skip the coffee.” Sherlock interrupted. He flared out of the kitchen. Henry sighed wearily, looking at me. I gave him an apologetic look and began following Sherlock. Before I could leave the room, Henry had quickly kissed me on the cheek. I spaced out but continued walking.

 Later, Sherlock and I were walking back through the village but we stopped as Sherlock saw John in the church graveyard, sitting on the steps of a war memorial and looking through the notes in his notebook. We went through the kissing gate and walked along the path towards John, who looked up as he heard us approach. His expression became uncomfortable as he tucked his notebook into his pocket. Sherlock stopped in front of him, also looking awkward.

 “Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?” Sherlock asked.

 “No.” John answered blankly, stepping down. He started to walk away. I followed, not waiting for Sherlock.

 “U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it?” Sherlock questioned, imagining the letters. John kept walking and Sherlock followed along behind him. He voiced the initials as a word.  “UMQRA.”

 “Nothing.” John insisted.

“U.M.Q...”

 “Look, forget it. It’s... I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t.” John interrupted. He looked at me quickly and gave me a brief wave of his hand in greeting. I nodded.

 “Sure?” Sherlock asked.

 “Yeah.” John assured.

 “How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?” Sherlock asked softly. He seemed guilty, but last night was a bit foggy so I wasn’t sure what.

 “No.” John answered, almost regretfully.

 “Too bad. Did you get any information?” Sherlock continued. John smiled briefly and glanced over his shoulder but still kept walking.

 “You being funny now?” John asked sarcastically.

 “Thought it might break the ice a bit.” Sherlock tried. I wanted to leave, but just up and walking away would look strange. I didn’t want to interrupt this one, though.

 “Funny doesn’t suit you. I’d stick to ice.” John said, almost sounding rude. Sherlock looked at John’s retreating back, his face full of pain, and it almost killed me. I wanted to get Johns attention, but didn’t.

 “John...” Sherlock began helplessly.

 “It’s fine.” John said, sounding annoyed and looking like it too.

 “No, wait. What happened last night... Something happened to me; something I’ve not really experienced before...” Sherlock began, keeping his eyes straight on John.

 “Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said.” John interrupted. Sherlock caught up to him, took hold of his arm and pulled him round to face him. I turned with John and stood next to him, watching Sherlock tiredly.

"No-no-no, it was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.” The detective clarified.

 “You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster.” John droned sceptically.

 “No, I can’t believe that.” He grinned bitterly for a moment. “But I did see it, so the question is: how? How?” Sherlock continued.

"Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you’ve got something to go on, then? Good luck with that.” John said bitterly. He turned and started to walk away again. Sherlock turned and called after him. I stayed where I was, watching the two.

 “Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it.” Sherlock said honestly. John stopped and turned back to face him. I looked at both of them in turn. “I don’t have friends.” Sherlock said. I almost fainted. Did he really tell John that? Of all people, John? Sherlock bit his lip briefly. “I’ve just got one.” He finished, keeping his eyes on John. I turned to the doctor, expecting gratitude, forgiveness, possibly a man-hug, but no. John looked away as he took that statement in for a moment, then he nodded briefly and glanced back at Sherlock.

                “Right.” He confirmed. He turned and walked away again. Sherlock looked down, then instantly raised his head again as his eyes began to flicker in realisation of something.

 “John? John!” He started to chase after him and I followed. “You are amazing! You are fantastic!” He cried.

“Yes, all right! You don’t have to overdo it.” John half-complained, not stopping walking.

 “You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.” Sherlock said, catching up and overtaking him, then walking backwards in front of him. I had to think about that for a moment before I understood.

 “Cheers. ...What?” John asked sceptically. Sherlock turned round and walked beside him, taking out his own notebook and starting to write in it.

 “Some people who aren’t geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others.” Sherlock clarified, he smiled at me for a brief moment.

“Hang on – you were saying ‘Sorry’ a minute ago. Don’t spoil it. Go on: what have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?” John commented. Sherlock stopped just outside the pub door and turned back to John, showing what he had just written in his notebook:

 “HOUND” Was all it said. I moved up to the other side of John as they conversed. “Yeah?” the doctor asked.

 “But what if it’s not a word? What if it is individual letters?” Sherlock questioned, pulling the notebook back and writing in it again. He showed us the page of the notebook again, which now read:

“H.O.U.N.D.”

 “You think it’s an acronym?” John asked, seemingly over his previous offence.

 “Absolutely no idea but...” He began, putting his notebook away. He turned towards the pub door and trailed off as he saw a familiar figure standing inside at the bar. Wearing grey trousers and a grey shirt with a light jacket over the top, heavily suntanned and with sunglasses on, Detective Inspector Lestrade had his hands in his trouser pockets as Sherlock stormed into the pub. “What the h*ll are you doing here?” Sherlock demanded viciously.

 “Well, nice to see you too. I’m on holiday, would you believe?” Lestrade replied sarcastically.

 “No, I wouldn’t.” Sherlock said darkly.

 “Hullo, John.” The DI greeted, taking his sunglasses off as John walked over to the bar. He looked at me and nodded. “Alice. Looking lovely as usual.” I smiled and moved up next to Sherlock, feeling tired and lazy.

 “Greg.” John greeted, somewhat sternly.

 “I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?” Lestrade asked.

 “I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?” Sherlock demanded impatiently.

 “I’ve told you: I’m on holiday.” Lestrade answered, somewhat exasperated.

 “You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just back from your ‘holidays’.” Sherlock noted bitterly.

 “Yeah, well I fancied another one.” Lestrade replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

 “Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?” Sherlock demanded.

 “No, look...” Lestrade began.

 “Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to... to spy on me incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself Greg?” Sherlock interrupted.

 “That’s his name.” John and I said simultaneously.

 “Is it?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

 “Yes – if you’d ever bothered to find out. Look, I’m not your handler...” Greg began, turned away to pick up his pint from the bar. “...and I don’t just do what your brother tells me.” He finished, sounding annoyed as usual.

 “Actually, you could be just the man we want.” John said, looking inspired.

 “Why?” Sherlock asked.

 “Well, I’ve not been idle, Sherlock.” He rummaged in his trouser pocket. “I think I might have found something.” He showed Sherlock the sales invoice from Undershaw Meat Supplies, which he had stolen off the bar while he was checking in. “Here. Didn’t know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be.” John said.

 “That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.” I said, almost happily.

 “Excellent.” Sherlock replied.

 “Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy.” John said, looking at Lestrade. As Sherlock and Greg exchanged a look, John slapped his hand down on the bell on top of the bar.

 “Shop!” He shouted.

Hello! Sorry it has taken so long... I really have no excuse other than too many people talk to me. So, I am babysitting again this week. I really am really sorry! I hate not being able to update! =( But anyway, enjoy, vote, and comment fun peoples! =)