"You shouldn't have come."

"Stop being ridiculous about this, let's just get the job done."

"The client will exaggerate, show off, dramatise every detail; we need to deal with the facts."

Clara crossed her arms. The three were loitering on the doorstep to Henry Knight's ginormous house. Sherlock and Clara were both frowning at each other. With the heels on, Clara didn't have to tilt her head up as much.

"And you're saying that you don't exaggerate and show off or dramatise every itty-bitty detail?" She raised an eyebrow archly.

"Well, I-I..."

"That's what I thought." Clara pressed the buzzer forcefully. "Shall we just get on with it, eh?"

Henry opened the door, looking dismal in his worn out jeans and a faded cardigan. Clara smiled. His ears went pink. "Hi."

"Hey!" Clara said brightly, "Can we come in?"

"Yeah, yeah, course. Come in."

Sherlock scoffed silently. Clara turned round and mouthed "Behave!" before following Henry. Henry's house was a large old-fashioned glass conservatory with a modern two storey connection added on, to join it with another stone building nearby. There were high ceilings and minimalist art and sky lights dropping geometric patterns on the floor.

"This is, uh..." John started, absorbing the posh atmosphere, "Are you, um..." He paused, captivated by a brushed chrome ceiling light in a shape of a flower, "...rich?"

"Yeah," Henry said, scratching the back of his head and glancing at Clara.

"Right," John breathed, as they entered the opulent kitchen. Sherlock gave him a dark look as they sat down on the kitchen stools.

"What's up, Henry?" Clara asked with sad eyes. Henry dithered around, getting coffee cups and instant coffee sachets. He clicked the kettle on and listened to it boil.

"It's-it's, just a couple of words..." He pushed the sugar bowl round and round on the smooth marble bench. "It's what I keep seeing. 'Liberty'..."

"Liberty," John repeated, pencilling it down in his notebook.

Henry looked up, confused and fearful. "'Liberty' and... 'in'. That's just that." He poured their coffee and put the jug of milk back into the fridge.

They grabbed their cups, Sherlock plops two sugar lumps in his and put three in Clara's. She gave him a look. He just shrugged, what? Her lips quirked, just rather domestic of you. Sherlock jutted his chin back, it's all part of the facade. Clara raised her eyebrows at him. Really?

They thought for a minute, puzzled by the strange words. Clara sipped her coffee, nearly going crosseyed trying to figure it out.

"'Liberty in Death', isn't that an expression? The only true freedom," Sherlock pondered.

"What now, then?" Henry asked. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why his father had to die.

"Sherlock's got a plan," Clara exclaimed, smiling at Sherlock expectantly.

He stuttered for a minute. "Ah, yes. Yes. A plan, I've got a plan."

"Right," Henry said, nodding.

"We take you back out onto the moor..."

"Okay..."

"...and see if anything attacks you."

"What?!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock what the hell, Clara's mouth fell open. That's a rubbish plan.

"That should bring things to a head," he shrugged, gulping down coffee.

"At night?" Henry blanched. "You want me to go out there at night."

"Mmm. Yes."

"Sherlock!" Clara said, when he wouldn't listen to her eyes.

"Got any better ideas?" He asked, matching her glare.

"That's not a plan!"

"Listen," he set down his cup. "If there is a monster out there, Clara, there's only one thing to do: find out where it lives." He looked around at the gathering and smiled nonchalantly. It didn't exactly rouse their spirits.

.

Night was falling fast, the sun was dropping behind the horizon like it was running away from the approaching darkness. Sherlock was leading the pack, flashlight wafting over the tangle of bushes and the wet muddy ground. His feet squished into the stomach of the moors and he turned, seeing that Clara had switched her heels for a practical pair of bright red wellies. She didn't realise he was watching, but she squelched through the mud with a disgusted frown. Sherlock turned back, his lips twisting with amusement. They were a long way from London.

"Sherlock," she breathed, catching up with him, her short legs pumping. She grabbed his arm to steady herself. Sherlock liked that. She trusted him to stop her falling. He shook the thoughts from his head, baffled that he had just realised this now. Her torch wobbled as she tried to keep up with his pace. "Sherlock, are we actually going to find the monster?"

"Do you believe in monsters?"

A strange emotion washed over her face. It was new, different, not the usual Clara. "I don't know, maybe," she told him, staring into the distance. They were walking along a fenceline, one side was the boggy marsh, on the other was a minefield. It would look like a normal paddock if it weren't for the continuous warning signs and barbed wire slinking over the dead grass.

Clara shivered and she self-consciously stepped closer to Sherlock.

Henry caught up with them, the fear plain in his frightened breath.

"Met a friend of yours," Sherlock said, pushing past a tree branch. He held it up for Clara but let it go as soon as she passed.

Henry dodged but managed to get clipped in the shoulder. "What?"

"Doctor Frankland," Sherlock explained.

"Oh, yeah, Bob. Yeah."

"Seems pretty concerned about you."

"He's a worrier - bless him," Henry said, memory clinging to his words. "He was very kind to me when I came back."

"He knew your father."

"Yeah."

"But he works at Baskerville, didn't your dad have a problem with that?" Sherlock prodded.

"Well, mates are mates," Henry replied, "I mean, look at you and Clara."

Sherlock gave Henry a look. "What about us," he asked defensively.

"Well, Clara's a pretty straight forward, nice person, and you're..."

Sherlock gave him such an angry expression that Henry trailed off worriedly. "Married, not mates," Sherlock corrected with a passive aggressive smile. Clara swatted him on the shoulder when Henry wasn't looking.

"They agreed never to talk about work," Henry sighed, "Uncle Bob and my dad."

The group stopped at a steep drop off. Dewers Hollow. It was dark void and they could just see the wet rotting leaves at the bottom. Sherlock shined his torch across the ground, trying to find a way down. Henry, Sherlock and Clara started sliding down the bank of the Hollow. Clara bumbled into Sherlock repeatedly as he wellies slipped on the mud. She held tight onto the back of his coat until they made it down into the bowels of the Hollow.

The first thing Sherlock noticed was the paw prints everywhere. Clara could stand in one, her hands clasping into sweaty fists as they realised how big this monster would be. "Sherlock - where's John?" Clara whispered, looking around the Hollow.

A long, anguished howl filled the night. Sherlock gravitated towards Clara, as if his presence could somehow protect her. Henry was still halfway down the hill, but he stopped and stared. Clara was pointing her torch at the beast, and their faces filled with horror. Clara dropped her torch and wrapped her hand around Sherlock's coat lapel.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, didyouseethat?" Henry was running down the hill and staring at them, demanding clarification.

Sherlock's face was white and chiselled as a marble statue. "Sherlock, Sherlock, look at me, look at me," Clara whispered, trying to bring Sherlock back to the present. This scared her, this reminded her of the rare times she would have to throw the needle to the corner of the room, and turn him over to stop him choking on his own vomit and ring the ambulance. "It's okay, it's okay..."

But it wasn't okay. Clara knew this as she held his face, trying to make him stop staring at the rim of the Hollow. They saw a real monster. As big as a car with black fur standing on edge and the same red glowing eyes that Henry had described. Sherlock didn't deal with monsters, he dealt with criminals and psychopaths and drug addicts. Clara was the one who dealt with monsters, with aliens and space cowboys and Daleks. But Sherlock didn't know this and for once in her life she felt like the most prepared person in the room.

"Sherlock, let's go. Let's find John. We have to find John," She told him, giving him a purpose. She let go of his coat lapels and grabbed his hand.

They ran out of the hollow and stumbled into John. "Did you hear that howl?"

Clara stopped, mouth parted to give a rushed explanation. "We saw it!" Henry blurted.

But Sherlock pulled her to the side and they stormed past him. "I didn't see anything," Sherlock growled and they powered through the woods.

They ended up at the inn. John went back to Henry's flat to calm him down. It was just Sherlock and Clara staring at the fireplace. Clara was confused and frustrated and completely lost. "Henry is right," she murmured. It was the only explanation.

Sherlock's jaw was jammed shut and his eyes were rimmed with red. He was fighting inside himself. "A gigantic hound," he choked.

Clara shook her head, her hair mussed with leaves and sweat. "No, no, no, it's not - it can't be. We have to be rational and stick to the facts." Travelling in the TARDIS involved alien monsters. Detective life did not mix with Space life. It wasn't possible.

"Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains - however improbable - must be true," he said softly. He picked up a drink from the table and his hand shook, sloshing the whisky round. "Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions." He slammed the glass down on the table. "The grit on the lense, fly in the ointment."

"Hey, hey, hey," Clara got up and kneeled on the carpet in front of him, hands on his knees. "Calm down, Spock. Just, take it easy."

Sherlock looked at her, eyes glassy with frightened tears. "You can't help me, Clara."

"It's my job," she whispered, desperately.

"There is nothing wrong with me!" he yelled, the words clawing up his throat and flying out like spitfire. "Do you understand?" The patrons at the pub turned around to stare. Clara ignored them.

"Sherlock, shut up," She hissed. "I'm scared, I am so, so scared. I can see you looking at me like that, asking me why I don't look scared, eh? Yeah I know you Cheekbones, you're like an open book - I don't care what the others say, you're not a robot or a cyborg. Maybe I'm just used to monsters. No, there isn't anything wrong with you, you're having a panic attack. Everybody has panic attacks. So I want you to calm down." There was a tear tracking down her face but only Sherlock noticed it. He didn't say anything but his chest was heaving and sweat was pooling in the dip of his collar bone. "Deduce something about me," she demanded.

"What?"

"Just do it, Cheekbones."

"You're having a panic attack too," He said, eyes shuttering. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"No, this is exactly what we should be doing. What gives it away?"

"Your pulse," He looked at her hands on his knees, "It's higher than normal. You're crying, you can't catch your breath and you're trying to distract yourself from the image of the hound."

"What did I have for breakfast?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"There was a bit of porridge on your collar but you rubbed it off, not enough though because there's a bit on an imprint. You mustn't have realised straight away because obviously it had hardened before you picked it off. Plus you like porridge for breakfast anyway."

"With what on top?"

"Honey and blueberries."

"How do you know that?" She demanded, pushing him to focus, to get out of the dream.

"Because you like honey and blueberries."

"What else?" She stared at him with those big brown eyes. "C'mon, Cheekbones."

"You haven't called you dad in a while, you don't want to either," He watched her expression, the subtle yet tell-tale signs which fueled his thoughts. "Last time you fought - you won't tell him what your job is or where you live, oh! It's both, why? Scared to show off your neighbour? Of course you are, it's embarrassing trying to babysit a full grown man, psych him out of panic attacks and yank needles out of his arms."

Clara slunk backwards, hand on her own armchair. "Sherlock, stop it." Why was he so angry at her? "What about those people over there, deduce them."

He was frantic and feverous, taking out his pain and fear on her. Clara swallowed, reminding herself that she had welcomed it. This was supposed to help. But it felt like he was sinking a javelin into her stomach.

"Oh, touchy, don't worry I'll make sure you don't have to schedule your suicide watch around any important dates," he spat. "Do you know why Mycroft hired you? He particularly looked for someone who wasn't going anywhere in life. No job, no close family, no friends. Really convenient that you lived right next door. Now that I think of it, the accidental skyping was probably Mycroft anyway... "

"I have friends," Clara told him, losing her confidence from before. "I have a family."

Sherlock scoffed, looking away. "I'm not your friend, Clara. I don't have friends."

Clara stood up, her shoulders bristling. "Fuck off," she hissed and strode away.