another meme i won’t finish:ten tv shows [1 of 10] → sherlock “Your mind: it’s so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!”
The next few days had began like any other, until you got sick. It started just with vomiting in the mornings and then into the day it progressed into a nice cold. You thought it might have been food poisoning, but it seemed more persistent than that. It seemed to be a bad cold mixed with a stomach bug.
You called in sick for work and Lestrade told you to stay home until you were symptom free, he couldn’t risk you getting anyone else sick at work.
You needed to go to a doctor, but you didn’t have a set one here, you had only lived here for about a year, and it had been a very busy year. You called John instead and told him what was happening. He told you he thought it was a cold too, but if you came over to the flat he could check you out and possibly give you some medication.
You did just that, you walked around the corner to Baker Street, wrapping your coat tightly around you as you walked.
John looked at you, and confirmed you had a cold and possibly also 24 hour stomach bug that should subside soon. You were sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket while John made you some tea. You probably looked terrible, you hadn’t slept well, and you were just sick. Suddenly the door flew open and the sight in front of you almost made you scream.
Sherlock was standing in the doorway with his white sleeves rolled up, his face and shirt covered in blood, and holding a harpoon.
“Well, that was tedious.” He said, casually.
“You went on the tube like that?” John asked him after handing you your tea.
“None of the cabs would take me.” Sherlock said, now turning to you. “You’re sick.”
“Obviously.” You shot back.
“Are you alright? Do you need anything? Lay down, rest. We’ll take care of you.” Sherlock said quickly, rushing to you.
“Okay mother, calm down.” You smiled. Sherlock left to take a quick shower and change his clothes. He came back out into the living room in his dress pants and white shirt, with his blue dressing robe on, still holding his harpoon. He began pacing in front of the couch, just watching him was making you tired.
“Anything?” Sherlock asked John, referring to the paper he was reading.
“Military coup in Uganda. Another photo of you in the er…” John began and pointed to a picture of Sherlock in his favorite deer stalker.
“Ugh!” Sherlock sighed while still pacing.
“Well, um, Cabinet reshuffle.”John read.
“Nothing of importance? Oh, God!” Sherlock yelled, banging his harpoon on the floor. It made you jump slightly.
“John, I need some. Get me some.” Sherlock said and you scoffed.
“No.” John said.
“Get me some.” Sherlock now turning back to face you.
“Absolutely not.” You said, laying down on the couch.
“Cold turkey we agreed, no matter what,” John said, pointing his finger at Sherlock. “Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two-mile radius will sell you any.”
“Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?” Sherlock asked. John only cleared his throat and didn’t answer.
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled. He turned to his desk and began throwing papers everywhere. He was rummaging through every drawer looking for cigarettes.
“Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well, don’t give up now!” John said to Sherlock, who was still turning the living room upside down.
“Tell me where they are! Please, tell me.” Sherlock said. His tone changed to almost a puppy dog look “Please.”
“Can’t help, sorry.” John said, looking to you and rolling his eyes.
“I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers.” Sherlock said, to which John only laughed, “It was worth a try.”
“You know where the are don’t you, Y/N?” Sherlock turned to you.
“Of course I know where they are, that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.” You said, nuzzling deeper into the couch. Sherlock began eyeing the couch cushions under you, thinking the cigarettes were hiding under there. He took a step closer to you and began to bend down to look.
“Don’t even think about it. They’re not under there and I’m not moving just so you can check.” You scolded.
Sherlock groaned and jumped across the room to the fire place. He shook a shoe and threw it behind him when he found it to be empty.
“Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Hudson said, walking into the room.
“My secret supply, what have you done with my secret supply?” Sherlock asked, making a mess.
“Eh?” She asked confused.
“Cigarettes, what have you done with them?” Sherlock asked.
“You know you never let me touch your things! Oh, chance would be a fine thing. Oh hello dear, are you alright?” Mrs.Hudson said, turning to you.
“She’s sick, we’re keeping an eye on her, well I am, Sherlock is…” John said, gesturing to Sherlock.
“I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.” Sherlock retorted to Mrs. Hudson.
“I’m not.” She replied with sass.
“Argh!” Sherlock yelled, leaving the fire place and returning back to his harpoon. You saw John make a ‘drink’ motion to Mrs. Hudson.
“How about a nice cuppa and perhaps you could put away your harpoon?” Mrs. Hudson told him.
“I need something stronger than tea. Seven percent stronger.” Sherlock said, making you worry. Last time he was bored without a case you had found him shooting a wall after he had gotten done shooting up.
“Sherlock…” You said.
“You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.” Sherlock said, now pointing his harpoon to Mrs. Hudson.
“Pardon?” Mrs. Hudson asked.
“Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking. Thumbnail. Tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads don’t we. Mmm. Casbah Nights. Pretty racy for a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes.” Sherlock began rambling.
“I’m sure there’s a crying need for that.” You muttered, Sherlock gave you a dirty look before continuing.
“It’s on the website. You should look it up. I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee, he’s got a wife in Doncaster, that nobody knows about.” Sherlock said.
“Sherlock!” John yelled.
“Well, nobody except me.” Sherlock said, was he having a psychotic break?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t!” Mrs. Hudson said, storming out of the room, slamming the door. Sherlock leapt into his chair, hugging his knees to his chest.
“What the bloody hell was all that about?” John asked.
“You don’t understand.” Sherlock said rocking slightly.
“Go after her and apologise.” John instructed.
“Apologise?” Sherlock said the word as if he had never heard it before.
“Mhm.” John nodded.
“Oh, John, I envy you so much.” Sherlock said.
“You envy me?” John asked in disbelief.
“Your mind, it’s so placid, straight-forward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!” Sherlock yelled.
“You’ve just solved one, by harpooning a dead pig, apparently!” John yelled back.
“Ahh! That was this morning. When’s the next one? Y/N, does Gavin have a case?” He asked, both men turning to face you. They hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep. You hadn’t realized that John had mixed some medicine into your tea and it must have made you extra drowsy.
“Nothing on the website?” John whispered. Sherlock grabbed his laptop from his desk and handed it to John.
“Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?” Sherlock dictated.
“Bluebell?” John asked confused.
“A rabbit, John!” Sherlock yelled, which surprisingly didn’t wake you.
“Ah, but there’s more. Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous. ‘Like a fairy’ according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry. What am I saying, this is brilliant. Phone Lestrade, tell him there’s an escaped rabbit.” Sherlock said, seriously.
“Are you serious?” John asked.
“It’s this, or Cluedo.” Sherlock said.
“Ah, no. We are never playing that again.” John said, removing the computer from his lap.
“Why not?” Sherlock asked, in all seriousness.
“Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why.” John said.
“It was the only possible solution.” Sherlock argued.
“It’s not in the rules.” John said.
“Well, then, the rules are wrong!” Sherlock yelled.
“Shh! You’re going to wake her up.” John whisper yelled, pointing to you.
“Fine, I’ll just move her then.” Sherlock said, moving to pick you up. He carried you into his bedroom and placed you under the covers. When he was leaving his room he heard the doorbell ring.
“Single ring.” John pointed out.
“Maximum pressure, just under the half second. Client!” Sherlock said.
While you slept, a client was brought into the living room. He showed Sherlock and John a documentary on the television about Dartmoor. Dartmoor was home to the military testing site Baskerville, which is rumored to be doing animal testing and genetic mutations. The client, Henry Knight, was in the documentary. He claims that a genetically mutated beast killed his father. Sherlock abruptly turned off the television and asked Henry what he saw. He argued that he was just about to say it on the documentary. To that Sherlock responded that he liked to do his own editing.
“Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?” Henry asked him.
“No.” He answered.
“It’s an amazing place, it’s like nowhere else, it’s sort of bleak, but beautiful.” Henry began.
“Hm, not interested. Moving on.” Sherlock said rudely.
“We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening, we’d go out onto the moor.” Henry began before Sherlock cut him off again.
“Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed, where did that happen?” Sherlock asked insensitively.
“There’s a place, it’s a sort of local landmark, called Dewer’s Hollow. That’s an ancient name for the devil.” Henry said.
“So?” Sherlock said, unaffected.
“Did you see the devil that night?” John asked.
“Yes. It was huge, coal-black fur with red eyes. It got him. Tore at him, tore him apart. I can’t remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My day’s body was never found.” Henry Knight said.
“Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous… dog? Wolf?” John asked.
“Or a genetic experiment.” Sherlock smiled.
“Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?” Henry asked.
“Why, are you joking?” Sherlock returned.
“My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville. About the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously.” Henry said.
“And I assumed did wonders for Devon tourism.” Sherlock said.
“Yeah… Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was 20 years ago. Why come to us now?” John asked Henry.
“I’m not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny!” Henry scolded, standing to leave.
“Because of what happened last night.” Sherlock said, answering John’s question to Henry, causing him to stop in the doorway.
“Why, what happened last night?” John asked.
“How… How do you know?” Henry asked.
“I didn’t know, I noticed. You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a black coffee. The girl across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you’ve now changed your mind. You are however extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I’d be delighted.” Sherlock said. Henry moved and sat back in John’s chair.
“How on Earth did you notice all that?” Henry asked.
“It’s not important…” John attempted to save Sherlock from making his speech, but he seemed to go on and do it anyway.
“Punched out holes where you tickets been checked.” Sherlock began.
“Not now, Sherlock.” John tried.
“Oh, please. I’ve been cooped-up in here for ages!” Sherlock protested.
“You’re just showing off.” John said.
“Of course. I am a show-off, that’s what we do.” Sherlock argued. “Train napkin you used to mop up the spilled coffee. The stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and on your lips and sleeve. Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich.”
“Ha. How did you know it was disappointing?” Henry asked nervously.
“Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl. Female handwriting is quite distinctive, wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off, I imagine you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself in another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now though you used that napkin to blow your nose, maybe you’re not that into her after all. Then there’s the nicotine stains on your fingers. Your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train, no time to roll one before you got on a cab here. It’s just after 9:15, you’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at 5:46 am. You got the first one possible so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?” Sherlock said.
“No. You’re right. You’re completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.” Henry said and Sherlock now had a smirk on his face.
“It’s my job. Now shut up and smoke.” Sherlock said, and Henry began to light his cigarette.
“Henry, your parents both died and you were what, seven years old?” John asked. Sherlock stood over Henry and inhaled his smoke before sitting back down. “That must be quite a trauma. Now, have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this… to account for it?”
“That’s what Dr. Mortimer says.” Henry said.
“Who?” John asked.
“His therapist. Obviously.” Sherlock said.
Suddenly your voice could be heard yelling from the bedroom.
“Sherlock Holmes if you are smoking I swear to God!” You yelled when you awoke to the smell of smoke. You opened the door and walked out into the living room wearing Sherlock’s blue dressing gown to see a man sitting in John’s chair smoking.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you had a client.” You said when you saw Henry Knight.
“You’re that detective from the paper, Gregson. I didn’t realize… Are you two?” Henry asked, gesturing between you and Sherlock.
“Yes, we are, now back to your therapist.” Sherlock said, he waved you over to sit on the arm of his chair. When you did, he placed an arm around you. You were feeling slightly better now with a little rest and drugs in your system.
“Louise Mortimer. She’s the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.” Henry said.
“What happened when you went back to Dewer’s Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you’re consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?” Sherlock asked.
“It’s a strange place, the Hollow. It makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid.” Henry began.
“Yes, if I wanted poetry, I’d read John’s emails to his girlfriends, much funnier. What did you see?” Sherlock said, you placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed him slightly, silently telling him he was being rude.
“Footprints. On the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.” Henry said, Sherlock sat back completely in his chair. He took your hand from his shoulder and absentmindedly fiddled with it, clearly Henry was boring him.
“Man’s or woman’s?” John asked.
“Neither. They were…” Henry began before Sherlock cut him off.
“Is that it? Nothing else? Footprints, it that all?” Sherlock said rudely.
“Yes but they were…” Henry began.
“No, sorry, Dr. Mortimer wins. It’s a childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring. Goodbye, Mr. Knight, thank you for smoking.” Sherlock said, you gave Sherlock’s hand a little squeeze.
“But… What about the footprints?” Henry asked.
“Oh, they’re probably paw prints, could be anything, therefore nothing. Off to Devon with you, have a cream tea on me.” Sherlock said, standing up and waving him off.
“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.” Henry said, Sherlock was walking into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. He turned around slowly.
“Say that again.” Sherlock said.
“They were the footprints of a gigantic hound.” Henry said.
“I’ll take the case.” Sherlock said slowly.
“Sorry, what?” John asked.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it’s very promising.” Sherlock said, folding his hands under his chin.
“No, no, no, sorry what? A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they’re very promising?” John asked, confused.
“It’s got nothing to do with footprints. As ever John you weren’t listening. Baskerville. Ever heard of it?” Sherlock asked, he turned to you for the last part.
“Um vaguely I guess. It’s very hush-hush.” You said, slipping down into Sherlock’s chair.
“Sounds like a good place to start.” Sherlock said.
“You’ll come down then?” Henry asked.
“No, I can’t leave London at the moment, far too busy. But don’t worry I’m putting my best man onto it. I can always rely on John to send me all the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself.” Sherlock said, and you were confused.
“What are you talking about ‘you’re busy’? You don’t have a case! A minute ago, you were complaining…” John began to scold.
“Bluebell, John. I’ve got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing glow-in-the-dark rabbit. NATO’s in uproar.” Sherlock said, making you even more confused.
“Oh, sorry, you’re not coming, then?” Henry said, and Sherlock shook his head, almost giving John a pouty face.
“Oh. Okay. Okay.” John said, standing and retrieving Sherlock’s cigarettes from underneath the skull on the mantle.
“John!” You scolded. John threw them to Sherlock, he caught them and threw them behind him.
“I don’t need those anymore, I’m going to Dartmoor. You go on ahead, Henry, we’ll follow later.” Sherlock said.
“I’m sorry, so you are coming?” Henry asked, about as confused as you.
“Twenty-year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Sherlock said as he walked Henry Knight out.
When he came back he saw you sitting in his chair.
“I’m going to need your help of course.” Sherlock said.
“Sherlock…” You sighed, “I’m sick, you seriously want me tagging along?”
“Of course I do.” Sherlock said.
“Sherlock… I think I need to be in bed, I have zero energy, I’m not going to be much help.” You argued.
“Please Y/N! We’ll find and Inn to stay at, you can rest, you have your very own personal doctor, do whatever you’re up to, then I can have someone to talk to.” Sherlock said.
“You have John to talk to.” You retorted.
“You know it’s different.” Sherlock said.
“Ugh fine. But I hope I get you sick for making me do this.” you told Sherlock.