the moor, pt. i've-lost-count

I'm going to skip the part the Mycroft told you about, but I'll get us from where I left off to the place where Mr Hudson was holding him first. So...L and I and Sherlock got back to the house. Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson and ran off with Mycroft.

Sherlock said he knew where he'd gone, and that he could lead us there. I was...not happy about that idea, but he said if we didn't take exactly the right path, we'd sink into the mud and never be heard from again. I don't think I even questioned whether it was a good idea to go at all, which you can put down to sleep deprivation and stubbornness, like most of the things I did that day.

Lestrade definitely did question whether it was a good idea to go or not. He wanted to wait for back up, which I still think was probably the more sensible choice. Despite what he says, the fact that it all worked out was more due to luck than anything else. Eventually, because he couldn't convince me not to go, he came with us, which I'm sure surprises no one here.

more on the moor (5)

Hello. This is Mycroft. I'm doing the next part because I don't think John wants to, and anyway I haven't talked about it much except with Mummy, so perhaps I should.

After I got back to the hall, I went upstairs. I meant to go to my room, but I heard an odd noise. It was a sort of thumping. When I got closer to the attic door, I could hear a man's voice as well, although not what he was saying.

I thought it had to be Hudson, and he shouldn't have been in the attics. I went up to tell him to leave. He was going through a trunk of our grandmother's things. He hit me on the head, and I don't remember very much for a time after that. I remember little bits in between, but they're mostly dark. I think he must have either blindfolded me or put something over my head. Or perhaps I was in a sack so no one would see me. There was a sack on the floor when I woke up.

I was tied to a chair in a stone room. There was a lot of computer equipment and printers, and there was also a cage with two large, black dogs in it. Hudson said he would feed me to them. He said a lot of unpleasant things.

son of the bride of the moor (pt. 4)

I'm afraid I wasn't taking the interrogation terribly seriously, partly because I still in Afghanistan for at least one or two of them, and partly because I was...distracted. As anyone would be. He kept trying to smoke his pen.

The village, which consisted of about ten buildings total including houses, did not have a mortuary or coroner or anything of the sort. The body of the dead man was in the local doctor's office until someone could do something more useful with it. Lestrade asked me to look at it, I presume out of a combination of wanting to see if I looked guilty and lack of any other options since the local doctor was...not in a state to draw any useful conclusions. 

We went there. I looked at the body. Sherlock, I'm sure you'll all be shocked to learn, wanted to see it. I did not think that was advisable. He started crying, got confused when that didn't work, and started crying for real. That was fun. He can be quite loud when he wants to be. 

Mycroft got fed up and asked if he could walk home on his own. It was a relatively short walk, in broad daylight. I said yes. I wish I hadn't. 

I got Sherlock calmed down slightly. Lestrade drove us back to the Hall. We found Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson, kidnapped Mycroft, and escaped onto the moor. 

as the moor turns, pt 3

After that, it was a long and thankfully unexciting walk back to the house. Sherlock fell asleep. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd left my cane at the tor, which I would come to regret in the morning. That night I was just grateful to be in a bed and was certain the next day would go far more smoothly. [insert the hollow laughter of hindsight here]

Sherlock slept in my room, because I didn't know where his was. I slept in a chair propped against the door so he couldn't get out without waking me. He woke me by jumping up and down on the bed and saying my name over and over and over and over and over...and over again.

He and Mycroft and I all had a relatively civilised breakfast, kindly provided by Mrs Hudson, and then I thought we'd take a nice walk into town. I had by that point realised that I'd left my cane on the moor, but I was violently ignoring my leg in the hope that it would continue to be trouble-free. That worked about as well as you'd expect.

We weren't even a quarter of the way there when I fell. Sherlock ran off to get me a stick he'd seen. I sent Mycroft after him. And then my knight in a shining bluish Honda pulled up. Lestrade was on his way to the hall to question me and I saved him a trip.

He gave us a ride into town, stopped at the sweet shop, where Mycroft and Sherlock got out, and then asked me some pointed questions about recent murders, both in London and in Dartmoor. I'm afraid I wasn't taking the interrogation terribly seriously, partly because I still in Afghanistan for at least one or two of them, and partly because I was...distracted. As anyone would be. He kept trying to smoke his pen.

(This is my 300th post, by the way. Seems appropriate somehow.)

previously on the moor

Mycroft and I had tea and an interesting conversation about people willingly giving up their privacy in exchange for the opportunity to vent to strangers all over the internet. At the time, I didn't think that applied to me at all...

Right, let's see...Baskerville Hall, excellent tea, bruised shins, what happened next? Oh yes. Sherlock came back just before dinner, I sent him upstairs to clean himself up, and he never came back. I had dinner with Mycroft, and then spent the entire bloody night looking for him, with no success. 

That house is massive, and I never did manage to search the whole place. If I'd had any sense I would've just waited in the kitchen with Mrs Hudson. As it turned out, he'd been in to get a sandwich from her and then took off out to the moor again. She gave me breakfast and also the paper, in which I read that something was killing people out there. 

I followed Sherlock, obviously. Slowly. Found him near one of the big tors. I think he may have kicked me again, can't quite remember. It started pouring, we shared his sandwich, and then we fell asleep in an alcove in the rock. 

It was dark when we woke up. Went outside. Sherlock said he saw something and took off. I saw it too. Didn't know what it was, just that it was glowing and growling and looked like something that had been on its way straight to Hell and took a slight detour to terrorise Dartmoor. I think I caught up to Sherlock and grabbed him just about the same time Anthea showed up out of nowhere and took a shot at the thing. It ran off. 

After that, it was a long and thankfully unexciting walk back to the house. Sherlock fell asleep. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd left my cane at the tor, which I would come to regret in the morning. That night I was just grateful to be in a bed and was certain the next day would go far more smoothly. [insert the hollow laughter of hindsight here]

this is going to be weird

A little over a year ago, Mrs Holmes picked me up in a black car for the strangest job interview I've ever had. I keep putting off writing about it, and what happened after, because...well, I don't quite know how. The whole thing seems like a film, or a very odd dream.

She sent me a contract that night. I signed it. A car picked me up the next day and drove me to Devon, to Baskerville Hall. It's large. Really large. Composed mainly of stone, spookiness, and charming crenellation through which people can shoot arrows at you if they so choose. The staff turned out to meet me - Mrs Hudson, her husband, and Anthea, who was posing as a maid at the time.

Mycroft welcomed me, shook my hand, asked Mr Hudson to take my bag upstairs. Beginning a tradition, Sherlock kicked me sharply in the shin and ran off.

I worried, obviously. Five year olds shouldn't be allowed to run off into man-eating swamps. But my leg was a lot worse then than it is now; I used a cane all the time, and I didn't have a prayer of catching him. I had enough trouble with the stairs.

Mycroft and I had tea and an interesting conversation about people willingly giving up their privacy in exchange for the opportunity to vent to strangers all over the internet. At the time, I didn't think that applied to me at all...

*

Anyway. More another time, if I remember, or if you have questions.

In other news, I found out from his teacher today that Sherlock wants to boycott the school Christmas show because, shockingly, some of the children don't quite sing on key... This should be interesting.