Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Hounds Of Baskerville- One

Chapter One

The famous door of 221B slams open. I look to see Sherlock in all his glory, bloodied with a harpoon to sharpen his look. "Well, that was tedious."

"How was the adventure of Black Peter?" I questioned. "You went on the tube like that?!"

"None of the cabs would take me. I think me turning up like this, would call the investigation a success." I nodded in acknowledgment before he turns away to presumably, shower. I was sat in Sherlock's chair whilst John was in his. "So Mycroft stated your The Woman who beat Adler." I continued to leaf through a random magazine. "Care to abbreviate?" John questioned, furthermore. I sniffed before responding: "Nope." Popping the 'P'. He sighed before letting it go. "So you earned a medal?" He changed topic. "Yes, I did but I had the option to have the Medal or have it tattooed by the RAF parlour." Not moving my head away. "So you had it tattooed?" He questions. I looked up at him. "Oh yes." We shared a brief chuckle before Sherlock came storming in.

Harpoon in hand and his blue dressing gown flying after him. He started to pace impatiently. "Nothing?" John flicks through his newspaper. "Military coup in Uganda... Another photo of you in the er..." He shows us the image of Sherlock in his hat. Sherlock made a noise which resembled to being disgusted. "Oh, a cabinet reshuffle."

"Nothing of importance!" Slamming the end of his harpoon down to the floorboards. "Oh, God. John, I need some. Get me some!" We stayed quiet for a moment before John responded: "No." Sherlock starts becoming intensive. "Get me some!"

"You've got Michelle, I'm sure you can get some. At least you are." My eyes snapped to him as he starts laughing to himself. Rolling the magazine up I stalked up to him before bashing him around the head. "Ow! Michelle stop!"

"See, this is why you don't appeal respectively to women. Do I have to speak to your mother again. I'm sure she won't be harbouring any feelings if we decide to hide the body of a midget." John shot his head up. "Okay point proven. Sorry." I smiled in victory before crashing out on the sofa. "Anyway you've paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two mile radius will sell you any. Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what."

"Stupid idea, whose idea was that?" We turn to the man in question. "Mrs Hudson." Running up to his desk he starts throwing sheets of paper, equivalent to how a child would perhaps throw his toy out the pram or spit his dummy out. "Tell me where they are? Please, tell me." We remain silent. Sherlock straightens himself up. "Please." I burst out laughing. The boys turn to me in question. "I'm sorry.... But that was funny... You begged John, John for mercy twice." John starts joining in too. "Great job for a guy who 'Never begged for mercy in my life'." John adds. "Can't see why anyone thinks you two are gay. None at all."

"Shut up!" Sherlock snarled. "Or what?" I pushed. John was gasping. Sherlock turned to me, slowly walking. "Or I'll. Make. You. Beg." My face changed expression. He raised his eyebrow. Oh God. Oh God. Oh great jolly God. I turned my head to the ground. Wow I have two feet. TWO! "I'll let you know next weeks lottery numbers." Sherlock moves on. John lightly laughs. "Oh, it was worth a try." Hurling himself to the floor near the fireplace. "Ooh-ooh!" Mar-Mar lightly taps the door. "My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?"

"What?"

"Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You know you never let me touch your things, Sherlock."

"I thought you weren't my housekeeper."

"I'm not." Myself and John make a gesture to Mar-Mar for a cup of tea. "How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon." She says, delicately. "I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger." Glaring out of the window, he turns back towards her and aims the point of the harpoon at her. She flinches. "Sherlock..." I say, warningly. "You've been to see Mr Chatterjee again."

"Pardon?" Sherlock points the tip of his harpoon towards her. "Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking."

"Sherlock..." John says with force. "Thumbnail, tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don't we? Mmm... 'Kasbah Nights.' Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website, you should look it up."

"Please." She states. "I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster." Adopting an south Yorkshire accent to say the town's name. "That nobody knows about."

"Sherlock!" John and I shout. He pauses in movements, looking towards the pair of us. "Well, nobody except me."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't." Storming out the flat, clearly upset, she slams the door. Sherlock leaps over the back of his armchair, then perches on the seat, wrapping his arms around his knees like a petulant child that he is. John slams his newspaper down. "What the bloody hell was all that about?"

"You don't understand." He states. Rocking back and forth. "Go after her and apologise."

"Apologise? Oh, John, I envy you so much."

"You envy me?"

"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!"

"You've just solved one!" Using the same tone. "By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!" Jumping up he strolls to me. Chucking himself on the sofa his head lands on my lap. He grabs my hand and pushes it to his curly hair. I run my hand through his scalp, massaging his head. "That was this morning! When's the next one?"

"Nothing on the website?" Sherlock jumps up, startling me. Walking over to his laptop he practically chucks it to John. " 'Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please can you help?' " He narrates. "Bluebell?"

"It's a rabbit, John." I speak up. "Oh."

"Ah, but there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous..." Now adopting a girls voice. " 'Like a fairy' according to little Kirsty; Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry... Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Are you serious?" I asked, curiously. He faces me. "It's this, or Cluedo."

"Ah, no! We are never playing that again!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that's why."

"Well, it was the only possible solution."

"It's not in the rules."

"Then the rules are wrong!" He states, beyond furious. Just then, the doorbell rings. John thoughtfully holds up a finger as Sherlock looks towards the living room door. "Single ring."

"Maximum pressure just under the half second."

"Client." They both state, proudly. "Boys..." I muttered to myself.