this was supposed to be a smutty one-shot but the episode is long and i thought i'm gonna split it into 2 maybe 3 parts or chapters if you will. plus i'm kinda on writers block so if you guys like it and want me to continue let me know. i own nothing, the characters and the plot (well the most part of it) belong to the writers and BBC, i only own my own twisted imagination. enjoy

John Watson was having a perfectly normal morning: a cup of tea, laptop on his lap, relaxing in the comfy yet worn out couch enjoying the peace and quiet. While living with someone like Sherlock Holmes was never boring it did tend to get a bit too much for the older doctor, and these silent mornings were perfect for balancing it out for him. He woke up to find Sherlock already gone and though he likes to disappear like that sometimes, he should have been back by now and John was thinking what was taking him so long. Just as the thought ran through his head he heard quick firm steps that were too fast to belong to Mrs. Hudson and soon after the door was swung open and Sherlock took the last steps in to the room and hit something wooden on the floor as if finishing a task and putting the final dot on it.

John lifted his head about to ask him what took him so long but his questioning stare is replaced by a you've-got-to-be-kidding look. After living with this man for over a year John had really seen everything by now from the horrid experiments and human heads in the fridge to his strange moods, so the state of his friend wasn't that disturbing as it would have been to any other person. Sherlock's hair was a mess, he wasn't wearing his jacket which he probably lost or maybe it was too torn and thrown away. Also he was covered from head to toe in blood with a harpoon in his hands.

"Well, that was tedious" he said still panting slightly though his voice had the same hint of boredom in it, like it always does after finishing a case. While normally any friend or even a just a flatmate would ask what happened, if everything's alright and generally express their worry, the first thing that came to John's mind was

"You went on the tube like that?" John asked in disbelief

"None of the cabs would take me" he replied scrunching up his face in annoyance slightly, obviously more agitated by the fact that he had to be around masses of people which disturbed his thinking rather than appearing like a serial killer to the people around him and feeling uncomfortable.

Without further ado Sherlock started stripping from his bloody clothes and heading towards the direction of the bathroom dropping the pieces of fabric on the floor. John dropped his head back to the computer when he saw Sherlock going for his trousers, blushing slightly 'you're acting like a child' he said to himself but didn't dare lift up his head until he heard the shower running. He sighed putting the laptop down and collecting his flatmates clothes because doubtful he'll do it himself.

Sherlock doesn't take very long in the shower and it wasn't long before he got tired of just sitting around and started pacing back and forth across their living room tossing the now clean spear between his hands while John busied himself with about a dozen of different newspapers, searching for an interesting case.

"Nothing?" he asked impatiently, quickly scanning through John's face to see if he's found anything.

"Military coup in Uganda…" he said trailing off knowing that military business isn't that appealing to Sherlock. He hums in response, clearly uninterested.

"Hmm... another photo of you… with the…" John pointed to the photo of his friend with the silly deer hat, an amused smile playing on his lips. Sherlock just sighed annoyed and even though John couldn't see him he could swear he rolled his eyes.

"Well, um, cabinet reshuffle?" he said trying again

"Nothing of importance! No! God!" Sherlock snapped, letting out a frustrated yell and slamming the wooden harpoon on the floor so hard the things in their apartment shook and rattled. Then all of a sudden he locked his eyes with the doctor, his eyes over clouded with want and addiction

"John, I need some, get me some" he said or more like ordered him with an angry slightly crazed glare that would send a child crying. John pretended to contemplate it in his head for a bit before answering calmly

"No"

"Get me some" he repeated it, hoping the pressure would work on him

"No! Cold turkey we agreed, no matter what" the doctor responded raising his voice a bit, reminding Sherlock of their deal. "Anyway you've paid everyone off, remember? No one in a two-mile radius will sell you any"

"Stupid idea. Who's idea was that?" Sherlock rambles on angrily without thinking. John shot him a look clearing his throat a bit as his friend goes for the 2nd option

"Mrs. Hudson!" he yells.

"Look, Sherlock, you're doing very well, don't give up now" John tried to reason with him but he wasn't listening and started rummaging through his stuff, shoving the papers on the floor in a desperate attempt to find them easily.

"Tell me where they are" his voice was still demanding. "Please, tell me" he said still with his back turned though his voice less strained, perhaps because he had to use the word 'please'. He then turned around and locked his eyes with John's once more but this time his expression was innocent and pleading, a face like that would have made poor Molly agree on anything he said and melt her heart. Yet he's using it on John "please" he said once more. It's not that often that you hear all-wise and all-knowing Sherlock Holmes use a word like that, which is as close to begging as it gets. And Sherlock never begs so he must have wanted this very badly.

"Can't help, sorry" John let him down and the taller man's face dropped the innocent mask

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers" he tried to bribe him knowing how ordinary people like him are drawn and dependant from materialism such as money but he merely laughed it off because that trick was getting old "oh it was worth a try" Sherlock made an excuse before continuing his frenzy search, collapsing clumsily on the ground searching near the fireplace. Just then tiny footsteps cautiously entered their room as their landlady let out a high noise to make them notice her appearance. Sherlock didn't even look at her just bellowed

"My secret supply, what have you done with my secret supply?"

"Eh?" she let out confused

"Cigarettes, what have you done with them?" he explained furthermore, barely copping with his need and people like her not being so quick at catching up.

"You know you never let me touch your things!" she reminded him "oh chance would be a fine thing" she added

"I thought you weren't my housekeeper" Sherlock dropped ironically finally looking up at her and standing back up.

"I'm not." She said seriously and watched a little frightened as Sherlock paced roughly towards the window still with that sharp thing in his hands. Mrs. Hudson looked at John and he made a specific gesture, and she got the hint pretty quick "how about a nice cuppa and perhaps you could put away your harpoon?" she suggested gently.

"I need something stronger than tea!" Sherlock replied slamming the harpoon against the floor again for emphasis. " Seven percent stronger" he muttered to himself staring out the window. It felt like his mind was rotting, it needed something, something to keep the engine in his head working and not wasting it's energy, and without the cigarettes to numb it down he grabbed hold of whatever little puzzles he found near him and turned around in a flash to face his landlady as an idea hit him, something about her was odd, not in place.

"You've been to see Mr. Chatterjee again." He stated more than asked pointing at her with the tip of the spear.

"Pardon?" she asked defensively taken aback by this sudden accusation. Sherlock was more than glad to give and explanation

"Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on your sleeve" he rambled franticly pointing out the little details with the tip "you wouldn't dress like that for baking"

"Sherlock…" John started because it was getting too much, he was clearly out of control. However he continued his deductions not hearing his friend

"Thumbnail. Tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again, we all know where that leads don't we?" he suddenly breathed in and sniffed the air around them quickly before making another observation "Kasbah nights. Racy for a Monday morning, don't you agree? I wrote a blog about the identifications of perfumes. You should look it up!" he poured everything like a machine, still agitated by the fact that people enjoy John's stories about their life more than his genius observations and discoveries that are worth so much more and yet barely anyone takes their time to read them.

"Please!" Mrs. Hudson said confused and both her and John were staring at him and wanting him to shut up for once. Though the sociopath carried on quickly like there wasn't any interruption

"Don't pin your hopes up on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee, he's got a wife nobody knows about" he rambled making his way towards the other window.

"Sherlock!" now the both of them were protesting loudly

"Oh nobody except me" he said mocking them

"I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't!" Mrs. Hudson cried distressed before making her way out of the room while Sherlock was unfazed.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" John accused once she left the room.

"You don't understand" he said finally settling down on the armchair, knees bent and his arms around them, rocking back and forth like a madman. John wouldn't understand the way his mind works, what it needs, and there was no use of trying to explain.

"Go after her and apologize" John demanded seriously. He's gotten used to this when he used it on him or on others but this was crossing the line. Insulting and accusing their landlady who's been more than kind for letting them stay here and taking care of them like their mother.

"Apologize?" he asked honestly confused then his expression cleared up with understanding "oh, John, I envy you so much"

"You envy me?" John asked after a short pause not believing his ears, sitting back. He couldn't imagine how someone like Sherlock who thinks so superior of himself, a true mastermind could possibly be envious of someone like John, or by his terms 'an idiot'.

"Your mind, it's so placid, straight-forward, barely used" he explained. Thank god John has gotten used to his insults "Mine's like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!" he exploded again with anger

"You just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently." John yelled back frustrated as well.

"That was this morning. When's the next one?" Sherlock asked like an impatient child, jumping down on the armchair tapping his fingers and shaking his legs with anticipation and need for cigarettes.

"Nothing on the website?" John asked calming down. After John's blog got popular they'd been getting more and more case suggestions. Sherlock just handed him his laptop with his website open where a letter was being displayed, before John could start reading it Sherlock was already reciting it word by word to him in a poor imitation of a little girl's voice

"'Dear, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?"

"Bluebell?" John asked, giving up on reading it on his website

"A rabbit, John!" he exclaimed "oh but there's more" he continued with fake interest "before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous, 'like a fairy' according to little Kristy" he said still doing the mocking girly voice "Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry" his face suddenly turned dead serious, like an idea had finally struck him "what am I saying, this is brilliant! Phone Lestrade, tell him there's an escaped rabbit"

"Are you serious?" John asked shocked, not being able to tell if he's being genuine or not. But Sherlock's face soon gave away

"It's this, or Cluedo" he sighed

"Ah no! we are never playing that again" John said getting up to put the laptop away, his mind going over the last time they played, he had never seen Sherlock that frustrated in his life.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked confused

"Because it's not possible for the victim to have done it Sherlock" he stressed the same argument as before

"It was the only possible solution" the taller explained not understanding anything wrong in that because he had been clearly right

"It's not in the rules" John sang the same song as before

"Well then the rules are wrong!" Sherlock exploded again in frustration, shaking even a bit. The doorbell rang suddenly and both of them looked up at each other and stopped bickering

"Single ring" John was the first to break the silence.

"Maximum pressure, just under the half second" Sherlock continued.

"Client" they both said at the same time in relief.

The newcomer, a man in his late twenties, presented himself and of course said that he was looking for Sherlock Holmes. He looked frightened, a bit shaky and spoke in a slow manner that irritated Sherlock but he kept his mouth shut, if it was going to be a good case, he didn't want to scare the man away. John was chatting up small talk with the man, Henry Knight, and motioned for Sherlock to get changed. He rolled his eyes in response but complied nonetheless and excused himself.

Sherlock returned quickly and sat on the old armchair, eagerly waiting for whatever brought Henry to 221B, though instead of a story the man presented a DVD and said that it was all explained there. It was a documentary, and started with a woman who seemed like a journalist talking about Baskerville, a research and military center somewhere in Dartmoor that's involved in a lot of conspiracy theories claiming that the center were making some kind of secret weapons or maybe raising and experimenting on animals and some might have gone loose.

Sherlock watched between the telly and their client, constantly moving his pinky finger, his patience growing thin. John, though he looked skeptically towards conspiracy theories, tried not to let it show, not to be judgmental too soon, perhaps this man had an interesting story for Sherlock.

The documentary was now showing him, their client, talking about the incident when his father was killed somewhere on the moor, even showed a drawing he did when he was a child of a great black beast that he thought was responsible for it, but Sherlock turned the telly off

"What did you see?" he asked impatiently

"I was just about to say" he answered in the same unsure voice pointing to the TV

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing" he rambled in his usual quick manner, clasping the tips of his fingers in front of him.

"Yes. Sorry, yes, of course" Henry said nodding "Excuse me" he said taking out a hanky and blowing his nose.

"In your own time" John said friendly

"But quite quickly" Sherlock contradicted

Henry stuffed it back in his pocket and sat back, slowly, taking his time.

"Do you know Dartmoor Mr. Holmes?" he inquired with a thoughtful and a bit dreamy look.

"No" his answer was short.

"It's an amazing place, like nowhere else, it's sort of bleak, but beautiful" he went on, describing the place poetically.

"Not interested. Moving on" Sherlock cut off his speech rudely. John squinted due to Sherlock being, well, himself.

"We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me." Henry carried on slowly. "Every evening, we'd go out onto the moor."

"Good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed, where did that happen?" Sherlock interrupted again with a sarcastic smile finally fed up with his client getting sidetracked. The sudden bluntness made their client even more disturbed though he continued after a pause

"There's a place, it's sort of a local landmark called Dewer's Hollow." He stopped and looked at Sherlock and he just shrugged not knowing what to do with the information because so far it meant nothing to him. "That's an ancient name for the devil" he explained mysteriously like he was telling a ghost story and he got scared of it himself.

"So?" Sherlock dropped in a bored voice, still not seeing how this fact had any influence whatsoever on his father's death. Henry frowned slightly in confusion.

"Did you see the devil that night?" John butted in before Sherlock could make another rude remark.

"Yes" Henry answered looking up at him. "It was huge, coal-black fur with red eyes." He said staring off into the distance, lost in his memories, pronouncing each word even slower, separately "It got him. Tore at him, tore him apart" his voice trembled "I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found" he finished his story a bit calmer and steady. Sherlock didn't utter a word, seeming lost in his thoughts.

"Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous…" John read out from the notes he's been taking "a dog? Wolf?" he guessed looking at Sherlock hoping he would have something smart and precise to say.

"Or a genetic experiment" he whispered to John ironically, his eyes gleaming.

"Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?" Henry asked offended

"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock asked with the same hint of mockery.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing in Baskerville" he stated seriously "about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously" he said defensively.

"Yes and I assume did wonders for Devon tourism" the detective rambled getting more and more bored of this story. Henry just looked at him with utter disbelief, he knew not everyone believed him but no one had ever been so cruel about it

"Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was 20 years ago, why come to us now?" John asked gently.

"Not sure you can help me Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny!" he spat in his shaky voice getting up from his seat and heading towards the door

"Because of what happened last night" Sherlock answered to John in a dull voice

"Why, what happened last night?" John asked eager to hear. Henry stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly and asked the same question they all ask him

"How… how do you know?" his voice still had that offended and defensive tone

"I didn't know, I saw" Sherlock gave him the response he gives everyone, eager to show off. "You came up from Devon on the first train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a black coffee. The girl across the aisle fancied you. Though initially keen you've 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." He finished rambling, glowing with self-pride

"How on earth did you notice all that?" Henry asked shocked, sitting back down

"It's not important…" John interrupted, wanting to go forward with the case and not waste time so Sherlock could show off.

"Punched out holes where your ticket's been checked" Sherlock started ignoring John

"Not now, Sherlock…" John cut him off annoyed

"Oh please! I've been cooped up for ages!" he explained on top of John's plea.

"You're showing off." John pointed out

"I'm a show-off, that's what we do" Sherlock argued back pointing out the obvious. John wasn't sure if by 'we' he meant show-offs in general or the both of them but he gave up on it either way. "Train napkin you used to mop up your spilled coffee" he continued "Strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it, your lips and sleeve. Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains manage. Probably a sandwich."

"How did you know it was disappointing?" Henry asked staring at him astonished

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train?" Sherlock asked rhetorically arching up his eyebrows. "The girl." He carried on "Female handwriting's distinctive, wrote her number on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote that she was sat across from you. 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 in another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now you used the napkin to blow your nose, so you're not that into her. Then there's the nicotine stains on your shaking fingers, I know the signs. No chance to smoke when on the train, no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It's just after 9.15, you're desperate. The first train from Exter to London leaves at 5.46am. You got on the first one, so something important must've happened last night. Am I wrong?" he finished pouring out everything like out of a text book with a cold face.

"No." Henry said completely taken aback and Sherlock smirked in response for getting everything right "You're right. You're completely, exactly right." He said looking at John who just raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement while taking a sip of his tea "Bloody hell, I heard you were quick." He trailed off

"It's my job" Sherlock answered curtly "now shut up and smoke" he ordered him leaning forward in anticipation.

"Em" John frowned at his friend's request "Henry, your parents both died and you were what, seven years old?" John started as Henry lit up a cigarette "I know that-" John cut off because when Henry exhaled the smoke Sherlock got up from his seat and sniffed in as much of the poison as he could. The both of them stared at the strange detective who didn't seem to care.

"That must have been quite a trauma" John carried on, as said before, by now he's seen pretty much everything. "Now, have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story this-" Sherlock interrupted again doing the exact same thing. Henry, just moments ago thinking that this man must be one of the most brilliant people he's ever known was now thinking if he escaped from a mental institution.

"To account for it?" John finished his sentence after Sherlock took his seat again.

"That's what Dr Mortimer says" Henry nodded in agreement

"Who?" John inquired

"His therapist"

"My therapist" Henry answered a second later than Sherlock did and stared at him in surprise again

"Obviously" was Sherlock's reply to his unspoken 'how did you know?'

"Louis Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons" he explained furthermore, his voice a little more steady from the nicotine.

"What happened when you went back to Dewer's hollow last night?" Sherlock asked with interest now. Henry stared back at him frightened "You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?"

"It's a strange place, the Hollow." He started dreamily again "It makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid."

Sherlock sighed annoyed and rolled his eyes "Yes if I wanted to read poetry I'd go through John's emails to his girlfriends, much funnier. What did you see?" Sherlock cut him off again ignoring John's glare that was about to burn a whole at the back of his head.

"Footprints" Henry nearly whispered after a pause. Sherlock's face dropped and became bored again "on the exact same spot where I saw my father torn apart." He continued

"Man's or a woman's?" John tried

"Neither. They were-"

"Is that it? Nothing else? Footprints, is that all?" Sherlock asked now completely bored and frustrated again.

"Yes, but they were-" Henry nodded trying to finish his sentence

"Dr Mortimer wins. It's a childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring. Goodbye Mr. Knight, thank you for smoking"

"But what about the footprints?" their client asked in disbelief

"They're probably paw prints, could be anything, therefore nothing. Off to Devon with you and have a cream tea on me." Sherlock said getting up from his chair and heading towards the kitchen where he could busy himself with experiments and then perhaps send John out for groceries and try looking for his cigarettes again.

"Mr. Holmes they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" he desperately yelled, trying to get his attention. Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned around eyeing him

"Say that again." Sherlock asked firmly

"I found footprints, they were big-" Henry started

"No, no, no, your exact words." The detective interrupted him yet again "repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them." He instructed him

"Mr. Holmes" their client started slowly, his voice shaking again "they were the footprints of a gigantic hound" the last word was spoken in a broken voice as everyone stared at Sherlock, waiting for a response. He lifted his head slowly and smirked just slightly

"I'll take the case" he concluded "thank you for bringing this to my attention, it's very promising"

"Sorry, what?" John asked completely dumbfounded "a minute ago footprints were boring, now they're very promising?"

"It's got nothing to do with footprints, you weren't listening" Sherlock stated walking around the room, thinking. "Baskerville, heard of it?" he asked

"Vaguely. It's very hush-hush" John racked his brain trying to remember

"Sounds like a good place to start" he said almost to himself

"You'll come down, then?" Henry piped up suddenly surprised

"I can't leave London at the moment, far too busy. I'm putting my best man onto it" he said, patting John on the shoulder and smiling at him "I can always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it."

"What are you talking about? You don't have a case!" John shouted completely lost "a minute ago you were complaining-"

"Bluebell! I've got Bluebell John! The case of the vanishing glow-in-the dark rabbit." Sherlock interrupted him and turned to Henry to explain "NATO's in uproar."

"Sorry, you're not coming then?" Henry asked confused. Sherlock did his best impression of a puppy while looking at John and shaking his head. John ignored the strange feeling in his stomach as he got up from his chair

"Ok" he said firstly to himself. Regretting what he's about to do but he had no other choice "ok" he said again, going over to the fireplace where Sherlock's former friend before he came along was. He took the pack out of bottom of the skull and tossed it to Sherlock, feeling defeated. Though Sherlock tossed them away as soon as he caught them

"I don't need those anymore, I'm going to Dartmoor." Sherlock explained cheerily "You go ahead Henry, we'll follow later"

"Sorry, so you are coming?" Henry asked puzzled, not understanding what had just happened between those two.

"20-year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? Wouldn't miss this for the world!" Sherlock was practically glowing and set off to pack his things. John and Henry shared a look, one of them looking extremely confused and the other nodding 'yeah, he's always like that'. Henry thanked them for the help already, said that he'll repay them and left his contact information for when they get there. John started to go through his laptop, searching for the next train that leaves to Dartmoor when their client, ready to leave the apartment turned around and asked in his shaky voice shyly

"Are you and him…" he asked feeling awkward finishing the sentence. John started shaking his head as soon as he understood

"No. no, no, no we're not a couple. He helps me afford rent and I assist him with this" he explained with a smile. He's gotten so tired of explaining this to people. Henry nodded, said a quiet sorry and exited their apartment. John carried on looking through the timetables, taking notes and suddenly jumped at the sound of his flatmates voice behind him

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Sherlock inquired in his deep calm voice. John swallowed hard, thinking there must've been something off with the biscuits he had for breakfast, because his stomach kept acting up.

"Yes, a bit." He answered after a while, not bothering to ask if it bothers Sherlock because he knows the answer.

"You're so defensive about it, quick to correct people when they make the assumption. Maybe even a bit too defensive" he dropped the last part nearly in a whisper as a note-to-self "are you that ashamed of me?" he asked

"No, Sherlock, I am not ashamed of you." John was quick to answer him, calming him down "I just don't like when people think we're-"

"What? A couple? Is it that embarrassing to you?" Sherlock interrupted him, clearly offended now

"It's not-" John was at a loss for words, for someone who were only friends they certainly bickered like a married couple. "Why does it matter to you that much? I thought you were so thrilled about the case you'd barely notice if I was even there again" he shot back.

"Because you've noticed a while ago that that's what people assume and you still haven't let go of it, if you didn't pick on every single remark suggesting it people wouldn't be so suspicious about it" Sherlock rambled in his quick manner getting closer and closer to where John was standing, invading his personal space "you're denying it so much I think that you're not trying to convince them we're not together but your-" Sherlock's rant was disturbed by his phone ringing and he stepped back answering some call. John suddenly felt very warm and uncomfortable in the room so he paced to his room and started packing and keeping his mind busy.