What you fear the most (part 2)
The party faces their worst fears.
A moment of quiet, but not of serenity, stretched around the party, itching with anticipation. DI Lestrade tried shaking off some of the tension by checking the room for escape routes - to no avail. Dr. Anderson checked his phone periodically, even when the only real outcome of his doing so was the wearing down of the phone battery. Andy Galbraith concentrated on some calming breathing techniques and Soo-Lin Yao sat by the door like a statue, barely breathing at all.
Sherlock Holmes was sitting on the floor, back ramrod straight, unseeing eyes turned inwards - obviously contemplating something inside his ‘Mind Palace’. John watched him and let his thoughts wander.
‘Sherlock did indeed exorcise the Hound from Baskerville...but Stapleton, Frankland and Barrymore were all killed. Just who did he save, in the end? Whose side is he on?’
John’s uneasy thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock’s deep rumble: “Stop thinking, John, you’ll do yourself harm. I can hear the wheels grinding.”
“Very funny, Mr. High Functioning.” He dropped beside Sherlock who spared him minimal attention.
“Not that you’d tell me the truth but let me ask anyway - you didn’t lock us in here, did you?”
“I wonder.” Sherlock quirked his upper lip to show that he noticed - and appreciated - the look of indignation on John’s face, before he added: “Even if it wasn’t me, the fact remains that we’re here. And the demons are here as well.”
The sword rattled a bit in its sheath, eliciting a clinking, melodic sound.
John wasn’t about to hide his fascination with the thing. “Is that sword actually alive?”
“I wonder,” Sherlock said in the same dreamy tone as before.
John huffed. “Look, Sherlock, I understand you’re a powerful man, but don’t you think that aloof attitude of yours is a little over the top?”
He allowed himself a moment of visual appreciation of the man’s looks, those cheekbones that no man should have the right to have, the carefully upturned collar of his coat.
“With you being all mysterious - people might get suspicious!”
Sherlock’s response was one of his usual disdain. “People do little else.”
Their moment of peace ended as the scales spurted to life. One by one, they all inclined to one side, indicating the farther end of the room. From the shadows there, something like a growl was heard - animalistic, bone marrow chilling sound.
Dr. Anderson looked up, perhaps lulled into a sense of security by the relative easiness with which their last demon could be warded off, because he announced: “Whatever be it, I will vanquish this one.”
Sherlock observed the movements of the scales with narrowed eyes and John could swear he saw his lips curling back for a second, barring a pair of sharp canine teeth, as he murmured to himself: “This could be problematic.”
And then all rational thoughts in his head simply vanished when a figure of a giant, red glowing hound slowly stepped out of the shadows and crouched in the middle of the room. On the verge of a heart attack, John only vaguely registered the horrified gasps of the others, Soo-Lin’s despaired little cry of “Oh no, it’s Shan!”
Then the forcibly quiet voice of Sherlock grounded him and cleared his head a bit. “It’s a fear demon,” Sherlock said. “The personification of one’s deepest dreads.”
“What shall we do?” John heard himself ask.
“I know this one!” Dr. Anderson turned to them confidently. “I’ve read about it in folklore tales. It will ask you what you fear most. It isn’t going to kill us; it just wants to frighten us.”
“You underestimate the power of fear so severely,” Sherlock murmured again, but didn’t object otherwise. John watched the hound’s fiery gaze survey them one by one. He wondered what it was that the other saw. The hound then settled at Lestrade and growled:
“What it is that you fear?”
The DI’s voice was cold and calculated. “Nothing. Ever since I’ve earned myself my badge, I have served the law. I put the bad guys where they belong. And I swear, if I had my gun with me right now-”
The hound barked once and everyone froze. Lestrade looked around. There was no one near him - but he started to back off, murmuring: “You...? But you’re dead!”
Eyes flicking from place to place like he was looking for a way to escape, he lifted his arms in defense, almost tripped over his own feet, and a torrent of babbled explanations spilled out of his mouth- “That wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t know it was a frame, I was only doing my job, I had to follow regulations-”
At last he screamed and dropped to the floor, out like the proverbial light.
“I suppose that means he was lying when he said he feared nothing.” Anderson said feebly.
“At some point in the past, he must have unjustly arrested someone - who perhaps committed suicide later, because of the effect on their reputation.” John didn’t ask how Sherlock knew that. Sherlock often simply knew things he wasn’t supposed to know. Right now, John was rather sorry for Lestrade.
“It must have haunted him ever since.”
“Do you go crazy when you lie to it?” Andy asked.
“As it appears, you are shown your worst fears. So it doesn’t matter whether you lie or tell the truth.”
“When your fear lies within you, no one else can help,” Sherlock added gravely.
The hound turned to John: “What do you fear most?”
“Well, right now I fear you the most!” The memory of Baskerville was still etched in his brain like an acid burn. He swallowed forcibly.
“Um, you see, nothing ever happens to me. I have an ordinary life and most of the time it’s all fine but what I really fear is that I should die without ever experiencing something... really exciting. And accomplishing something, too, I never was that much into Queen and Country but it would still be nice to be needed, to do something worthy...”
He didn’t even finish when the hound barked. John felt as if an icicle went eight through his chest. When he opened his eyes, he saw a village street, walls of white-washed concrete reflecting the heat of scorching sun, he smelled gunpowder and sweat and dirt, he heard the rattle of gunshots and some shouts in an unknown dialect, he wore his Father’s RAMC combat gear and before he had the time to look around, he heard a warning shout- too late- and a blinding pain seared through his shoulder and knocked him to the ground. He breathed in the street dust and felt the gurgle of blood spilling in his lung, and as he closed his eyes against the white sun and red pain and hollow despair he whispered: Please, God, let me live.
When he came around he realised that his fall was intercepted by a pair of surprisingly strong arms, and as he struggled for his consciousness, he sobbed wildly: “I don’t want to die like that.” He shuddered and clutched his shoulder against the phantom pain still lingering there, afraid to ever close his eyes again should the desert come back in his nightmares.
“Calm down.” Sherlock pulled him into a tight embrace. “All the demon shows is an illusion. Your true self does not change.”
John thought he saw a look of genuine concern on Sherlock’s usually impassive face, and for a second he caught a glimpse of human heart behind that formidable mind. Well, for that it was worthy, he thought, a warm feeling around his heart, and he tapped the arm that supported him in an unspoken thank you.
Dr. Anderson cleared his throat and fidgeted nervously: “I suppose I’m next.”
“What do you fear most?”
Anderson looked - embarrassed, when he answered: “I-I-I suppose that I’m really afraid that my wife founds out about my...um, you know. My affairs.”
He’s just lying, John thought. They watched the flustered doctor look up, a surprised smile on his lips, as he said to someone only he could see: “Hun? What are you doing here?”
Then the smile was wiped from his face. His jaw dropped and he stuttered: “Is - is that your-” and then several emotions chased across his face - shock, disbelief, betrayal, disgust - and Dr. Anderson took a couple of wobbly steps and retched violently.
Sherlock remarked acerbically: “Seems like Mr. Anderson is not the only spouse with a dirty secret.”
Sadly, Andy was too nervous to appreciate the joke. “Of the three of us, who will have to answer next?”
Sherlock stood up and stepped forth, his movements and his tone imperious: “Ask me. I will answer.”
The nerve of this man, John thought. His shoulder still ached.
“What it is that you fear most?” The hound howled.
Sherlock looked him straight in the eyes and replied: “What I fear most is the knowledge that the edge of this world exists without Form, Truth, or Regret.”
The eyes of the hound flashed with hellish light.
Sherlock remained standing, almost motionless at first. Then he lifted his hand and looked at them with an expression of slight incredulity on his face that slowly faded into resignation. He went on standing like a statue for a couple of heartbeats when John whispered “Sh-Sherlock?” and went in front of him to look in his face - and John’s heart nearly stopped for the second time that evening. Sherlock’s eyes, the most breathtakingly alive thing John ever saw, were staring back at him devoid of life. John reached out for Sherlock’s hand to checks his pulse, half expecting not to find any, when Sherlock snapped back to awareness. His eyes refocussed and a single tear fell down his face.
“There would be no reason for me to exist,” he whispered. John squeezed his hand wordlessly.
“What do you truly fear?” The hound barked and Andy all but jumped. He was sweating with nervousness and dread when he answered:
“What I truly fear is-” His eyes widened and he couldn’t help not to look at Soo-Lin desperately “-what I truly fear is Soo-Lin Yao.”
She stared ahead of herself, oblivious to how everyone gaped and took a step away from her.
“I mean - she’s wonderful, and I’m absolutely crazy over her, but - but - so many strange things has happened and - we were sitting at this lecture, in the back row, and at one point I fell asleep-”
Dr. Anderson has recovered enough to make an outraged face on hearing this but he didn’t interrupt Andy as he continued apologetically “-but only lightly, and when I woke up, Soo-Lin was just settling in her chair, that means she must have got up before, she was the only one who could tamper that lock...”
“That is true.” Soo-Lin nodded resignedly.
“I’m sorry I betrayed you.” Andy was nearly weeping. Lestrade, on the other hand, was furious.
“Why did you do that?”
Soo-Lin recited her words like a machine. “I did not want to involve you all. But it was the only way I could get near the artifacts Dr. Anderson brought in for his lecture. He thinks they are just superstitious knick-knacks, but some of them are truly powerful. I wanted to get the hairpin to protect myself from the demon that haunts me.”
“You are trembling,” Sherlock observed. “What could possibly terrify you so much? Demon, ask your question!”
Only Sherlock could order a demon and get away with it, John thought.
“What do you fear? What is it?”
“For endless count of days, I’ve trembled in fear every time I’ve thought of it. It is... the ghost of my brother who sacrificed his life so I could live free.”
The hound turned away and vanished. Again, the sound of chains was heard. For some reason, Soo-Lin seemed terrified to the core by it.
“I didn’t know you had a brother - you never talked of him! What happened?”
Above them, shadows coiled together and formed a vague shape of a spider that started to crawl the ceiling and weave a web. On a marble statue in the corner of the room, a yellow stripe across her eyes appeared. Sherlock’s sword clinked and the smile of the dragon on its sheath grew a little wider.
“The demon’s Form has arrived,” Sherlock whispered.
.
.
.
To part 3
A moment of quiet, but not of serenity, stretched around the party, itching with anticipation. DI Lestrade tried shaking off some of the tension by checking the room for escape routes - to no avail. Dr. Anderson checked his phone periodically, even when the only real outcome of his doing so was the wearing down of the phone battery. Andy Galbraith concentrated on some calming breathing techniques and Soo-Lin Yao sat by the door like a statue, barely breathing at all.
Sherlock Holmes was sitting on the floor, back ramrod straight, unseeing eyes turned inwards - obviously contemplating something inside his ‘Mind Palace’. John watched him and let his thoughts wander.
‘Sherlock did indeed exorcise the Hound from Baskerville...but Stapleton, Frankland and Barrymore were all killed. Just who did he save, in the end? Whose side is he on?’
John’s uneasy thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock’s deep rumble: “Stop thinking, John, you’ll do yourself harm. I can hear the wheels grinding.”
“Very funny, Mr. High Functioning.” He dropped beside Sherlock who spared him minimal attention.
“Not that you’d tell me the truth but let me ask anyway - you didn’t lock us in here, did you?”
“I wonder.” Sherlock quirked his upper lip to show that he noticed - and appreciated - the look of indignation on John’s face, before he added: “Even if it wasn’t me, the fact remains that we’re here. And the demons are here as well.”
The sword rattled a bit in its sheath, eliciting a clinking, melodic sound.
John wasn’t about to hide his fascination with the thing. “Is that sword actually alive?”
“I wonder,” Sherlock said in the same dreamy tone as before.
John huffed. “Look, Sherlock, I understand you’re a powerful man, but don’t you think that aloof attitude of yours is a little over the top?”
He allowed himself a moment of visual appreciation of the man’s looks, those cheekbones that no man should have the right to have, the carefully upturned collar of his coat.
“With you being all mysterious - people might get suspicious!”
Sherlock’s response was one of his usual disdain. “People do little else.”
Their moment of peace ended as the scales spurted to life. One by one, they all inclined to one side, indicating the farther end of the room. From the shadows there, something like a growl was heard - animalistic, bone marrow chilling sound.
Dr. Anderson looked up, perhaps lulled into a sense of security by the relative easiness with which their last demon could be warded off, because he announced: “Whatever be it, I will vanquish this one.”
Sherlock observed the movements of the scales with narrowed eyes and John could swear he saw his lips curling back for a second, barring a pair of sharp canine teeth, as he murmured to himself: “This could be problematic.”
And then all rational thoughts in his head simply vanished when a figure of a giant, red glowing hound slowly stepped out of the shadows and crouched in the middle of the room. On the verge of a heart attack, John only vaguely registered the horrified gasps of the others, Soo-Lin’s despaired little cry of “Oh no, it’s Shan!”
Then the forcibly quiet voice of Sherlock grounded him and cleared his head a bit. “It’s a fear demon,” Sherlock said. “The personification of one’s deepest dreads.”
“What shall we do?” John heard himself ask.
“I know this one!” Dr. Anderson turned to them confidently. “I’ve read about it in folklore tales. It will ask you what you fear most. It isn’t going to kill us; it just wants to frighten us.”
“You underestimate the power of fear so severely,” Sherlock murmured again, but didn’t object otherwise. John watched the hound’s fiery gaze survey them one by one. He wondered what it was that the other saw. The hound then settled at Lestrade and growled:
“What it is that you fear?”
The DI’s voice was cold and calculated. “Nothing. Ever since I’ve earned myself my badge, I have served the law. I put the bad guys where they belong. And I swear, if I had my gun with me right now-”
The hound barked once and everyone froze. Lestrade looked around. There was no one near him - but he started to back off, murmuring: “You...? But you’re dead!”
Eyes flicking from place to place like he was looking for a way to escape, he lifted his arms in defense, almost tripped over his own feet, and a torrent of babbled explanations spilled out of his mouth- “That wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t know it was a frame, I was only doing my job, I had to follow regulations-”
At last he screamed and dropped to the floor, out like the proverbial light.
“I suppose that means he was lying when he said he feared nothing.” Anderson said feebly.
“At some point in the past, he must have unjustly arrested someone - who perhaps committed suicide later, because of the effect on their reputation.” John didn’t ask how Sherlock knew that. Sherlock often simply knew things he wasn’t supposed to know. Right now, John was rather sorry for Lestrade.
“It must have haunted him ever since.”
“Do you go crazy when you lie to it?” Andy asked.
“As it appears, you are shown your worst fears. So it doesn’t matter whether you lie or tell the truth.”
“When your fear lies within you, no one else can help,” Sherlock added gravely.
The hound turned to John: “What do you fear most?”
“Well, right now I fear you the most!” The memory of Baskerville was still etched in his brain like an acid burn. He swallowed forcibly.
“Um, you see, nothing ever happens to me. I have an ordinary life and most of the time it’s all fine but what I really fear is that I should die without ever experiencing something... really exciting. And accomplishing something, too, I never was that much into Queen and Country but it would still be nice to be needed, to do something worthy...”
He didn’t even finish when the hound barked. John felt as if an icicle went eight through his chest. When he opened his eyes, he saw a village street, walls of white-washed concrete reflecting the heat of scorching sun, he smelled gunpowder and sweat and dirt, he heard the rattle of gunshots and some shouts in an unknown dialect, he wore his Father’s RAMC combat gear and before he had the time to look around, he heard a warning shout- too late- and a blinding pain seared through his shoulder and knocked him to the ground. He breathed in the street dust and felt the gurgle of blood spilling in his lung, and as he closed his eyes against the white sun and red pain and hollow despair he whispered: Please, God, let me live.
When he came around he realised that his fall was intercepted by a pair of surprisingly strong arms, and as he struggled for his consciousness, he sobbed wildly: “I don’t want to die like that.” He shuddered and clutched his shoulder against the phantom pain still lingering there, afraid to ever close his eyes again should the desert come back in his nightmares.
“Calm down.” Sherlock pulled him into a tight embrace. “All the demon shows is an illusion. Your true self does not change.”
John thought he saw a look of genuine concern on Sherlock’s usually impassive face, and for a second he caught a glimpse of human heart behind that formidable mind. Well, for that it was worthy, he thought, a warm feeling around his heart, and he tapped the arm that supported him in an unspoken thank you.
Dr. Anderson cleared his throat and fidgeted nervously: “I suppose I’m next.”
“What do you fear most?”
Anderson looked - embarrassed, when he answered: “I-I-I suppose that I’m really afraid that my wife founds out about my...um, you know. My affairs.”
He’s just lying, John thought. They watched the flustered doctor look up, a surprised smile on his lips, as he said to someone only he could see: “Hun? What are you doing here?”
Then the smile was wiped from his face. His jaw dropped and he stuttered: “Is - is that your-” and then several emotions chased across his face - shock, disbelief, betrayal, disgust - and Dr. Anderson took a couple of wobbly steps and retched violently.
Sherlock remarked acerbically: “Seems like Mr. Anderson is not the only spouse with a dirty secret.”
Sadly, Andy was too nervous to appreciate the joke. “Of the three of us, who will have to answer next?”
Sherlock stood up and stepped forth, his movements and his tone imperious: “Ask me. I will answer.”
The nerve of this man, John thought. His shoulder still ached.
“What it is that you fear most?” The hound howled.
Sherlock looked him straight in the eyes and replied: “What I fear most is the knowledge that the edge of this world exists without Form, Truth, or Regret.”
The eyes of the hound flashed with hellish light.
Sherlock remained standing, almost motionless at first. Then he lifted his hand and looked at them with an expression of slight incredulity on his face that slowly faded into resignation. He went on standing like a statue for a couple of heartbeats when John whispered “Sh-Sherlock?” and went in front of him to look in his face - and John’s heart nearly stopped for the second time that evening. Sherlock’s eyes, the most breathtakingly alive thing John ever saw, were staring back at him devoid of life. John reached out for Sherlock’s hand to checks his pulse, half expecting not to find any, when Sherlock snapped back to awareness. His eyes refocussed and a single tear fell down his face.
“There would be no reason for me to exist,” he whispered. John squeezed his hand wordlessly.
“What do you truly fear?” The hound barked and Andy all but jumped. He was sweating with nervousness and dread when he answered:
“What I truly fear is-” His eyes widened and he couldn’t help not to look at Soo-Lin desperately “-what I truly fear is Soo-Lin Yao.”
She stared ahead of herself, oblivious to how everyone gaped and took a step away from her.
“I mean - she’s wonderful, and I’m absolutely crazy over her, but - but - so many strange things has happened and - we were sitting at this lecture, in the back row, and at one point I fell asleep-”
Dr. Anderson has recovered enough to make an outraged face on hearing this but he didn’t interrupt Andy as he continued apologetically “-but only lightly, and when I woke up, Soo-Lin was just settling in her chair, that means she must have got up before, she was the only one who could tamper that lock...”
“That is true.” Soo-Lin nodded resignedly.
“I’m sorry I betrayed you.” Andy was nearly weeping. Lestrade, on the other hand, was furious.
“Why did you do that?”
Soo-Lin recited her words like a machine. “I did not want to involve you all. But it was the only way I could get near the artifacts Dr. Anderson brought in for his lecture. He thinks they are just superstitious knick-knacks, but some of them are truly powerful. I wanted to get the hairpin to protect myself from the demon that haunts me.”
“You are trembling,” Sherlock observed. “What could possibly terrify you so much? Demon, ask your question!”
Only Sherlock could order a demon and get away with it, John thought.
“What do you fear? What is it?”
“For endless count of days, I’ve trembled in fear every time I’ve thought of it. It is... the ghost of my brother who sacrificed his life so I could live free.”
The hound turned away and vanished. Again, the sound of chains was heard. For some reason, Soo-Lin seemed terrified to the core by it.
“I didn’t know you had a brother - you never talked of him! What happened?”
Above them, shadows coiled together and formed a vague shape of a spider that started to crawl the ceiling and weave a web. On a marble statue in the corner of the room, a yellow stripe across her eyes appeared. Sherlock’s sword clinked and the smile of the dragon on its sheath grew a little wider.
“The demon’s Form has arrived,” Sherlock whispered.
.
.
.
To part 3