All right, this is my first proper go at fanfic. Hope my tenses and such are right and the story is engaging. Leave a thought or two if you like.(it would be much appreciated to know if I should continue and where my mistakes are.)

Many thanks to textualdeviance and evenstar_estel (also Tay, ta sweetie you're aces) for their valuable input (that's a beta yo) also thanks to everyone on twitter for their encouragements. It's not a Primeval fic which really surprises me but this idea popped into my head and it wouldn't go away. Short first chapter and second one will post soon. :)

The lovely characters are from the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I've just had a fiddle with them.

Return to Baskerville

Chapter 1

John sat at the table in silence turning over in his head the events of the past few days.

"Ready to go?" Came the baritone's query as Sherlock approached.

Distracted and still staring at the table John simply said, "Hm?"

"I said, are you ready to go?" Sherlock was becoming impatient.

John finally looked up having noted Sherlock's tone. "Ah, yeah…I'm ready. It's just…" he hesitated.

"Just what John? Still needing to work the hallucinogens out of your system? After that massive fry up you've just inhaled, do you need to stop off at the loo?" smirked Sherlock.

John cut his eyes upward fixing the man standing there with his patented stony stare. "Well aren't you clever? No, I was just thinking about the case."

"The case?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "We've just solved the case John and in splendid form. Plus, thinking is my job John. Now come along. I'd like to make it back to Baker Street before nightfall." Sherlock reached down and gathered Watson's hand in his own leaning over as he did so to whisper in the doctor's ear, "I've got plans for us this evening to apologise properly for the lab experiment I put you through."

John's eyes softened, as did his voice, "Still can't believe you did that to me. I could have had a heart attack Sherlock. I'm not kidding. I was scared to death. I haven't been that terrified since Afghanistan, and that includes having a bomb strapped to my chest by Moriarty."

Sherlock grimaced, genuinely upset that he was to blame for the trauma to his good doctor. "John", Sherlock said with all seriousness, "I am truly sorry for the anguish I caused you", not certain himself if he meant for the lab, Moriarty, or both, "but I needed to find out and the need over- rode better judgment. Please say you'll forgive me?"

John stood immediately and turned on the spot to face the great detective. He grabbed Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him on the cheek, "Of course I do you silly git. Now come on or we'll miss our train. I'm looking forward to being 'properly apologised' to all night long."

As they retreated to the Land Rover whatever it was that John had been thinking about the case was forgotten, at least temporarily.

xxx

Fletcher, the town's HOUND aficionado and gambling addict, watched the detective and his partner leave. As they drove off he pulled out his mobile and began to dial. Prefix +86 last digits 772, and he waited. After the second ring he heard the familiar tone to leave a message. His throat was dry as he began to speak.

"Mr. Holmes solved the case sir and is heading back home with Doctor Watson. They did not locate the processing plant at Baskerville and to my knowledge know nothing of the advanced HOUND project. Doctor Frankland is dead. He stepped on a landmine, so you might need to find another scientist for the lab." Fletcher swallowed hard. "Please let me know how you wish to proceed. I will wait for your reply tomorrow night on the hill." As he rang off, Fletcher felt his stomach flip over. "Bloody hell", he said to no one, "I've got myself in a real pickle this time- a real pickle indeed."

xxx

The cab ride from Paddington Station seemed to be taking forever. It was all either man could do to keep their hands off one another. As they approached Baker Street the sun was just going down glimmering through the window giving up its last rays of the day to bounce off of the grey blue eyes of the one and only Consulting Detective. That was the breaking point for John Hamish Watson. The cab pulled to the curb and had barely come to a stop before John threw fifty quid at the driver, snatched Sherlock's hand and pulled him out of the car calling back over his shoulder, "put the bags inside the door, ta!"

They'd hardly made it inside when Watson turned to face Holmes at the base of the stairs. Pushing Sherlock rather roughly against the wall John rubbed up against him pressing his full weight in making the taller man groan. Sherlock barely spoke John's name before the doctor's mouth was on him muffling the sound, distorting the word by otherwise occupying Sherlock's tongue with his own. If John heard the door open to Mrs. Hudson's flat it didn't register. He was too involved with the task at hand.

As she opened the door, Mrs. Hudson was already mid- sentence …"possibly be going on? Oh, so sorry boys," she said, making a half turn and averting her eyes as she realised what was taking place in the hallway. John immediately stopped his ministrations and backed away from Sherlock. All the while Mrs. Hudson was still talking … "heard the banging on the wall and didn't know what was happening. Ever since that gas leak across the street, I've been on edge wondering if this old building was next."

John sighed, "Hello Mrs. Hudson. No, it's nothing like that, just Sherlock and I having a little tussle. Sorry to have disturbed you."

Sherlock, had finally gathered his senses a bit, but did nothing to improve John's embarrassment. "John was overcome by lust and couldn't help himself Mrs. Hudson."

John pinched the bridge of his nose and thought to himself, for a brilliant mind, he really can be such an idiot sometimes. Outwardly, however, all John said was, "Sherlock, not good."

The Cabby was now at the front door with their bags. John took a deep breath, exhaled and headed for the door to gather their luggage. So much for flinging fifty quid at the man, he thought. Could have done this myself and saved the money. Now I'm out the money, still have to play bellhop and I've got a massive erection that needs serious attention. John grabbed both his and Sherlock's bag from the driver and proceeded to climb the stairs to their flat passing both Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock as he ascended without a word. Sherlock looked after him as he went and deflated ever so slightly. As Watson reached the top step, he half turned and bade goodnight to Mrs. Hudson, then to Sherlock he said, "Well? Are you coming? I still want my apology." With that, Sherlock smiled and took the stairs two at a time.

end Chapt. 1