In the outskirts of 19th-century London, thick fog surrounds the mysterious Baskerville Hall.
Sir Charles Baskerville is found dead near the moor. His eyes are wide open, his right hand clutching his chest, yet there are no obvious wounds on his body. Around the scene are traces that appear to belong to a large hound.
The legend of the demonic hound once again haunts the estate. The new heir, Sir Henry, is consumed by fear. The butler refuses to speak. The doctor is evasive. The inspector is eager to close the case. Everyone seems to know something, and everyone seems to be hiding something.
“It must be the curse… the Baskerville family curse! The demon hound has returned!”
“Am I truly unable to escape this curse? No… I don’t want to die… Ah—!”
Inside the manor, shadows gather. Beyond it, danger waits in the fog. Fear grips every throat like the hand of a demon.
After Holmes is invited to Baskerville Hall by his friend Mortimer, more deaths follow: a mutilated corpse in the moor, a woman’s body found in the fountain of a neighboring estate…
Are these seemingly unrelated cases connected? What secret lies behind the Baskerville curse?
Someone fears the truth.
Someone is using the legend.
Someone is hiding a secret.
Someone is watching from the shadows.
“Sherlock, you once said every brick of Baskerville Hall whispers… but some secrets are too heavy for even the Thames to swallow.”
“Then we need sharper ears — perhaps those of a doctor who insists on carving Christmas pudding with a scalpel.”
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
