Three Things Fic
Title: Lightning Round
Fandom: Elementary
Rating: G
Word Count: 501
Words/Prompts Used: several, in italics.
Sherlock picked up a white index card from the stack, pursed his lips, and, looking at Joan across the table, intoned: "Now begins the lightning round. You should be able to tell me, from a series of clues, which crime is being described, drawn from a repository of cold cases we have discussed, or actual cases we have solved. The round"--producing a kitchen timer in his other hand--"will be timed. To begin."
"Wait just a minute." Joan waved a finger and took a long sip of tea. "Okay. I'm not sure I get it, but I'm sure more explanation won't help, so you might as well start."
"Glasses, roses, an aquarium."
Joan thought for a moment. "Ah yes. The Victorian blackmailer. The roses were dead, the fish were alive, and the glasses belonged to the killer, not the victim."
"Indeed. Though even when a blackmailer is murdered, it's hard to think of him as a victim."
"You always did hate blackmail."
"A most egregious undertaking. In any case. Next: fire, a peacoat, heels clicking on marble."
Joan nodded. "The peacoat is the giveaway. The case of the missing will, Upper East Side, the heiress dressed as a maid, except for her shoes. And the accomplice with dandruff." She grimaced. "I'm a little surprised you'd put that one in."
"Yes, quite. Not one of my finest hours. Still, Detective Bell and Captain Gregson acquitted themselves admirably. Case solved. Next: A blanket, an eyepatch, a map."
Joan took another sip of tea and stared upward. "That doesn't ring any bells. Something to do with a pirate? Pirate's treasure? Let's see...." The timer beeped.
"Incorrect. Next. A library, a snowstorm, the color pink."
"Hah, that one is easy. The Federal Reserve robbery of the worn out bills. I'll never forget that snowstorm, Pam the Snowplow Driver's pink woollen hat, and Mrs. Hudson rearranging the library. But none of those were actual clues to the crime, except maybe the snowstorm."
"Yes, well. I threw that one in to remember to tell you that Mrs. Hudson sends her regards from the Azores. She is enjoying her time on the yacht of her sponsor."
"Oh, I'm glad. She's such a good person, she deserves to land on her feet."
"Indeed. Next. A broken arm, an ice cream cone, a pair of scissors."
"Hmmmmm. None of that sounds familiar. I do remember a broken arm or two, but what kind of clue could an ice-cream cone..." The timer beeped. "Dammit. I'm starting to hate that thing."
"Regardless. Next. An artist, an isolated home, a mask."
"Yes! Moriarity! Irene Adler! Gotcha!" Joan jumped out of her seat, but her grin of triumph faded as she looked at the face across from her. "Oh. Sherlock. That was...thoughtless. I'm so sorry."
Sherlock looked down at the card in his hand and twitched it slightly. "No matter. Not thoughtless. Also not correct. The answer is The Scottish Moors mystery. Very well. Next. A play, a monkey, a coffee shortage..."
.
.
Fandom: Elementary
Rating: G
Word Count: 501
Words/Prompts Used: several, in italics.
Sherlock picked up a white index card from the stack, pursed his lips, and, looking at Joan across the table, intoned: "Now begins the lightning round. You should be able to tell me, from a series of clues, which crime is being described, drawn from a repository of cold cases we have discussed, or actual cases we have solved. The round"--producing a kitchen timer in his other hand--"will be timed. To begin."
"Wait just a minute." Joan waved a finger and took a long sip of tea. "Okay. I'm not sure I get it, but I'm sure more explanation won't help, so you might as well start."
"Glasses, roses, an aquarium."
Joan thought for a moment. "Ah yes. The Victorian blackmailer. The roses were dead, the fish were alive, and the glasses belonged to the killer, not the victim."
"Indeed. Though even when a blackmailer is murdered, it's hard to think of him as a victim."
"You always did hate blackmail."
"A most egregious undertaking. In any case. Next: fire, a peacoat, heels clicking on marble."
Joan nodded. "The peacoat is the giveaway. The case of the missing will, Upper East Side, the heiress dressed as a maid, except for her shoes. And the accomplice with dandruff." She grimaced. "I'm a little surprised you'd put that one in."
"Yes, quite. Not one of my finest hours. Still, Detective Bell and Captain Gregson acquitted themselves admirably. Case solved. Next: A blanket, an eyepatch, a map."
Joan took another sip of tea and stared upward. "That doesn't ring any bells. Something to do with a pirate? Pirate's treasure? Let's see...." The timer beeped.
"Incorrect. Next. A library, a snowstorm, the color pink."
"Hah, that one is easy. The Federal Reserve robbery of the worn out bills. I'll never forget that snowstorm, Pam the Snowplow Driver's pink woollen hat, and Mrs. Hudson rearranging the library. But none of those were actual clues to the crime, except maybe the snowstorm."
"Yes, well. I threw that one in to remember to tell you that Mrs. Hudson sends her regards from the Azores. She is enjoying her time on the yacht of her sponsor."
"Oh, I'm glad. She's such a good person, she deserves to land on her feet."
"Indeed. Next. A broken arm, an ice cream cone, a pair of scissors."
"Hmmmmm. None of that sounds familiar. I do remember a broken arm or two, but what kind of clue could an ice-cream cone..." The timer beeped. "Dammit. I'm starting to hate that thing."
"Regardless. Next. An artist, an isolated home, a mask."
"Yes! Moriarity! Irene Adler! Gotcha!" Joan jumped out of her seat, but her grin of triumph faded as she looked at the face across from her. "Oh. Sherlock. That was...thoughtless. I'm so sorry."
Sherlock looked down at the card in his hand and twitched it slightly. "No matter. Not thoughtless. Also not correct. The answer is The Scottish Moors mystery. Very well. Next. A play, a monkey, a coffee shortage..."
.
.