"GOOOOOOOALLLLLLLLL!!!" (Elementary, rating G), 2014 JWP Prompt #10
Title: GOOOOOOOALLLLLLLLL!!!
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (CBS Elementary)
Word Count: 555
Rating: G
Summary: It takes balls to take on a gunman, unarmed.
Author's Notes: For the 2014 July Watson’s Woes Prompt #10: A Sporting Chance. Include one or more bits of sporting gear in your entry.
The gunman had leverage - Joan hanging by her cuffed wrists to a support beam behind him, Sherlock caught unarmed walking through the gymnasium door.
The idiot did this in a room that contained a football -a British one, not an American one.
Sherlock caught his partner’s eyes, and both were instantly on board with the plan.
The embezzler who’d murdered his accomplice hadn’t even finished the first two sentences of his monologue when Sherlock cursed and kicked at the ball as if in a temper at being caught.
The ball caromed off a pillar and headed toward Watson.
Joan caught the ball between her ankles, spun it into the air and bicycle-kicked it straight into the back of the gunman’s head. Sherlock had the gun and was trotting over to release Joan before Hendricks hit the floor, out cold.
“How did you know?” Joan said, massaging her wrists to get the feeling back.
“Your thigh and calf musculature is consistent with the demands placed upon them by a footballer, not merely the tone of a jogger,” Sherlock replied from where he was cuffing the groaning Hendricks. “Also, your age. You would have just been able to take advantage of Title IX’s passage to become involved in sport during your formative school days, and football - excuse me, soccer” (with a small moue at the American term) “- is one of the most popular co-educational sports in this country.”
“And you knew I’d be able to catch the ball and relay it like that.” Joan’s voice was just a little skeptical.
Sherlock looked at her as if she’d asked if the sky was blue. “You seek perfection in everything you do in your life. I cannot fathom you becoming merely adept in a sport instead of a master of it.”
“Well, Mia Hamm has nothing to fear from me,” Joan said, walking over to help her partner hoist their groggy target. “Aside from a little weekend scuffling with a few friends, I don’t really play any more. I was never interested enough in it to go pro.”
“Mm.” Sherlock looked sidelong at Watson. “There is the small matter of him getting the drop on you.”
“I don’t carry a gun. He did, and he’s already proved he’ll use it.” Joan gave her partner a look. “There’s not a lot of ways you can remain undropped with that kind of disadvantage. I had to wait for backup.” She let go of the suspect to open the gym double-door for both her partner and his burden.
Halfway to the door Joan Watson whipped around and caught the flung tennis ball one-handed before it could hit her back. “Well, that was predictable,” she said, dropping the ball and shaking the tingling out of her fingers.
Sherlock smiled. “Excellent. Now I can graduate to throwing knives at you. You must always hone your reflexes.”
Joan bent down and picked up another piece of sports equipment, hoisting the iron ball to her shoulder and fixing her partner with a level stare. “Ever been hit in the nose with a shot-put?”
A pause. “Or we go home after turning Hendricks in and watch the rest of the match.”
“Right.” Joan let the 10-lb shot drop and resumed her errand. “It’s gonna be Germany.”
“Agreed,” Sherlock said, hauling Joan’s kidnapper through the open door.
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (CBS Elementary)
Word Count: 555
Rating: G
Summary: It takes balls to take on a gunman, unarmed.
Author's Notes: For the 2014 July Watson’s Woes Prompt #10: A Sporting Chance. Include one or more bits of sporting gear in your entry.
The gunman had leverage - Joan hanging by her cuffed wrists to a support beam behind him, Sherlock caught unarmed walking through the gymnasium door.
The idiot did this in a room that contained a football -a British one, not an American one.
Sherlock caught his partner’s eyes, and both were instantly on board with the plan.
The embezzler who’d murdered his accomplice hadn’t even finished the first two sentences of his monologue when Sherlock cursed and kicked at the ball as if in a temper at being caught.
The ball caromed off a pillar and headed toward Watson.
Joan caught the ball between her ankles, spun it into the air and bicycle-kicked it straight into the back of the gunman’s head. Sherlock had the gun and was trotting over to release Joan before Hendricks hit the floor, out cold.
“How did you know?” Joan said, massaging her wrists to get the feeling back.
“Your thigh and calf musculature is consistent with the demands placed upon them by a footballer, not merely the tone of a jogger,” Sherlock replied from where he was cuffing the groaning Hendricks. “Also, your age. You would have just been able to take advantage of Title IX’s passage to become involved in sport during your formative school days, and football - excuse me, soccer” (with a small moue at the American term) “- is one of the most popular co-educational sports in this country.”
“And you knew I’d be able to catch the ball and relay it like that.” Joan’s voice was just a little skeptical.
Sherlock looked at her as if she’d asked if the sky was blue. “You seek perfection in everything you do in your life. I cannot fathom you becoming merely adept in a sport instead of a master of it.”
“Well, Mia Hamm has nothing to fear from me,” Joan said, walking over to help her partner hoist their groggy target. “Aside from a little weekend scuffling with a few friends, I don’t really play any more. I was never interested enough in it to go pro.”
“Mm.” Sherlock looked sidelong at Watson. “There is the small matter of him getting the drop on you.”
“I don’t carry a gun. He did, and he’s already proved he’ll use it.” Joan gave her partner a look. “There’s not a lot of ways you can remain undropped with that kind of disadvantage. I had to wait for backup.” She let go of the suspect to open the gym double-door for both her partner and his burden.
Halfway to the door Joan Watson whipped around and caught the flung tennis ball one-handed before it could hit her back. “Well, that was predictable,” she said, dropping the ball and shaking the tingling out of her fingers.
Sherlock smiled. “Excellent. Now I can graduate to throwing knives at you. You must always hone your reflexes.”
Joan bent down and picked up another piece of sports equipment, hoisting the iron ball to her shoulder and fixing her partner with a level stare. “Ever been hit in the nose with a shot-put?”
A pause. “Or we go home after turning Hendricks in and watch the rest of the match.”
“Right.” Joan let the 10-lb shot drop and resumed her errand. “It’s gonna be Germany.”
“Agreed,” Sherlock said, hauling Joan’s kidnapper through the open door.