1 Fic; Challenge #12
Title: Deducting the Magic (Part 1)
Summary: BBC Sherlock/HP. The Auror department are stumped when they are faced with what appears to be a muggle murder of a ministry official, and the Police are called in. Unfortunately, they're less than helpful, and Tonks has to resort to using the help of the worlds only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, Watson, Remus/Tonks, Kingsley
Genre: crossover
Rating/Warnings: pg/murders
Word Count: 2292
It had all started out ordinarily enough. It wasn’t nice; nothing was ever nice in Tonks’ line of work. But it was ordinary, normal for her, being called on scene for murders. So nothing had seemed out of place as she’d crossed the marked tape, passed all the other Aurors and ministry officials, and crossed the threshold into the house.
From there, it had all gone downhill, and she could see why they had called her.
This was not a Wizarding murder.
Taking a deep breath, she side stepped someone examining the body, making her way to where Kingsley was waiting patiently for her.
“Finally got some time out of the office, eh?”
He didn’t smile. She still hadn’t learnt to treat him like the Minister and not like a friend, even though it had been years since he’d been chosen, at the end of the war. Three years, and everything seemed to change but still be the same. They might not be killing for Voldemort anymore, but there were still plenty of dark wizards out there for her to catch. Unfortunately, they seemed to have picked up on the one weakness of the law enforcement department; no one had more than basic training in muggle murders.
“Is it the same as the last one?”
Kingsley nodded. “Bullet to the head. Found the gun, but at a guess if it’s the same as last time the bullet won’t be a match.”
Nodding, Tonks took in the surroundings- there was blood splattered everywhere, and the smell was starting to make her dizzy. “Need me to call him then?”
“I think so. We’re not equipped to deal with this sort of thing.”
“Alright then. I’m on it.” Walking back outside, she took a deep breath of fresh air before pulling her phone out of her pocket and hitting his number. It disturbed her a little, that she had it on speed dial.
“London police department, How can I help you?”
“Lestrade please.”
She hoped he wasn’t going to freak out as much this time. Then again, now that he knew about the existence of the Wizarding world, the rest should be easy. Everyday stuff for him. Murder solved.bam. At least, that had been the general idea Kingsley had been going for when he’d been forced to tell someone in muggle law enforcement. Not that anything had been solved yet.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking.”
“It’s Tonks, you remember me?” she didn’t leave him time to answer. “Look, we need you, we’ve got another one. Can you make it out?”
Silence from the other end. Then a sigh. “Alright. What have you got?”
Sherlock Holmes was bored. Again.
John Watson flipped a page of his newspaper, looking up at him. “Sherlock? Do you still need those eyes in the microwave, or can I heat up the leftovers for lunch?
He shook his head. “I’m testing the radiation levels.” Even that was dull.
“Right. Cold it is.”
His cellphone started ringing. Let it ring; it was probably another dull criminal looking for someone to prove he didn’t commit some sort of dull crime. Dull.
It was almost a full 20 seconds before John cleared his throat, indicating he didn’t care who it was, it needed to be answered. With a sigh, he drew the phone out of his jacket.
It wasn’t a dull criminal. LESTRADE flashed on the screen. He let it ring a bit longer. He wasn’t hanging up though. Must be desperate. Or it could be important.
He hit answer.
“I’ve got something I think you might like.”
“Where are you? I’m leaving now.” He turned to John. “No time for food, you coming?”
Sherlock grabbed his scarf and left John to follow him out into the bitter wind of London as he hailed a black cab.
It was an odd looking crime scene as soon as he got there. There were so many people milling around- only a few in Police uniform. It was usual for the public to try and get a look at what was going on, but these people looked too- well, official, to be members of the public searching for gossip.
There were two lines of tape as well. The first one he stepped under wasn’t a police line. It was white, with a dark red seal stamped on it- a large, encircled M. For once, he was stumped. He had no idea what that insignia stood for.
Brushing it aside, he marched forward until he was face to face with the ever so lovely and charming Sally, who reluctantly let him through the Police line, announcing the “Freak’s coming in” over her radio.
It was a messy scene inside, that was for sure. Blood had been splattered all over the walls, the furniture, and yet was not pooling around the victim, a young lady lying face up in the middle of the living room.
Thank god Anderson wasn’t here to be an absolutely annoying idiot this time. The less distraction, the better.
He turned to John. “Well? What do you think?”
John walked around the body, frowning. “Looks simple enough. Bullet to the head. But…” he knelt down to investigate the wound on the side of the head. “There wouldn’t be nearly enough blood to make this mess.”
“My thoughts precisely. Lestrade?”
Lestrade walked over from the other side of the room, followed by a young woman he didn’t recognize, and knew he had never seen before. She was speaking to Lestrade in low tones, and Sherlock distinctively heard “Are you sure it’s a good idea to get someone else involved?”
“We need him. He’s the best.” Lestrade replied before nodding at Sherlock. He, however, was paying more attention to the woman behind him.
Her hair was bright pink, floating around her ears and sticking up in all directions. She was obviously not a police officer of any kind, judging by her mid-calf black laced boots and jeans. She was wearing one of those fashionable loose blouses under a dark blazer, but the blouse was see through and he could quite vividly see the distinct purple shade of her bra. She looked entirely unprofessional, and yet Lestrade seemed to be answering to her.
She was holding what looked like a police badge in on hand, and as she slipped it in the back pocket of her jeans, he made a mental note to pickpocket it later. There was something distinctively off about her in this situation.
He nodded back.
“Anything you can give us would be helpful.”
“Looks simple enough, why did you call me in? Another question, why are there two tape lines outside?”
“We’ve gotten one like this just the other week, and we’re no closer to solving it.”
“I see. Bullet from a different gun, judging by the size of the wound. No fingerprints? And the other tape line?”
“Is mine.” The woman with the pink hair spoke up. “Have you got a problem with that?”
He shook his head.
“Tonks.” She stuck out her hand, which he shook.
“Sherlock Holmes. This is my associate, John Watson. Are you with the Police?”
She gave a coy grin, crossing her arms over her stomach. “In a way.”
“Anything, Sherlock.”
“Well, you’re looking for a third body. Unless the first one was drained of blood.”
“A third body?”
“No pool of blood around the victim, no other wounds. A head wound doesn’t bleed enough to paint a whole room. There’s hardly any blood from that wound either.”
“She was shot after death?” The woman called Tonks asked, kneeling next to the body, looking it over. “Lestrade, can you take a sample of blood from the walls? See if any of it’s hers or not.”
“Most likely.” Sherlock replied, as Lestrade went to get samples. “Someone’s tried very hard to make this look like a shooting though. They’re not giving much away.”
“So what do you think killed her then?” She asked, straightening up.
“John?”
“Not sure yet. Not much to go by. Not blood loss. You’d have to run some tests to see if it was some sort of drug. But really…” he stopped, shaking his head.
“Really what?” Lestrade asked.
“It looked like she was frightened to death.”
Tonks smiled. “Oh you’re very good, both of you. Very good indeed.”
She could see why Lestrade used him. When he’d first mentioned it, the very idea of a consulting detective had sounded ridiculous, and she had thought it was no wonder he was the only one in the world. But now, watching him work, she knew he was the only one because anyone as brilliant as him was probably committing crimes, not cleaning them up. And they were probably getting away with it. But she was still uncomfortable bringing him in. Kingsley had left and she would need his permission and Merlin knows what kinds of paperwork to involve a muggle in the Wizarding world. But he was asking too many questions already, and she had no kind of cover ready- not one he wouldn’t see through anyway. Sherlock Holmes was obviously brilliant- but maybe he was too brilliant.
“What do we know about the victims? Any connections between them?”
Yes. They both occupied minor positions in major departments of the Ministry of Magic. Not that she could really tell him that.
“Both government workers. Different departments though, so it’s unlikely they knew each other.”
“Hmm. And did the other one look as absolutely terrified as her?”
Lestrade nodded. “If you want to come back to the station, we can fill you in and you can have a look at the file.”
Sherlock nodded.
“Could it have been a heart attack?” John asked. “Terror and shock, heart attack, it does happen.”
“Oh yes, there was a few of those last month.” Sherlock added. “Frightened to death. Quite the headline.”
“We don’t think it was a heart attack.” Tonks said firmly. She, of course, knew it wasn’t a heart attack, but something a lot worse. She starred coldly at Lestrade. “You didn’t tell me you’d had similar cases before.”
“Well they weren’t similar, they weren’t shot.”
“Frightened to death? Come on, you know that wasn’t a heart attack.”
“Medics couldn’t find anything else that would have caused it.”
Tonks raised an eyebrow, and watched as Lestrade’s face fell, and he realized what it had been. She’d seen him nearly pass out when Kingsley had described the unforgivables to him. And now, here he was, faced with a body killed by the worst of them.
“It’s the same person, isn’t it?”
“I think so. Someone’s leaving us both a message. Doing things backwards.”
“Sorry, how is this backwards?” John asked. “Some people get shot, some people have heart attacks. That’s the way the world works.”
“Yes. But some people don’t die of fright. Most people, in fact.” Tonks turned away, looking out the window, picking her phone out of her pocket as it vibrated.
A text from Remus, who was clearly over reacting about Teddy having a bit of a fever. She sighed.
“How long will it take you to reach the station?”
“About 20 minutes. Do you want a lift?”
She shook her head. “I’ll meet you there. Got to go home first.”
“You live on the other side of London!”
She shrugged. “I’ll meet you there. We ready to wrap up here?”
“Sherlock, you done?”
He nodded straightening his jacket.
“Alright, 20 minutes.” He sounded doubtful she would be there on time.
Nodding goodbye she left the house, ducking under the layers of tape, too absorbed in replying to Remus’ text to notice the two men walking swiftly behind to catch up with her. She didn’t even notice as Sherlock Holmes slipped her Auror badge into his coat, and only realized he and his assistant were there when he stepped in front of her and she almost knocked him over.
“You’re not with the police.” Sherlock said firmly.
She starred at him, dropping her phone into her jacket pocket. “And you know this how, exactly?” She replied cooly.
“Firstly, you’d never get away dressed like that in any government funded job.” He was eyeing her hair particularly, and she suddenly felt self conscious, ruffling it nervously. “And secondly,” he continued, “Last time I checked, the police didn’t have any kind of- what was it- oh yes…” He drew her badge from his pocket. “Auror department. No, I would definitely know if that existed. And it doesn’t. So why are you here?”
Arms crossed over his chest, his eyes probed her, searching for answers in her appearance. Scowling, she snatched her badge out of his hand. He let it go; a little reluctantly.
“We called you in to do a job. Do it. Don’t ask questions that are none of your business.”
“Lestrade called me, not you.”
“And I called Lestrade. I’m in charge here, got it?” She took a step closer, face set. “Now I hear you have a bit of a problem with authority figures. I hope that won’t be an issue here.”
To everyone’s surprise, he smiled. “So long as you let me do things my way, we should be just fine.”
“Right then. Good.” She nodded again. “Car’s that way. See you at the station.”
She watched as he turned away with a grin too close to a smirk for her own comfort. Uneasy, she headed to the nearest alleyway they were using as an apparition point. He was onto her, and she had never felt more vulnerable. The fact that she knew how brilliant he was didn’t help either.
He’d seen right through her. No one had ever been able to do that before. She dreaded to think what he would figure out next.
POINTS:
2292/30= 76 points for Gryffindor
Gini//Gryff
Summary: BBC Sherlock/HP. The Auror department are stumped when they are faced with what appears to be a muggle murder of a ministry official, and the Police are called in. Unfortunately, they're less than helpful, and Tonks has to resort to using the help of the worlds only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, Watson, Remus/Tonks, Kingsley
Genre: crossover
Rating/Warnings: pg/murders
Word Count: 2292
It had all started out ordinarily enough. It wasn’t nice; nothing was ever nice in Tonks’ line of work. But it was ordinary, normal for her, being called on scene for murders. So nothing had seemed out of place as she’d crossed the marked tape, passed all the other Aurors and ministry officials, and crossed the threshold into the house.
From there, it had all gone downhill, and she could see why they had called her.
This was not a Wizarding murder.
Taking a deep breath, she side stepped someone examining the body, making her way to where Kingsley was waiting patiently for her.
“Finally got some time out of the office, eh?”
He didn’t smile. She still hadn’t learnt to treat him like the Minister and not like a friend, even though it had been years since he’d been chosen, at the end of the war. Three years, and everything seemed to change but still be the same. They might not be killing for Voldemort anymore, but there were still plenty of dark wizards out there for her to catch. Unfortunately, they seemed to have picked up on the one weakness of the law enforcement department; no one had more than basic training in muggle murders.
“Is it the same as the last one?”
Kingsley nodded. “Bullet to the head. Found the gun, but at a guess if it’s the same as last time the bullet won’t be a match.”
Nodding, Tonks took in the surroundings- there was blood splattered everywhere, and the smell was starting to make her dizzy. “Need me to call him then?”
“I think so. We’re not equipped to deal with this sort of thing.”
“Alright then. I’m on it.” Walking back outside, she took a deep breath of fresh air before pulling her phone out of her pocket and hitting his number. It disturbed her a little, that she had it on speed dial.
“London police department, How can I help you?”
“Lestrade please.”
She hoped he wasn’t going to freak out as much this time. Then again, now that he knew about the existence of the Wizarding world, the rest should be easy. Everyday stuff for him. Murder solved.bam. At least, that had been the general idea Kingsley had been going for when he’d been forced to tell someone in muggle law enforcement. Not that anything had been solved yet.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking.”
“It’s Tonks, you remember me?” she didn’t leave him time to answer. “Look, we need you, we’ve got another one. Can you make it out?”
Silence from the other end. Then a sigh. “Alright. What have you got?”
Sherlock Holmes was bored. Again.
John Watson flipped a page of his newspaper, looking up at him. “Sherlock? Do you still need those eyes in the microwave, or can I heat up the leftovers for lunch?
He shook his head. “I’m testing the radiation levels.” Even that was dull.
“Right. Cold it is.”
His cellphone started ringing. Let it ring; it was probably another dull criminal looking for someone to prove he didn’t commit some sort of dull crime. Dull.
It was almost a full 20 seconds before John cleared his throat, indicating he didn’t care who it was, it needed to be answered. With a sigh, he drew the phone out of his jacket.
It wasn’t a dull criminal. LESTRADE flashed on the screen. He let it ring a bit longer. He wasn’t hanging up though. Must be desperate. Or it could be important.
He hit answer.
“I’ve got something I think you might like.”
“Where are you? I’m leaving now.” He turned to John. “No time for food, you coming?”
Sherlock grabbed his scarf and left John to follow him out into the bitter wind of London as he hailed a black cab.
It was an odd looking crime scene as soon as he got there. There were so many people milling around- only a few in Police uniform. It was usual for the public to try and get a look at what was going on, but these people looked too- well, official, to be members of the public searching for gossip.
There were two lines of tape as well. The first one he stepped under wasn’t a police line. It was white, with a dark red seal stamped on it- a large, encircled M. For once, he was stumped. He had no idea what that insignia stood for.
Brushing it aside, he marched forward until he was face to face with the ever so lovely and charming Sally, who reluctantly let him through the Police line, announcing the “Freak’s coming in” over her radio.
It was a messy scene inside, that was for sure. Blood had been splattered all over the walls, the furniture, and yet was not pooling around the victim, a young lady lying face up in the middle of the living room.
Thank god Anderson wasn’t here to be an absolutely annoying idiot this time. The less distraction, the better.
He turned to John. “Well? What do you think?”
John walked around the body, frowning. “Looks simple enough. Bullet to the head. But…” he knelt down to investigate the wound on the side of the head. “There wouldn’t be nearly enough blood to make this mess.”
“My thoughts precisely. Lestrade?”
Lestrade walked over from the other side of the room, followed by a young woman he didn’t recognize, and knew he had never seen before. She was speaking to Lestrade in low tones, and Sherlock distinctively heard “Are you sure it’s a good idea to get someone else involved?”
“We need him. He’s the best.” Lestrade replied before nodding at Sherlock. He, however, was paying more attention to the woman behind him.
Her hair was bright pink, floating around her ears and sticking up in all directions. She was obviously not a police officer of any kind, judging by her mid-calf black laced boots and jeans. She was wearing one of those fashionable loose blouses under a dark blazer, but the blouse was see through and he could quite vividly see the distinct purple shade of her bra. She looked entirely unprofessional, and yet Lestrade seemed to be answering to her.
She was holding what looked like a police badge in on hand, and as she slipped it in the back pocket of her jeans, he made a mental note to pickpocket it later. There was something distinctively off about her in this situation.
He nodded back.
“Anything you can give us would be helpful.”
“Looks simple enough, why did you call me in? Another question, why are there two tape lines outside?”
“We’ve gotten one like this just the other week, and we’re no closer to solving it.”
“I see. Bullet from a different gun, judging by the size of the wound. No fingerprints? And the other tape line?”
“Is mine.” The woman with the pink hair spoke up. “Have you got a problem with that?”
He shook his head.
“Tonks.” She stuck out her hand, which he shook.
“Sherlock Holmes. This is my associate, John Watson. Are you with the Police?”
She gave a coy grin, crossing her arms over her stomach. “In a way.”
“Anything, Sherlock.”
“Well, you’re looking for a third body. Unless the first one was drained of blood.”
“A third body?”
“No pool of blood around the victim, no other wounds. A head wound doesn’t bleed enough to paint a whole room. There’s hardly any blood from that wound either.”
“She was shot after death?” The woman called Tonks asked, kneeling next to the body, looking it over. “Lestrade, can you take a sample of blood from the walls? See if any of it’s hers or not.”
“Most likely.” Sherlock replied, as Lestrade went to get samples. “Someone’s tried very hard to make this look like a shooting though. They’re not giving much away.”
“So what do you think killed her then?” She asked, straightening up.
“John?”
“Not sure yet. Not much to go by. Not blood loss. You’d have to run some tests to see if it was some sort of drug. But really…” he stopped, shaking his head.
“Really what?” Lestrade asked.
“It looked like she was frightened to death.”
Tonks smiled. “Oh you’re very good, both of you. Very good indeed.”
She could see why Lestrade used him. When he’d first mentioned it, the very idea of a consulting detective had sounded ridiculous, and she had thought it was no wonder he was the only one in the world. But now, watching him work, she knew he was the only one because anyone as brilliant as him was probably committing crimes, not cleaning them up. And they were probably getting away with it. But she was still uncomfortable bringing him in. Kingsley had left and she would need his permission and Merlin knows what kinds of paperwork to involve a muggle in the Wizarding world. But he was asking too many questions already, and she had no kind of cover ready- not one he wouldn’t see through anyway. Sherlock Holmes was obviously brilliant- but maybe he was too brilliant.
“What do we know about the victims? Any connections between them?”
Yes. They both occupied minor positions in major departments of the Ministry of Magic. Not that she could really tell him that.
“Both government workers. Different departments though, so it’s unlikely they knew each other.”
“Hmm. And did the other one look as absolutely terrified as her?”
Lestrade nodded. “If you want to come back to the station, we can fill you in and you can have a look at the file.”
Sherlock nodded.
“Could it have been a heart attack?” John asked. “Terror and shock, heart attack, it does happen.”
“Oh yes, there was a few of those last month.” Sherlock added. “Frightened to death. Quite the headline.”
“We don’t think it was a heart attack.” Tonks said firmly. She, of course, knew it wasn’t a heart attack, but something a lot worse. She starred coldly at Lestrade. “You didn’t tell me you’d had similar cases before.”
“Well they weren’t similar, they weren’t shot.”
“Frightened to death? Come on, you know that wasn’t a heart attack.”
“Medics couldn’t find anything else that would have caused it.”
Tonks raised an eyebrow, and watched as Lestrade’s face fell, and he realized what it had been. She’d seen him nearly pass out when Kingsley had described the unforgivables to him. And now, here he was, faced with a body killed by the worst of them.
“It’s the same person, isn’t it?”
“I think so. Someone’s leaving us both a message. Doing things backwards.”
“Sorry, how is this backwards?” John asked. “Some people get shot, some people have heart attacks. That’s the way the world works.”
“Yes. But some people don’t die of fright. Most people, in fact.” Tonks turned away, looking out the window, picking her phone out of her pocket as it vibrated.
A text from Remus, who was clearly over reacting about Teddy having a bit of a fever. She sighed.
“How long will it take you to reach the station?”
“About 20 minutes. Do you want a lift?”
She shook her head. “I’ll meet you there. Got to go home first.”
“You live on the other side of London!”
She shrugged. “I’ll meet you there. We ready to wrap up here?”
“Sherlock, you done?”
He nodded straightening his jacket.
“Alright, 20 minutes.” He sounded doubtful she would be there on time.
Nodding goodbye she left the house, ducking under the layers of tape, too absorbed in replying to Remus’ text to notice the two men walking swiftly behind to catch up with her. She didn’t even notice as Sherlock Holmes slipped her Auror badge into his coat, and only realized he and his assistant were there when he stepped in front of her and she almost knocked him over.
“You’re not with the police.” Sherlock said firmly.
She starred at him, dropping her phone into her jacket pocket. “And you know this how, exactly?” She replied cooly.
“Firstly, you’d never get away dressed like that in any government funded job.” He was eyeing her hair particularly, and she suddenly felt self conscious, ruffling it nervously. “And secondly,” he continued, “Last time I checked, the police didn’t have any kind of- what was it- oh yes…” He drew her badge from his pocket. “Auror department. No, I would definitely know if that existed. And it doesn’t. So why are you here?”
Arms crossed over his chest, his eyes probed her, searching for answers in her appearance. Scowling, she snatched her badge out of his hand. He let it go; a little reluctantly.
“We called you in to do a job. Do it. Don’t ask questions that are none of your business.”
“Lestrade called me, not you.”
“And I called Lestrade. I’m in charge here, got it?” She took a step closer, face set. “Now I hear you have a bit of a problem with authority figures. I hope that won’t be an issue here.”
To everyone’s surprise, he smiled. “So long as you let me do things my way, we should be just fine.”
“Right then. Good.” She nodded again. “Car’s that way. See you at the station.”
She watched as he turned away with a grin too close to a smirk for her own comfort. Uneasy, she headed to the nearest alleyway they were using as an apparition point. He was onto her, and she had never felt more vulnerable. The fact that she knew how brilliant he was didn’t help either.
He’d seen right through her. No one had ever been able to do that before. She dreaded to think what he would figure out next.
POINTS:
2292/30= 76 points for Gryffindor
Gini//Gryff