Sherlock Fic: Sherlock's First Case [Gen | Sherlock, Mycroft]
Title: Sherlock's First Case
Fandoms: Sherlock (BBC)
CharacterS: Sherlock Hoomes, Mycroft Holmes.
Rating: Gen
Author's Note:My submission for Challenge 2, round 3 over on thegameison_sh - the challenge was 'younger/older', and I picked Sherlock at approximately 14...
The whiff of chlorine was overpowering, making Sherlock's eyes water as he entered the deserted swimming pool. It was as if they were trying to erase the metaphorical taint of death from the water through the addition of chemicals. The pool reopened to the public the following day, and Sherlock was in no doubt that Carl Powers would be a footnote in the local newspaper by the weekend. Boy [aged 14] drowned in pool. Terrible accident; blah, blah.
“Hurry it up, Sherlock, we don't have much time,” Mycroft said, tapping his brogue clad foot on the tiled floor. Mycroft had affected a rather bohemian style of dress since he started Oxford. Patches graced the elbows of this jacket, and he seemed to wear nothing but corduroys and aran sweaters. Even his hair was longer than it should be, Sherlock thought, and he rather hoped it was just a stage he was going through. It was beginning to get embarrassing.
“You know as well as I that the boy was murdered,” he said aloud.
“That's hardly the point, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “And Mother will have a fit if she finds out I've brought you here. She thinks I've taken you to the cinema for the afternoon.”
Sherlock sniffed, Mycroft was, in his opinion, far too old to be afraid of Mother, and what was the use of having a brother old enough to sign you out of school over the weekend, if one didn't take advantage of it.
Mycroft, it seemed, had already surmised the direction of his thoughts. “If you don't hurry up, you'll have to rely on good old Uncle Jeremy for these little school term excursions. Mother and Father are not due back in the country until Easter.”
“Fine, be like that,” Sherlock said, scowling at the murder scene as he prowled the edge of the pool. If there had been any evidence here, it had been long been washed away. The trail was cold.
“I want to see the locker room,” Sherlock said aloud.
“And what are you expecting to find? The missing trainers in a secret compartment?” Mycroft asked sarcastically. “We have to go, Sherlock, I told the security guard we'd only be ten minutes.”
“So slip him another ten quid,” Sherlock said.
“Sherlock” Mycroft said firmly. “We need to make the 7pm train.”
“That's it?” Sherlock demanded. “We're just going to let this slide and let someone get away with murder.”
“I'm a university student and you're still in a school uniform, Sherlock, although I suspect you tend to forget that minor detail most of the time,” Mycroft said. “We're not in a position to influence criminal investigations.”
“Not yet,” Sherlock muttered.
“Thinking of joining the police force, brother.” Mycroft teased, quirking an eyebrow.
Sherlock snorted in answer. “Hardly,” he said, as he stalked in the direction of the locker room.
“Oy! Times up!” a voice called out, and both brothers turned to eye the security guard who'd burst through the door. “The manager is back, boys, time to leave,” he added, almost apologetically.
Sherlock made a noise of exasperation and Mycroft sighed. “Come along, ” he said. “You can play amateur sleuth another time.”
Sherlock glared at Mycroft, he really was very irritating. “No need to be facetious,” he said as he turned for the exit.
“Oh, fabulous,” Mycroft said, “Does this mean I'm going to be sent to Coventry for the entire trip back?”
Sherlock didn't answer, although he was well aware Mycroft's words were a pre-emptive strike. Now that he'd said it, any silence on Sherlock's behalf would be construed as childishness. He squinted against the sun as they stepped onto the busy London street, and then had a thought. He smirked.
“You know that that wasn't a half bad idea,” he said.
“What wasn't?” Mycroft asked warily.
“Becoming an amateur sleuth,” Sherlock said.
“Oh please, you'd be bored within a week,” Mycroft scoffed. “It's not like the movies, Sherlock. Private detectives spend their time spying on errant husbands and searching for lost pets.”
“Well then, I won't be a private detective,” he said. “I'll be a...consulting detective. Helping the police with their more interesting enquiries”
“There's no such thing, Sherlock.”
Sherlock smiled. “Of course not,” he agreed. “Not yet.”
FINIS
Fandoms: Sherlock (BBC)
CharacterS: Sherlock Hoomes, Mycroft Holmes.
Rating: Gen
Author's Note:My submission for Challenge 2, round 3 over on thegameison_sh - the challenge was 'younger/older', and I picked Sherlock at approximately 14...
The whiff of chlorine was overpowering, making Sherlock's eyes water as he entered the deserted swimming pool. It was as if they were trying to erase the metaphorical taint of death from the water through the addition of chemicals. The pool reopened to the public the following day, and Sherlock was in no doubt that Carl Powers would be a footnote in the local newspaper by the weekend. Boy [aged 14] drowned in pool. Terrible accident; blah, blah.
“Hurry it up, Sherlock, we don't have much time,” Mycroft said, tapping his brogue clad foot on the tiled floor. Mycroft had affected a rather bohemian style of dress since he started Oxford. Patches graced the elbows of this jacket, and he seemed to wear nothing but corduroys and aran sweaters. Even his hair was longer than it should be, Sherlock thought, and he rather hoped it was just a stage he was going through. It was beginning to get embarrassing.
“You know as well as I that the boy was murdered,” he said aloud.
“That's hardly the point, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “And Mother will have a fit if she finds out I've brought you here. She thinks I've taken you to the cinema for the afternoon.”
Sherlock sniffed, Mycroft was, in his opinion, far too old to be afraid of Mother, and what was the use of having a brother old enough to sign you out of school over the weekend, if one didn't take advantage of it.
Mycroft, it seemed, had already surmised the direction of his thoughts. “If you don't hurry up, you'll have to rely on good old Uncle Jeremy for these little school term excursions. Mother and Father are not due back in the country until Easter.”
“Fine, be like that,” Sherlock said, scowling at the murder scene as he prowled the edge of the pool. If there had been any evidence here, it had been long been washed away. The trail was cold.
“I want to see the locker room,” Sherlock said aloud.
“And what are you expecting to find? The missing trainers in a secret compartment?” Mycroft asked sarcastically. “We have to go, Sherlock, I told the security guard we'd only be ten minutes.”
“So slip him another ten quid,” Sherlock said.
“Sherlock” Mycroft said firmly. “We need to make the 7pm train.”
“That's it?” Sherlock demanded. “We're just going to let this slide and let someone get away with murder.”
“I'm a university student and you're still in a school uniform, Sherlock, although I suspect you tend to forget that minor detail most of the time,” Mycroft said. “We're not in a position to influence criminal investigations.”
“Not yet,” Sherlock muttered.
“Thinking of joining the police force, brother.” Mycroft teased, quirking an eyebrow.
Sherlock snorted in answer. “Hardly,” he said, as he stalked in the direction of the locker room.
“Oy! Times up!” a voice called out, and both brothers turned to eye the security guard who'd burst through the door. “The manager is back, boys, time to leave,” he added, almost apologetically.
Sherlock made a noise of exasperation and Mycroft sighed. “Come along, ” he said. “You can play amateur sleuth another time.”
Sherlock glared at Mycroft, he really was very irritating. “No need to be facetious,” he said as he turned for the exit.
“Oh, fabulous,” Mycroft said, “Does this mean I'm going to be sent to Coventry for the entire trip back?”
Sherlock didn't answer, although he was well aware Mycroft's words were a pre-emptive strike. Now that he'd said it, any silence on Sherlock's behalf would be construed as childishness. He squinted against the sun as they stepped onto the busy London street, and then had a thought. He smirked.
“You know that that wasn't a half bad idea,” he said.
“What wasn't?” Mycroft asked warily.
“Becoming an amateur sleuth,” Sherlock said.
“Oh please, you'd be bored within a week,” Mycroft scoffed. “It's not like the movies, Sherlock. Private detectives spend their time spying on errant husbands and searching for lost pets.”
“Well then, I won't be a private detective,” he said. “I'll be a...consulting detective. Helping the police with their more interesting enquiries”
“There's no such thing, Sherlock.”
Sherlock smiled. “Of course not,” he agreed. “Not yet.”
FINIS