Fic: Teleconsulting [Elementary, gen]
Title: Teleconsulting
Fandom: Elementary
Rating: G
Length: 350 words
Alternate Link: AO3
Author's Notes: Written for the watsons_woes JWP 2016 Prompt #8: Wonders of the Age. Unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors.
Summary: Sherlock has always been an early adopter of any technology that might benefit the Work.
The media room had been swept bare except for a single PC and an array of cords and sensors. Joan watched from the doorway as Sherlock, wearing nothing but a black headset and boxers, paced, stared, squatted and examined every virtual detail of the hotel room where the Ukrainian billionaire had died.
"Well?" she asked when he placed the controllers on the floor and pushed the headset up to perch on the top of his head.
"No sign of foul play," he said crisply. "The lack of scent and lower clarity of sound is unfortunate, but aside from that - I feel I've fully investigated the scene. And this is a permanent record, one that will not be distorted by time, the vagaries of wind, weather, or human interaction. Someday, Watson, I expect this will be as common and essential a part of the criminal investigative process as crime scene photography is today. There's only one aspect of the case that troubles me-"
Joan held up her hand; Sherlock stopped mid-sentence. "I haven't seen it yet, remember? I'd rather not be biased."
"Of course." Sherlock wrestled the headset off and held it out to her. "Be my guest."
Joan's lips twitched. Sherlock's hair was always … eccentric, but the headset must have had some kind of static electric charge; it was sticking out wildly in all directions. "Go fix your hair," she told him as she plucked the headset from his hands.
"What? Why?" Sherlock asked, running a hand through his hair.
Joan wouldn't have thought it was possible, but that made it even worse. "Because I won't be able to concentrate on the crime scene with that hair in the room."
"You won't even be able to see it," he protested.
"I'll still know it's there," she told him, pulling on the headset and starting the calibrations.
"Fine," he said. She heard him walk out of the room. "But I'm not putting on trousers," he yelled from the bathroom.
"No argument there," Joan yelled back. She was looking forward to solving crimes in her pajamas.
Fandom: Elementary
Rating: G
Length: 350 words
Alternate Link: AO3
Author's Notes: Written for the watsons_woes JWP 2016 Prompt #8: Wonders of the Age. Unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors.
Summary: Sherlock has always been an early adopter of any technology that might benefit the Work.
The media room had been swept bare except for a single PC and an array of cords and sensors. Joan watched from the doorway as Sherlock, wearing nothing but a black headset and boxers, paced, stared, squatted and examined every virtual detail of the hotel room where the Ukrainian billionaire had died.
"Well?" she asked when he placed the controllers on the floor and pushed the headset up to perch on the top of his head.
"No sign of foul play," he said crisply. "The lack of scent and lower clarity of sound is unfortunate, but aside from that - I feel I've fully investigated the scene. And this is a permanent record, one that will not be distorted by time, the vagaries of wind, weather, or human interaction. Someday, Watson, I expect this will be as common and essential a part of the criminal investigative process as crime scene photography is today. There's only one aspect of the case that troubles me-"
Joan held up her hand; Sherlock stopped mid-sentence. "I haven't seen it yet, remember? I'd rather not be biased."
"Of course." Sherlock wrestled the headset off and held it out to her. "Be my guest."
Joan's lips twitched. Sherlock's hair was always … eccentric, but the headset must have had some kind of static electric charge; it was sticking out wildly in all directions. "Go fix your hair," she told him as she plucked the headset from his hands.
"What? Why?" Sherlock asked, running a hand through his hair.
Joan wouldn't have thought it was possible, but that made it even worse. "Because I won't be able to concentrate on the crime scene with that hair in the room."
"You won't even be able to see it," he protested.
"I'll still know it's there," she told him, pulling on the headset and starting the calibrations.
"Fine," he said. She heard him walk out of the room. "But I'm not putting on trousers," he yelled from the bathroom.
"No argument there," Joan yelled back. She was looking forward to solving crimes in her pajamas.