Fic: and the women come out [BBC Sherlock]
Title: and the women come out
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade
Rating: R
Length:380 words
Alternate Link: AO3
Author's Notes: Written for the watsons_woes JWP 2016 Prompt #13: "Nature, red in tooth and claw." You can find the Kipling poem, 'A Young British Soldier,' as well as the modern remix by an anonymous soldier serving in Afghanistan in 2009, here. Unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors.
Summary: On a good day, John would have no problem with this. Today is not a good day.
There was a young patrolman on his knees just outside the crime scene tape, rinsing his mouth from a bottle of water and spitting into the gutter. Sally Donovan stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, and wordlessly raised the tape for them. After three nights running dreaming of blood and screams and the blank, accusing eyes of the dead, John didn't particularly want to cope with whatever was in that alley.
The alleyway behind the club had fewer officers than usual. There was a stench of trash, piss, rotting food, beer, and under it all the stomach-churning iron scent of blood.
Sherlock swept round to the empty spot between two skips and paused. "Found by an employee throwing away the trash?" he asked Lestrade.
"Yeah, at 3 am," Lestrade confirmed. "No one heard anything. Saturday night the club music's loud enough to cover just about anything."
Sherlock took some gloves out of his pocket and squatted down to examine the corpse. There was a bit of blood splatter visible on the brick wall. John knew he should join Sherlock, and he would. Soon.
"An excellent, private spot for a bit of violence," Sherlock commented. "Scouted out in advance. It wasn't his first time. "
"Must have been in another city," Lestrade said. "I would know if there'd been more murders like this in London."
"Not murders," Sherlock corrected him. "Rapes. Outside your division. He didn't use a condom. Check the victim's DNA against the profiles in any open cases; I'm certain he'll turn up. The perpetrator of the murder is a young female, 5'2, weighing under 7 stone. She was wearing a size 3 shoe with a sensible low heel, perfect for dancing."
Lestrade's calm, cool, professional façade cracked a bit. "A girl? Sherlock - did you see what was done to his eyes? To his cock?"
"Mmmm, yes." Sherlock stood up, stripped off his gloves, and dropped them into the open skip. He inspected Lestrade, lips at a slight curve. "The vast majority of women are too socialized to use them effectively, but pretty young girls do still possess the fangs and claws nature provides all mammals for self-defense."
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
and the women come out to cut up what remains…
John turned smartly and marched out of the alley.
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade
Rating: R
Length:380 words
Alternate Link: AO3
Author's Notes: Written for the watsons_woes JWP 2016 Prompt #13: "Nature, red in tooth and claw." You can find the Kipling poem, 'A Young British Soldier,' as well as the modern remix by an anonymous soldier serving in Afghanistan in 2009, here. Unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors.
Summary: On a good day, John would have no problem with this. Today is not a good day.
There was a young patrolman on his knees just outside the crime scene tape, rinsing his mouth from a bottle of water and spitting into the gutter. Sally Donovan stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, and wordlessly raised the tape for them. After three nights running dreaming of blood and screams and the blank, accusing eyes of the dead, John didn't particularly want to cope with whatever was in that alley.
The alleyway behind the club had fewer officers than usual. There was a stench of trash, piss, rotting food, beer, and under it all the stomach-churning iron scent of blood.
Sherlock swept round to the empty spot between two skips and paused. "Found by an employee throwing away the trash?" he asked Lestrade.
"Yeah, at 3 am," Lestrade confirmed. "No one heard anything. Saturday night the club music's loud enough to cover just about anything."
Sherlock took some gloves out of his pocket and squatted down to examine the corpse. There was a bit of blood splatter visible on the brick wall. John knew he should join Sherlock, and he would. Soon.
"An excellent, private spot for a bit of violence," Sherlock commented. "Scouted out in advance. It wasn't his first time. "
"Must have been in another city," Lestrade said. "I would know if there'd been more murders like this in London."
"Not murders," Sherlock corrected him. "Rapes. Outside your division. He didn't use a condom. Check the victim's DNA against the profiles in any open cases; I'm certain he'll turn up. The perpetrator of the murder is a young female, 5'2, weighing under 7 stone. She was wearing a size 3 shoe with a sensible low heel, perfect for dancing."
Lestrade's calm, cool, professional façade cracked a bit. "A girl? Sherlock - did you see what was done to his eyes? To his cock?"
"Mmmm, yes." Sherlock stood up, stripped off his gloves, and dropped them into the open skip. He inspected Lestrade, lips at a slight curve. "The vast majority of women are too socialized to use them effectively, but pretty young girls do still possess the fangs and claws nature provides all mammals for self-defense."
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
and the women come out to cut up what remains…
John turned smartly and marched out of the alley.