Holiday Drabble - 8 Dec 12
Christmas
BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Length: 221
Another in the seasonal series, but a 221b this time. methylviolet10b inadvertently gave me the prompt word. Of course, it’s an obvious one for the month, and yet it wasn’t on my list.
“Sherlock,” Lestrade greeted him. “You’re looking cheerful.”
“It’s Christmas!” Sherlock clapped gloved hands together, eyes alight and smile manic.
“Why do I think you mean the corpse and not the season?”
“Because you are occasionally intelligent.”
Lestrade let the backhanded compliment slide. He waited, glancing about, as Sherlock examined the body. He spotted John speaking with Donovan at the edge of the police tape. He’d told her to go home and rest. Apparently he would have to make it an order.
“Strangled with her own scarf,” pronounced Sherlock. “Even Anderson must have figured that out.”
Ah. There was the insult.
“Oh yes,” groused Anderson. “But what about the oil?”
Lestrade wished his medical examiner would learn to shut the hell up whenever Sherlock was around, but that was never going to happen. Sherlock, naturally, enjoyed putting the other man in his place.
“Myrrh oil, of course. It’s permeating the air ten feet away despite it being so cold that it’s congealed inside the victim’s nostrils.”
“You’re sure that’s what it is?” asked Lestrade. He’d never smelled it before that he remembered and so hadn’t managed to identify the pungent aroma.
“Positive. The question is why the killer poured it over her face after strangling her.”
Anderson couldn’t resist a sarcastic quip. “Because she’d’ve fought if he’d done it to her before?”
BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Length: 221
Another in the seasonal series, but a 221b this time. methylviolet10b inadvertently gave me the prompt word. Of course, it’s an obvious one for the month, and yet it wasn’t on my list.
“Sherlock,” Lestrade greeted him. “You’re looking cheerful.”
“It’s Christmas!” Sherlock clapped gloved hands together, eyes alight and smile manic.
“Why do I think you mean the corpse and not the season?”
“Because you are occasionally intelligent.”
Lestrade let the backhanded compliment slide. He waited, glancing about, as Sherlock examined the body. He spotted John speaking with Donovan at the edge of the police tape. He’d told her to go home and rest. Apparently he would have to make it an order.
“Strangled with her own scarf,” pronounced Sherlock. “Even Anderson must have figured that out.”
Ah. There was the insult.
“Oh yes,” groused Anderson. “But what about the oil?”
Lestrade wished his medical examiner would learn to shut the hell up whenever Sherlock was around, but that was never going to happen. Sherlock, naturally, enjoyed putting the other man in his place.
“Myrrh oil, of course. It’s permeating the air ten feet away despite it being so cold that it’s congealed inside the victim’s nostrils.”
“You’re sure that’s what it is?” asked Lestrade. He’d never smelled it before that he remembered and so hadn’t managed to identify the pungent aroma.
“Positive. The question is why the killer poured it over her face after strangling her.”
Anderson couldn’t resist a sarcastic quip. “Because she’d’ve fought if he’d done it to her before?”