Welcome! (Prompting: part i)
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This is a fic prompting meme based around the BBC series Sherlock, written by Stephen Moffat & Mark Gattis.
( Read more... )
Prompts from this post can be filled on the Overflow Post
This is a fic prompting meme based around the BBC series Sherlock, written by Stephen Moffat & Mark Gattis.
( Read more... )
When the so-called “specialists” turned out to be an ex-soldier FBI agent and an anthropologist (a woman, no less), Sherlock sulked for hours, but again with John needling at him he eventually calmed down.
However, the final blow was cast when Sherlock went to Bart’s to do an experiment and found that the woman and self-proclaimed emotional pariah (was that the same thing as a sociopath? John could never be sure) had stripped the flesh of the victim from its bones. The world’s only consulting detective nearly went into a fit of sociopathic rage before even entering the lab, and had to be dragged up to the canteen for a coffee and a few choice words from Lestrade before he was allowed back in.
He strode with his usual dramatic flair of flapping coattails and flounced into a stool, slipping a slide under a microscope and beginning to inspect it thoroughly. “You removed the flesh and tissue from the bones,” said Sherlock in his “normal” voice that was so convincing to all who didn’t know him.
The anthropologist, a woman by the name of Temperance Brennan (though her companion seemed to favor calling her “Bones” as a term of endearment), glanced up from her work examining the skeleton. “Yes, I have,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation. “It’s how I work. The truth lies in the bones.”
“The truth,” snipped Sherlock, going back to his real self in a split-second as he stared down the eyepiece of a microscope, “is in evidence, which you destroyed.”
“I have all the evidence I need right here,” Brennan insisted, beginning to pick up individual bones and show them in her gloved hands. “You see this? It’s a healed fracture. The size and severity conclude that the victim fell down a distance of at least five feet and landed on their right arm, probably at a 50-degree angle or so.”
Sherlock slowly rose up from his hunched-over position over the microscope, eyes glinting with the challenge presented to him. “Do you still have the personal effects?” he demanded. Brennan, one eyebrow arched, nodded and turned to her companion.
“Booth?”
The stiff-limbed man in the cheap suit (ex-military, retired from service to become an FBI agent, but still living on a low salary) and Cocky belt-buckle (strong desire to rebel against uniformity) straightened from where he’s been leaning against the windowsill and rummaged through a drawer to emerge with an evidence bag. He tossed it to Sherlock with little effort, who dug in after donning a pair of gloves.
“Male, middle-aged, single - recently divorced - three children - two teenagers and one under 10 years - parents are deceased, drives a Mazda, so he’s high-income, probably a banker, though by the looks of his watch - set to several different time-zones at once - points more toward a stock-broker. He’s a sex-addict - would hire several escorts at a time - and wasn’t very secretive about it, got everything in his phone, the moment his wife looked at it she could see what he’d been up to, hence the divorce; he’s in London for business, though he hasn’t shied away from his extra-curricular activities while he’s abroad, in fact, if anything, he indulged even more, unexpectedly ran out of cash and made the escorts’ manager very angry. You’re looking for a woman to have orchestrated the affair, but one of her ‘security guards’ was the one to kill him. Accidental, most likely, since the manager won’t be getting her money anytime soon now, will she?”
He carelessly tossed the evidence back into the bag, and the bag back to the man named Booth, before slouching back over his microscope. A smirk crept up the side of his face as he felt them staring mutely at him. He was so pleased with himself, showing up those foolish Americans, that he could hear his pulse thrumming headily in his ears, completely oblivious to the door of the lab swinging open and an unsteady gait entering.
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