Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alldeduction) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2012-03-11 06:16 pm
alldeduction) wrote in capeandcowllogs2012-03-11 06:16 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
WHO: Sherlock and John Watson
WHERE: Crime Scene
WHEN: Backdated to March 7th.
WARNINGS: Um description of dead people and violent endings.
WHAT: Sherlock and John investigate a strange murder...
FORMAT: Solo/Duo Log! No tags, it's all there.
Sherlock had taken to listening to the police scanner. It was something he sometimes did but now he was more active about it than ever, leaving it on while he was working almost obsessively. So he heard the report when the first body was found, and then he heard the report of the second, and he pushed the plastic goggles off his face and grabbed his communicator.
It took half an hour of berating some port native police officer before he was finally let on the case. Despite working successfully with the police multiple times since arriving in the city, it was like pulling teeth when he had to deal with anyone who wasn’t an imPort. Luckily, the name Sherlock Holmes still held some weight in this damn place, so finally they relented.
He stopped by the clinic on his way. “John.” The fire of a new case smoldered in his eyes, the excitement twitching on his lips. Finally, a real distraction. “Case. Coming?”
John, for all his eye-rolling and thinly veiled amusement at Sherlock’s macabre excitement over the chance to pick over a corpse, was clearly just as relieved for the change of pace and direction. Back to what they were good at. “Just let me get my coat,” he told him, snatching up his phone from the desk, too. He’d tell reception to divert his patients. They’d understand.
Five minutes. That was all the time Sherlock would be allowed on the first crime scene, but he didn’t need more than that, brushing right past the police officers and into the bathroom. He paused before entering, glancing down at the floor. Glass (from the window - note to observe later). Blood. And footprints in the blood. Carefully stepping on clean tiles he ducked down to look at them. White notes appeared beside them: Women’s shoe. Size eight. Smiley face in treads. His fingers hovered gently over it for half a second, as above him an exact copy of the footprint hovered, glowing slightly, highlighting the things he noticed. One of the things he decidedly didn’t notice was tread wear. New shoes. Interesting. A white note stating as much appeared beside it.
“John. The body?” They’d emptied out the bathwater into plastic tubs that Sherlock had seen outside - but he would get a sample to take back with him to his lab later. The body itself still lay in the bathtub, hands tied to the faucet with cloth and masking tape. Cuts on the hand, bruising on the neck.
Slipping into role seamlessly, John snapped on gloves and crouched over the tub- checking first the victim’s hands, wrists, arms- noting bruising there, some shallow score lines from what he assumed was the glass on the floor. “Looks like a struggle,” he reported back, gesturing to the bruises. As if that wasn’t obvious enough. “But...”
He paused, tilting the victim’s chin up to examine the bruising there. “Stranglehold. Not with hands though, right? No fingermarks.”
Sherlock frowned, leaning over the bathtub directly behind John, reaching out to almost barely touch them. “No, you’re right. Odd. Look how they’re bunched...”
John nodded. “Right. Not the kind of mark you’d see from a rope or-- you know. Cloth like he has round his wrists.”
Sherlock paused, looked at the neck, looked at John, and then leaned in closer and grabbed John around the neck with the crook of his arm. “Hands, no. But arm--”
“Yes, thank you,” John half choked out, tugging at Sherlock’s arm. “Point made.”
Sherlock let go, pulling back to allow John to stand up, before he gently moved him aside and ducked down over the bathtub. A hundred white notes a second flashing before he leaned in and ran his gloved finger under the dead man’s lip. A tiny white fiber. He pulled it out to look at it, before drawing a small bag from his pocket and placing it carefully inside and then placing it in his pocket. The Police didn’t need it, for the moment, but he did. He stood suddenly, avoiding the blood as he stepped to the window. He leaned out, notes flashing, and then ducked back in, raising an eyebrow at John.
“Well. I think it’s fairly clear what happened here.” He stretched a hand at the window. “Our killer broke in here. Given the positioning of the glass it’s fairly clear that the victim - (an auto mechanic, just look at those finger nails) - was roused by the sound, came into the bathroom, and was met by our killer. They struggled - the killer brought a cloth to his face. Chloroform. He attempted, vainly, to protect himself - hands to the ground, glass everywhere. Our killer - somewhere between 5’6” and 5’8” - moved him into the bathtub once he had passed out, bound him, and then drowned him with the water, as I think the autopsy will no doubt clarify. Female, perhaps? The shoes are new - and an odd choice. The smiley face...” He turned, coat flourishing in it’s characteristic way as he scanned the entire scene, memorizing it.
“Cheery,” John agreed sardonically, shaking his head. “Though... that’s never going to stop being amazing, you know, Sherlock. Pretty sure. Chloroform? How?”
“Makes the most logical sense. He was obviously unconscious when he was bound - with the size of the attacker, subduing him with pure force is unlikely. And a cloth itself isn’t going to help. I’m sure the toxicology report will be able to confirm it. Sergeant!” The police officer waiting outside the door ducked his head in. “I’ll need a sample of the bathwater, as well as the binding, and the blood. Immediately.”
He paused, and then flashed the officer a dazzling smile.
“Ah, yes - and I’d like to see the other body now, please.”
WHERE: Crime Scene
WHEN: Backdated to March 7th.
WARNINGS: Um description of dead people and violent endings.
WHAT: Sherlock and John investigate a strange murder...
FORMAT: Solo/Duo Log! No tags, it's all there.
Sherlock had taken to listening to the police scanner. It was something he sometimes did but now he was more active about it than ever, leaving it on while he was working almost obsessively. So he heard the report when the first body was found, and then he heard the report of the second, and he pushed the plastic goggles off his face and grabbed his communicator.
It took half an hour of berating some port native police officer before he was finally let on the case. Despite working successfully with the police multiple times since arriving in the city, it was like pulling teeth when he had to deal with anyone who wasn’t an imPort. Luckily, the name Sherlock Holmes still held some weight in this damn place, so finally they relented.
He stopped by the clinic on his way. “John.” The fire of a new case smoldered in his eyes, the excitement twitching on his lips. Finally, a real distraction. “Case. Coming?”
John, for all his eye-rolling and thinly veiled amusement at Sherlock’s macabre excitement over the chance to pick over a corpse, was clearly just as relieved for the change of pace and direction. Back to what they were good at. “Just let me get my coat,” he told him, snatching up his phone from the desk, too. He’d tell reception to divert his patients. They’d understand.
Five minutes. That was all the time Sherlock would be allowed on the first crime scene, but he didn’t need more than that, brushing right past the police officers and into the bathroom. He paused before entering, glancing down at the floor. Glass (from the window - note to observe later). Blood. And footprints in the blood. Carefully stepping on clean tiles he ducked down to look at them. White notes appeared beside them: Women’s shoe. Size eight. Smiley face in treads. His fingers hovered gently over it for half a second, as above him an exact copy of the footprint hovered, glowing slightly, highlighting the things he noticed. One of the things he decidedly didn’t notice was tread wear. New shoes. Interesting. A white note stating as much appeared beside it.
“John. The body?” They’d emptied out the bathwater into plastic tubs that Sherlock had seen outside - but he would get a sample to take back with him to his lab later. The body itself still lay in the bathtub, hands tied to the faucet with cloth and masking tape. Cuts on the hand, bruising on the neck.
Slipping into role seamlessly, John snapped on gloves and crouched over the tub- checking first the victim’s hands, wrists, arms- noting bruising there, some shallow score lines from what he assumed was the glass on the floor. “Looks like a struggle,” he reported back, gesturing to the bruises. As if that wasn’t obvious enough. “But...”
He paused, tilting the victim’s chin up to examine the bruising there. “Stranglehold. Not with hands though, right? No fingermarks.”
Sherlock frowned, leaning over the bathtub directly behind John, reaching out to almost barely touch them. “No, you’re right. Odd. Look how they’re bunched...”
John nodded. “Right. Not the kind of mark you’d see from a rope or-- you know. Cloth like he has round his wrists.”
Sherlock paused, looked at the neck, looked at John, and then leaned in closer and grabbed John around the neck with the crook of his arm. “Hands, no. But arm--”
“Yes, thank you,” John half choked out, tugging at Sherlock’s arm. “Point made.”
Sherlock let go, pulling back to allow John to stand up, before he gently moved him aside and ducked down over the bathtub. A hundred white notes a second flashing before he leaned in and ran his gloved finger under the dead man’s lip. A tiny white fiber. He pulled it out to look at it, before drawing a small bag from his pocket and placing it carefully inside and then placing it in his pocket. The Police didn’t need it, for the moment, but he did. He stood suddenly, avoiding the blood as he stepped to the window. He leaned out, notes flashing, and then ducked back in, raising an eyebrow at John.
“Well. I think it’s fairly clear what happened here.” He stretched a hand at the window. “Our killer broke in here. Given the positioning of the glass it’s fairly clear that the victim - (an auto mechanic, just look at those finger nails) - was roused by the sound, came into the bathroom, and was met by our killer. They struggled - the killer brought a cloth to his face. Chloroform. He attempted, vainly, to protect himself - hands to the ground, glass everywhere. Our killer - somewhere between 5’6” and 5’8” - moved him into the bathtub once he had passed out, bound him, and then drowned him with the water, as I think the autopsy will no doubt clarify. Female, perhaps? The shoes are new - and an odd choice. The smiley face...” He turned, coat flourishing in it’s characteristic way as he scanned the entire scene, memorizing it.
“Cheery,” John agreed sardonically, shaking his head. “Though... that’s never going to stop being amazing, you know, Sherlock. Pretty sure. Chloroform? How?”
“Makes the most logical sense. He was obviously unconscious when he was bound - with the size of the attacker, subduing him with pure force is unlikely. And a cloth itself isn’t going to help. I’m sure the toxicology report will be able to confirm it. Sergeant!” The police officer waiting outside the door ducked his head in. “I’ll need a sample of the bathwater, as well as the binding, and the blood. Immediately.”
He paused, and then flashed the officer a dazzling smile.
“Ah, yes - and I’d like to see the other body now, please.”