Fic | Sherlock Holmes | Without A Clue
Nov. 23rd, 2008 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charleygirlTitle: Without A Clue
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 523
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, Inspector Lestrade, Inspector Bradstreet
Genre: General, humour
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me.
Summary: Work or play, it's always a mistake to take on Sherlock Holmes...
WITHOUT A CLUE
Inspector Lestrade squared his shoulders and tilted his chin determinedly. “I say it was you, Colonel, in the library with the lead piping!”
There was a long pause, before Inspector Bradstreet, to Lestrade’s left, raised a hand and said, “I can disprove that.”
“Damn.” The chagrined mutter provoked a snigger of amusement from my own left, but I ignored it. “Very well, Bradstreet, what do you think happened?”
Bradstreet stroked his moustache and looked thoughtfully at the table before him. He moved a few items to his satisfaction and leaned back in his chair, blowing a ring of cigar smoke towards the ceiling. “I would like to charge the professor, and I say the deed was done in the ballroom, with the revolver.”
This time, to Lestrade’s delight, I was the one to pour cold water on the theory. “I am afraid I have evidence to the contrary,” I said, and showed the inspector the relevant documents.
Bradstreet’s face fell. “Well, then, Doctor, what do you say?”
I examined all the facts before me. The crime could not possibly have been committed in either the ballroom, the kitchen or the study, and the cook, the reverend and the professor had all been exonerated. After some careful thought, I announced, “I say that Mrs Peacock killed him with the dagger, in the conservatory. Can anyone prove me wrong?”
There was silence from my left. A wisp of cigarette smoke drifted past my nose, and I waved it away, turning to the source.
“Well, Holmes? Can you disprove my theory?”
Sherlock Holmes sat with his arms folded and his eyes closed, as he had done for much of the time since we took our seats around the table. Slowly one eyelid lifted. “I can disprove each and every theory any one of you makes,” he said. “In fact, I would go so far as to make an accusation of my own: that the crime was perpetrated by none other than Colonel Mustard, in the dining room with the candlestick.”
A collective groan ran round the table. Bradstreet flung down his cards in disgust. Lestrade threw up his hands with an annoyed shout.
“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “That was the fastest one yet – we have barely been playing for ten minutes! You must have seen the cards I placed in the envelope!”
He smiled slightly and shook his head. “Not so, my dear Watson. It was an elementary deduction based upon your reactions, combined with a simple process of elimination. There was no cheating involved.”
“Playing with you is no fun at all,” I grumbled, reaching for my tumbler of whisky. The two inspectors looked equally sulky. “You have won every game.”
Holmes threw back his head and shouted with laughter before leaping up and crossing to the mantelpiece for his pipe. Casting a glance at the board and cards which littered the table, he sniffed disdainfully. “It is a child’s toy. I do not believe it will catch on. What do the general public know of solving crimes?”
And so we learnt never to play games with the world’s only private consulting detective.
A/N: I am aware that Cluedo didn't appear until 1949, but this plot bunny wouldn't let go. It was inspired by the declaration of my friends that they hate playing the game with me because I always win. :)
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 523
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, Inspector Lestrade, Inspector Bradstreet
Genre: General, humour
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me.
Summary: Work or play, it's always a mistake to take on Sherlock Holmes...
WITHOUT A CLUE
Inspector Lestrade squared his shoulders and tilted his chin determinedly. “I say it was you, Colonel, in the library with the lead piping!”
There was a long pause, before Inspector Bradstreet, to Lestrade’s left, raised a hand and said, “I can disprove that.”
“Damn.” The chagrined mutter provoked a snigger of amusement from my own left, but I ignored it. “Very well, Bradstreet, what do you think happened?”
Bradstreet stroked his moustache and looked thoughtfully at the table before him. He moved a few items to his satisfaction and leaned back in his chair, blowing a ring of cigar smoke towards the ceiling. “I would like to charge the professor, and I say the deed was done in the ballroom, with the revolver.”
This time, to Lestrade’s delight, I was the one to pour cold water on the theory. “I am afraid I have evidence to the contrary,” I said, and showed the inspector the relevant documents.
Bradstreet’s face fell. “Well, then, Doctor, what do you say?”
I examined all the facts before me. The crime could not possibly have been committed in either the ballroom, the kitchen or the study, and the cook, the reverend and the professor had all been exonerated. After some careful thought, I announced, “I say that Mrs Peacock killed him with the dagger, in the conservatory. Can anyone prove me wrong?”
There was silence from my left. A wisp of cigarette smoke drifted past my nose, and I waved it away, turning to the source.
“Well, Holmes? Can you disprove my theory?”
Sherlock Holmes sat with his arms folded and his eyes closed, as he had done for much of the time since we took our seats around the table. Slowly one eyelid lifted. “I can disprove each and every theory any one of you makes,” he said. “In fact, I would go so far as to make an accusation of my own: that the crime was perpetrated by none other than Colonel Mustard, in the dining room with the candlestick.”
A collective groan ran round the table. Bradstreet flung down his cards in disgust. Lestrade threw up his hands with an annoyed shout.
“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “That was the fastest one yet – we have barely been playing for ten minutes! You must have seen the cards I placed in the envelope!”
He smiled slightly and shook his head. “Not so, my dear Watson. It was an elementary deduction based upon your reactions, combined with a simple process of elimination. There was no cheating involved.”
“Playing with you is no fun at all,” I grumbled, reaching for my tumbler of whisky. The two inspectors looked equally sulky. “You have won every game.”
Holmes threw back his head and shouted with laughter before leaping up and crossing to the mantelpiece for his pipe. Casting a glance at the board and cards which littered the table, he sniffed disdainfully. “It is a child’s toy. I do not believe it will catch on. What do the general public know of solving crimes?”
And so we learnt never to play games with the world’s only private consulting detective.
A/N: I am aware that Cluedo didn't appear until 1949, but this plot bunny wouldn't let go. It was inspired by the declaration of my friends that they hate playing the game with me because I always win. :)
