13 & 14: Sherlock Holmes (ACD): Gen
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vocab_drabblesTitle: Impetus
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: Plot points come from the novel The Stately Home Murder [also known as Complete Steel] by Catherine Aird and should be considered SPOILERS for that work.
Summary: Holmes & Watson discuss a body in a suit of armor.
“So someone murdered this man and put him in there,” Watson gestured to the suit of armor, “and he might never have been found if not for the chance dare of a pair of gardeners’ sons.
“Just so,” said Holmes. “The earl called in the police, who will do their best, but he wanted his own man, or men, so to speak on the premises as well.”
“The body might not have been found for years,” remarked Watson, adding with a grimace, “but for the smell.”
“This armory is adjacent to the dungeon, a dungeon which happens to be complete with oubliette. Decomposition would have occurred, but at what rate, and with what effects, given that we are underground, no natural light, cool, no insects to hasten things along.”
“Like a crypt. In a metal coffin,” said Watson. Then he huffed. “Oh, let’s not be ghoulish.”
“I don’t see there’s any harm in it. The person or persons who put Mister Meredith, archivist and librarian—”
“And cricket bowler,” interjected Watson.
“—to the earl in this resting place wasn’t squeamish.”
Watson scanned the floor. “He didn’t die here.”
“No, someone did an immaculate job of sweeping any tracks away. The police have called the vicar, who’s an expert in armor—”
“Suspicious that,” muttered Watson.
“—to release the body as professionally as possible. Apparently, this suit,” Holmes strolled around the small space, gazing flitting lightly over the six unoccupied sets of armor, “disarticulates most easily.”
“Who would know that?”
“Anyone in the household. And the vicar. And anyone who talked to the vicar.”
“I think it was someone in the house.”
“Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Someone who knew the households’ habits and could ferry a corpse down here without being noticed.”
“He’s a small man,” observed Watson. “Archivist and librarian. Probably didn’t put up much of a fight.”
“Who’s to say until we see the body? The ‘how’ suggests someone in the family. So does the ‘why.’”
“But the so-called scandal was a non-starter, according to the earl. There was nothing in the dirty secret that Mister Meredith unearthed, and regardless, that bit of salacious gossip broke more than a week ago. Would you wait a week to kill someone?” Watson flushed and mumbled something incoherent.
“Some of us have more patience than others,” said Holmes soothingly. “But you make an excellent point. The murderer didn’t just want Mister Meredith dead, he or she or they also wanted the archivist out of way, hidden, which suggests that whatever the reason for the crime, the impetus of the act, it is something which…”
Holmes tapped his fingertips to his lips as Watson finished his thought.
“…has not happened yet. That’s why you pressed an invitation for us to stay at Ornam House.”
“Yes,” said Holmes with a smile. “I have a feeling something is going to happen. I honest cannot harken what that something might be, but I think, I hope, I will know it when it does.”
Title: Extrapolate
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: Plot points come from the short story "Where There's a Will--" by Cyril Hare and should be considered SPOILERS for that work.
Summary: Holmes & Watson discuss aunts and nephews.
As I followed Holmes through the unlocked front door of the cottage, I had the bold and unreal sensation that Holmes and I were the only living creatures in the house.
The sensation proved as untrue as it was unreal for no sooner had Holmes turned his head and put a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture than a series of sounds could be heard emanating from what must have been a drawing room.
A tabby-coloured blur passed by our ankles in the direction of the front door. There immediately appeared a young man in pursuit.
“Oh! I was just about to ring for a doctor.” The young man was pale and sweaty and stammering. “My aunt isn’t well. Who are you?”
“I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective. This is my partner, Doctor Watson. Mrs. Thorogood arranged an appointment with us at this hour.”
“Detective!” The young pale trembled, but I was already rushing into the room and discovering a patient well beyond call and recall.
I mean to say, Mrs. Thorogood was dead and had been dead for some time. The room was uncommonly warm for the time of year. I noticed the fire and the ashes scattered about the hearth and sooty pawprints on the rug.
Holmes and the young man had followed me into the room.
“I didn’t kill her! I’m her nephew, Julian. I just found her like this.”
“It is useless to draw conclusions without facts,” said Holmes, surveying the room. “And it’s unprofessional to extrapolate without cause, but…” He squatted by the hearth, examining the rug, peered into the ashes, squinting.
“Did you happen to burn a will, Mister Thorogood?”
“Synmondson is the name. Thorogood was my aunt’s married name.”
“Ah, she thought it was her name, but as it turns out, the late Herbert Thorogood was already married when he wed your aunt, so the marriage was invalid,” remarked Holmes casually. “One of the points she hired me to clarify, and I was bringing her the results of my findings. More clerical than I prefer, but a hunt is a hunt.”
“Oh!” Julian Synmondson staggered, holding his head in a manner more suited for the stage than an overheated drawing room with a corpse. “Oh, oh, oh!” he repeated and collapsed on a settee decorated with an unholy abundance of antimacassars.
“Mister Synmondson?” I prompted.
“It was foolish of you to burn that will, Mister Synmondson.”
The heap rallied with effrontery and indignation. “You can’t prove anything!”
Holmes hummed. “If I find that cat, the one who absconded with the scrap of singed document, before you do…”
And with that Julian Synmondson leapt to his feet and bolted from the room, crying,
“Baby Snookums!”
“Holmes, I know you said that it was unwise to extrapolate without cause…”
“True, but when it comes to penurious nephews dependent upon wealthy aunts, there is a mathematically significant chance…”
I sighed and shook my head. “…of there being some dirty work at the crossroads.”
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: Plot points come from the novel The Stately Home Murder [also known as Complete Steel] by Catherine Aird and should be considered SPOILERS for that work.
Summary: Holmes & Watson discuss a body in a suit of armor.
“So someone murdered this man and put him in there,” Watson gestured to the suit of armor, “and he might never have been found if not for the chance dare of a pair of gardeners’ sons.
“Just so,” said Holmes. “The earl called in the police, who will do their best, but he wanted his own man, or men, so to speak on the premises as well.”
“The body might not have been found for years,” remarked Watson, adding with a grimace, “but for the smell.”
“This armory is adjacent to the dungeon, a dungeon which happens to be complete with oubliette. Decomposition would have occurred, but at what rate, and with what effects, given that we are underground, no natural light, cool, no insects to hasten things along.”
“Like a crypt. In a metal coffin,” said Watson. Then he huffed. “Oh, let’s not be ghoulish.”
“I don’t see there’s any harm in it. The person or persons who put Mister Meredith, archivist and librarian—”
“And cricket bowler,” interjected Watson.
“—to the earl in this resting place wasn’t squeamish.”
Watson scanned the floor. “He didn’t die here.”
“No, someone did an immaculate job of sweeping any tracks away. The police have called the vicar, who’s an expert in armor—”
“Suspicious that,” muttered Watson.
“—to release the body as professionally as possible. Apparently, this suit,” Holmes strolled around the small space, gazing flitting lightly over the six unoccupied sets of armor, “disarticulates most easily.”
“Who would know that?”
“Anyone in the household. And the vicar. And anyone who talked to the vicar.”
“I think it was someone in the house.”
“Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Someone who knew the households’ habits and could ferry a corpse down here without being noticed.”
“He’s a small man,” observed Watson. “Archivist and librarian. Probably didn’t put up much of a fight.”
“Who’s to say until we see the body? The ‘how’ suggests someone in the family. So does the ‘why.’”
“But the so-called scandal was a non-starter, according to the earl. There was nothing in the dirty secret that Mister Meredith unearthed, and regardless, that bit of salacious gossip broke more than a week ago. Would you wait a week to kill someone?” Watson flushed and mumbled something incoherent.
“Some of us have more patience than others,” said Holmes soothingly. “But you make an excellent point. The murderer didn’t just want Mister Meredith dead, he or she or they also wanted the archivist out of way, hidden, which suggests that whatever the reason for the crime, the impetus of the act, it is something which…”
Holmes tapped his fingertips to his lips as Watson finished his thought.
“…has not happened yet. That’s why you pressed an invitation for us to stay at Ornam House.”
“Yes,” said Holmes with a smile. “I have a feeling something is going to happen. I honest cannot harken what that something might be, but I think, I hope, I will know it when it does.”
Title: Extrapolate
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: Plot points come from the short story "Where There's a Will--" by Cyril Hare and should be considered SPOILERS for that work.
Summary: Holmes & Watson discuss aunts and nephews.
As I followed Holmes through the unlocked front door of the cottage, I had the bold and unreal sensation that Holmes and I were the only living creatures in the house.
The sensation proved as untrue as it was unreal for no sooner had Holmes turned his head and put a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture than a series of sounds could be heard emanating from what must have been a drawing room.
A tabby-coloured blur passed by our ankles in the direction of the front door. There immediately appeared a young man in pursuit.
“Oh! I was just about to ring for a doctor.” The young man was pale and sweaty and stammering. “My aunt isn’t well. Who are you?”
“I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective. This is my partner, Doctor Watson. Mrs. Thorogood arranged an appointment with us at this hour.”
“Detective!” The young pale trembled, but I was already rushing into the room and discovering a patient well beyond call and recall.
I mean to say, Mrs. Thorogood was dead and had been dead for some time. The room was uncommonly warm for the time of year. I noticed the fire and the ashes scattered about the hearth and sooty pawprints on the rug.
Holmes and the young man had followed me into the room.
“I didn’t kill her! I’m her nephew, Julian. I just found her like this.”
“It is useless to draw conclusions without facts,” said Holmes, surveying the room. “And it’s unprofessional to extrapolate without cause, but…” He squatted by the hearth, examining the rug, peered into the ashes, squinting.
“Did you happen to burn a will, Mister Thorogood?”
“Synmondson is the name. Thorogood was my aunt’s married name.”
“Ah, she thought it was her name, but as it turns out, the late Herbert Thorogood was already married when he wed your aunt, so the marriage was invalid,” remarked Holmes casually. “One of the points she hired me to clarify, and I was bringing her the results of my findings. More clerical than I prefer, but a hunt is a hunt.”
“Oh!” Julian Synmondson staggered, holding his head in a manner more suited for the stage than an overheated drawing room with a corpse. “Oh, oh, oh!” he repeated and collapsed on a settee decorated with an unholy abundance of antimacassars.
“Mister Synmondson?” I prompted.
“It was foolish of you to burn that will, Mister Synmondson.”
The heap rallied with effrontery and indignation. “You can’t prove anything!”
Holmes hummed. “If I find that cat, the one who absconded with the scrap of singed document, before you do…”
And with that Julian Synmondson leapt to his feet and bolted from the room, crying,
“Baby Snookums!”
“Holmes, I know you said that it was unwise to extrapolate without cause…”
“True, but when it comes to penurious nephews dependent upon wealthy aunts, there is a mathematically significant chance…”
I sighed and shook my head. “…of there being some dirty work at the crossroads.”
