donutsweeper (
donutsweeper) wrote2011-08-04 11:07 pm
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The Case of Vast Importance
Title: The Case of Vast Importance
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, none, rated G
Word Count: 221
Beta:
_medley_
Summary: It was perhaps Sherlock's most important case to date.
Author's Note: Written for the
watsons_woes amnesty prompts wherein 10 fics are written for 10 prompts and all are part of the same story arc. This is the fifth story, for the prompt "alpha/omega."
Sherlock's current case was at the same time both terribly simple and horribly difficult.
Find John.
It was not the hardest task he had ever undergone, but it was by and far the most important. It wasn't that a life depended upon his success, it was that it was John's life. He'd never known anyone like John before. John giggled at crime scenes, put up with his sulks and experiments and pushed tea at him and never backed down. John killed to protect him. And now, John needed Sherlock to find him.
So, Sherlock got to work.
He spread the word among his various networks: the homeless, petty criminals, former clients, those who owed him favours. Bring me clues, he ordered. Ferret out information. Help me find John.
Facts trickled in. A meeting in a pub. A man bragging over evening a score. Money spent by those who should have none. Very large debts suddenly considered paid in full. As much as it pained him to do so, Sherlock stayed in Baker Street, the epicentre of the data collection, and dispatched others to be his eyes and ears and to do his bidding.
Finally, finally, came the call he'd been waiting for. "It's Lestrade. I'm sending a car to take you to the hospital. We found him, but... Sherlock? It's bad."
The story continues in Debating With Oneself. The masterpost to this entire verse can be found here.
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, none, rated G
Word Count: 221
Beta:
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Summary: It was perhaps Sherlock's most important case to date.
Author's Note: Written for the
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
Sherlock's current case was at the same time both terribly simple and horribly difficult.
Find John.
It was not the hardest task he had ever undergone, but it was by and far the most important. It wasn't that a life depended upon his success, it was that it was John's life. He'd never known anyone like John before. John giggled at crime scenes, put up with his sulks and experiments and pushed tea at him and never backed down. John killed to protect him. And now, John needed Sherlock to find him.
So, Sherlock got to work.
He spread the word among his various networks: the homeless, petty criminals, former clients, those who owed him favours. Bring me clues, he ordered. Ferret out information. Help me find John.
Facts trickled in. A meeting in a pub. A man bragging over evening a score. Money spent by those who should have none. Very large debts suddenly considered paid in full. As much as it pained him to do so, Sherlock stayed in Baker Street, the epicentre of the data collection, and dispatched others to be his eyes and ears and to do his bidding.
Finally, finally, came the call he'd been waiting for. "It's Lestrade. I'm sending a car to take you to the hospital. We found him, but... Sherlock? It's bad."
The story continues in Debating With Oneself. The masterpost to this entire verse can be found here.