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Entry tags:
Sherlock (BBC) - Justice
Title: Justice
Genre: Gen, Protective!Sherlock (can be seen as Sherlock/John if you squint)
Rating: PG
Length: 625 words
Spoilers: None/General for series’ characters
Synopsis: Criminals commit crimes, and the Yarders see that justice is served.
Author’s Notes: Inspired by a Make Me a Monday request for some violence. Not quite violence, but more like the precursor to violence instead. Sorry.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Sally Donovan was used to quite a number of things by now. Criminals would commit crimes, some more heinous than others, and the Yarders would either stop them or catch them after the fact and see that justice was served. On the rare occasion that simple police work was not enough, Detective Inspector Lestrade would call in an outside source who, even Sally had to admit, was damned good at his job. Sherlock would rattle off facts, point them in the direction of the culprit, and be off, usually with a disdainful sniff in their general direction and occasionally with interesting commentary on the intelligence of others.
This was different though.
Sherlock was not off. He hung around, only slightly back, pacing like some sort of animal in its cage, overpriced coat flapping dramatically behind him.
True, the criminal in question was a bit different as well. Brutal he was, and had not only left gruesome reminders of his crimes behind, but managed to get in some good knocks against the people who were after him as well. That still did not explain Sherlock’s interest past the superficial though or why, after Lestrade cornered the criminal in question and successfully disarmed him, Sherlock lunged towards him will more than slight ill-intent.
Sally grabbed one arm and Anderson the other and they dragged him away, feet scraping against the dingy rug and eventually the beaten hardwood floor once they got him back far enough. Her analogy to a beast was back as he still pulled and lunged and would have probably gnashed his teeth had he thought of it. She had never seen him like this, and could not help but to ask, “Have you finally gone mad?”
Across from her, Anderson silently mouthed the word “psychopath” and never before had she been tempted to agree with him quite so much.
Lestrade still held his weapon on Dubois, but could not cuff him with his detectives otherwise occupied. He glanced between his quarry and his wayward friend, and he asked with a forced calmness that meant he was far from serene, “Sherlock, what is wrong?”
The world’s only consulting detective finally spoke, the words not much more than guttural syllables forced through his clenched teeth: “He hurt John.”
Sally thought back to the last time she had seen the good Doctor Watson. He had been slumped in a chair in Lestrade’s office, usual stiff-backed military posture a thing of memory, dark shadows under his eyes and his casted right arm supported by a sling. Several pieces fell into place at once, not the least of which was Sherlock’s newfound zeal for involvement.
She looked to Anderson, who seemed to have reached a similar conclusion as herself. She then looked to Lestrade, who very deliberately lowered his weapon and took a step back. With a nod, she let go and watched as Anderson did the same.
The three Yarders closed the door behind them just as Dubois’ head hit the wall with a resounding thud. Sally leaned up against the wall and crossed her arms before her, Anderson mimicking her actions at her side. Lestrade glanced at the door, and then back to his team. “Five minutes,” was all he said.
Sally nodded again and listened for any telling signs of Sherlock’s actions. “Pity we got here too late,” she commented dryly.
“And Dubois refusing medical attention for so long,” Anderson tsked. “Perhaps we could have caught the vigilante who did this to him had he been more amenable.”
“Perhaps,” Lestrade agreed. He looked to his watch but Sally knew there were at least another four minutes to go.
It was simply the way things were. Criminals committed crimes, and the Yarders saw that justice was served.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen, Protective!Sherlock (can be seen as Sherlock/John if you squint)
Rating: PG
Length: 625 words
Spoilers: None/General for series’ characters
Synopsis: Criminals commit crimes, and the Yarders see that justice is served.
Author’s Notes: Inspired by a Make Me a Monday request for some violence. Not quite violence, but more like the precursor to violence instead. Sorry.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Sally Donovan was used to quite a number of things by now. Criminals would commit crimes, some more heinous than others, and the Yarders would either stop them or catch them after the fact and see that justice was served. On the rare occasion that simple police work was not enough, Detective Inspector Lestrade would call in an outside source who, even Sally had to admit, was damned good at his job. Sherlock would rattle off facts, point them in the direction of the culprit, and be off, usually with a disdainful sniff in their general direction and occasionally with interesting commentary on the intelligence of others.
This was different though.
Sherlock was not off. He hung around, only slightly back, pacing like some sort of animal in its cage, overpriced coat flapping dramatically behind him.
True, the criminal in question was a bit different as well. Brutal he was, and had not only left gruesome reminders of his crimes behind, but managed to get in some good knocks against the people who were after him as well. That still did not explain Sherlock’s interest past the superficial though or why, after Lestrade cornered the criminal in question and successfully disarmed him, Sherlock lunged towards him will more than slight ill-intent.
Sally grabbed one arm and Anderson the other and they dragged him away, feet scraping against the dingy rug and eventually the beaten hardwood floor once they got him back far enough. Her analogy to a beast was back as he still pulled and lunged and would have probably gnashed his teeth had he thought of it. She had never seen him like this, and could not help but to ask, “Have you finally gone mad?”
Across from her, Anderson silently mouthed the word “psychopath” and never before had she been tempted to agree with him quite so much.
Lestrade still held his weapon on Dubois, but could not cuff him with his detectives otherwise occupied. He glanced between his quarry and his wayward friend, and he asked with a forced calmness that meant he was far from serene, “Sherlock, what is wrong?”
The world’s only consulting detective finally spoke, the words not much more than guttural syllables forced through his clenched teeth: “He hurt John.”
Sally thought back to the last time she had seen the good Doctor Watson. He had been slumped in a chair in Lestrade’s office, usual stiff-backed military posture a thing of memory, dark shadows under his eyes and his casted right arm supported by a sling. Several pieces fell into place at once, not the least of which was Sherlock’s newfound zeal for involvement.
She looked to Anderson, who seemed to have reached a similar conclusion as herself. She then looked to Lestrade, who very deliberately lowered his weapon and took a step back. With a nod, she let go and watched as Anderson did the same.
The three Yarders closed the door behind them just as Dubois’ head hit the wall with a resounding thud. Sally leaned up against the wall and crossed her arms before her, Anderson mimicking her actions at her side. Lestrade glanced at the door, and then back to his team. “Five minutes,” was all he said.
Sally nodded again and listened for any telling signs of Sherlock’s actions. “Pity we got here too late,” she commented dryly.
“And Dubois refusing medical attention for so long,” Anderson tsked. “Perhaps we could have caught the vigilante who did this to him had he been more amenable.”
“Perhaps,” Lestrade agreed. He looked to his watch but Sally knew there were at least another four minutes to go.
It was simply the way things were. Criminals committed crimes, and the Yarders saw that justice was served.
Feedback is always welcomed.