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Foiled by Feathers
By MonkeyBard
Rating: G
Length: 383
Universe: BBC
Warning: I'm totally punchy by now. The fics. They are mad. Mad, I say!
Summary: Cracking the case
Date: 2 August 2015
AP6: Down in the mouth. Interpret the phrase as you wish!
A/N: Follow up to 2 July's Jaune John.


Sherlock's disguise was perfectly logical. They had infiltrated a touring children's theatre company, and the costume he'd nicked from the dressing room had been an easy way in. John had drawn the line at dressing up as well. He was more concerned with keeping an eye on their target and catching the criminal in the act. The usual sort of thing.

Getting knocked out had been unfortunate, but at least Sherlock's cover was still secure. And since the prime suspect mistakenly believed John was out of the picture, the element of surprise was on their side.

The brief scuffle with the woman was awkward to say the least. She was strong and fast, and frankly Sherlock had been little help in his giant yellow bird suit--until the end.

John slowed her down but she managed to squirm out of his grasp, shoving John into the fly rail. She raced for the loading dock door that slowly rattled open while John untangled himself from the ropes.

It was Sherlock who, flinging himself after her, took her down in the broadest manner possible--via avian belly flop. He landed on her, the padded costume protecting them both from possible injury, but doing its job in holding her to the stage floor.

When John reached them, the woman was sprawled under Sherlock's padded form, gasping in air and spitting out epithets and feathers, alike.

Sherlock rolled awkwardly off her at the same time John grabbed her wrists and used a zip-tie to restrain her.

"Aw," said John, not at all sympathetically. "Why so down in the mouth?"

"Not quite the cat that ate the canary," added Sherlock from where he sat, orange-clad legs stretched out in front of him.

"Get her into interrogation and she'll crack like an egg."

The woman glared daggers at them both. She drew breath to curse and choked on a bright yellow feather off Sherlock's costume.

When Lestrade arrived moments later, he found her still coughing and cursing while John and Sherlock sat giggling like bedlamites.

He looked from one to another as he hauled the woman to her feet. "Have some respect, guys. You're acting like a couple of loons."

Sherlock's enormous bird head tilted thoughtfully. He and John exchanged a look, and then burst out into wild guffaws.
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