monkeybard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
monkeybard) wrote2012-05-01 10:56 pm
monkeybard) wrote2012-05-01 10:56 pm
Entry tags:
Is anybody out there?
New rounds are ready for you!
Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.
Round 6 here.
Round 7 here.
Round 8 here.
Round 9 here.
Round 10 here.
Round 11 here.
Round 12 here.
Round 13 here.
Round 14 here.
Round 15 here.
Round 16 here.
Round 17 here.
Round 18 here.
Round 19 here.
Round 20 here.
Rounds 21 through 33 here.
Rounds 34 through 52 here.
Rounds 53 through 67 here.
Rounds 68 through 75 here.
76. Sick
Lestrade felt like he was coming down with what his old gran used to call one of her "sick headaches." The more clinical term was "Sherlock" or "migraine." Some days the two were indistinguishable.
"Slow down!" he insisted, although he knew the plea was futile.
"We've been too slow from the start!" raged Sherlock, racing down the stairs. "I've been too slow!"
Lestrade shot Donovan a pained look, which she answered with a nod of understanding before he shot off after Sherlock. He caught up at the curb. "We'll take my car."
"No."
"We'll use the siren. It'll be faster."
77. Gallant
“So you’re saying that someone set Farnsworth off, gave him operational support, sent a psychopath on a rampage – as a diversion?”
“Yes, do pay attention, Lestrade.” The retort wasn’t one of his best, but Sherlock was distracted. Part of his mind was racing ahead, but another, large part remained focused on John. Brave John, gallant John, injured John, who came so close to a horrible death. Even with Mycroft’s help in tracing John’s phone, they’d almost not been in time.
He wanted to be at the hospital. He needed to be here. “It all comes back to the paper company.”
78. Horror
They drove in silence except for the wailing police siren. Lestrade considered prodding Sherlock to expand on his statement, but something made him hold his tongue. He could handle the verbal abuse that would accompany any explanation, and he knew Sherlock loved showing off, but for now, Lestrade judged it best to save his questions. The look of horror that had flashed across Sherlock's face when they'd found John was etched in his memory. Lestrade still wasn't accustomed to shows of emotion beyond disdain, boredom, or impatience. Right now, Sherlock's demeanour suggested he needed some time to process the incident.
79. Desecrate
Remaining silent didn’t stop Lestrade’s brain from buzzing with questions. What was the connection between Farnsworth and the paper company? Who was the second man? Sherlock knew, obviously, but Lestrade couldn’t think of a candidate. And how did this person find someone willing to brutally murder three (almost four) people? It wasn’t like the telephone directory had entries for mass murderers, people willing to desecrate churches, and the like, however much it felt like it some days.
“Oh hush; you’re thinking too loudly. Did you know Farnsworth has a great-nephew? Leo Ferguson. He’s the CFO of Southron Paper and Fibre.”
80. Enemy
Lestrade bit back an automatic apology and took the next turning. Damned if he was going to apologise for thinking when that was what Sherlock so often snapped at him to do.
"We're after this Ferguson fellow, then? What the hell could he be so desperate to cover up that he'd be willing to hand people over to Farnsworth to be butchered?" The possibilities were myriad, although the connections present in the case narrowed them considerably. Ferguson was proving to be both ruthless and desperate. Lestrade frowned. They were facing an enemy without remorse or conscience. Those were the worst.
81. Whisper
“From what I’ve been able to discover, I believe Ferguson has been using Southron Paper and Fibre’s delivery system and financial structure to conceal his ventures into the narcotics trade. Marijuana, mostly, although I suspect the money-laundering aspect is quite a bit more extensive.”
“Wait – this is a major drugs operation? Sherlock, we’re going to need backup, warrants…”
“All that can come later. Right now, you’re just informing Ferguson that his uncle has been arrested, and asking him down to the Yard for a voluntary interview.” Sherlock’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And keeping me from wringing the bastard’s neck.”
82. Run
Lestrade could see any number of ways Sherlock's plan might go awry, not the least of which was Lestrade failing to stop a homicide. Not that that one wouldn't be deserved.
Hardly an appropriate thought for an officer of the law, and one he studiously kept to himself.
"Just let me handle things when we get in there, all right?" Silence from his companion. "Sherlock? Let me run the interview. Understand? The last thing we need is a technicality—say an attempted strangulation by the Yard's consulting detective—that gets the whole thing thrown out of court in the end."
83. Storm
As it turned out, Sherlock’s agreement – or not – with Lestrade’s plan was a moot point.
Lestrade identified himself to Ferguson’s secretary, and merely said that he needed a word; all very standard procedure, no need to storm the castle. The young woman used the phone intercom to announce his presence and ask if Ferguson would see him – again, standard.
What was not standard was the unmistakable sound of a fire escape being lowered. Sherlock darted forward and burst through the office door, Lestrade at his heels.
Seconds later, they dove for cover as the fleeing Ferguson fired wildly at them.
84. Truth
Ferguson scrambled for the window and the fire escape beyond, still firing wildly. Lestrade drew his own weapon and aimed, only to have Sherlock block his shot as he dove after the fleeing suspect.
Cursing under his breath, Lestrade dashed out and down as Sherlock followed Ferguson directly. Hopefully, Lestrade could cut Ferguson off outside, although truth be told he'd be just as happy if the bastard fell from the fire escape and broke his bloody neck.
He pelted around the building and spotted Ferguson trying to scale a stone wall. "Freeze! Police!"
He didn't expect the order to work.
85. Anger
Shockingly, Ferguson did pause – but only to brace himself against the wall and turn his gun directly at his pursuers. Even as Lestrade tried to find a decent line in order to take a shot, Ferguson fired.
Sherlock flinched and stumbled, a pained grunt escaping his lips. One long-fingered hand flew up to clench his left arm above the elbow. Still, he kept after Ferguson.
Lestrade thought he’d been angry before, but now anger shifted to rage. He fired two quick shots, careless of accuracy, no longer caring about anything but distracting the bastard from putting another bullet into Sherlock.
86. Hero
The first shot ricocheted off the stone, scattering shrapnel into Ferguson's face. He flinched and stumbled. The next bullet hit home, nailing him in the shoulder. He fell back, his weapon knocked from his grasp.
Lestrade pelted towards him from one direction as Sherlock came from the opposite, still clutching his arm.
Lestrade's aim now was steady, unwavering. "Go for that gun and you're a dead man."
Ferguson glared at him in pained disgust, but made no other move.
"Sherlock? You all right?"
"I'm shot." The "idiot" was unspoken but obvious.
"Your own fault for trying to play the hero."
Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.
Round 6 here.
Round 7 here.
Round 8 here.
Round 9 here.
Round 10 here.
Round 11 here.
Round 12 here.
Round 13 here.
Round 14 here.
Round 15 here.
Round 16 here.
Round 17 here.
Round 18 here.
Round 19 here.
Round 20 here.
Rounds 21 through 33 here.
Rounds 34 through 52 here.
Rounds 53 through 67 here.
Rounds 68 through 75 here.
76. Sick
Lestrade felt like he was coming down with what his old gran used to call one of her "sick headaches." The more clinical term was "Sherlock" or "migraine." Some days the two were indistinguishable.
"Slow down!" he insisted, although he knew the plea was futile.
"We've been too slow from the start!" raged Sherlock, racing down the stairs. "I've been too slow!"
Lestrade shot Donovan a pained look, which she answered with a nod of understanding before he shot off after Sherlock. He caught up at the curb. "We'll take my car."
"No."
"We'll use the siren. It'll be faster."
77. Gallant
“So you’re saying that someone set Farnsworth off, gave him operational support, sent a psychopath on a rampage – as a diversion?”
“Yes, do pay attention, Lestrade.” The retort wasn’t one of his best, but Sherlock was distracted. Part of his mind was racing ahead, but another, large part remained focused on John. Brave John, gallant John, injured John, who came so close to a horrible death. Even with Mycroft’s help in tracing John’s phone, they’d almost not been in time.
He wanted to be at the hospital. He needed to be here. “It all comes back to the paper company.”
78. Horror
They drove in silence except for the wailing police siren. Lestrade considered prodding Sherlock to expand on his statement, but something made him hold his tongue. He could handle the verbal abuse that would accompany any explanation, and he knew Sherlock loved showing off, but for now, Lestrade judged it best to save his questions. The look of horror that had flashed across Sherlock's face when they'd found John was etched in his memory. Lestrade still wasn't accustomed to shows of emotion beyond disdain, boredom, or impatience. Right now, Sherlock's demeanour suggested he needed some time to process the incident.
79. Desecrate
Remaining silent didn’t stop Lestrade’s brain from buzzing with questions. What was the connection between Farnsworth and the paper company? Who was the second man? Sherlock knew, obviously, but Lestrade couldn’t think of a candidate. And how did this person find someone willing to brutally murder three (almost four) people? It wasn’t like the telephone directory had entries for mass murderers, people willing to desecrate churches, and the like, however much it felt like it some days.
“Oh hush; you’re thinking too loudly. Did you know Farnsworth has a great-nephew? Leo Ferguson. He’s the CFO of Southron Paper and Fibre.”
80. Enemy
Lestrade bit back an automatic apology and took the next turning. Damned if he was going to apologise for thinking when that was what Sherlock so often snapped at him to do.
"We're after this Ferguson fellow, then? What the hell could he be so desperate to cover up that he'd be willing to hand people over to Farnsworth to be butchered?" The possibilities were myriad, although the connections present in the case narrowed them considerably. Ferguson was proving to be both ruthless and desperate. Lestrade frowned. They were facing an enemy without remorse or conscience. Those were the worst.
81. Whisper
“From what I’ve been able to discover, I believe Ferguson has been using Southron Paper and Fibre’s delivery system and financial structure to conceal his ventures into the narcotics trade. Marijuana, mostly, although I suspect the money-laundering aspect is quite a bit more extensive.”
“Wait – this is a major drugs operation? Sherlock, we’re going to need backup, warrants…”
“All that can come later. Right now, you’re just informing Ferguson that his uncle has been arrested, and asking him down to the Yard for a voluntary interview.” Sherlock’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And keeping me from wringing the bastard’s neck.”
82. Run
Lestrade could see any number of ways Sherlock's plan might go awry, not the least of which was Lestrade failing to stop a homicide. Not that that one wouldn't be deserved.
Hardly an appropriate thought for an officer of the law, and one he studiously kept to himself.
"Just let me handle things when we get in there, all right?" Silence from his companion. "Sherlock? Let me run the interview. Understand? The last thing we need is a technicality—say an attempted strangulation by the Yard's consulting detective—that gets the whole thing thrown out of court in the end."
83. Storm
As it turned out, Sherlock’s agreement – or not – with Lestrade’s plan was a moot point.
Lestrade identified himself to Ferguson’s secretary, and merely said that he needed a word; all very standard procedure, no need to storm the castle. The young woman used the phone intercom to announce his presence and ask if Ferguson would see him – again, standard.
What was not standard was the unmistakable sound of a fire escape being lowered. Sherlock darted forward and burst through the office door, Lestrade at his heels.
Seconds later, they dove for cover as the fleeing Ferguson fired wildly at them.
84. Truth
Ferguson scrambled for the window and the fire escape beyond, still firing wildly. Lestrade drew his own weapon and aimed, only to have Sherlock block his shot as he dove after the fleeing suspect.
Cursing under his breath, Lestrade dashed out and down as Sherlock followed Ferguson directly. Hopefully, Lestrade could cut Ferguson off outside, although truth be told he'd be just as happy if the bastard fell from the fire escape and broke his bloody neck.
He pelted around the building and spotted Ferguson trying to scale a stone wall. "Freeze! Police!"
He didn't expect the order to work.
85. Anger
Shockingly, Ferguson did pause – but only to brace himself against the wall and turn his gun directly at his pursuers. Even as Lestrade tried to find a decent line in order to take a shot, Ferguson fired.
Sherlock flinched and stumbled, a pained grunt escaping his lips. One long-fingered hand flew up to clench his left arm above the elbow. Still, he kept after Ferguson.
Lestrade thought he’d been angry before, but now anger shifted to rage. He fired two quick shots, careless of accuracy, no longer caring about anything but distracting the bastard from putting another bullet into Sherlock.
86. Hero
The first shot ricocheted off the stone, scattering shrapnel into Ferguson's face. He flinched and stumbled. The next bullet hit home, nailing him in the shoulder. He fell back, his weapon knocked from his grasp.
Lestrade pelted towards him from one direction as Sherlock came from the opposite, still clutching his arm.
Lestrade's aim now was steady, unwavering. "Go for that gun and you're a dead man."
Ferguson glared at him in pained disgust, but made no other move.
"Sherlock? You all right?"
"I'm shot." The "idiot" was unspoken but obvious.
"Your own fault for trying to play the hero."