"The World's Only Bored Consulting Detective"
Disclaimer: I do not own either show. The most I can hope for is to one day be a published author on Kindle Worlds.
"Lestrade, stop boring me," Sherlock Holmes complained as he plopped down in the chair of the Detective Inspector's office at New Scotland Yard.
"You can't have solved both cases already—" Greg protested.
"Can; have; child's play," the young man pouted. Where was the challenge?
"The robberies?" the silver-haired man prompted.
"All occurred when a certain carnival was performing in the city. The members refer to it as the 'Carnival of Crime.' The raccoon seen carrying away the loot from one of the robberies is part of their show. The ringleader, Malini, does the same escape trick with the exact cape that witnesses describe the thief using to avoid apprehension.
"The only thing remotely interesting about that case is that the same cape has been used to commit some dozens of murders—"
"WHAT?!" Lestrade exclaimed. "Malini's a serial killer?" He didn't expect that development.
"Hardly," Sherlock scoffed. "The most recent of the murders occurred decades ago, when Malini would have been in primary school. No, the cape has changed hands several times over the years. Malini hasn't gotten any more blood on it."
"What about the smuggled goods?" Lestrade inquired.
"Dominic Raoul," Sherlock drawled, "also known as Scales," as he'd learned from the homeless network. "His trips to and from America coincide with the arrivals of the smuggled property. His position as the head of the Longshoremen's Union is a cover for his illicit activities. You'll have no trouble finding him by the docks—he's the only one with greenish skin." Seeing the look on Lestrade's face, he began to explain.
"It's a rare dermatological condition, which hasn't been named yet, and will probably be named for the first idiot with a medical degree that publishes a description of it in a journal, regardless of how little research he's done on the matter.*
"Don't bother me again until you have at least an 8," he concluded.
"How about this?" Lestrade slid a file across the desk to Holmes. "Three murders in the past two weeks and the only connection between them is a tarot card found at each scene—"
"'Justice,'" Sherlock's eyes lit up as he perused the file. "Yes," the consulting detective said, half-aware of a smile spreading across his face, "that will do."
*It is just as well that John Watson wasn't there to hear this pronouncement, as years down the road the condition would be named after him.
Author's Note: This is what happens when a) no one fills my prompts and b) I get bored on the train.
If there are any Cape fans that are disappointed this fic didn't include Peter/Vince (or Peter or Vince for that matter), go check out my latest crossover, "Black Bird; Green Arrow."