Um, this became some sort of horrible chimera of the book canon and movie canon, but it's more movie, with back up details from the books, so... feel free to have the beautiful RDJ and Jude Law in your head while you read! :D lol
Title: Biased
Prompt: Falter
Characters: Watson, Holmes
Word Count: 522
Spoilers: none, surprisingly.
Author's Note: I hope this makes since to more people than just me. :(
Summary: Holmes has always maintained that there are only a few original crimes, and the rest are all variations of those. But this- there will never be anything like this crime.
"Holmes…"
The blood splattered against the far wall is consistent with the ensuing battle between flesh and a bullet. The splatter is at a slight downward tilt, insinuating a- a tall perpetrator, at least three inches taller than the victim.
"Holmes."
The light layer of dust on the floor is beneficial to putting together a picture of what occurred; both seemed to have come in together, the taller slightly behind and to the left of the victim's entrance. They appear to stay for a time, both were anxious, as shown by the circles of pacing left in the dust by their footsteps. Abruptly the trail left by the taller cuts off and his steps leave the room. But that's not the last of the taller's appearance. He had come back into the room. His reappearance muffles and overtakes the previous set of footprints. Holmes feels sick when he follows these tracks with his eyes to their end, next to the shorter man. Dead on the floor.
The same place they'd found one Doctor John Watson squatted over the body only mere moments before.
"Holmes, look at me!"
The detective's eyes shoot up automatically to meet the blue gaze of his friend.
No, no: not his friend- The perpetrator.
Watson's face transforms from its panicked expression to one of wry disbelief. The officers click the handcuffs behind his back. Sherlock swallows down the bile in his throat.
"Sherlock," Watson breathes the name out in a lost fashion that has Holmes sucking in air between his teeth. How can this be happening?
Watson seems to have observed this unintentional reaction; His disbelieving grin that has ghosted past his lips falls, and his mouth snaps audible closed.
Sherlock's eyes drop from meeting those of his fr-…the perpetrator.
Take in only the facts, he tells himself. Look at the floor, the footprints: observe, analyze, deduct. That is all.
He's half determining the time elapsed by the melted candle sitting in the corner, half trying to get his mind working in proper order again when the officers give a rough push to the man in cuffs toward the other door in the room.
"Sherlock."
The detective's eyes drift slowly up from the floor to meet the now calm, supportive, and familiar gaze leveled at him. His breathes hitches.
Observe.
Another smile appears on the tall man's face, this time sincere, as if he's here as Holmes' partner, a consultant and sounding board, not the suspect in custody.
Analyze.
"Remember your own rules," he says, with that smile on his face, despite the fact that his voice is rough with some emotion Holmes doesn't know how to describe, "Stay true to your reason: do not bias your judgment." He gives one last brilliant smile as the officers push him past the threshold and he turns his head away. Holmes is sure he wasn't supposed to see the frown or crinkle of worry under Watson's eyes when he turned away.
Deduct.
When Holmes has regained his composure, his eyes will drop from the empty doorway to the army issue revolver lying on the floor in front of the body.
Watson.