[Author's note: Haha: since some people didn't really understand my quick
ending (hey I just wanted to move on, you know?), I'm going to add a nice
little epilogue like all the REAL *sparkle, sparkle* SH endings. And I
found my notes, too, and they've got a few knot-breakers. Yes, I know that
didn't make sense. English isn't my best subject. Speaking of which, I'm
SUPPOSED TO BE DOING my homework. *whistle innocently*]
Sherlock Holmes and his newfound friends, along with Lestrade, sat in a bakery (appropriately named "Baker's Street". Yuk, Yuk, Yuk) a few hours after having captured the criminal. Sherlock seemed to be longing for his pipe like old times, along with his companion, no matter how mechanical nowadays. The gang was celebrating another successful case, and Freddy had managed to dig up some champagne (don't kid yourself; it was apple cider).
"Freddy! I thought you were saving that for prom night!"
Well, they managed to have drinks all around anyway. Velma, always the one to cut the crap and get to it, began the conversation. "Ok Mr. Holmes, why don't you tell us how you really did it? I've heard that a magician never gives away his secrets, but maybe you could just tell us this once?" She smiled glowingly, although this time Daphne did not join her since she was busy playing with Freddy's hair, to the leader's apparent glee. Shaggy, on the other hand, was playing with his loyal pup's fur, and also, at the same time, lending an ear to the Great Detective. Lestrade merely swirled her champ- uh, CIDER, in peace. Boy, had she heard this speech one two many times. But it was always nice to hear the old coot talk about his methods.
Holmes began with a smile. Clearing his throat professionally, he spoke with an air of casualty. "I cannot begin to count the times when I have been led astray by a clue which has been given to me the wrong way. It was almost the same with the two traitorous scientists; they told me they had seen Squaw arguing with a man, and they ASSUMED it was for money. However, on further investigation with Mr. Squaw in that call I made but a moment ago, I have confirmed the way the story REALLY goes: Squaw had met the man in an answer to a phone call. There was money involved, and the offer was to steal some of the chemicals in the lab, including some biogenetic enhancers and other such advances in the world of Science today." Sherlock began to stray into one of his favorite subjects (hey, he did discover the hemoglobin), before the gang cleared their throats and hinted his continuance.
"Anyhow, Squaw did not like the idea of betrayal one bit and soon got to raised voices with the man, whom he described as hunched over and owning a raspy voice." Sherlock cocked an eyebrow in Lestrade's direction, and she straightened up a little, ears fully attuned. "It seems that this mysterious, hooded figure got to the other two scientists instead. However, I might add, the call merely confirmed my previous suspicions." He stopped to take a sip of champagne (cider!), and everybody rushed in at once to fill his glass, which produced a patch of light in his eyes.
When they had finished, he went on, "Now then, the criminal-"
He was interrupted by a snort from Lestrade, who luckily was not drinking her cider when she did it, and who choked out, "Reminded me of Greyson's first time in an elastomask. Besides, Moriarty didn't need to get an actor; he could've just used Fenwick." She grinned at the rest of the gang, waiting for some giggling. But the only things she received were some confused looks from the Americans who knew nothing about Moriarty's European crimes. Grumbling something under her breath, she slouched down again, refilling her own cider.
Pretending nothing had happened; Freddy asked, "So what did the traitorous- friend-of-Lou-Neebin mean when he said the place was sitting on a gold mine?"
"I suppose it means that their advances in science were getting on to something; I really didn't look into that part."
It was Daphne's turn to ask a question, although it was in a genuinely curious voice, not a coquettish one. "I saw that hypodermic needle enter your skin with my own eyes; how'd you get out of that one?"
Blue eyes glistened keenly, but his lips remained sealed, "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more than that I have scientific advances of my own, it seems. I myself have no idea why the sedative did not work, so I cannot tell you. My only wish is that the needle was sanitary and did not contain any HIV diseases on it. Who knows how that might affect my-" Realization entered Holmes' brain, causing his cheeks to flush and (God I love embarrassing him like that.) his voice to go on in a nervous voice. "My. social abilities." Lestrade choked on her cider.
Holmes slumped into his chair, mood as foggy as an Old London pea soup. The case hadn't pleased him, and had not even begun to challenge his intellectual mind. And not a hint of his nemesis appeared in it. They were losing Moriarty's trail. With a growl and a hiss he muttered, "Let me end by saying it was one of my easiest cases, and that I wave it off as the equivalent appeal of a Sunday afternoon cartoon show."
Shaggy straightened up. "Hey, I resent that." Scooby took his cue and howled joyfully, "Ruby, ruby Roo!"
[A/N: Yes, I did happen to come up with that Baker's Street thing myself. *patches up hurt pride* Hehe; it happened when I passed a bakery called "Baker's Court" and my Sherlockian madness just kicked right in. :D Please help in the fight against AIDS. You can help by donating money by visiting any AIDS websites you can find on GOOGLE. FF.NET won't let me post links. GROWL.]
Sherlock Holmes and his newfound friends, along with Lestrade, sat in a bakery (appropriately named "Baker's Street". Yuk, Yuk, Yuk) a few hours after having captured the criminal. Sherlock seemed to be longing for his pipe like old times, along with his companion, no matter how mechanical nowadays. The gang was celebrating another successful case, and Freddy had managed to dig up some champagne (don't kid yourself; it was apple cider).
"Freddy! I thought you were saving that for prom night!"
Well, they managed to have drinks all around anyway. Velma, always the one to cut the crap and get to it, began the conversation. "Ok Mr. Holmes, why don't you tell us how you really did it? I've heard that a magician never gives away his secrets, but maybe you could just tell us this once?" She smiled glowingly, although this time Daphne did not join her since she was busy playing with Freddy's hair, to the leader's apparent glee. Shaggy, on the other hand, was playing with his loyal pup's fur, and also, at the same time, lending an ear to the Great Detective. Lestrade merely swirled her champ- uh, CIDER, in peace. Boy, had she heard this speech one two many times. But it was always nice to hear the old coot talk about his methods.
Holmes began with a smile. Clearing his throat professionally, he spoke with an air of casualty. "I cannot begin to count the times when I have been led astray by a clue which has been given to me the wrong way. It was almost the same with the two traitorous scientists; they told me they had seen Squaw arguing with a man, and they ASSUMED it was for money. However, on further investigation with Mr. Squaw in that call I made but a moment ago, I have confirmed the way the story REALLY goes: Squaw had met the man in an answer to a phone call. There was money involved, and the offer was to steal some of the chemicals in the lab, including some biogenetic enhancers and other such advances in the world of Science today." Sherlock began to stray into one of his favorite subjects (hey, he did discover the hemoglobin), before the gang cleared their throats and hinted his continuance.
"Anyhow, Squaw did not like the idea of betrayal one bit and soon got to raised voices with the man, whom he described as hunched over and owning a raspy voice." Sherlock cocked an eyebrow in Lestrade's direction, and she straightened up a little, ears fully attuned. "It seems that this mysterious, hooded figure got to the other two scientists instead. However, I might add, the call merely confirmed my previous suspicions." He stopped to take a sip of champagne (cider!), and everybody rushed in at once to fill his glass, which produced a patch of light in his eyes.
When they had finished, he went on, "Now then, the criminal-"
He was interrupted by a snort from Lestrade, who luckily was not drinking her cider when she did it, and who choked out, "Reminded me of Greyson's first time in an elastomask. Besides, Moriarty didn't need to get an actor; he could've just used Fenwick." She grinned at the rest of the gang, waiting for some giggling. But the only things she received were some confused looks from the Americans who knew nothing about Moriarty's European crimes. Grumbling something under her breath, she slouched down again, refilling her own cider.
Pretending nothing had happened; Freddy asked, "So what did the traitorous- friend-of-Lou-Neebin mean when he said the place was sitting on a gold mine?"
"I suppose it means that their advances in science were getting on to something; I really didn't look into that part."
It was Daphne's turn to ask a question, although it was in a genuinely curious voice, not a coquettish one. "I saw that hypodermic needle enter your skin with my own eyes; how'd you get out of that one?"
Blue eyes glistened keenly, but his lips remained sealed, "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more than that I have scientific advances of my own, it seems. I myself have no idea why the sedative did not work, so I cannot tell you. My only wish is that the needle was sanitary and did not contain any HIV diseases on it. Who knows how that might affect my-" Realization entered Holmes' brain, causing his cheeks to flush and (God I love embarrassing him like that.) his voice to go on in a nervous voice. "My. social abilities." Lestrade choked on her cider.
Holmes slumped into his chair, mood as foggy as an Old London pea soup. The case hadn't pleased him, and had not even begun to challenge his intellectual mind. And not a hint of his nemesis appeared in it. They were losing Moriarty's trail. With a growl and a hiss he muttered, "Let me end by saying it was one of my easiest cases, and that I wave it off as the equivalent appeal of a Sunday afternoon cartoon show."
Shaggy straightened up. "Hey, I resent that." Scooby took his cue and howled joyfully, "Ruby, ruby Roo!"
[A/N: Yes, I did happen to come up with that Baker's Street thing myself. *patches up hurt pride* Hehe; it happened when I passed a bakery called "Baker's Court" and my Sherlockian madness just kicked right in. :D Please help in the fight against AIDS. You can help by donating money by visiting any AIDS websites you can find on GOOGLE. FF.NET won't let me post links. GROWL.]