Sherlock Fic: My Mistress' Eyes
A droubble written for Challenge 007 at great_tales. I chose to use the prompt "seduction."
My Mistress’ Eyes
Male, 5’6”, about 50. Known as “Tom,” but official records not yet found.
DI at the scene assumed it was a drug overdose, but “Flip” had insisted that “he wasn’t that sort.”
Preliminary observations seem to confirm. Strong smell of alcohol and nicotine, but none of the tell-tale signs of drugs…
…nor of unusually severe malnutrition… nor of serious exposure…
No signs of a struggle…
Flip again: “…Marty, he called himself. Never anything for me, though I could help him as well as Tom. I don’t…”
Find out more about Marty.
He crouched down to collect several strands of fiber that looked out of place in Whitechapel from the body.
The clothing, though… that was odd. Most seemed to be taken from dustbins, but that watch. Stolen? Perhaps… but there were no signs of forcible removal. And the owner wore it proudly…
There had to be foul play. He was certain of it. But what?
Sherlock stood back up to begin his observation of the perimeter. But first he soaked it all in:
The garrulous prostitute, the reeking corpse with its glazed eyes, the blind alley cordoned with blue and white police tape, and most importantly, the unanswered question…
Magnificent!
My Mistress’ Eyes
Male, 5’6”, about 50. Known as “Tom,” but official records not yet found.
DI at the scene assumed it was a drug overdose, but “Flip” had insisted that “he wasn’t that sort.”
Preliminary observations seem to confirm. Strong smell of alcohol and nicotine, but none of the tell-tale signs of drugs…
…nor of unusually severe malnutrition… nor of serious exposure…
No signs of a struggle…
Flip again: “…Marty, he called himself. Never anything for me, though I could help him as well as Tom. I don’t…”
Find out more about Marty.
He crouched down to collect several strands of fiber that looked out of place in Whitechapel from the body.
The clothing, though… that was odd. Most seemed to be taken from dustbins, but that watch. Stolen? Perhaps… but there were no signs of forcible removal. And the owner wore it proudly…
There had to be foul play. He was certain of it. But what?
Sherlock stood back up to begin his observation of the perimeter. But first he soaked it all in:
The garrulous prostitute, the reeking corpse with its glazed eyes, the blind alley cordoned with blue and white police tape, and most importantly, the unanswered question…
Magnificent!