Fanfiction
Title: Sir, Arthur, Conan, Doyle
Fandom: Detective Conan / Magic Kaito
Characters: Saguru Hakuba, Kaito Kuroba, Shinichi Kudo, Heiji Hattori
Rating: PG
Warning: None
At first sight the four youngsters all seemed completely different, in looks as well as attitude (well, except the twins, and even they were easy to tell apart once they started talking), but even after a while, you would still see them as different. It was only when you saw them working that you saw the scary similarity between them, the same drive and determination they all shared.
The darker skinned Doyle was brash and emotional, the more physical of them, and could often be seen fingering the onamori that hung from his neck. Then there was the half-Japanese Sir (poor kid; god, his mother must be really obsessed with Sherlock Holmes), apparently a by-product of an earlier marriage. He had a scarily accurate time-sense, and seemed to have inherited some of his mother’s obsession as evidenced by the tweed deerstalker he wore.
Then there were the twins. Seemingly alike at first, one could easily tell the difference between them once they started talking. The bi-polar Conan, who could switch from a little kid to a fully-fledged investigator in a split second, always pushing his glasses up his nose with an air of resignation. He was completely different from his mad-cap twin Arthur, who wore the same glasses, but was forever taking them off and putting them back on and had a seemingly limitless supply of juggling balls, coloured scarves and decks of playing cards, which were often produced in a shower of confetti or glitter.
The other three tolerated Arthur with a kind of weary resignation most of the time, until he managed to drag them into his games or irritated one of them so badly that they would chase him, screaming death threats, the other two either being pulled into the chase as well, or watching on in amusement as he effortlessly dodged, bouncing around the room like a jackrabbit on speed.
Doyle seemed to be the most often recipient of a subtle kick or foot-stepping, often causing him to halt what he was saying, lose track of where he was and go off on a completely different tangent. For the ‘physical’ one of the group, it was surprising how well he tolerated being manhandled by his brothers.
Sir was somewhat the outsider of the group, introverted and standing on the sidelines with his hat pulled down slightly to hide his eyes. It was most often Arthur who would notice his exclusion, bringing him bodily into the discussion, but sometimes the glasses-clad Conan would join him and the pair would spend their time in quiet, intense discussion while Doyle and Arthur did the same thing, only louder.
Conan was unquestionably the leader of the group. No matter that he was third youngest, or that his cutesy kiddy manner made him the first one the grownups would run to hug, he was the one the others would defer to most often. He was the one who oftentimes put together all of the little clues, assembling statements and evidence like so many jigsaw pieces until he came up with the right answer, oftentimes pointed in the right direction by a random comment from one of his brothers. It was fascinating to watch him figure something out - like a light switch being flicked on, the shell-shocked look of realisation would appear on his face before it was overtaken by a crafty smile, piercing eyes hidden behind his glasses.
It was easy to see that these children could be incredible working on their own to solve a case, but once you put them together, you suddenly became the recipient of dozens of insightful, piercing questions. Who said this, where did that come from, what about this one, are so-and-so related… And then came the suggestions they made, often sending the case in a new direction. How many fish did you say there were? But what if they went over the roof? Did you check for acid burns?
It was, quite frankly, scary. One in a deerstalker cap, one already peering down at the crime scene from the corner between the walls and ceiling, one with a soccer ball and eyes too old for his age, and one with a bokken taller than he was.
Sir, Arthur, Conan, Doyle. The best detectives since Sherlock Holmes.
For manzanita’s Little Kid, on FF.Net
Posted with permission.
Fandom: Detective Conan / Magic Kaito
Characters: Saguru Hakuba, Kaito Kuroba, Shinichi Kudo, Heiji Hattori
Rating: PG
Warning: None
At first sight the four youngsters all seemed completely different, in looks as well as attitude (well, except the twins, and even they were easy to tell apart once they started talking), but even after a while, you would still see them as different. It was only when you saw them working that you saw the scary similarity between them, the same drive and determination they all shared.
The darker skinned Doyle was brash and emotional, the more physical of them, and could often be seen fingering the onamori that hung from his neck. Then there was the half-Japanese Sir (poor kid; god, his mother must be really obsessed with Sherlock Holmes), apparently a by-product of an earlier marriage. He had a scarily accurate time-sense, and seemed to have inherited some of his mother’s obsession as evidenced by the tweed deerstalker he wore.
Then there were the twins. Seemingly alike at first, one could easily tell the difference between them once they started talking. The bi-polar Conan, who could switch from a little kid to a fully-fledged investigator in a split second, always pushing his glasses up his nose with an air of resignation. He was completely different from his mad-cap twin Arthur, who wore the same glasses, but was forever taking them off and putting them back on and had a seemingly limitless supply of juggling balls, coloured scarves and decks of playing cards, which were often produced in a shower of confetti or glitter.
The other three tolerated Arthur with a kind of weary resignation most of the time, until he managed to drag them into his games or irritated one of them so badly that they would chase him, screaming death threats, the other two either being pulled into the chase as well, or watching on in amusement as he effortlessly dodged, bouncing around the room like a jackrabbit on speed.
Doyle seemed to be the most often recipient of a subtle kick or foot-stepping, often causing him to halt what he was saying, lose track of where he was and go off on a completely different tangent. For the ‘physical’ one of the group, it was surprising how well he tolerated being manhandled by his brothers.
Sir was somewhat the outsider of the group, introverted and standing on the sidelines with his hat pulled down slightly to hide his eyes. It was most often Arthur who would notice his exclusion, bringing him bodily into the discussion, but sometimes the glasses-clad Conan would join him and the pair would spend their time in quiet, intense discussion while Doyle and Arthur did the same thing, only louder.
Conan was unquestionably the leader of the group. No matter that he was third youngest, or that his cutesy kiddy manner made him the first one the grownups would run to hug, he was the one the others would defer to most often. He was the one who oftentimes put together all of the little clues, assembling statements and evidence like so many jigsaw pieces until he came up with the right answer, oftentimes pointed in the right direction by a random comment from one of his brothers. It was fascinating to watch him figure something out - like a light switch being flicked on, the shell-shocked look of realisation would appear on his face before it was overtaken by a crafty smile, piercing eyes hidden behind his glasses.
It was easy to see that these children could be incredible working on their own to solve a case, but once you put them together, you suddenly became the recipient of dozens of insightful, piercing questions. Who said this, where did that come from, what about this one, are so-and-so related… And then came the suggestions they made, often sending the case in a new direction. How many fish did you say there were? But what if they went over the roof? Did you check for acid burns?
It was, quite frankly, scary. One in a deerstalker cap, one already peering down at the crime scene from the corner between the walls and ceiling, one with a soccer ball and eyes too old for his age, and one with a bokken taller than he was.
Sir, Arthur, Conan, Doyle. The best detectives since Sherlock Holmes.
For manzanita’s Little Kid, on FF.Net
Posted with permission.