Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Giggles at the Palace
This post is for responding to prompts from prompt posts that are full, or continuing WIPs that were started on prompt posts that have since filled up or are close to full.

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Fill for Prompt: Bizarre World part 7

"A cabbie. Of course, of course. Can't believe it slipped my mind," Sherlock murmured to himself as he drove, only half-listening to Moran's instructions as the sergeant monitored the movement of the tracker on the woman's phone. "Who would you trust even though you don't know them. Who roams around London undetected. Of course it's a cabbie. It's brilliant. The victims weren't kidnapped off the street. They entered the car on their own will, and nobody would bat an eye."

Mycroft tapped his finger against the handle of his umbrella, impatient. The phone's battery could only last for several hours, especially when it kept emitting signal to broadcast its whereabouts. There was a good chance it would die out before they reached their destination. The serial killer seemed to be heading to the outskirts of the city to find another abandoned building.

"I wonder what he told them to make them take the poison."

"They did it at gunpoint, I imagine." Moran suggested, balancing the laptop on his thigh.

"No, no. That wouldn't be enough. He said something to them, and they killed themselves." Sherlock huffed, "Such exquisite experience and it will be wasted on Anderson."


About half an hour later, they arrived in front of two identical-looking old buildings. Moran did a quick recheck before confirming that it was the right address. Anderson and the killer were inside one of the buildings. There was no time to waste, they had to split up. Sherlock basically bounced away inside one of the buildings the moment they came to the decision, but Moran had enough sense to stop Mycroft from following the Inspector.

"You are a civilian. I can't possibly let you get dragged in to this matter any further." He said apologetically, "I have informed the others of our whereabouts. They should start arriving in a few minutes. In the meantime, please wait inside the car."

Mycroft did so for exactly one minute before trailing after Sherlock. His black umbrella sat against the door on the backseat, unassuming.


"You are ill. Fatally so." Anderson wheezed out, fighting to keep the tough mask on as the woman in front of him; a black woman, with short black hair and strong exterior, kept her gun pointed at him, with stern expression adorning her face. "How long do you have? A month? Two months?"

"Excellent Mister Anderson," she replied, "I can see that you live up to your reputation now. Before I was under the impression of capturing the wrong person."

"Hardly," The consulting detective growled, offended. "There's no one else like me."

"I have to say that I agree," The woman calmly regarded him, her strong grip on the gun never faltered, "Seeing that you are a logical person, surely you can pick out which of these presented situations are more logical to you."

"One, you play the game, and there's a fifty-fifty chance that you would survive. Two, you don't play the game and I shoot you."

Continued on part eight

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