Dark Star: Chapter 6
Jun. 15th, 2010 12:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: Dark Star
Chapter Title: Chapter 6
Challenge/Fest: CaseStory Big Bang
Rating: T
Dedication: Thanks to my wonderful artists, to everyone who's heard me rattle on about this, and to my brother for beta-ing.
Fandoms: Torchwood and Sherlock (BBC)
Summary: When Torchwood encounters an everyday case with far from everyday suspects, they need help they can trust. Fortunately, Ianto had an extraordinary flat mate when he was at university.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Toshiko Sato, OCs. Jack/Ianto, mentions of Gwen/Rhys and Gwen/Owen
Contains:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
They pulled up outside the Dark Star in Ianto's Audi and Sherlock piled out almost before it had come to a stop, then crouched down in the road to study the gutter. Ianto leaned against the boot to watch him, keeping his shoes away from the muddy puddle carefully. “Do you even know where it is?”
“Somewhere near here, I guess,” Sherlock said, waving him away. “Someone's been sick in this gutter.”
“You're disgusting.” Ianto tilted his head. “What do you see?”
“Run down neighbourhood, probably not a lot of work,” Sherlock guessed. “Dockworkers cottages, with dockworkers or their children still living in them. Not a lot of spare cash for drinking, so no pub on the street and cheap larger in the gutter. Tight community, but not the friendliest. And they don't travel far. No cars.”
“It is the middle of the day,” Ianto pointed out.
Sherlock stood up and shook his head. “You see this in London too. There'll be very few cars here in the evening either. Which suggests to me that people visit the pub on foot, because their cars would be spotted. But if they're as noticeable as Atraxet is, the comings and goings must be covert.”
“Arrogant sod.”
“But eminently fanciable.” He straightened up and faced the alley. “Up there?”
“I don't know why you even ask.” Ianto stepped across the puddle and crossed the road to the alley, pulling a torch out of his pocket to flick across the piles of rubbish and the puddles between them. “Notice anything?”
“There's a door there.”
“Yes, there's a perception filter over it so you shouldn't be able to see it,” Ianto pointed out. “I meant about this rubbish.”
“Why, what have you spotted?” Sherlock came closer. “Oh...”
“It's all old,” Ianto commented. “It's been here years.” He looked up, to the glimpse of sky above the alley. “The perception filter must cover the whole alley.”
“Is that bad?”
“They don't have a license for it.” He nudged the pile nearest to him with his foot and pulled a face at the smell it released. “Let's get inside.”
The door squeaked minutely, clear in the near-silence, and Ianto held the door open for Sherlock. He immediately set to poking around the room, picking up bar mats to read them and collecting them in a pile on one table. Owen came around the corner to lean in the doorway and watch them. “Jones, who's this?”
Ianto nodded a greeting and went back to watching Sherlock. “This is Sherlock Holmes. He's a private detective, consulting us on this case.”
“Consulting detective,” Sherlock corrected him. “I don't find lost pets, I solve cases.”
Owen snorted and turned away. “Great. I thought Jack wanted this case cracked, not a...”
“Shut up.” Sherlock cut across him and spread the bar mats out across the table. “I had a thought, but your face chased it away.”
“My face?”
“Owen, where are Tosh and Gwen?” Ianto interrupted, resting his hands on his hips. “Are they both still here?”
“Gwen's gone back to the Hub like Jack said,” Owen said, shooting Sherlock a glare. Tosh is still recording the rooms. She's upstairs.”
“Then you should be on the bar room door,” Ianto pointed out. He looked up to meet Owen's glare at last and nodded towards the door. “We'll start upstairs and then finish down there and take him back to the Hub.”
Owen curled his lip and didn't shift from the doorway. His hands clenched and he lifted his chin. “I've been down here all day. You stay with the body, I'll go up and take him to the office.”
Ianto dropped his gaze again, but Sherlock brushed past him. “I need someone intelligent to talk to up there.” Owen glared at him and opened his mouth, but Sherlock cut across him. “Besides, I spent two years training Ianto.”
Owen glared at his back and switched it to Ianto, raising his hand to his ear. “Tosh, Ianto and some detective are on their way up. Can you watch them?”
The steps creaked under Ianto's feet, and Owen's boots thudded down to the front bar in the other direction. Sherlock was kneeling in the doorway of the office, peering under the desk, and Tosh was standing behind him with her laptop hugged to her chest. She smiled at Ianto and hugged her laptop tighter. “This must be Sherlock,” she said quietly. “I've got scans of all the rooms, so you can move anything you like.”
“Thank you...” he trailed off and looked over at his shoulder, waiting for an introduction.
“Sherlock, this is Toshiko Sato. Sherlock is a consulting detective,” Ianto explained.
“Consulting detective?” Tosh asked. “What does that entail?”
Sherlock returned his attention to the office, poking through the pile of books. “I consult to the police, rather than to private persons. I'm allergic to dogs.”
Ianto frowned, but changed the subject. “See anything?”
“The safe is opened,” Sherlock muttered and gestured under the desk. “But see this... There's papers and books inside the safe.”
“Grigo said that paperwork was kept in there,” Ianto pointed out.
“No, they've fallen here.” He scooted forwards and picked up a volume of a book collection. “The rest of this collection is on the floor and on the bookcase, but this one is between the safe door and the safe. And there's no damage to the door...”
Ianto nodded. “So whoever found it didn't find what they were looking for. They knew what they wanted.”
“Correct.” Sherlock grabbed the paperwork out of the safe and shoved it at Ianto, then started combing the floor. “These crystals... they're soluble.”
“Don't lick them.” Ianto shifted the papers under his arm and leaned forwards into the room. “They're poisonous to humans.”
“Ianto, I am not in the habit of licking random crystals I find in crime scenes,” Sherlock sighed. “Some of it's been crushed into the carpet... Or it's something different. No this is definitely different.” He knelt up to grab a handful of cash bags and a pencil from the scattered mess across the desk and poked some of the powder into one bag, then some of the crystals into another. “We could feed these to Owen, see if they kill him.”
Ianto sighed.
Tosh looked past him at Sherlock, worrying her lip. “You should see his bedroom as well. I don't think he went to bed last night.”
After one last glance around the room Sherlock got to his feet and put the book back on the bookcase, where it looked lonely and forlorn between tumbled volumes and a lone ripped page. “Lead on Toshiko Sato.”
She ducked her head to hide behind her fringe and looked to Ianto for confirmation. He nodded and stepped back to the top of the stairs to let Sherlock out of the office to follow Tosh along the landing. The first room they passed was a dormitory, and Sherlock stopped to look into it briefly. “There is nothing sadder than an empty and unused bedroom,” he commented to Ianto.
Ianto nodded his agreement but said nothing, watching Sherlock stride to the next door and fling it open. “You grew out of the dramatics, then?”
“Never,” Sherlock confirmed absently. “You were nearly right, Tosh, but this bed has been slept in.”
He crossed the room and started turning back the sheets whilst she watched from the doorway. “How can you tell?” she asked. “The bed is made. Was made.”
“The bedside table,” he didn't explain.
Tosh frowned and turned to Ianto, curious. He smiled and nudged her shoulder. “Go on, ask. He just wants to show off.”
She nudged him back and smiled. “What do you mean, Sherlock?”
He beamed at her and swept the collection of miscellaneous detritus off the bedside table to show her. “The everyday accumulations of someone with a magpie eye, all scattered across the bedside table. He normally sorts things into their proper places, probably in the morning, coin into that jar on the windowsill, cuff-links into the box on top of the chest of drawers, tissue into the bin, but he hasn't done that. But they're not in his pockets either, which means...” he raised his eyebrows at her questioningly and proffered the pile.
She backed away a little and looked between him and Ianto. “Erm... He was interrupted?”
“No,” he scoffed. “You're missing it. Ianto?”
“He emptied his pockets to go to bed, but not for long. He might not even have changed before he got up, but he took the things out of his pockets because they're uncomfortable to sleep on,” he guessed slowly.
Sherlock closed his hands over them with a single clap. “You've not forgotten everything I taught you, then. But look around the room, coat-hangers on the front of the wardrobe.” He dumped the pile back on the bedside table and went to the wardrobe. “He knew that he'd be changing in a hurry, and after not a lot of sleep, so he got his suit out ready.”
Ianto met his eyes and nodded his understanding. “Whoever killed him, he was expecting them.”
Next chapter
Chapter Title: Chapter 6
Challenge/Fest: CaseStory Big Bang
Rating: T
Dedication: Thanks to my wonderful artists, to everyone who's heard me rattle on about this, and to my brother for beta-ing.
Fandoms: Torchwood and Sherlock (BBC)
Summary: When Torchwood encounters an everyday case with far from everyday suspects, they need help they can trust. Fortunately, Ianto had an extraordinary flat mate when he was at university.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Toshiko Sato, OCs. Jack/Ianto, mentions of Gwen/Rhys and Gwen/Owen
Contains:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
They pulled up outside the Dark Star in Ianto's Audi and Sherlock piled out almost before it had come to a stop, then crouched down in the road to study the gutter. Ianto leaned against the boot to watch him, keeping his shoes away from the muddy puddle carefully. “Do you even know where it is?”
“Somewhere near here, I guess,” Sherlock said, waving him away. “Someone's been sick in this gutter.”
“You're disgusting.” Ianto tilted his head. “What do you see?”
“Run down neighbourhood, probably not a lot of work,” Sherlock guessed. “Dockworkers cottages, with dockworkers or their children still living in them. Not a lot of spare cash for drinking, so no pub on the street and cheap larger in the gutter. Tight community, but not the friendliest. And they don't travel far. No cars.”
“It is the middle of the day,” Ianto pointed out.
Sherlock stood up and shook his head. “You see this in London too. There'll be very few cars here in the evening either. Which suggests to me that people visit the pub on foot, because their cars would be spotted. But if they're as noticeable as Atraxet is, the comings and goings must be covert.”
“Arrogant sod.”
“But eminently fanciable.” He straightened up and faced the alley. “Up there?”
“I don't know why you even ask.” Ianto stepped across the puddle and crossed the road to the alley, pulling a torch out of his pocket to flick across the piles of rubbish and the puddles between them. “Notice anything?”
“There's a door there.”
“Yes, there's a perception filter over it so you shouldn't be able to see it,” Ianto pointed out. “I meant about this rubbish.”
“Why, what have you spotted?” Sherlock came closer. “Oh...”
“It's all old,” Ianto commented. “It's been here years.” He looked up, to the glimpse of sky above the alley. “The perception filter must cover the whole alley.”
“Is that bad?”
“They don't have a license for it.” He nudged the pile nearest to him with his foot and pulled a face at the smell it released. “Let's get inside.”
The door squeaked minutely, clear in the near-silence, and Ianto held the door open for Sherlock. He immediately set to poking around the room, picking up bar mats to read them and collecting them in a pile on one table. Owen came around the corner to lean in the doorway and watch them. “Jones, who's this?”
Ianto nodded a greeting and went back to watching Sherlock. “This is Sherlock Holmes. He's a private detective, consulting us on this case.”
“Consulting detective,” Sherlock corrected him. “I don't find lost pets, I solve cases.”
Owen snorted and turned away. “Great. I thought Jack wanted this case cracked, not a...”
“Shut up.” Sherlock cut across him and spread the bar mats out across the table. “I had a thought, but your face chased it away.”
“My face?”
“Owen, where are Tosh and Gwen?” Ianto interrupted, resting his hands on his hips. “Are they both still here?”
“Gwen's gone back to the Hub like Jack said,” Owen said, shooting Sherlock a glare. Tosh is still recording the rooms. She's upstairs.”
“Then you should be on the bar room door,” Ianto pointed out. He looked up to meet Owen's glare at last and nodded towards the door. “We'll start upstairs and then finish down there and take him back to the Hub.”
Owen curled his lip and didn't shift from the doorway. His hands clenched and he lifted his chin. “I've been down here all day. You stay with the body, I'll go up and take him to the office.”
Ianto dropped his gaze again, but Sherlock brushed past him. “I need someone intelligent to talk to up there.” Owen glared at him and opened his mouth, but Sherlock cut across him. “Besides, I spent two years training Ianto.”
Owen glared at his back and switched it to Ianto, raising his hand to his ear. “Tosh, Ianto and some detective are on their way up. Can you watch them?”
The steps creaked under Ianto's feet, and Owen's boots thudded down to the front bar in the other direction. Sherlock was kneeling in the doorway of the office, peering under the desk, and Tosh was standing behind him with her laptop hugged to her chest. She smiled at Ianto and hugged her laptop tighter. “This must be Sherlock,” she said quietly. “I've got scans of all the rooms, so you can move anything you like.”
“Thank you...” he trailed off and looked over at his shoulder, waiting for an introduction.
“Sherlock, this is Toshiko Sato. Sherlock is a consulting detective,” Ianto explained.
“Consulting detective?” Tosh asked. “What does that entail?”
Sherlock returned his attention to the office, poking through the pile of books. “I consult to the police, rather than to private persons. I'm allergic to dogs.”
Ianto frowned, but changed the subject. “See anything?”
“The safe is opened,” Sherlock muttered and gestured under the desk. “But see this... There's papers and books inside the safe.”
“Grigo said that paperwork was kept in there,” Ianto pointed out.
“No, they've fallen here.” He scooted forwards and picked up a volume of a book collection. “The rest of this collection is on the floor and on the bookcase, but this one is between the safe door and the safe. And there's no damage to the door...”
Ianto nodded. “So whoever found it didn't find what they were looking for. They knew what they wanted.”
“Correct.” Sherlock grabbed the paperwork out of the safe and shoved it at Ianto, then started combing the floor. “These crystals... they're soluble.”
“Don't lick them.” Ianto shifted the papers under his arm and leaned forwards into the room. “They're poisonous to humans.”
“Ianto, I am not in the habit of licking random crystals I find in crime scenes,” Sherlock sighed. “Some of it's been crushed into the carpet... Or it's something different. No this is definitely different.” He knelt up to grab a handful of cash bags and a pencil from the scattered mess across the desk and poked some of the powder into one bag, then some of the crystals into another. “We could feed these to Owen, see if they kill him.”
Ianto sighed.
Tosh looked past him at Sherlock, worrying her lip. “You should see his bedroom as well. I don't think he went to bed last night.”
After one last glance around the room Sherlock got to his feet and put the book back on the bookcase, where it looked lonely and forlorn between tumbled volumes and a lone ripped page. “Lead on Toshiko Sato.”
She ducked her head to hide behind her fringe and looked to Ianto for confirmation. He nodded and stepped back to the top of the stairs to let Sherlock out of the office to follow Tosh along the landing. The first room they passed was a dormitory, and Sherlock stopped to look into it briefly. “There is nothing sadder than an empty and unused bedroom,” he commented to Ianto.
Ianto nodded his agreement but said nothing, watching Sherlock stride to the next door and fling it open. “You grew out of the dramatics, then?”
“Never,” Sherlock confirmed absently. “You were nearly right, Tosh, but this bed has been slept in.”
He crossed the room and started turning back the sheets whilst she watched from the doorway. “How can you tell?” she asked. “The bed is made. Was made.”
“The bedside table,” he didn't explain.
Tosh frowned and turned to Ianto, curious. He smiled and nudged her shoulder. “Go on, ask. He just wants to show off.”
She nudged him back and smiled. “What do you mean, Sherlock?”
He beamed at her and swept the collection of miscellaneous detritus off the bedside table to show her. “The everyday accumulations of someone with a magpie eye, all scattered across the bedside table. He normally sorts things into their proper places, probably in the morning, coin into that jar on the windowsill, cuff-links into the box on top of the chest of drawers, tissue into the bin, but he hasn't done that. But they're not in his pockets either, which means...” he raised his eyebrows at her questioningly and proffered the pile.
She backed away a little and looked between him and Ianto. “Erm... He was interrupted?”
“No,” he scoffed. “You're missing it. Ianto?”
“He emptied his pockets to go to bed, but not for long. He might not even have changed before he got up, but he took the things out of his pockets because they're uncomfortable to sleep on,” he guessed slowly.
Sherlock closed his hands over them with a single clap. “You've not forgotten everything I taught you, then. But look around the room, coat-hangers on the front of the wardrobe.” He dumped the pile back on the bedside table and went to the wardrobe. “He knew that he'd be changing in a hurry, and after not a lot of sleep, so he got his suit out ready.”
Ianto met his eyes and nodded his understanding. “Whoever killed him, he was expecting them.”
Next chapter
