Fic: A smashing Santa Claus

[anarion]

This is the result of the Sign of Fun Christmas Challenge. It basically said: Take an original canon story and adapt it for the BBC verse. This is my take on 'The Adventure of the Six Napoleons'.
Enjoy!


Title: A smashing Santa Claus
Original canon story: The Adventure of the Six Napoleons
Word count: 4067
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Beta & Partner in Crime: baka_yu ♥♥♥





This whole thing started – unsurprisingly – with Sherlock being bored. And as we all know a bored Sherlock equals the destructive force of a small country’s army. Or a five-year-old.

He wasn’t down to shooting at walls. Yet.

And probably only because John had hidden the gun and boredom had robbed Sherlock of all the energy to get it from its rather obvious hiding place.

John tried all his usual tricks, but this time nothing helped. Sherlock’s mood started to affect him too and now he was short of calling Lestrade every hour to ask for a case.

It was a bright winter day, the air cold and crisp, but the sky was blue and the sun was shining.

“The weather is beautiful, we should go out.”

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s December. There are Christmas decorations everywhere and people running around trying to find presents and all the stupid things normal people buy to get in the right Christmas mood. I would be ready to kill people after exactly 4 minutes and 28 seconds and you would be stressed out.”

“True.”

John was standing by the window, looking down onto the street. Now he turned and watched his friend on the sofa. Sherlock was still on his back, which meant that he hadn’t reached the final pouting position yet.

John took that as a good sign.

Then he noticed the faint shiver that went through Sherlock’s body. No wonder, he was only wearing his pyjamas and his dressing gown. Not even socks.

“Sherlock. At least take a blanket. I don’t think I can stand you being bored and sick. I would probably kill you.”

Sherlock huffed.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Sherlock did not reply, but he reached for the blanket, somehow managing to move only his left arm and not a single muscle more. He pulled it down, so that it covered a part of his body.

“Satisfied?”

John sighed and walked the few steps towards the sofa where he took the blanket and spread it over his flatmate. He wanted to be angry at the lazy bastard, but when he noticed the small smirk on Sherlock’s lips, he realised that the other man was partly hoping for a fight to distract him. So John swallowed his irritation and went to make some tea.

A few minutes later his mobile buzzed and he went to retrieve it from his coat pocket.

“Sarah?” Sherlock queried from the sofa.

“Really John, are you still seeing that boring woman? You could do worse I suppose, but you could do so much better too. And before you thank me, that was not meant as a compliment.”

“Strange as it might sound to you, I didn’t take it as one.”

“Good.”

John turned around in time to see Sherlock curl into himself. And now we finally reached the pouting stage. Wonderful.

John praised the timing of the text he had just gotten. Now he just needed to get Sherlock’s attention. He knew from experience that talking did not work, but leaving the room never failed to alarm Sherlock somehow.

So he did just that.

And as he hoped, Sherlock turned around and asked where he was going.

John didn’t respond, instead he walked into the bathroom, turned the shower on and grabbed Sherlock’s towel.

He went back into the living room where he was greeted by the sight of Sherlock, sitting up and looking intrigued. John threw the towel at him.

“Get dressed. We have a case.”

~°~

Thirty minutes later, when the two men arrived at New Scotland Yard, John was short of a nervous break down. Sherlock had sat in the cab, nearly vibrating with excitement, and shot question after question at John.
After John had told him for the sixth time that he had no clue because the text just said ‘Meet me at NSY, I may have something’, he had just refused to talk to Sherlock at all.

When they reached Lestrade’s office, the DI looked at John and shook his head.

“We need an emergency plan for situations like this. I can handle Sherlock texting me every ten minutes, but not both of you...”

“The case. Please tell him about the case before I kill him. Or myself.”

“Okay, okay. It’s nothing as exciting as murder, I’m afraid. But after the flood of texts that I received over the last hours I take it that you are pretty desperate?”

Sherlock just glowered at him.

“Since I had nothing in my division that would be of interest to you, I went to lunch with some friends from the Met. They know about you, of course they do. So I told them that I needed something to get you and the good doctor off my back and one of them actually pulled out a case that might do all of us a favour by distracting you for a while.”

“Lestrade.” Sherlock was almost growling. The inspector decided to get to the point.

“Really, it is rather trivial, but it might be strange enough to get your attention. It appears that we have someone on the loose who has a very strong aversion to Christmas.”

“What?” John barely bit back his laughter.

“John. There has to be more to the story than this. Let him finish.”

“There is more indeed. This individual breaks into houses in order to smash statues of Santa Claus.” Lestrade continued.

“Breaking and entering. Now that sounds a little more interesting. Go on.”

Sherlock was not really intrigued yet, but apparently everything was better than being bored at home.

“The first break-in was reported a few days ago. Nothing was stolen except for a little statue of Santa Claus and that was smashed in front of the house. Then, the next day, we got another report and here’s where it gets interesting! Because this time the thief broke into the house of a doctor. Again nothing was stolen but a Santa Claus statue, which then has been found shattered outside the house.”

“When the police were talking to Doctor... wait... Doctor Barnicot, he got a phone call from the receptionist at his surgery, telling him that someone had broken in that night. She said she couldn’t see if anything was stolen and since there were pieces of china everywhere she suspected a random act of destruction. We confirmed later on that in fact nothing had been stolen and the shards were from a second statue that Doctor Barnicot had purchased together with the other.”

After Lestrade had finished, he and John turned their heads to look expectantly at Sherlock, who – true to form – adopted his typical thinking pose that makes him look like he's praying to some deity. Maybe the deity of logic, if such a thing exists.

When he didn’t speak at once, John got impatient.

“Any ideas then?”

Sherlock ignored him and turned to Lestrade.

“What can you tell me about the statues? Were all three exact copies? Or is there anything that connects them?”

“They were from the same manufacturer and rather expensive. They are sold at Liberty.”

“Anything else?”

“No, sorry, that’s all I’ve got. I doubt that we will ever solve this anyway. I don’t have enough people as it is, Christmas is always a busy time. If nothing more happens in that regard, I will just drop it. So when you have an epiphany, let me know.”

“I am sure this is not the end of it. Keep me posted. Come on John.”

“Where are we going?”

“I am going home, I need to think. You are going shopping, we are out of milk.”

~°~

The next morning John woke because Sherlock was hollering his name from downstairs. The next thing he knew, a dark-haired whirlwind barged into his room, already in his coat and waiving with his mobile.

“John, get up. Why are you still in bed?”

“Mpf... ‘sup?”

“Lestrade texted. There seems to be a new development in the case with the smashed statues. Come on.”

“You know the rule: I am not leaving the house without tea unless there has been a murder. Is there tea?”

“No.”

“Is there a murder? No. Why is there no tea?”

“Mrs Hudson is not up yet.”

“If you want me to storm out of the house in the next ten minutes, you’d better make some tea.”

“Fine.”

Sherlock huffed and left the room.

Forty minutes later they jumped out of a cab at the address Lestrade had sent to Sherlock. It was an old brick house, recently restored, with a small garden in front, which was now thoroughly trampled down by several police men.

A large crowd had gathered and Sherlock turned around to beam victoriously at John.

“See the look on their faces? Your tea this morning was entirely undeserved.”

“They are standing with their backs to us, Sherlock.”

“You can see them mirrored in the windows. A murder or attempted murder at the least. Nothing else would attract and hold so many people in this cold a weather. Ah, there is Lestrade.”

John had long ago given up to scold him for his enthusiasm over other people’s death. So he just shook his head slightly and followed him up to where the DI was standing.

Lestrade ushered them inside to where an older man was sitting, looking slightly dishevelled and very agitated, who introduced himself as Mr Harker.

John remembered having read something about him in one of Mrs Hudson’s gossip rags and tried to recall it while Sherlock just looked at the man blankly. Then he turned to Lestrade.

“Tell me about the victim. I assume he is dead? I need to know exactly what happened tonight.”

“How can you know about the victim?” For a moment Lestrade looked flustered, but then his usual exasperation and resignation won and he sighed before quickly going on. “You know what? Never mind.” He rolled his eyes and then nodded to Mr Harker, who started to take them through the events.

“I was working late, my office is on the first floor. Around three in the morning I heard a noise coming from downstairs. Before I could decide if it was worth investigating, I heard a blood-curdling cry. I ran downstairs and saw that the window to the living room was wide open. I went to the back door over there to see if I could still catch the thief when I almost stepped on a dead man. He was lying in a big puddle of blood in front of the door. I barely managed to stagger back inside and call the police.”

Sherlock looked over to the door and was obviously disappointed that the corpse had already been carried off. Lestrade nearly apologised for doing his job.

“You can have a look at the body in the mortuary.”

“Were you able to identify him?”

“No, he had no ID on him. There was a knife lying in the blood next to him, we will have to wait for the print analysis to see if he or the other man brought the knife. Oh and he had this mobile phone in his pocket.”

He handed an evidence bag to Sherlock and the detective started to check the phone’s contents at once.

“There are several calls from an unknown number. And someone sent him a picture, a snap-shot of another man.”

He was silent for a few seconds and John took the opportunity to ask a question of his own.

“What does all this have to do with the statues?”

“Very good John, you’re paying attention. I presume the thief took the statue with him?”

Both men turned to Lestrade.

“Yes, I was just coming to that part. It was found broken into pieces under a street lamp a few houses down. I am going to have a look now, will you come?”

“Yes. I will just have a quick look around this room.”

John and Lestrade were briefly distracted by Mr Harper, who announced that he needed a drink. When John looked back at Sherlock, he saw him secretly pocketing something before twirling around to follow Lestrade. He caught John watching and winked at him.

The spot where the Santa statue had been smashed was only a few blocks away. Since it was the first time that Sherlock actually saw one of he statues, he knelt down and took out his magnifier to examine the shards.

After a moment Lestrade made a questioning sound and Sherlock shrugged at him.

“I can’t tell you the significance of the statues yet. What I can tell you is that they are clearly more valuable to our man than a human life. And he does not steal them for the sole reason of destroying them.”

“You lost me.”

Lestrade looked confused, so Sherlock turned to John.

“Why did he destroy it here exactly? If he only wanted to smash it, he could have done so in front of Mr Harper’s house.”

“He was rattled by the fact that he just ran into the other man and had to kill him?”

“Maybe. But there is something else. Don’t you see it?”

“A street lamp. It was dark on the street and in front of the house. But not here.”

“Exactly. For some reason he needed to see what he was doing.”

He got up and started walking towards the main road.

“Wait, Sherlock, where are you going?”

“John and I will follow the path of the statues. Please text me when you have identified the dead man.”

“Sherlock.”

“What now?”

“I need the mobile back. It’s evidence after all.”

“I need it until tonight.”

“Fine. Dr. Watson, I will trust it to you to get him to return it.”

Lestrade walked away and Sherlock grinned at John before striding along.

“Ok, spill. What did you steal from Mr Harker’s living room? I don’t approve by the way, not that it matters to you...”

Sherlock fished a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“It’s a blackmailing letter. I found it hidden under the base of a lamp.”

“Why on earth did you take it?”

“Blackmailing, John? There might be a case there. We will solve the riddle of the broken statues tonight and return to question Mr Harper about the letter tomorrow.”

“You are impossible. So, where are we going?”

“Liberty. Taxi!”

John had no idea how, but Sherlock always managed to get a cab the minute he decided that he needed one. That never happened to John. He pouted a little as he climbed into the car behind Sherlock.

At Liberty, Sherlock strode to the information desk, flashed one of the badges he had stolen from Lestrade and demanded to speak to the sales manager.

He turned out to be a small, mousy man, who was entirely intimidated by Sherlock.

“Yes, yes, we had a few of the Santa statues, six to be exact. You need to know who we sold them to? Yes, I can check, you might be lucky, most people pay by card. Who we bought the statues from? It’s a German firm, called Gelder & Co., in Stepney. Yes, I’ve seen the man in the picture before, that is my assistant’s brother. Yes, I will call your colleague with the information on the buyer’s identities as soon as possible.”

The next stop was Gelder & Co., where the two men were informed by the manager that they produced about hundred of these statues, sold throughout the whole country. Six had been delivered to Liberty. These six had been one batch, but had been produced exactly like all the others: the cast was taken in two moulds which were then joined to make the complete statue.

The manager had also seen the man in the picture before.

“Oh, yes, he worked here a few weeks back. He was actually a conservator who lost his job at the British Museum. I think he felt that this work was beneath him. Anyway, he suddenly quit.”

Sherlock seemed content with the amount of information and the two men returned to 221B Baker Street, where Sherlock at once took up his usual thinking position on the sofa.

John’s attempt to make tea was interrupted by a call from the Liberty’s sales manager. After he finished that, he resumed making tea and brought a cup over to Sherlock.

“The sales manager just called.”

“I heard. What did he have to say?”

“He gave me the names of the people who bought the statues and paid by card. We are lucky because all six did, no one paid in cash. He gave me two names that we haven’t heard before. We have met Mr Harper and Dr Barnicot as well as the first victim, Mrs Laburnum, were mentioned by Lestrade. That leaves us with a Mr Brown and a Mr Sandeford. The manager sent all the details to Lestrade’s email account.”

“Excellent. Text Lestrade, we will meet him at the Yard in twenty minutes.”

“He will not be happy that you used his badge again.”

“I got the results, what more can he want?”

“I choose not to answer this. Now drink your tea.”

Exactly twenty-two minutes later Sherlock stormed into Lestrade’s office, where he pointedly ignored the inspector’s rant about the unfitting use of a police badge. John stood in a corner and tried to hide his grin without much success.

When Lestrade had finished, Sherlock informed him about their (his) conclusions and grabbed the email from the sales manager. The DI was not really interested in the whole business with the statues, instead he boasted about the fact that he managed to identify the dead man.

“We checked his prints and he was already in the database. He is, sorry, was a known contract killer. The man in the picture is probably our thief and the killer got it to find the right man.”

“Good work, inspector! Well done. Cause of death?”

“He was stabbed in the heart and was dead nearly instantly. The coroner’s report says that the blow was rather sloppy though, it did not look precise. There were two sets of prints on the knife. One from the dead man, the other unknown, probably the man in the picture.”

Silence fell until John stepped forward.

“Now what? Sherlock, I’m sure you already have a plan?”

“Yes, we will go to Mr Brown’s house in Chiswick, where we will catch ourselves a thief. And murderer. Lestrade, this might be one of the few opportunities when you will actually be there for the final face-off instead of being too late as always.”

“Sherlock.”

John accusingly stared at Sherlock. The taller man did not apologise, but the inspector seemed willing to ignore the stinger in favour of catching a killer.

The three men took a cab and rode to their destination in silence, which was only disturbed by Sherlock typing away on his mobile.

In Chiswick, Sherlock lead them into a small road lined with one family houses, where he chose some dense bushes to hide behind.

“Turn off your mobiles. And wait for my signal.”

“This is actually not my first stake-out, Sherlock. I do this for a living, remember?”

John decided that it was time to play mother hen and he shushed his two companions. Right in time as it turned out, because seconds later a shadow climbed over the fence of the nearest house and disappeared in the dark.

A few seconds later there was the faint sound of glass breaking. Sherlock raised a hand and slowly started towards the house, the two men at his side following his example.

They did not have to wait long. As soon as they reached the garden, the shadow jumped out of the broken window, a small statue in his hand.

He looked around, crouched down and shattered the statue on the ground. The trio used his momentary state of distraction to rush over and after a brief struggle the man was hand-cuffed on the ground.

While Lestrade called his team in, Sherlock examined the broken statue, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Then he walked over to John and Lestrade, a sour expression on his face.

“It is too late now, we will have to wait until tomorrow to wrap this up completely. Lestrade, will you come to Baker Street at three? I shall explain everything then.”

The two inhabitants of 221B returned home and spent the night like they usually do when on a case. John in his bed sleeping and Sherlock on the sofa, thinking, researching or playing the violin.

The next day Sherlock disappeared the whole morning and even when he was back (not explaining anything to John) the hours seemed to drag on forever until it was finally three o’clock and Lestrade arrived.

Sherlock, dressed sharply as ever, paced impatiently until the other men had seated themselves and Lestrade commenced giving his account on what he had found out about the murderer. Triumphantly, Sherlock then presented a Santa statue to his audience.

He enjoyed the exclamations of surprise from John and Lestrade before explaining that he got the statue from Mr Sandeford, who lived in Reading but had agreed to send the statue to Sherlock with an express service.

“I went to collect it this morning. Mr Sandeford was a little baffled but very amiable when I told him that the statues were objects in an ongoing investigation. I might have used your identity again, by the way.”

Lestrade frowned, but was too curious to complain at the moment. He just motioned at Sherlock to continue.

“Now, let us see what is behind all this.”

He picked up his riding crop and with a flourish he struck the statue, so that it broke into pieces. Then he searched through the shards and suddenly, with an exclamation of triumph, he fished out a piece and held it into the light.

“Behold, the Edward ruby! Stolen from the British Museum in May.”

“What?” “How?”

All three men spoke at once for a moment, before Sherlock silenced the other two with a gaze and continued.

“Mr Rothenkiel, the man you have in custody right now, worked as a conservator in the British Museum. When his contract had ended he used his knowledge of the place to steal the ruby, together with an accomplice. He then decided to keep the gem for himself and went into hiding.

He found a new employment at Gelder & Co. And a few weeks ago he was alarmed by something and decided to hide his treasure in one of the statues he made. Nobody would suspect a treasure in one of those, even when his pursuers caught up to him. He probably planned to take it home, but for some reason that you will have to dig out, Lestrade, he could not. The statues were sold. He found out that his batch went to Liberty and used his sister, who is the assistant of the sales manager, to get him the addresses of the buyer.

He then proceeded to steal and destroy each statue until he found the right one.”

“What about the contract killer?”

“Hired by his former accomplice to take revenge. He sent him the picture to identify the target. I am pretty sure that Mr Rothenkiel did not actually intend to kill him, he just tried to fight him off. Remember that the coroner said the wound was not precise?”

There were a few seconds of silence and then John and Lestrade actually started clapping.

“Brilliant. That was brilliant.”

“Yes, it was.”

John beamed at Sherlock, who took a step back into the shadows to hide his slight blush.

After Lestrade left to interrogate Mr Rothenkiel again, Sherlock threw himself on the sofa.

“I called Mr Harper, but he does not have time tonight. We will see him about the blackmailing letter first thing tomorrow.

“And now we will have dinner and then you will sleep at least four hours.”

“You know that I never eat on a case.”

“Technically you are not on a case. You are between cases. Come on, don’t be difficult.”

Sherlock sighed, but there was a small smile in the corner of his mouth when he followed John.

“You are paying though. And I get to choose the title for your blog entry on this one.”


--------------------------------
AN: 4000 words. Phew! That was a challenge! I still prefer 221Bs, but this was a lot of fun too.

We have a few ideas for 'The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton', depending on your feedback I might write it. Or not. *lol*

Comments

[baka-yu.livejournal.com]

No matter how often I read it, I still love it. And being Partner in Crime even more! :D

And I'd like to see Milverton happen! <3

[vince-moon.livejournal.com]

Oh, brilliant! An excellent take on The Adventure of the Six Napoleons.

[chocolamousse.livejournal.com]

Wait. The Advent calendar, all your WIPs (*looks fondly at the WIPs*), and now that ? Are you on drugs ? Don't you sleep or eat while you're on a fic, like Sherlock ? :D

And as we all know a bored Sherlock equals the destructive force of a small country’s army.
This is a casefic but it's also funny from the first line. Good !
"Where are we going?"
“I am going home, I need to think. You are going shopping, we are out of milk.”
Sherlock informed him about their (his) conclusions
*giggles*

I would be ready to kill people after exactly 4 minutes and 28 seconds and you would be stressed out.
I very much like this scientific precision in your fics. It's so... Sherlock.
I also very much liked the It took exactly 1 minute and 40 seconds until John was completely breathless and desperately aroused bit from your Advent calendar : Day 17.

John sighed and walked the few steps towards the sofa where he took the blanket and spread it over his flatmate.
Aaaaah, I love your John.

You could do worse I suppose, but you could do so much better too.
Well, it's obvious, he could...
*remembers some remarks Anarion made recently*
Actually, do you know what ? Ignore me. Ignore all of that.

John didn’t respond, instead he walked into the bathroom, turned the shower on and grabbed Sherlock’s towel.
Aaaaah, the missing bathtub scene from Advent Calendar : Day 21. Rats, it isn't.

Well, that's a good adaptation. It doesn't look like an artificial adaptation of an old story at all, but like a good new fic. I like how you use the mobil phone and the direct debit card to resolve an "old" case. And you even use the riding crop ! :D Well done, Anarion !

[atlinmerrick.livejournal.com]

Adore all the lines chocolamousse did and also am so impressed you did case!fic. I try, I do try, but clothes fall off and then everything derails and...

Anyway, lovely, just lovely!

[talimenios79.livejournal.com]

This was fabulous.

[mirith.livejournal.com]

"Sherlock was still on his back, which meant that he hadn’t reached the final pouting position yet." Bwahaha! John has seen this particular performance before, hasn't he?

“The case. Please tell him about the case before I kill him. Or myself.” Please don't kill him, John. He's too beautiful to die.

“You know the rule: I am not leaving the house without tea unless there has been a murder. Is there tea?” Priorities, priorities.

“This is actually not my first stake-out, Sherlock." Good point, Lestrade.

“You are paying though. And I get to choose the title for your blog entry on this one.” Oh, Sherlock. You are incorrigible. It's a good thing you look so pretty in a sheet.

[morganstuart.livejournal.com]

Fantastic!

[tialangela.livejournal.com]

Very nicely done!

May I just point out something? Sometimes you write "Mr. Harker" and sometimes "Mr. Harper", maybe a typo?

Anyway, off to read your Advent fics!