It's been awhile since I've posted on this website, but I was hit by a plot bunny today and needed to write it out. Here's the first chapter of what I know will be quite a few, though I have yet to determine exactly how long it turn out to be.
For Sherlock, this takes place during "The Great Game" and for Detective Conan, this after the "Mystery Train" case, in which we find out the identity of Bourbon.
Cover Credit: deviantART's ~kayainu
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Detective Conan.
His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the overwhelming feeling of dryness, but only succeeded in making his mouth feel even more parched. An oddly sweet scent filled his nostrils, and there was a pounding in his ears. He clenched his eyes tightly in order to dull the light shining through his eyelids, adding to the pain in his head. He could feel the harsh coldness of concrete against his cheek. As his muddled brain began to work once again, he began to make sense of what all this could mean and immediately stilled. Slowly lifting his lashes, he examined the room he found himself in. The wallpaper was peeling and he could see mold making its way down from the ceiling. The floor was a cracked concrete, and there was nothing to be seen inside the room. There was a filmy window near the ceiling to his left, and he could just make out the street beyond the small opening.
Keeping his breaths even, seven year old Edogawa Conan closed his eyes, quickly sifting through the information he had just gathered. The analytical mind of teenage detective Kudo Shinichi got to work, efficiently putting the clues together. The sweet scent could be affiliated with chloroform, which would explain the muddy feeling in his mind and why he could not recall arriving in this room. The poor shape of the room probably meant that he had been stashed somewhere where people would not think to look for a missing child, most likely in the basement of a condemned building of some sort. The fact that he was alone meant that his captor was confident that he would not be going anywhere anytime soon, either because of the influence of the drug or just that he was an innocent looking child.
Blue eyes opened once again, determined to learn more about his situation. This time he turned his gaze to his body, frowning when he noticed the bulky winter coat that he had been changed into. He was unrestrained, and a quick scan noted that his gadget shoes, belt, and watch were all still accounted for. His glasses were still perched on his nose, and with the GPS technology in them he would quickly be able to ascertain his location, especially seeing how he still had the ability to move his arms. Conan slowly sat up, frowning at the weight he felt on his torso. He carefully unzipped the heavy jacket and his eyes widened upon seeing what was under it. Strapped to his chest was a vest of explosives, and he quickly determined that his captor must have some motive other than holding a child hostage.
Taking a deep breath, Conan cautiously removed the winter coat, eyes trailing over the mess of wires that crisscrossed over his torso. The different colors on the wires were encouraging, and with some examination, Conan could easily decipher where each wire connected. The design was simple enough, and it seemed that his kidnapper hadn't considered the thought of the possibility of a hostage who knew how to disarm a bomb, let alone a kid who was physically seven. He had no knife or scissors on him, but Conan figured if he could break a lens on his glasses, he'd have an edge sharp enough to slice through the wires he would need to cut. Before ruining his gadget though, he would need to figure out where he was.
Conan pressed the button on his glasses, and instantly a map appeared on the lens. The English names threw him off for a second before he remembered he had been in London at the time his memory abruptly cut off. Minerva had invited him back to the English-speaking city as a thank you for saving her life, now that tennis season was over. Wanting an escape from everything going on in Japan with the discovery of Bourbon's identity, Conan had jumped at the chance, and so he, Agasa, and Haibara were all spending the week in London. They had meant to keep a low profile in order to ensure that the Black Organization's attention was not on them, but clearly something had gone wrong with that plan.
A loud beep tore him from his thoughts and Conan's eyes narrowed, instantly scanning the room for the source. The sound continued, and he cautiously reached into the pocket of the coat, brow furrowed as he pulled out a pager. "There is a cell phone to your left," darted across the small screen in English, and Conan turned his head to the left, where sure enough a small cell phone was placed innocently on the ground. Eyes narrowed, he picked up the phone and flipped it open. Another beep sounded from the pager and he turned his attention to the screen as the words, "Call the programmed phone number and read exactly what is written here. If you stray a single word, you won't like the consequences." At that a red light appeared on Conan's chest, originating from beyond the window. The light was an aiming beam from a rifle, telling Conan that he was being watched. Another glance around the room revealed a small camera mounted above the door, red light blinking menacingly.
Small fingers maneuvered through the phone's data, quickly locating the stored number. Eyes still narrowed, Conan called the contact, eyes turning back to the pager. Halfway through the first ring, the phone was picked up, and a deep baritone answered, "Yes?" The diminutive detective instantly deduced that the speaker was native to London and in his late twenties, and had been expecting this call. The anticipation of his tone was riddled with frustration as well, resulting in the clipped voice that had answered.
"I hope you enjoyed my last puzzle, dear," Conan read, innocently tapping his finger against the phone, resulting in small beats to pass through to the person on the other side, "because this one is a real challenge. You have seven hours." The boy bit his lip, praying that the speaker would say something so that he could continue his tapped message.
"Wait!" the voice called, sounding desperate. "Why are you doing this?"
Conan's eyes were still glued to the small screen, but he continued with his tapping. "I like to see you dance," he read, closing his eyes in relief as he finished his hidden message. Upon completion, he followed the instructions and flipped the phone closed, smirking to himself.
Several blocks away, Sherlock Holmes shoved a phone into his pocket, and a grin spread across his face. "Finally, someone intelligent!" he crowed, standing from his seated position and turning to face his flatmate John Watson.
John's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? He sounded just like the others, reading from a script," he responded.
Sherlock's eyes sparkled, and he replied, "It wasn't in what he was saying." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "The hostage knew Morse Code. He was telling me his location."
Please review, and let me know what you think!