The cab takes me to some kind of school, abandoned for the night. I let myself into the unlocked front door (how’s that for verisimilitude?), and start looking for Sherlock. The place seems to be a big square building with a courtyard in the middle. The hallway is lined with doors, mostly classrooms, mostly standing open. I move warily down the hall, alert for anything that might reveal where Sherlock and the killer are.
The whole thing feels strange, abstract, like one of those dreams where you’re at school but you haven’t been to class all year, and now it’s exam time and you’re lost. The ground floor is unoccupied. I push open the heavy steel fire door that leads to the stairwell, and go up.
Sherlock is with the killer. Sherock thinks he’s real. To keep Sherlock interested and/or fooled, the killer has to act like a real killer. And what do killers do? I start walking faster.
But surely you can’t kill Sherlock, not in this universe.
I catch sight of a glimmer of light in one of the rooms. Pushing the door open, I see that the light is actually coming from another room on the other side of the courtyard. I go to the window to look.
Sherlock and the cabbie/killer are in the room, Sherlock standing, the killer seated at a long table. Sherlock is holding something up—something small. A pill. I know the other victims were drugged. The killer is, somehow, going to make Sherlock take the drug.
I wish I could see better. I wish I could hear what they were saying, but I can’t. All I can see is Sherlock holding up the little pill. I take the gun out of my waistband, feel the weight of it. The gun is real. What else is real?
Who would play a killer on Sherlock? They never beat him. They get into physical fights with him; I’ve seen him break wrists, kick guys in the crotch, seen him smash a man’s face with his knee. People get hurt making this show. How does that work?
Sherlock is all but licking the poison capsule.
I’ve seen Sherlock take drugs before: swallow them, snort them, inject them. It was a difficult period of his life, and seemed to go on and on. The public almost rioted. Lestrade was finally cast to convince to him that he had to get sober, and he did, so far as anyone knew. But the whole reason people were upset was that the drugs were real. Mycroft went on late-night TV and explained.
So, things that are real: drugs, danger, guns, wounds. Sherlock.
Fill Part 9
The whole thing feels strange, abstract, like one of those dreams where you’re at school but you haven’t been to class all year, and now it’s exam time and you’re lost. The ground floor is unoccupied. I push open the heavy steel fire door that leads to the stairwell, and go up.
Sherlock is with the killer. Sherock thinks he’s real. To keep Sherlock interested and/or fooled, the killer has to act like a real killer. And what do killers do? I start walking faster.
But surely you can’t kill Sherlock, not in this universe.
I catch sight of a glimmer of light in one of the rooms. Pushing the door open, I see that the light is actually coming from another room on the other side of the courtyard. I go to the window to look.
Sherlock and the cabbie/killer are in the room, Sherlock standing, the killer seated at a long table. Sherlock is holding something up—something small. A pill. I know the other victims were drugged. The killer is, somehow, going to make Sherlock take the drug.
I wish I could see better. I wish I could hear what they were saying, but I can’t. All I can see is Sherlock holding up the little pill. I take the gun out of my waistband, feel the weight of it. The gun is real. What else is real?
Who would play a killer on Sherlock? They never beat him. They get into physical fights with him; I’ve seen him break wrists, kick guys in the crotch, seen him smash a man’s face with his knee. People get hurt making this show. How does that work?
Sherlock is all but licking the poison capsule.
I’ve seen Sherlock take drugs before: swallow them, snort them, inject them. It was a difficult period of his life, and seemed to go on and on. The public almost rioted. Lestrade was finally cast to convince to him that he had to get sober, and he did, so far as anyone knew. But the whole reason people were upset was that the drugs were real. Mycroft went on late-night TV and explained.
So, things that are real: drugs, danger, guns, wounds. Sherlock.
There’s only one thing I can do.