University student Lucy Daniels is a homebody, a perfectionist, a nerd, and no fun, at least according to her roommate. And she's fine with that. But when she ends up in the world of BBC Sherlock, she's going to have to do more than term papers to get through this mess alive.

And what's with these words floating around everywhere?

•••

An adventure in Sherlockian London, filled with deductions, experiments, high stakes, Chinese food, way too much sass, a very slippery consulting criminal, and perhaps even a touch of romance.

[Sherlock x OC]

Very loosely follows 'The Great Game' (01x03).

•••

PROLOGUE: IN WHICH I AM NOT UNDER TERRORIST ATTACK

•••

"C'mon, Lucy, it'll be fun!" Annabel pleads.

"You're going to smear your eyeliner if you don't pay attention," I point out.

She huffs, checking herself in the mirror. "You never go out and do anything. You need some fun in your life."

Having your best friend for a roommate has its pros and cons. Pro: Knowing me on two fronts, she understands me better than anyone else. Con: That means she feels it's her job to help socialize me.

"Even if I wanted to, now isn't exactly the best time," I reply. I had just finished closing up at the cafe before settling in for a frantic paper writing session.

"My point exactly!" she protests. "You're too busy. You need to lay off the class work and let yourself be happy."

"An, what I need is to focus."

She leaves off, and I continue typing. Without warning her hand slams the laptop closed.

"Hey!"

"Aw, c'mon, you aren't even trying," she protests, pointing at the TV. I had turned on Netflix – BBC Sherlock was playing now – for some background noise to keep me focused. "You're watching your nerd show instead."

"How many times do I have to explain this to you?" I snap. "Ambience helps me think."

"Whatever you say, Lu," Annabel rolls her eyes, grabbing her purse and heading out the door. "Text me when you change your mind." I catch a glimpse of the hallway before the door swings shut again, leaving me with a paper to write.

"Ugh," I moan, scrubbing at my face. Then I sigh, turning up the TV volume, and pull the laptop open again.

She's kind of right, I guess. I don't have to finish editing this paper. I'll pass whether I even turn it in. But the prospect of skipping it to spend my night in a crowded, dim, loud, strange house turns my stomach.

I'm such an introvert. It's probably disgusting, but I'm too busy being glad I'm alone right now to care.

I sigh and get back to my paper.

Suddenly a very real shattering crash sounds through the room. I jerk my head up. There's a bullet hole smashed into the TV glass. Naturally, I duck and cover. After staying curled on the carpet long enough to feel sheepish, I pull my head up.

"A-Annabel?" I call hesitantly. The sound of the air conditioning is my only answer.

Once no more bullets seem forthcoming, I cautiously approach the set. The display doesn't seem to be too damaged, as it's still projecting an image: the pool from The Great Game.

"This isn't funny, An," I say, though I have a suspicion she's not around to hear me.

Frowning, I inspect the cluster of glassy fragments scattered across the carpet. They're awfully far from the set. So did it come through from the back?

I go around the TV to the back, where a bundle of wires are hooked up and plugged in. No bullet holes here. I withdraw, pondering the conundrum from the front again.

This doesn't make sense. Unless the bullet had slammed from inside the screen or something, the glass would have fallen much closer to the set.

Wait.

"Impossible," I murmur, running my fingers across the ragged hole. I can feel air emanating from the other side. Which, I'm actually pretty sure that there is another side at this point, because through the hole I can see the scene in clean, living color. The pool deck is empty, leaving light to dance freely in watery patterns on the walls. Even with the TV muted I hear the echoey dripping noise I usually associate with deserted hotel pools. It's just too real, and too surreal, all at once.

Something starts rattling behind me. I whirl, staring blankly at my mug as it vibrates on the coaster. Everything is shaking, I realize as I glance frantically around the room.

"Okay, yeah, you got me," I say with a tight laugh. "Great prank. You can come out now." The quaking around me only intensifies. "Please?" A note of despair enters my voice.

A sudden, strong gust of wind threatens to push me off my feet. I shield my face as a ream of notes and half-finished sketches spiral past me, followed swiftly by a string of colored pencils. My Captain America bobble head, my debate team trophy, and my hairbrush all smack into the front wall. The desk tips over and falls with a thud before scraping heavily across the floor. My lava lamp hurtles straight through the screen, creating a giant hole.

Suddenly a force like a riptide wrenches me toward the TV, jerking a squeak from my throat. The world seems to change perspective. My peripheral vision warps, elongating like a surrealist painting. A scream rips through my reality as my feet leave the ground, but I can't tell if it comes from me or from somewhere very far away.

I plummet headlong through the glass and into oblivion.