Breaking the Fourth Wall

"This is getting ridiculous," John said as he scrolled through the results on his computer screen. "Would you believe that people are writing stories about us?"

"Of course I would. Teenagers are obsessed with creating their own stories based on figments of their imaginations."

John just stared at Sherlock. "Are you saying… that we're figments of their imaginations? Whatever happened to 'I think, therefore I am?'"

"Don't even get me started on Descartes, and no, of course we're not parts of their imaginations. But their impression of us is certainly make-believe," Sherlock said.

"That's nice… but why us? Why teenagers? What I mean to say is, how the hell can they know who we are?"

"Two men in the twenty-first century who have an impeccable working relationship and happen to be living together. They both help Scotland Yard solve their toughest crimes. They are not romantically involved with anyone at the moment. Don't you think people are expecting so much more from us?" Sherlock asked John.

"Well, I mean… you do recall what Mycroft said about the both of-"

"That will be enough about Mycroft. His opinion does not matter to me in the least. Besides, he's not even part of the demographic we're discussing."

"Obviously, you haven't seen this fanfiction site, then. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that 'MotherAlwaysLikedMeBest' is someone that we know. And look at this, he's written at least six different stories! 'Girlock Holmes- Crossdressing at the Age of Five,' 'That One Time He Was Wrong and I Was Right,' 'Flatmates, Friends, or Further?'… you know what, I think I should stop here. But the list goes on and on!" John said.

"Is there… anyone else we might know…?" Sherlock muttered apprehensively.

"No, it seems that the rest of them are indeed teenagers. Well, wait a minute… 'ThisIsNotLestrade.' Do you think he's stupid enough to make that his username?"

"… I wouldn't put it past him. But he is a somewhat intelligent man. Well, by your standards, not mine. The real question here is what type of stories he (or she!) has posted." Sherlock looked like he was concentrating just as intently as if he were trying to find a murderer.

"Let's see… 'A Study in Pink,' 'The Blind Banker,' 'The Great Game'… wait a minute! What a little- I swear, I worked forever on these and then he just posts them up here like he came up with them! What is his problem?" John cried, getting angrier by the second.

"John, please. Calm yourself and let me see that computer for a moment. I'm going to check something," Sherlock said, walking over to where John was sitting, still seething with rage.

"All right, but make it quick. I wanted to read fanfictions about The Hobbit; that was why I was even on this site in the first place."

"All in due time," Sherlock said as he started typing seemingly random letters. When he was done, he hit "enter". "There you are. It's the real Lestrade."

"Does this mean you know everyone's passwords, Sherlock? Including mine?" John said, glaring at him.

"I don't need to know yours because I know you would never post damaging information about me. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for Lestrade. Not while he still works with the rest of those idiots."

John sighed. "Please, this is going a bit too far. I understand you have to keep up your mysterious allure, but really. Respect a person's privacy once in a while, will you?"

"Is this just an excuse to call me out on that time when I supposedly 'invaded your privacy?'"

"Well, you did! Sherlock, there is a reason we have two bedrooms. You can't just climb into my bed whenever you feel like it!"

"I needed your memory foam mattress to help me remember something," Sherlock started explaining.

"That isn't even how it works! Look! There's the sun! We go around it! Look! Here's my bed! It does not help mental capabilities in the least!" John said as he started running frantically around the room pointing out the window and then towards his bedroom. "You're just so frustrating!"

Sherlock stood where he was and just blinked. "All right. I'm frustrating. That's not a problem. Are you going to continue with this fanfiction business?"

There was just no reaching that man, John thought to himself. He sat back down in front of his computer.

After five minutes, he nearly jumped out of his chair. "Sherlock! I think this is… uh… him? Maybe?"

"What? Who are you talking about?"

"Moriarty. I can't be sure, though. Calls himself 'Army_Riot', which anagrams to 'Moriarty'."

"You did that in your head? I'm proud of you, John. You might be learning a thing or two."

"Anyway, his stories are… interesting. 'What I Saw Sherlock Doing Last Night Through His Bedroom Window'… Oh my god, Sherlock, is this true?" John asked.

"WHAT. Let me see that right now."

"Uh… on second thought, maybe I want to read this instead of The Hobbit. What the… Sherlock? You have a picture of me on your pillow? What is this? I mean? Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?" With each word he read, John became more and more frightened.

"Give. Me. The. Computer. Now." Sherlock demanded.

John picked up his laptop and started running out the door with it. "Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock won't let me use my belongings again!"

"Oh, stop it. That's not what I meant. I just need to know if I was spied on last night. It's rather important."

"Sherlock! You be nice to this young man!" Mrs. Hudson yelled from downstairs. "Also, I'm running out of jam. So I can only comfort him so many more times before I have to go to the store again."

It was time for drastic measures. He would just have to use his own computer.

After a bit of searching, Sherlock found the story in question. "I can't… no… John knows my secret," he whispered to himself. "I must not let him know."

Then he read the footnote. "P.S. This is all one hundred percent true. If you don't believe me, here's a picture." Indeed, there was a picture of Sherlock in a compromising situation in his bedroom involving a photograph of John Watson.

First, Moriarty humiliates me. Then he leaves it for John to see, thereby destroying our relationship. I WILL get my revenge.

Sherlock decided his best course of action would be to retaliate. He would write his own opposing fanfiction. For now, he settled on leaving a comment on the story.

"Fuck you. -SH"