"This can not be legal," Sherlock growled. John looked up, startled. Sherlock had been at the laptop all morning, perusing a text-dense website. He'd been making small noises of derision, alternating with thoughtful pauses of silence and soft "hmm"s.
"Fanfiction dot net," Sherlock scowled. "I didn't think such preposterous nonsense about real people could be posted so … publicly."
"Oh, that. Don't worry about it, Sherlock. It's harmless, and it probably helps bring in cases. How many about us so far?"
"About me, you mean, as there are over 18,000. Although, some of these authors seem to have access to, shall we say, privileged information," Sherlock continued ominously. "Beyond what one could infer from your blog."
He rose and thrust a list of usernames under John's nose. "You've been in contact with them, haven't you," he accused. "At least with these, who include rather accurate direct quotes in their … work, when only you and I had been present at the time."
John squirmed. "Well, mostly with that one," he said, pointing. "I rather like her ideas. I thought I might give her some actual material to work with. For fun."
Sherlock looked at him for a long moment. Then he stalked back to his laptop. "I can at least ensure that she receives a balanced perspective," he said, addressing the PM: "BritLitChick".