The green light pulsed and shimmered from its position two feet above the conference room carpet. Sherlock frowned at it from across the room, as if scowling might force it to give up its secret of existence. John sighed. "So no idea what it is, then?"

"None. At least it doesn't appear to be alive, though you'd have to ask the people with the fancy technology to be certain on that point," he nodded towards the scientists who had been asked to come examine the anomaly and were currently circling around it with various instruments, trying to get any sort of sense as to what it was.

"And why did Lestrade want you here?"

"Because I knew he was bored," Lestrade came over to stand beside them, "and I figured he could be useful when it comes time to figure out how the damn thing got here, once they figure out what it is."

"And why are you here?" Sherlock asked. "This isn't your division."

"Apparently I'm the go-to person for 'weird-cases-that-might-need-a-certain-consulting-detective'. Not complaining, it's a nice break from the office."

"Is the convention still going on?"

Lestrade nodded. "Walked past a few of you on my way in."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John smiled. He found the idea of people dressing up as his friend at a comic book and anime convention of all things hilarious. "I'm not a fictional character," Sherlock complained, "why on earth would anyone dress up as me?"

"Because they're your fans. You've got a whole following of people," Lestrade explained, with a touch of mockery, "especially after you faked your own death and never actually explained how you did it."

One of the officers approached. "Sir," he said to Lestrade, "there's someone who wants to have a look at the…" he gestured to the green light, "... claims to be an expert in um. Transdimensional… something or other," he finished weakly.

"Who is he?"

"Last name was Becile. American."

"American? How did he know about this?"

"Gossip around the convention."

"Possible, considering the complete lack of subtlety in getting a bunch of scientists in here with loads of equipment," muttered Sherlock, "but still highly suspect."

"Thank you, I know it's suspicious," Lestrade glared at him. To his officer he said, "Tell him we've already got scientists working on it, and if he's as much of an expert as he seems to think, we'll call him when we want him."

The officer left, and Lestrade saw Sherlock typing furiously on his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Research."

"On that Becile person?"

"Becile Industries is an American company offering digital connectivity and virtual gaming products among other high-end experimental technology. I can't find a company website, but apparently they have a tumblr. Vice Chairman and CEO Buster Becile recently released a commercial for the company advertising vast scientific possibilities unleashed by a newly discovered particle."

"So that might actually have been an expert I sent away."

"You did the right thing, Lestrade. Becile's mystery particle is green."

"Wait," said John.

"Hang on," said Lestrade.

"Yes, I'm suggesting that Mr. Becile's presence was not fortuitous, but planned." Sherlock walked up to the closest scientist, grabbed his pen and threw it at the green light.

It flashed as the pen went through it… and didn't come out the other side.

The scientists erupted with chatter. Sherlock headed for the door.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?" John rushed after him.

"We need the services of an expert on this bizarre field of science, one who isn't responsible for that portal in the first place."

"And you know where to find one," Lestrade caught up to them.

"I know where to find one's creations."

John grabbed Sherlock's arm, "No. No, now, normally I go along with the whole 'not explaining anything' bit, but not this time. This is weird. There's a… a portal, of some sort, in a convention center's conference room, created by some sort of American mad scientist, and now you're going to go find another one to help us?"

"Well the other one is in America, so he wouldn't be of immediate use, but his creations are currently in London. Or, his ancestor's creations. They're performing right now."

"Performing. Here, at the convention."

Lestrade folded his arms, "And you don't find this 'suspiciously fortuitous?'"

"Of course it is."

The main conference hall had been converted into a concert venue with a stage at one end, standing audience room reaching halfway back from it and some chairs set up behind that. Everyone in the standing audience space was seated on the the floor, gazing up in rapt attention at the band performing on stage.

John couldn't get a good look at them from his position behind the curtain that separated the audience from the 'backstage' area, but he grasped the essential concept from their lyrics and between-song banter.

"It's a band of robots," he looked at Sherlock for confirmation.

Sherlock nodded. "Their website claims that they were invented in 1896 by Colonel Peter Walter I, a genius inventor and part of a secret society called the Cavalcadium."

"A secret society of what normal people would call 'mad scientists' and crackpots," Lestrade commented.

Sherlock shrugged, "Not an unfair description. Except apparently they knew what they were talking about, as there is a band composed of three steam powered automatons performing on stage. And then there's them," he gestured to the two women in dresses reminiscent of lab coats with electric blue hair and titanium white skin, silently playing cards on the floor and completely ignoring them.

"What about them?" asked John.

"The robots are supposedly run on something called 'blue matter', constant exposure to which results in white or grey skin pigmentation and blue hair."

"That's ridiculous," said John, "there's no reason any sort of chemical or radiation exposure would cause that sort of effect."

"This whole thing is ridiculous," said Lestrade. "It's an act. They're a musical act, not the real thing."

"Each robot has irregularly updated social media accounts, and they regularly do Q&A sessions with fans -"

"They're maintaining the illusion! It's not the first time a band has done this sort of thing."

"That's the assumption. Which would be the perfect way to hide their true nature."

"Hiding out in the open," John said, still not believing what he was hearing.

The music stopped and the crowd cheered. The three robots came through the curtain. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade stared at them.

It was an impressive make-up job. There were two men and a woman. The woman's face was covered in copper paint with teal oxidation highlighting her features, strips of blackened chrome down her neck. The taller of the two men was all silver with black accents, eyes a piercing green from under his fedora as an overly expressive brow rose at seeing their visitors. The second man had a vibrant orange mustache on top of his bronze face, lines on his neck suggesting it just screwed down into his body. Their clothes were black with red accents, and they stared back at the unexpected guests until the tallest stepped towards them.

"Hi," he said, "I have a feeling you're not fans looking for the band."

The woman robot gasped, "I-I-I know who that is!" she pointed at Sherlock, her mechanical stutter remarkably convincing, "You're that dddddddetect-ive person, Sherlock! The one who solves all those 'mysteries'" she accented the word with a 'spooky' finger gesture, "that the cops can't figure out!"

"Oooh, a mystery! Why are they here? Are we in a mystery? Rabbit, did you commit a closed-room murder?" asked the one with the mustache, a little overly animated.

"Why do you assume it was me, Hatchworth?" the woman robot, called Rabbit, protested, hands on her hips. "Why couldn't it have been the Spine?" she haltingly gestured to the tall silver one, who was rolling his eyes.

"Why don't we try -not- jumping to conclusions and hear what they have to say, hm?" he sounded like a schoolteacher breaking up a fight between five year olds. He looked at Sherlock with an expression that practically shouted 'that's your cue'.

Sherlock managed to overcome his confusion. He hadn't actually expected the robots to be real - it was just the direction the tiny amount of information he had seemed to be pointing. Yet, their movements were entirely mechanical. They even made sounds like gears grinding and servos whirring, and small puffs of steam occasionally issued from their joints. If they weren't real, it was a bizarrely complex and impressive costuming job this niche band had created.

If they were real, it opened up a host of possibilities about the world he wasn't ready to think about yet. So he didn't.

"Have you heard of Becile Industries?"

It might have been the wrong question to start with. All three robots instantly frowned. The two assistants stopped their cards game and looked at him, expressionless.

"I think we can take that as a yes," John muttered.

"What do you know about Becile Industries?" the silver robot called The Spine asked.

"Very little, apart from their apparent rivalry with Walter Robotics."

"There's a mysterious green portal in one of the conference rooms," Lestrade cut in, stubbornly plowing through his discomfort, "and as there was a scientist called Becile trying to get in to look at it -"

"There's a Becile here?" Rabbit's eyes were wide.

"That's not good," the mustachioed robot Hatchworth stated.

"No," The Spine shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "that's not good at all. We need to call Peter."

"I suggest we show you the anomaly, then we can send a video of it to Mr. Walter as well. It's in room 242." At their blank stares Sherlock sighed, "'Panel Room C.'"

Understanding dawned. "Lead the way," said the robots.

John and Lestrade glanced at each other. Then they glanced at Sherlock. "You aren't actually taking this as well as you look, are you," said John.

"Oh shut up, John," muttered Sherlock, and led the three steam powered robots up to the conference room as quickly as possible.

"Wow."

"Well that's weird."

"I-I-I-I don't think I've seen a green portal before."

John looked at Rabbit, confused. "Wait. So, you have seen portals like this before."

"Oh yeah, portals open up to Kazooland all the time."

"... sorry, um... Kazoo-land?"

"It's a parallel dimension," The Spine explained in that teacher-voice of his, "our inventor accidentally created it while harnessing the power of Blue Matter, our power source."

"So where does this thing exit, then?" John asked.

"No idea."

"Why would it be open here?" Sherlock asked.

"No idea."

"Wow, you're just full of the helpful answers today," Hatchworth muttered.

The Spine huffed, annoyed, "Alright, Hatchy, you come up with some answers. How could there be a green portal here, and what's on the other side?"

"Only one way to find out," Hatchworth shrugged, and dove.

"No!" the other bots shouted, but it was too late. He disappeared with a ssschwoomp.

"Darn it," The Spine adjusted his hat. "Guess we're going after him."

"You lot are ccccccoming too, right?" Rabbit asked.

John and Lestrade stared at her. "Of course," Sherlock said.

"What?!" John and Lestrade shouted.

The bots were through, and close on their heels was Sherlock. "Wait!" John started, and swore. "Hell. Greg -"

"Call the damn American scientist Sherlock was talking about and figure out how to get them back, yeah. Go on, before he gets himself killed," Lestrade nodded.

"Thanks." John lept…

… and landed in a train.

"Well. That's unexpected. Not sure what exactly I was expecting, but…"

"John, good, you're here," Sherlock helped him up. The three robots were there as well. "Welcome to Kazooland."

"Kazooland looks an awful lot like an early 20th century passenger car."

"Look out the windows."

He did, and wished he hadn't. They were going across a bridge over a sea of what looked like burning oil. It was raining, and they were coming upon a volcano rising up out of a lush green landscape. "Right," he muttered, "parallel dimension… was… was that a giant snake in the, ah, water?"

"Mechanical sea serpent," The Spine nodded, "don't worry, they won't attack, just threaten and scare us a bit."

"It doesn't matter," said Sherlock, "the person we want is on the train."

"Hahahahahow do you figure that, detective?" Rabbit asked, hands on her hips.

"I see him through the window. He's in the dining car, next door."

Everyone looked.

Jim Moriarty smiled and waved. The young man next to him holding a cartoonishly complex device continued to pout.

"That's Moriarty!"

"That's Buster Becile!"

"Plot twist!" Hatchworth gasped.

"No, Hatchy, it's not really a plot twist," The Spine corrected, "as there was never really a plot to begin with. This is just fortuitous circumstance leading us to a hasty climax."

"God, this is like some poorly written fanfic," Rabbit muttered.

"You're all insane," John stated. "I don't know how it's possible for machine's to be insane, but you're it."

"We must stop him. What sort of defenses can we expect from this dimension?" Sherlock demanded.

"Anything," the robots said in unison.

Before anyone could act, a man in a mask shaped like a keyhole materialized through a blue portal in the dining car. He zapped Moriarty and Becile with a blue device, and sent them back through their own portal. He gave the detectives and robots in the adjacent car a thumbs up before stepping back through the portal.

"Right. Well, that's that," said The Spine.

"What?!" Sherlock shouted, "Your inventor just blasted the greatest criminal mastermind the world has ever known to God knows where and 'that's that'?!"

"Great great grandson of our inventor," The Spine corrected.

"Where is Moriarty!"

"The portal's still open, let's find out!" Hatchworth gestured towards the door.

Sherlock sighed. Into the dining car and through the blue portal, landing back in the conference room in London.

Lestrade laughed. "Bloody hell, you two look shellshocked."

"Yeah, well, discovering there's a whole other world you never knew about that doesn't conform to any version or normality will do that," John muttered.

Sherlock ignored them both, marching right up to the man in the mask standing in the corner. "What did you do with Moriarty?"

"That fellow with Becile? Deposited him back where he came from, no worries there!"

"Where?"

"Didn't take a look around, just got the reading, went where the Brown Suit said, and poof. Buster's back at Becile headquarters, I think. I suppose. No more green portals mucking up the works!" he gave a thumbs up, again.

Sherlock was frustratedly astonished. "You are a disturbingly cheerful person."

"I've got to be getting back to the Manor," he approached the robots, "have fun entertaining the humans!" Another portal, another schwooop.

"This. Was by far. The most bizarre thing I have ever experienced," said John.

"I don't understand anything that just happened," said Lestrade, "but the portal's gone, so that's good. I think. The scientists were a bit miffed when the fellow in the mask waltzed in and had me send them home."

"Wait. I'm confused," said Hatchworth.

"You're a machine, surely you have some basic sense of logic," Sherlock grumbled, then sighed, "Jim Moriarty somehow discovered Buster Becile's developmental portal technology and insinuated himself into dealings with the company enough to gain a foothold on Becile and use him. He would have created his own refuge within Kazooland, using the portals to wreak havoc in a string of crimes with literally no bounds. He could have controlled the world if Becile could create a network of portals. When Becile was here in London, he was checking on the location of the portal Moriarty likely created."

"Hmph. Green Matter is just asking for trouble," The Spine said.

Rabbit nodded. "Mr. Moriarty would have found himself in a dddddangerous situation."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

The robots hesitated, then suddenly went limp with a hiss of steam. After two seconds, they powered back up again. "Well, I'm sure the Walter Workers are wondering what's taking us so long," The Spine said and stuck out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock. And you, John. Inspector."

"Let's not do it again anytime soon, k?" said Hatchworth.

"Are you kidding? That was awesome," said Rabbit.

"Ah, yeah," said John, "thanks for the help." Sherlock and Lestrade nodded.

After the robots left, Lestrade looked at the two friends. "Any explanations?"

"Nope," said John.

"You don't want any, Lestrade," said Sherlock.

Lestrade shrugged. "Fair enough."

"We are never talking about this again. Never even thinking about it."

"I agree, John. I don't suppose you have a case in the works?" Sherlock asked, "Standard murder, bizarre theft, doesn't have to be recherche, just anything?"

"No, but I do have cash and the location of a bar down the road."

"That'll do," John nodded.

"I suppose," sighed Sherlock.