CHAPTER FIVE

The next day found Sharqueesha Anderson where he usually was on Saturday mornings—standing in an empty room surrounded by the members of the fan club that he had formed.

"Right, hello everyone, today is cosplay and fanfiction day! Who wore a cosplay?"

"Ooh! I did!" shouted a pimply youth wearing a deerstalker and what looked like his mother's scarf.

"Oh, good job Calvin!" said Anderson, handing the cosplayer a 'fun-sized' Snickers bar. "Anyone else? No. Okay."

"Does it have to be our own fanfiction that we brought in?" asked a girl with a nose ring.

"Why no, Lafonda, it certainly does not," said Anderson reassuringly. "It just has to be one that you really like."

"Is smut allowed?" asked Calvin.

"Yes, Calvin," said the entire group wearily.

"Okay, good. I brought in a great one."

"What did you bring in this week, Sharqueesha?" asked a man with short brown hair and a hooked nose.

"My newest project!" replied Anderson proudly. "This one's Johnlock."

"Ooh," said all of the members of the fan club, looking impressed.

"Hey, Sharqueesha?" said a woman with spiky blond hair. "How long are we going to keep doing this?"

"What do you mean, Clara?"

"This whole…club thing. I mean, your essay on '101 Reichentheories' was great and all, but it's been two years. If Sherlock Holmes was really alive, wouldn't he be back by now?"

"Yeah!" said Calvin.

"Yeah!" echoed the group.

Anderson's jaw fell open so wide that his newly-grown beard brushed the ground. "I am ashamed of you all!" he cried. "Don't any of you remember why we're all here in the first place?"

"Oh, great," muttered Clara. "Here he goes again."

Anderson pulled up a small stool and clambered on top of it so that he stood high above the others. He cleared his throat and began to sing to the tune of Peter Pan's 'You Can Fly.'

Think of the fics you've read
Of Holmes and Watson in bed
Think of Tumblr, think of blogs
Not how Sherlock popped his clogs
Or fell out of the the sky!
He didn't die! Didn't die! Didn't die!
Soon you'll come up with new theories
of which Sherlockians never grow weary!
But the thing that's a positive must
Is a little bit of hope and trust!
(The hope is a positive must!)
He didn't die! Didn't die! Didn't die!
When there's a smile in your heart
There's no better time to start
It's a very simple goal
To prove his grave's never been full
At least it's worth a try!
He didn't die! Didn't die! Didn't die!

"Are you quite done?" asked Clara.

"Yeah, just about." Anderson discarded the stool. "Don't you all see? All we have to do is believe!"

Suddenly, everyone's phone went off at once. Lafonda was the first to pull hers out. She looked up, a shocked sort of grin on her face.

"Oh. My. Gawd!" she said.

The words #SherlockLives, #NotDead, and #ReichenBack began to float around the room. Calvin clutched at his head.

"I'm never doing drugs again!" he groaned.

Suddenly the door swung open to reveal the great detective himself.

"ASDFGHJKL;" said the fan club.

"Anderson," said Sherlock, oblivious to their reactions. "Lovely song, who wrote it for you?"

"Um—I did, actually," said Anderson, his eyes wide.

"Impressive," said Sherlock. He looked around. "So these must be the Sherlockians."

"Yes!" said Anderson. "I'm the one who came up with the name."

"How…lovely." Sherlock blinked. "I liked the fanfics, by the way."

"Which one?"

"Oh, all of them. Especially 'Innuendo Cluedo.' Disgustingly creative."

"Asdfghjkl;" stammered Anderson.

"Anyways," said the detective. "I need you to move in with me."

"What?!1!"

"You heard me. You know the address. Be there at…ten tomorrow morning, maybe?"

"I—"

"Yes, ten would give you plenty of time. I'll see you then."

He made for the door, but Calvin jumped in his way.

"Mr. Holmes, will you sign my deerstalker?"

Sherlock stared at the hat for a moment, grabbed it, jammed it onto his head, and left.

Sharqueesha Anderson promptly passed out.