Episode Three

Bored!

It had been a week since the famous Sherlock Holmes had found a case that was even remotely interesting. John Watson, his flat mate, was out but Sherlock didn't seem to notice. He lay on his couch staring blankly at the ceiling, a pile of unread works of fiction on the floor next to him. He couldn't get past the sleeve of the book (sometimes even the cover) without deducing the plot and the ending. "BORED!" he shouted at the ceiling.

"Oh Sherlock I'm sure something interesting will come up soon," came a kind voice from the hall. It was Sherlock's landlady, Mrs. Hudson. "Oh now what was wrong with these ones,"

"Fiction only takes up space in my head there's no point to it," he complained.

"Oh but this book is one of my favorites!" She picked up the book on the very top of the pile he had made, "It's a mystery! I thought you would like it,"

"The husband did it. Obviously," he exclaimed irritably.

"Well if you'd like you can spoil this one for me. I just picked it up while I was at the store," the paperback she handed him showed a girl that had an average frame with soft brown hair that barely touched her waist. Her back was to the reader, showing a tattoo of a silhouetted vintage birdcage, illegible writing underneath. She wore a white dress that made her sun kissed skin look brighter and more vibrant. She was barefoot and seemingly hovering in blue skies with wispy white clouds all around. The title read: The Dreamer. He turned the book over, the description read:

Stella MacGregor is your average 25 year old suburbanite. She and her husband Damian live a quiet life in a sunny California town until one fateful night changes her life forever. After a gruesome dream of possession and the death of her good friend Ruby, Stella wakes to discover that there was more to her dreams than she ever thought possible. Ruby has died for real. Now Stella must search her dreams for answers, stumbling across her favorite TV characters along the way. Stella will soon find however, that truth can be stranger than fiction.

Mrs. Hudson was eyeing Sherlock curiously, waiting for him to reveal the ending.

"Stella is in a mental asylum; she murdered Ruby. BORED!" he added the book to the pile and jumped to his feet, running his hands through his brown curly locks in frustration.

"Well I think I'm going to read it anyways," She picked the book up off of the pile and headed back to her flat, "Don't you dare even think about shooting that wall again!" she shouted from down the hall. Sherlock ignored her and began pacing, trying to think of an experiment to occupy his time.

Stella woke barefoot in an unfamiliar alley wearing her favorite white dress. Disoriented, she walked toward the street nearest to see where she was. She didn't seem to have any injuries, or any new ones at least. How did she get here? Where was here? When she made it to the sidewalk her eyes scanned the surroundings for a street sign. The whole feel of the place was sort of familiar. When she finally happened upon a street sign, she was beside herself.

"Baker Street?! Seriously Baker Street? No way… it couldn't be," she suddenly realized that the passersby were staring at her. She said to herself (significantly quieter this time) "I wonder…" and she followed the street, intently inspecting every door along the way until she stopped at 221B. She furrowed her brow and studied her surroundings in disbelief. It was exactly the same. Speedy's Café next door, the door of the flat itself; black with 221B in gold, even the obscure little door knocker underneath it was spot on. Stella erupted in laughter that bordered on hysterics, "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street!" she said mockingly through her laughter, even adding the wink and the clicks of his tongue from the show.

"I assume you have a case for us then?" came a voice from behind her. She turned to see a man only a few inches taller than herself with greyed hair and comforting light brown eyes. Stella recognized him immediately. It was John Watson! And Bilbo Baggins! She'd never met a celebrity before, and assumed he was making a joke.

"I do indeed, Mr. Watson!" she replied mockingly. To her surprise however he pulled out a set of keys and stepped passed her to the door.

"Thank god. If I find any more body parts in that fridge…" he opened the door and stood behind it expectantly. "Well come on in, he can be a dickhead but he won't bite,"

Stella followed him, unable to shake the feeling of disbelief. It was Martin Freeman she was following, John Watson was fictional. But that was when it hit her, her dream the night before about Ruby having black eyes. It was straight out of the TV show, so she must be dreaming now too! Dream or no dream, her disbelief turned to excitement. She was about to meet Sherlock Holmes, and she wanted to make the most of it. As the stepped into the flat she was practically giddy, wearing an ear to ear grin. Sherlock was sitting on the couch by the far wall, nose buried in a complicated looking book.

"Wow, Sherlock Holmes in the flesh!" and in her head she added, well sort of.

"Sherlock this is…" but Sherlock was impatient as he always was in his fits of boredom. He recognized her accent immediately. American, most likely from the West Coast judging from her skin tone and speaking of her skin the pattern of the scars suggested a form of Obsessive Compulsive behaviors: skin picking nail biting probably stemmed from anxiety from the way she tries to hide her scars rubbing her arms covering the ones by her nails with cheap polish.

"…a clumsy American, with a slight case of Dermatillomania from the looks of it. I hope you didn't come all this way to bore me," he quickly shut his book and glared at her, waiting to be bored. "Well go on then what have you got for me?"

Stella hadn't thought to make up a case, she had come in to get Martin Freeman's autograph after all. But there she was face to face with the real Sherlock Holmes trying to think one up. Stella suddenly realized she had a very real case, one that maybe only her favorite fictional detective could solve. "Do you believe in premonitions Mr. Holmes? Dreams that come true but not exactly like it happened in your dream?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe. Get on with it,"

"OK… A very good friend of mine died violently in my dreams last night. When I woke up this morning, she was dead for real. Her lungs and her heart just stopped working in the middle of the night while she was sleeping. She was perfectly healthy. Her sister said she never even got colds. Then I go to bed again right, and you know where I wake up? Barefoot in an alley on Baker Street," Sherlock, who had been pacing and looking about in disinterest, stopped suddenly, his eyes fixed on her.

"Boring… boring…" His eyes flashed, as if a switch flicked over inside his head "What's you're name?" he walked closer to her, towering over her.

"Stella…" she said with an uncomfortable and confused smile.

"Stella.. Stella.. Tell me Stella, and this is important: What is your last name?" his bright eyes looked intense in concentration.

Stella was confused, she had been waiting for him to tell her to go back home to her McDonald's cheeseburgers. To tell her that she belonged in an asylum "MacGregor," she said hesitantly.

"MRS. HUDSON," John and Stella watched in bewilderment as he stormed out of the room without another word toward Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"Sorry I have no idea what that was about, I'm going to see what's going on. Please, have a seat," and with that he followed Sherlock out into the hall.

At first Stella sat in the chair he had brought over. She was dumbfounded, and thought for a moment about how strange this dream was. But when would she ever get the chance to poke around Sherlock's flat? She wandered immediately to the iconic wall that featured the yellow smiley face and was painted with bullet holes. She touched one, it felt so real. She was so caught up in the excitement of it all, she wasn't prepared to hear that cold humorless laugh again. With a chill down her spine, she managed to turn and face him. "Moriarty!?" she felt slightly relieved. She was ready for anything but that black eyed monster. "I'll tell you what you are one of my favorite villains. Honestly! I mean let's be fair you're no Loki but you're creative! You've got style!"

He laughed the cold laugh again, Stella stiffened for only a moment, "What did I tell you about getting in my way?" and then Moriarty's eyes weren't his own. The blackness enveloped them and Stella's instincts told her to sprint. "Well this just won't do! You keep popping up where you don't belong. If you don't stop with this I'll have to get really… how did you put it? Creative,"

John and Mrs. Hudson watched Sherlock inquisitively as he searched frantically through her new book. "That's impossible… I need to go to my mind palace. Don't follow me," he stormed out determined to talk to Stella alone. However as he approached the door the voiced behind it proved that someone else had gotten to her first.

"So you've come to have the famous Sherlock Holmes help you with your 'case'. I made a promise to you. I intend to keep it. Now I can't kill you here no no no… that would be much too easy. I'll find you when you're sleeping. Not even your Doctor can save you where you're going ," Sherlock was peering inconspicuously from the doorway. Moriarty, he had watched him put a bullet into his skull. Two impossible things standing together in his flat, and for a moment even Sherlock Holmes was completely stumped. "Sweet dreams Stella MacGregor. I'll see you on the other side," Moriarty pulled a small canister out from his coat. It made a loud hiss as he let the gas flow out and tossed it carelessly in Stella's direction, disappearing from sight as white clouds filled the room. Sherlock ran across the flat towards. If he could just hold his breath he could carry her out in time to get her to the hospital. She was luckily still conscious when he reached her, and as he grabbed her hand the itching and aching in his lungs was becoming too much for him to bare. He held tight to her, determined to pull her out. As they tried to run together hand in hand, they could not control the natural impulse any longer and took in a deep breath, collapsing through the floor together in unconsciousness.