"WATSON!!"

Books, paper and pens crashed to the ground as I leapt to my feet, startled into wakefulness from the half hearted slumber I had fallen into. Sherlock Holmes's masterful voice echoed in my ear as I shot downstairs into our joint sitting room.

"What is it, Holmes?!" I gasped as I tumbled in. "Has something-"

I blinked with confusion at the scene in front of me.

Sherlock Holmes stood in midst of the ruins of our rooms and glared at me. I gaped back at him.

"What, in heavens name, happened here, Holmes?"

He took a deep ,and what appeared to be, calming breath and strode forward and took out what appeared to be a single sheet of paper from the mess. He handed it to me.

I took one look at it and blanched.

"Oh no, Holmes, not-!"

He nodded grimly. "Yes, Watson. It's those dastardly fanfiction writers again."

I collapsed into the remains of our faithful sofa and stared at the newest piece of writing in my hand. Holmes paced the floor(or what remained of it) furiously.

"I don't believe this, Watson! I just do not believe it!"

"They never give up, do they?"

"I should say not! They must have written over a thousand stories already!"

"Nine hundred and eighteen to be exact, Holmes."

Holmes let out something between a groan of dismay and a shout of fury as I looked at the story in my hands. "Which one is it this time?"

"One of those newer writers."Holmes looked at the paper in my hand with sharp distaste. "Runa93. Atleast that's what she calls herself."

A snort. "I highly doubt that is her real name. You can see what hanky panky rubbish she has written!"

I shuddered as Holmes crossed over to his desk and pulled out a huge bundle of papers. He rummaged through them, muttering under his breath and finally extracted a bundle.

"Here it is!" he cried, thrusting it at me. "All that I know of this woman, collected through her…her…stories, if I must call them that."

I looked over the list. "She is fairly new, doesn't seem to have written more then seven."

Runa93

Killer on the Loose

In Sickness, In Health

The Detective and His Boswell

Sister Dear

Teatime

Watson's Revenge

Cooking Skills

I winced at the last item. It was due to this our rooms resembled what they did now. I looked at the other paper in my hand.

"She sent it to us, huh?" I sighed, as I looked at the bold Cooking Skills on the top.

Holmes clenched his fists. "They're playing with us, Watson, they're toying with us!" He shook his fist in the air. "But, by god, no more! I shall track them down and force them to cease this…this…"

"Nuisance?"

"Sabotage!" Holmes spat. He turned to look at me, his eyes wild with an unnatural glint. "The game is afoot!"