Sherlock had a gun pointed at a coat packed with explosives about to do something very clever when he heard a soft click!
Just a noise. Not a bang. Not a scream. Nothing. Just a small noise and then he was in The City.
No pool. Just a City. American, he thought at first. So he started to walk a straight line. Point A to Point B, attempting to deduce his location. But the steets refused to make sense. Twice
he passed his own street address of 221B Baker Street. He didn’t go in, of course. That would be mad.
The scale of it all was what impressed him. And the moving streets. What would it take to pull something like that off? So Sherlock continued investigating. He caught glimpses of brochures from The City; bus routes with maps that didn’t connect, a newspaper, an advertisement for The City Hospital.
mad. He looked down at the impossible bus route map which already failed to match up with the street corner he was already on, mumbling to himself, “When you’ve eliminated the impossible...”
Not mad and not dead.
“...Then no matter how improbable, it must
be the truth.”
Sherlock knew what this place wasn’t.
But he hadn’t quite settled on what it was
.( There was someone else. )