Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets by Guy Adams, Kasey Lansdale, Glen Mehn Page B

John and others around him. Sherlock always had preferred the dark.
    John thought of the many times they ’d stayed awake all night, talking, smoking, following leads, chasing criminals through the gaslit streets of London. Had he ever seen Sherlock during daylight? He didn’t think so.
    As John watched Sherlock hold the unconscious Moriarty in his arms, teeth sunk into the master criminal’s neck, crouching with his long black coat spread out behind him like the wings of some enormous bat, he faced the horrifying realisation: Sherlock Holmes was a vampire.
    And John—trapped in the sewers with no way out, with dawn still hours away—John would be his next victim.
    “I T ’ S GOOD .” C HARLOTTE ’ S words broke Jane out of her reverie. Watching over her friend’s shoulder as the girl read her work, Jane had been lulled into a trance by the familiar paragraphs and the soft hum of the computers in the I.T. teaching room. It took a moment for her to process her friend’s words.
    “It’s awful. I’m sorry you had to read it!”
    Charlotte smiled. “These people don’t seem to think so.” She pointed to the feedback section at the bottom of the webpage. “Logically, awful writing probably wouldn’t get you nine hundred hits in one week.”
    Jane shrugged.
    “To put it in perspective, that’s nearly three times the number of people who go to this school. Reading your fanfiction. Believe them , if you don’t believe me.”
    “There’s no accounting for taste,” Jane mumbled, but she was pleased by the praise. Charlotte did not give compliments lightly.
    “Your public loves you! Listen.” Charlotte began to read the feedback out loud, putting on different voices for each comment, and Jane cringed, looking around to check they were alone in the computer room.
    A trio of Year Fours gathered around a PC terminal playing the latest first-person shooter, but showed no signs of having noticed Charlotte’s pantomime of fannish glee:

MrsWatson: Vamplock is my favourite flavour of Sherlock. Can’t believe we have to wait another week to find out if Sherlock killed those girls! Or did Moriarty do it?
    Tea And Johnlock: Oh noes! I can’t believe it ended here! Moar plz.
    BakerStreetRegular: My new sexuality is Vampire Hunter Moriarty.
    221Baby: I wish I could write fanfic like this! I wish the writers on the show could write like this. Plainjane, I love you.
    Charlotte grabbed the smaller girl in an overdramatic hug at ‘plainjane, I love you,’ lanky limbs and long black hair flying everywhere, and Jane screeched in surprise.
    “Oh, plainjane!” cried Charlotte. The year fours looked around accusingly at the noise, but seemed to dismiss this as typical sixth-form behaviour and went back to their shoot ’em up.
    Jane disentangled herself from her friend, who always smelt faintly of coffee and cigarettes: Charlotte’s two favourite vices. “Do you really have to read all my fanfic?”
    “Can’t your best friend take an interest in your hobbies? Anyway, how I am supposed to work out why Eric Sadler would take your notebook full of dirty fanfiction unless I study the subject?”
    “He took it because he’s a scumbag. My scumbag ex who wants to embarrass me horribly, a bit like what you’re doing right now. And hey ! Who said it was dirty?” Jane could feel herself blushing.
    “Well, you won’t tell me what’s in it. What am I supposed to assume?”
    “It’s private, okay?” It was hard to say ‘no’ to Charlotte—the girl was a star student and proficient in five languages, but Jane often found herself wondering if Charlotte knew what ‘no’ meant in any of them.
    “Spoilsport. Go on. We’ve known each other forever. What have you got to hide from me?”
    “I just can’t tell you.” It was impossible to hide anything from Charlotte for long, but this time, Jane had to. She really had to.
    “Please?” Charlotte actually fluttered her eyelashes.
    “You don’t have to know everything all