From our observations, the Sherlock fandom largely consists of witty and gregarious people who produce highly intelligent fics capable of reducing academics to tears. The authors of this fic are both proud and embarrassed to say that this work is not in the majority.

Disclaimer: This is a crack fic, and as a result, not an accurate representation of the authors' writing abilities. They are adamant that their usual writing skills hover somewhere between "better than a two-year-old" and "Newberry Honor Medal standard".


Sitting on the back of a carousel horse, I pulled the trigger and the shotgun emitted a loud boom. An answering roar echoed through the air as the ground shook and the trees parted, revealing an angry Tyrannosaurus Rex.

"Bollocks!" I cursed, and reloaded my shotgun.

Before I could fire my shot, the T-Rex bit down with its massive jaws, crushing my shotgun into mangled scrap metal and my upper body into a bloody pulp. Bright pain exploded around me as I strove to maintain the last shred of my consciousness. In one fell swoop, darkness swallowed me. The T-Rex roared victoriously, jaws stained dark with blood.


"Sherlock!"

"What?" I snapped, looking up from my computer screen. "Can't I be left in peace without you barging in every five seconds?"

"What on earth are you doing?" John gestured violently towards the triumphant T-Rex parading about on my computer screen.

I could see the gears in John's head turning as he finally realised what he'd overlooked.

"And what have I told you about using my laptop to do goodness' knows what?"

"John," I frowned and steepled my fingers together, "I'm merely observing the biological dynamics of a T-Rex in motion."

"By releasing T-Rexes and killing all your visitors in a Jurassic Park simulator?" John shot me an incredulous stare which I promptly ignored.

It never ceased to amuse me how John could be upset over the most trivial of things. "It's an experiment John, and it's not as though I'm using real T-Rexes, as much as I'd like to," I pointed out.

Right on cue, John sputtered in the face of this obvious fact as I rolled my eyes at his dramatic reaction.

"I give up. I'm going somewhere where I won't be bothered by rampaging T-Rexes." John threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Suit yourself." I returned my attention to John's laptop. "How boring your life must be without a taste of chaos."

"We need milk, by the way," I called down the stairs as the front door slammed shut.


How this fic came to be: Malice decided to ruin a simple meet up by suggesting a ridiculous writing exercise where each author would write one sentence of a story in turn. Despite her adamant protests, June was forced to participate and promptly decided to get revenge, ruining Malice's nonsensical crack by writing sentences that actually presented a semblance of a plot.

Upon reading the finished product, Malice was too busy trying to contain xir laughter while June was torn between strangling Malice and joining in the madness.

In any case, what's done is done. The authors welcome flames and strongly worded letters decrying our desecration of the Sherlock fandom - and also, marshmallows. S'mores are an excellent treat.