Disclaimer: No fanfic writers were harmed during the making of this fic. At least not very badly....

Summary: A mysterious force that doesn’t like annoying, self- inserting authors transports any it can find into their favorite fandom...

This can be a round robin...or it can’t, depending on if anybody else wants to join in. Explanation at the end of this part.

---

An Annoying Fan Writer in New London

I have been watching...
And I do not like what I see.

I have been watching...
And everyone shall know.

I have been watching...
It’s time to pay!

A loud bang resounded throughout the building as a young woman sitting before a computer brought her fist down on the desk. Her blue eyes glared holes into the screen, willing the program to work. Unfortunately, the computer didn’t respond to mental commands...or threats. She groaned and hit her head with her hand.

Mary had been sitting in the classroom for over two hours attempting to mold the strange looking block of polygons into at least a semblance of a human being. Unfortunately, all she had been able to do so far was make it look like a strange looking block of polygons. She took a deep, calming breath and closed the program. The 3D modeling program wasn’t worth blowing up over. Really, it wasn’t.

After a quick glance at the clock on the wall (the school computers were notoriously unreliable when it came to that sort of thing), she decided that she had been there long enough to warrant a break. Especially considering that she had skipped the first sanctioned break in order to work more on her project. What a waste. Locking her station, she left and went out into the hallway to get a drink out of the fountain.

She kicked an M&M someone had dropped on the floor around for a bit, trying to imagine how she would get the lump of clay -- for lack of a better phrase -- into what she wanted it to be. However, a group of very immature young men standing nearby kept distracting her.

"Hey!" cried one of them suddenly, as though he had just seen her for the first time. "He wants to go out with you," he said, pointing to one of his friends. The rest of the group burst into raucous laughter, as though it were the funniest thing in the world. Mary just rolled her eyes and walked back into the room. She had been enduring and ignoring such things since grade school. Apparently, telling a fat girl that your friend wanted to go out with her was the height of good humor. She had, mistakenly it appeared, believed that it was something children grew out of. Those guys, however, were all in their early thirties.

She sat back down in the uncomfortable wheeled excuse for a chair that was standard for the school and sighed, bored. She wasn’t going to work on that stupid project anymore for the night, and she had forgotten her sketchbooks at home. Writing wasn’t an option either, as she hadn’t been able to write anything serious in quite some time. She could possibly read something online, but her eyes were hurting.

And she was making excuses again. She wrinkled her nose in self- disgust. Nothing appealed to her anymore. Everything was boring, dull, dreary...and she knew it was her own fault. All she had to do was make herself do something and she would get over the little slump she’d fallen into.

She opened Photoshop and began playing around with the various tools. It was mindless fun, but it was fun nonetheless and it could make the time pass. Plus, her instructor -- not that he ever noticed -- wouldn’t come and ask why she wasn’t working on something.

Finally, the last three hours passed and she was able to leave without incurring an attendance issue. She skipped out the door and to her car, in a much better mood of a sudden. Maybe there’s something in the air, there, she thought, then shrugged. If that were the case, then it was in the air at work and at home too.

As she drove out of the parking lot, she turned on the stereo and sang along to the upbeat tune that was playing and let the plot bunnies have their way. She could think of a thousand and one storylines, but the minute she tried to write one down, her mind went blank.

Maybe I need to see a shrink, she thought as she turned the corner.

Immediately she had to swerve to the right to avoid a head-on collision and crashed into a ditch on the side of the road. Her forehead hit the steering wheel on impact, and she felt a sharp pain in her right arm. As consciousness fled, a fleeting thought ran through her head...

And I just got through paying the mechanic for fixing my transmission....

---

She awoke to the sound of birds. And pain. Lots of pain.

She opened her eyes to find the sun shining directly into them, which caused more pain to run through her head. She groaned and closed them, but she knew the light was there now and it was burning through the lids. She turned her head into the course grass, trying to hide from the demon light.

Wait a minute. Grass?

She opened her eyes more slowly this time, and carefully sat up. It was while attempting this task that she realized her left arm was broken. The facts that she couldn’t put any pressure on it at all without pain and the odd angle at which it lay were good indications of that fact.

So much for the ‘the car wreck was just a bad dream’ idea. She must have been thrown from the vehicle at some point. She glanced around, looking for the wreckage that must be her car and found nothing but an empty field of wildflowers that weren’t native to Texas.

Licking her lips nervously, she fought back the immediate urge to panic and go nuts; instead, she tried to take a calm assessment of her situation. Tried being the operative word. Every time she came to the part where she wasn’t where she was supposed to be, her mind went into a tizzy and she had to start all over again.

Finally, she simply decided to stand up and try to figure out where she was without thinking about it too much. As she began marching determinedly south, her ears picked up a strange whining noise coming from somewhere nearby and overhead. Thinking it was a bug of some kind she looked up in annoyance. It was, however, a car. A flying car.

She stared at the vehicle as it passed over her (it was still pretty high up, and the occupants probably couldn’t see what condition she was in) and felt her lips tremble. There was no way. It wasn’t possible. The very idea was absurd. Okay, so she wrote about it, and other people had written about it, but to actually have it happen?

She followed the direction the car had flown in. Apparently where she had begun was in some sort of depression, because as soon as she reached the horizon she saw the outline of a city against the sky. The outline of a very familiar city. New London. Complete with hovercars buzzing to and fro.

Her brain lost control and she fell to her knees.

---

All right, now for the explanation. I was thinking that if anyone wanted to continue this as a Round Robin, they could introduce themselves into the city much as I did, and then eventually we would all meet up, not necessarily before anyone interacts with the main characters of SH22. Or with an original denizen of New London. For example, someone could come in and fall (either literally or not) on Lestrade or Holmes.

Or I could just continue this for myself.