An Annoying Fan Writer in New London

Part 14

by Sigerson
5/27/04

Well, here I come, folks:

An Annoying Fan Writer in New London
- Enter the Sigerson


Groggily blinking at her sounding alarm clock, Sigerson made a fist and hit the Ďsleepí button with a fierceness. The ancient piece of junk immediately went silent. Shutting her eyes with a happy sigh, she wormed her way back under her covers contentedly.

"Sheís awake!" a voice cried. At this Sigerson again made a fist, and began muttering incoherant threats. Her brother would learn to rue the day he ever woke her before sunrise. Wondering why he hadnít pulled out the electric guitar to wake her, she opened her eyes.

She was sitting in the middle of a street.

Then there was also the matter of the flying cars.

A gentleman stood over her with a decidedly concerned look behind his blue eyes. He waved a hand over her, and she realized that he was made of metal. She watched the limb, transfixed, as she usually was with anything mechanical. Then something in her brain finally began to work.

"Watson!" she yelled, somehow managing to fall down while already being on the ground. He looked startled, a reasonable reaction when one finds a gawky, dark-haired girl with hazel eyes, a Canadian accent, and flannel pajamas with a space motif randomly yelling oneís name.

"Er... yes, maíam. Might I ask who you are, how you know my name, and why your DNA isnít in Scotland Yard records?" He held out a hand, which Siggy took gratefully, and hoisted her up off her rear.

"Eh, my nameís Sigerson, sir. Might I ask what opera are you going to see?" She asked, changing the subject with ease. Watson looked stunned that she knew where he and his friends were headed. "Oh," she explained, holding some paper out to the bewildered compudroid, "you dropped your tickets when you were kneeling down beside me. All I saw was something about an opera. Say... know where I could maybe get some clothes?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject again.

"You seem strangely unperturbed to be in the future, Miss Sigerson. Why?" a cool voice asked from behind her.

"Dude. Dropped the deerstalker for something more formal, I see. Nice to meet you, Mister Holmes. And you too, Inspector Lestrade. And says who Iím from the past?"

"Your watch, Miss."

"Bah. Anythingís possible when you mix several fangirls and their computers. Including time travel. Iíll probably get back home when we all get bored until the next time."

"Umm... how does that work?" Lestrade interjected, puzzled.

"Narrative causality, Inspector. Now, if youíll excuse me, itís been an honour meeting you all, but Iím gonna go see Moriarty." At this suggestion, Holmes broke into a violent coughing fit.

"And how do you intend to do that?" Lestrade asked skeptically, absently whacking her companionís back.

"Narrative causality again."

"Whatís that?"

"A convenient literary decretum."

"Ah. Have fun with that."

"Oh, I will. Thanks a lot. Bye, peeps!"

As the lone fangirl limped off into the sunset (her leg was asleep), Lestrade turned to Holmes.

"Do you really think sheís from the past?"

"But of course, Lestrade. In fact, it wouldnít surprise me if three or four of her compatriots were wreaking havoc elsewhere as we speak. Stranger things have happened, you know."

"Like?"

"Those MSTís we are occasionally subjected to when it strikes a fan writerís fancy."

"Oh, right."

On to Part 15!

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