John, RUN!

JESUS CHRIST, SHERLOCK! WHAT IS THAT?!

It would appear to be a glowing cloud intent on dropping a dead ocelot or similar creature on our heads. Isn't it obvious? Quick, John! In here.

What!- The radio station? Why?!

Every person in this town has a radio in every room, all in highly accessible places so they can easily turn them on no matter where they are in the house. Small town communities often have a town-loved Voice that announces the news every evening. That person would report on anything unusual and send people out to investigate. If we want answers without certain death, that would be the person to ask.

Hi. I'm Intern Ziv. Can I help you?

(stunned silence)

Her eyes, Sherlock...

Y-Yes I know, John.

Well?

We'd like to speak with the radio show host. We were asked to do an interview.

Down that hallway. Second door on the right. You're new in town aren't you?

Yes. I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague-

Friend.

-Friend, John Watson. We are investigating a string of murders and strange events.

Why murders? They aren't illegal yet. The City Council is still debating that.

...

...

You really ARE Outsiders. Be careful of Cecil's doorknob, it bites sometimes.

Sherlock, wait up! Sherlo-

Shut up, John.

Wha-

Just shut up and listen.

Oh.
A truly fearful thing has happened, listeners. Carlos, standing triumphantly in the toy-scaled city, was attacked by tiny people using projectiles and explosives. He fell back to the side of the small hole in the pin retrieval area of lane five. Blood...welled through his shirt...and here I am, stuck in my booth, useless, only able to narrate and not to help. He staggered, fell to his knees...so much blood. He collapsed completely.
Curse this town, that saw Carlos die. Curse me. Curse it all.
Let us take a moment to...let us...take this moment...Ladies and gentlemen, let us mourn the passing...
can't.
I can't.
I am still holding this trophy. I...
We go now to this puh...pre-recorded public service announcement.

So very sorry for your terrible loss. Now what do you know of the recent string of murders?

(sobbing)

Sherlock...

What?

You can't just ask someone- CHRIST!! HE'S GOT THREE EYES!!

Don't be stupid Jo-

CAAAAAARLOOOOOOS!!!!!!! WHY DID YOU DIE?!?!?!?! WHY DID YOU LEAVE MEEEEEEE?!?!?!?!?!?!

He's GLOWING, Sherlock! He's bloody GLOWING!

I can SEE that!

CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The floor, John!

What ABOUT the bloody floooooo-

(WHUMP)

(groans)

hnghhh... Sherlock, get off...

We're back in 221b.

Wha?

I said we're back in Baker Street.

Yeah, I heard you. But how?

Isn't it obvious? Of course it isn't to you, you didn't look at the floor.

Of COURSE I didn't look at the bloody FLOOR. I was a little preoccupied with the THREE-EYED MAN SPROUTING OCTOPUS TENTACLES!!!

They more closely resembled a squid's, and besides, octopi don't have tentacles, they have arms. Now if you had spared the floor a glance, you would have noticed the glowing portal opening beneath our feet dropping us unceremoniously back here. What kind of jam would you like?

Sorry, what?

What kind of jam would you like? When you're stressed, you like to eat jam. We've got Strawberry, Raspberry, Plum, or Thumb Surprise. Don't look at me like that, I was just trying to see if you were listening. It's actually one of my experiments.

Uhhh... Strawberry.

Good choice, it's in the kitchen. Now John, we often don't agree on things but I think we'll agree on this: Let's never go back there. A place where people don't care if a murder is solved is not a place I want to be. It would be too boring.

Agreed. Now about that jam...