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Arsene had two choices: A. Go to the evil pool of water or B. Talk to someone.

“Someone! Notice me!” Arsene shouted in the most pathetic child voice possible.

They were ignoring him! How dare they!!!!

Wait, no. Crorie was now sending him a weird look. Great, now she was walking to him.

“What have you done?” She questioned in a tone that clearly demanded an answer.

“I’m hunting for an audience other than the readers.” Arsene retorted mournfully, “After breaking the fourth wall a few times, it gets BOORRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG!!!”

Sigh, that felt great.

“You say the weirdest things at times.” Crorie commented.

“I’ve gotta do something to keep the audience reading.” Arsene explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “So I’m going to investigate the weird pool of water. Could you help?”

Crorie hesitated for a moment, before looking back at Sherlock. Unconscious still.

“How so?” Crorie asked.

“First off, are you sensing any magical properties?”

Crorie stared at the pool for a moment, then closing her eyes. She seemed rather focused on the pool, as she stood there perfectly still.

Finally, she spoke. “I’m not sensing any cursed or malevolent properties emitting from the pool. However, I am feeling teleportation energy coming from it.”

Hmm. This was curious. Very curious. Dangerously curious. Curious enough to make Arsene do something rash. Yes, this was curious. So. Very. Very. Curious.

Arsene felt curious.

Looking around, Arsene spotted what he was looking for. A nice throwing stone. What would happen if he threw it into the water.

Picking it up, Arsene launched into as far as he could. Which was not as far as he would have liked, thanks to the lack of dragon shifting. It still hurt. Seriously, was Sherlock just out to hurt him.

Oh, wait. Yes, he was.

Speaking of which, Arsene had noticed there were no ripples on the water’s surface. Nothing at all. Nothing. Just… stillness. It was a little unnerving.

And then the world shook and morphed into something… different.

He just broke another world, didn’t he?

This could not get any worse.

“Saga?”

… Turning around, Arsene got a sudden sense of dread. Nobody ever called him that. That name was dead.

It was Sherlock. Again. But something was… wrong. He was short. And his clothes were different. More like the baggy pants and hoodie he had when he was… oh dear.

When they were kids!!!

“Why are you taller?” Child Sherlock asked, “Where are we?”

Sherlock was a kid?!?! And he called him Saga. Did he not remember any of the mess they got into?

“Where are we? That might be a bit complicated.” Arsene responded.

Oh this felt awkward.

“I know this will sound strange, but…” Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear. “What’s your name?”

Sherlock’s expression quickly became one of bewilderment. “Uhhhh, Sage? It’s kinda always been my name. And you’re not simply taller, you’re older. So is Crorie. What’s going on? Who are all these people?”

Even Crorie was looking rather worried. Which was a rarity.

So it was official now. Sherlock was now in the body of Sage, a boy obsessed with chemistry and horror (mystery, Saga!) books. He was a boy learning violin, studying Latin, and perfecting his knowledge in botany. Any human being would have mistaken him for a thirteen year old, barely standing at four feet.

The last question sent chills down Arsene’s spine.

“Where are Mother and Father?”

This was not good.