The Fourth Wall

Summary: Holmes and Watson break the fourth wall.

So... I have major writers block for my other two stories so I decided to read some other fics by other people and one I stumbled upon (2010 in the 1900's by X..A.x.X) mentioned the fourth wall and that gave me an idea! For those who don't know what the fourth wall is, read this story and you'll find out since I'm to lazy to copy and paste what Holmes has to say about it.

I forgot to mention: I don't own these people. I promise!

Anyhow, Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes stared solemnly at the photo laying before him.

"I am not," he replied angry, "I am sitting here with Watson."

He then motioned to Watson, who was indeed sitting in the chair beside him in Watson's new home. After three days of bartering with his wife-

"It was four," Holmes said nonchalantly, "You're not a very good narrator." He added.

Out of nowhere, a large glass piece from the chandelier above broke free and hit Holmes directly on the head.

"You horrible woman!" He yelled, rubbing the top of his head where the piece had hit him.

"Who are you talking to?" Watson asked concerned, looking around the room.

"The Authoress." Holmes replied, taking out his pipe and lighting it.

"What are you going on about? Have you finally lost your senses?" Watson got up and pressed his hand to Holmes forehead. "You're not feverish."

"Of course I'm not," he swatted away Watson's hand away and took another huff of the pipe. "As for what I am going on about, there is a young woman sitting in her room typing away controlling everything we do and say at this very moment."

"I think you need to lay down," Watson grabbed Holmes arm, but Holmes jerked away.

"I am not ill!" He then gazed upward, "I demand you stop controlling Watson this instant, you intolerable harpy."

"That's not a nice thing to say Holmes. Don't make me bring in Irene." Watson's eyes widened and he looked at Holmes.

"Please tell me you heard that."

"Of course I heard that." Holmes huffed. "I don't know why you constantly doubt me."

"Well, it's not like you're not the most rational person on the planet, Sherlock."

"This is illogical." Watson looked about the room again and turned to Holmes. "How are you doing that?"

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are! This is one of your jokes and I'm not falling for it." He then went to the bookcase on the right wall and felt around. "Where are you hiding it?"

"Hiding what?"

"The voice box!" Watson snapped angrily. He was now over at the desk on the adjacent wall rummaging through papers.

Holmes rolled his eyes and rose out of his chair. "There is no voice box. I've been by your side since I arrived. If there was a voice box, which there is not, when would I have had time to hide it?" Watson huffed and glared over at his shoulder at Holmes who was beside him.

"You have your ways." He said and continued searching.

"Give it up Dr. There isn't a voice box. I'm the real deal." Watson looked up at the ceiling.

"It's coming from up there." He said more so to himself. "How did you get it in the ceiling?" Holmes leaned against the desk.

"It pains me my friend, that you would accuse me of such a cruel and humorless act." He pretended to look hurt, "How can you suggest such a thing?"

Watson gave Holmes a disbelieving look. "Maybe because you have a long record of similar offenses."

"Oh for the love of- Why can't you two behave so I can write my story?"

"This is your story," Holmes blinked, "The summary says that and I quote 'Holmes and Watson break the fourth wall.' I must say, that is a rather dull summary."

"Fourth wall?" Watson asked glance at Holmes, "What fourth wall? Why would I want to break my walls?"

"Not your walls, the wall. The fourth wall. When characters in a novel are aware that they are indeed characters, then they have thus broken the fourth wall. We, my dear Watson, are characters and due to being cognizant to that fact, we have thus broken the fourth wall." Holmes paused for a moment and looked upward. "Wonderful wording my dear, I was beginning to doubt your vocabulary skills."

Another piece from the same chandelier flew at Holmes, narrowly missing his face as he ducked down.

"How-" Watson began, looking wide-eyed at the chandelier across the room which was hanging perfectly still.

"Elementary, my dear Watson. Elementary!"

"You are a violent harlot." Holmes snapped.

"And you're rude."

The drawer on the desk Holmes was leaning against flew open, slamming against the back of his leg.

"I'm being abused by a tyrant!" He yelped, grabbing the back of his leg and rubbing it to stop the stinging.

"She's right," Watson smirked, "you are being disrespectful and I have no sympathy for you."

"That is the beast talking through you," Holmes glared.

"No… He's just being Watson."

Holmes opened his mouth to say something but shut it in fear of being attacked again. Instead he thought for a moment.

"I believe she's left," he finally said staring upward.

"How do you know?" Watson whispered.

Holmes paused and then yelled, "Are you still here you batty old shrew?" He braced himself but nothing happened. "She's departed."

"That was… different." Watson said.

"Indeed." Holmes concurred and made his way back to his chair. However, half way across the room, a book flew off the shelf and hit him on the head, making him yelp.

"I am neither a shrew nor a harlot. That hurts my feeling, Sherlock."

Watson suppressed a laugh as Holmes glared up at the ceiling.

"Woman, if you do not cease attacking me-"

"You'll what? Yell at me some more?"

"She has a point, Sherlock. You can't fight back something that isn't there."

"You are not helping the situation Watson," Holmes huffed, flopping into the chair. "Why don't you come down and show yourself?"

"Sorry Holmes, but as much as I love you, there are enough fan girls out there entering your world. I'll stay here thank you very much."

"Fan girls?" he asked.

"Holmes has fans?" Watson shook his head "The poor dears must be insane."

"Apologize and I will let you be. You can go about doing whatever you 19th century chauvinist pigs do."

"Fine," Holmes said rolling his eyes. "I am terribly remorseful for having hurt your feelings."

"You can say it with more meaning," Watson teased as he sat back down in his own chair beside Holmes.

"Forget it. That's the best he'll do. I don't know what Irene sees in you." Holmes eyes widened and he looked up with interest at the ceiling.

"What do you mean?"

"Is it just me, or is he more enthused than he should be?" Watson asked.

"It's not just you, Watson. Good-bye Holmes, Watson. Enjoy your evening."

"Wait!" Holmes said leaning forward, but there was no reply. "I'm a little disappointed; she made things interesting."

"You're just disappointed she did not elaborate on Alder," Watson smirked.

"I have not a clue what you're talking about." Holmes picked up the newspaper and pretended to read it.

"Of course you don't." Watson shook his head, but let Holmes be. He could always tease him about it later.

Oh Sherlock, if you only knew how much I'd love to jump into you're universe. Andrew would get jealous though and we don't want that!

Thank you for reading and I hoped this made you smile as much as it did me! As always, flames will be used to make glass vases with!