The murder of Shakespeare

When they first got the invite, Sherlock was not for it. To him, it seemed worse than being in a room full of Scoland Yard’s stupidest finest. Going to a convention, full of geeks and nerds didn’t really appeal to him, but some how John had convinced him to go. The con was in Stratford Upon Avon, where Shakespeare was born. It is unclear how John managed to convince the detective to go, given that neither Shakespeare or Comic con excited the man. Perhaps he only said yes because John wanted to go and Sherlock wanted to please him.

Whatever the reason, they were there now, and Sherlock was scowling deeply. The pair were sat at a pannel and were supposed to be signing autographs, but that didn’t really tickle Sherlock’s fancy. He started to get bored. Well, honestly, he was bored before they even got there.

A female cosplayer ran up to the stand. She had blue contacts in and was wearing a large black overcoat. She was clearly a Sherlock cosplayer.

“I hate that hat.” Sherlock said in reference to the deerstalker upon her head. She frowned, but then the smile returned back on her face.

“Can I have an autograph please?” she asked. John accepted greatly. Sherlock, on the other hand, reluctantly signed.

A small child was next in the row of people coming for autographs. He had a red fez on his head and a toy sonic screwdriver in his hand. A doctor who fan.

“Are you the real Sherlock Holmes?” The child asked.

“Yes. Are you relally letting people bully you at school? You should stand up for yourself.”

“Sherlock, I don’t think-” John tried to interject.

“Just because you’re a bit weird with what you like to do and who you like to dress up as, doesn’t mean you should let people push you around. They throw eggs at you, don’t they? You shouldn’t let them.” Sherlock sounded as if he was talking from expierence.

The child teared up.

“Okay, Mr Holmes.” He said and walked away before he balled his eyes out.

John was feeling really uncomfortable right now.

“Sherlock. You’re acting-”

“What?”

“Like a monser.” John told him truthfully.

People started to avoid Sherlock. They didn’t want to go to him in case he insulted them. After the child, he started to get extremely critical over everybodies costume. Yes, he had a certain degree of talent for disguise, but that did not give him the authority to say that childrens costumes- or any costumes- were terrible.

It got to the point were John was about to leave. He wasn’t happy with Sherlock at all.

But then, one final cosplayer came up for an autograph.

He looked incredible. Even Sherlock couldn’t fault him. And it was pretty funny that he pulled headphones out of his ears, because he was wearing period clothing. The man was dressed up as Shakespeare himself. John would have mistaken him for the real deal, had Shakespeare not been dead for many years.

John started to write the autograph and Sherlock was trying to search for a fault, eventhough he knew nothing about the bard.

Then, a gun shot.

Don’t ask me where someone got a gun from. They just did.

“Damn, I missed!” The someone stupidly yelled very loudly.

Sherlock practically launched himself over the table to tackle the shooter and to put them in handcuffs.

John looked at the cosplayer. Blood came from his mouth. The shooter had been aiming for either Sherlock or John, probably Sherlock, and had missed. He had shot Shakepeare. John quickly stood to attention and put pressure on the man’s wound while an ambulance was being called.

But, the cosplayer didn’t make it. The shooter had just murdered Shakespeare in Stratford Upon Avon.