That's when the magic happened.

The thick, red curtains swept apart, and, suddenly, we were looking at 221B Baker Street! It was just as I'd imagined it: there were two chairs in front of a fireplace, a skull sitting on the mantelpiece next to a stack of letters that had been stabbed into the wood with a knife. There was even a violin sitting on one of the chairs. And then, Sherlock Holmes, The Great Detective himself, came onstage, wearing a swirling cape and deerstalker hat! Beside me, Sherlock's eyes widened. "Watson, do you know what this means?" he whispered.

"No," I whispered back. "What?"

"It means," Sherlock gasped, "that Sherlock Holmes is real!"

And once again, the game was afoot!