When the weapon is impaled in the thing’s neck it writhes, squirming back and forth madly as more ugly ripples pass across it’s flesh. It lets out one terribly scream, and then crashes to the floor once again.
The crowd is gone now, having vanished from Shirley’s mindscape.
Sherlock remains, the man lowering his weapon slowly. He sticks his pipe back into his mouth as he turns to look at the girl, commenting,
“Excellent work, Watson.” Anything else he might be intending to say is cut short. The body of the monster erupts in a flash of light. Hot, violent light, and it’s over.
Shirley is lying in her bed, alone in her room. She’s enfolded in her Regalia, and in one hand she grasps a magnifying glass in a white-knuckled grip.
Things have changed.
Music:
Fragile - Tron Legacy
((That’s it! The next time Shirley sleeps she’ll be taken to an audience with her Queen to learn the gist of what she is. She’ll also meet Holmes again fairly often when she dreams. Despite his best efforts, no trace of Moriarty is to be found.))