Sherlock walked towards the end of the patio, towards the door where John was already headed, and together they walked back through the house and towards the front door.
"This is the final proof, Sherlock." John announced.
"How so, because she showed up?" Sherlock wondered, having to increase his speed just to keep up with John's excited little legs.
"Yes, but more than that. I never gave her my address. She knew where to look." John announced. Sherlock nodded, now able to see the silhouette of a waiting girl through the new stained glass windows. He hesitated, afraid of that shape for whatever reason, afraid of what might amount of their interrogation. Perhaps she was magical, and she could fight back? But worst of all...
"John, I just want to make sure." Sherlock insisted, throwing out a hand to stop his host and keeping the both of them held up at the door.
"Make sure it's her?" John wondered, looking up at Sherlock with some confusion. He was obviously ready to get this over with; his heart was beating so loudly that Sherlock could hear it through his chest. He was ready for the fight, for the finale. But Sherlock had his hesitations, and one fear was able to stay him in his place on the long rug.
"I want to make sure you know before, well before she lets us off. If she does, that is. But John, that's beside the point. I want to say that I love you, and that...that it's not just her that's making me say it. I legitimately do, some part of me always has, and when her curse falls away please, please remember that." Sherlock whispered, his voice trembling as he began to ponder the situation deeper. There was a high chance that John's feelings were constructed entirely of magic, and his love would fall away just as soon as their curse was broken. The boy's face hesitated, as if he was processing the words and not comprehending any part of it. Almost as if John disregarded Sherlock's fears to be absolutely unnecessary, as if his argument sounded more like madness than a legitimate plea.
"Of course I know. Of course I'll remember." John assured, taking Sherlock's hand in his own and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Nothing's going to change; we'll just be free to make our own decisions. I'll have you as my own, without her influence. Just like our own love story, but better than anything that crusty old playwright created."
"John, you can't call Shakespeare crusty." Sherlock debated with a little chuckle.
"What's he going to do about it?" John chuckled, releasing Sherlock's hand and grabbing for the door handle. In one quick motion the knob was turned, and the door swung open to reveal the most unsuspecting villain of all time. She was so innocent, standing there with her hands clutched around her backpack straps, wearing a yellow sundress and a big, friendly smile. Sherlock could only smile in return, it seemed to be the only option.
"Hi guys! Oh how nice to see you both when you're not arguing!" Moly exclaimed happily, stepping in side as per her instruction.
"We seem to be cooperating quite nicely these days." John assured.
"So good to hear, just so good." Molly said with a little bounce. "Now John, I know you said that this party was mostly on the record, so before I get started I was wondering if I could get a statement from the both of you? Certainly this is a ground breaking moment, the cohesion between the two sides!"
"Of course, of course. You know what, let's all go upstairs. There's an office there that will be quiet for a nice conversation." John offered, holding his hand off towards the nearest staircase in a falsified welcome. Sherlock was able to sense the trap, though obviously Molly was blinded by her ambition to get the full story. She couldn't see the trap which was set in front of her, waiting to be sprung by her unsuspecting converse sneakers.
"Anywhere would be fine, I suppose." She agreed at last, giving the two of them her lovely little smile. Sherlock smiled back, though John's expression didn't change. John clapped Sherlock on the shoulder, clenching his fingers into his shoulder blades as if trying to warn him that the interrogation was coming. With some peace and quiet, behind a closed door...it was there that their freedom would be won.
"Excellent." John muttered, and with that he led the two up the flight of stairs, treading carefully on the imitation hardwood as he ascended to the upper level. Molly was walking in the middle of the two boys, accidentally arranged in a single file line as they approached the office. Though Sherlock figured this was the best place for her, considering they needed her complaint and controlled should she try to escape. Her ignorance made Sherlock think that she had no idea they were on to her, furthermore she might not even know the true effects of her writing. But she had to be guessing, right? How else would this mansion have sprouted alongside the highway, exactly as her stories predicted? Perhaps she hadn't been able to put two and two together, or worse still, perhaps they had the wrong girl? At long last John led them to an office, opening the door wide and holding it for his guests to enter. Sherlock shuffled inside, herding Molly even farther into the bleak, undecorated room. The desk in the middle was completely barren, with dust accumulating over the laminated top to show its complete disuse. The chair remained untouched as well, and there were no pictures on the white walls. The door shut behind them, a loud and rather aggressive bang that brought each member of the room to attention. John leaned against the handle, preventing any obvious escape, and finally Sherlock allowed his façade to drop. His smile erased, instead he took to glaring at what now had become their opponent.
"Quite a mood shift." Molly commented a bit nervously, her hands now fidgeting with the straps hanging down from her backpack.
"Oh stop that, we know it's you." John growled. Molly looked towards them both, her eyes widening a bit worriedly as she took a step back, obviously not having expected such a direct confrontation. Sherlock might've phrased it a little better, though there was no taking the words back.
"Me? Me doing what, exactly?" she whispered, though her voice was wavering all the same.
"Writing the stories, controlling us!" Sherlock snarled. "We know it's you posting those things online, and forcing us to go along with it!"
"Certainly you've got the wrong girl." Molly insisted, holding her hands up defensively all the while her eyes scanned the room, as if looking for any potential escape. She knew she had been caught; there was a look in her eyes that was lacking innocence and instead dripping with fear. She looked quite like a rabbit who had been chased into a corner by a wolf, though certainly that rabbit wouldn't talk quite so much.
"How'd you know where to come, I never gave you my address." John pointed out with a very accusing tone, as if he was proud to have developed such a flawless counter argument.
"I saw Mary Morstan's car from the highway!" Molly defended anxiously. "It's rather noticeable!"
"Admit it, Molly, we won't be playing games!" Sherlock demanded, stepping forward in an attempt to be intimidating. The girl stepped back, trembling as she did so, her reaction forcing Sherlock to look back upon John with some hesitation. She fit all of the criteria as their main offender, but why did she look so afraid? Perhaps they had gotten the wrong girl after all?
"I don't know what you're talking about, please..." Molly whispered, her voice giving out as her hands dropped to her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears which were now forming.
"Maybe we shouldn't be using the fear factor." Sherlock suggested at last, allowing his voice to soften and taking a step away.
"I would appreciate that." She agreed with a little nod, sniffling and looking up at Sherlock thankfully. He was obviously the good cop in this situation, with John howling and taking over as some sort of makeshift army sergeant.
"Do you have your laptop in that backpack, Molly?" John wondered. The girl hesitated, this time grabbing upon the straps of her backpack in a defensive position.
"Yes, but I won't let you touch it." she said at last, her eyes flashing with newfound confidence.
"Why not? What have you got on there, what sort of word documents?" Sherlock wondered harshly. Molly's eyes began to flutter, more tears dripping down her cheeks as she desperately tried to protect her property and her secrets. Her air of defensiveness was dropping; soon she looked more desperate than anything. At long last the girl stumbled towards the desk chair, dropping into it and collapsing in a fit of anxious tears. Sherlock looked towards John, worried that they had pushed the poor thing over the edge. Certainly they didn't want to move her to tears, especially if she wasn't the proper culprit!
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay?" the girl wailed, holding her face in her arms and trembling from head to toe. Sherlock allowed a breath of relief, taking that apology to fall in line with a confession. It wasn't good to be rejoicing at the sight of a girl's mental breakdown, though at the same time it was as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Her confession at least meant their search was over, but who knows what would come next?
"Sorry for what?" John wondered, trying to keep his aggression under control all the while his muscles were tense and his fingers were clenched.
"I'm sorry for writing them, I'm sorry for posting them! I just thought you two were so good for each other, I thought you were soulmates!" Molly defended, finally managing to pick her head up off the table to look both of her aggressors in the eyes. Sherlock faltered, seeing legitimate remorse within her stare. Though John wasn't moved, perhaps he still didn't trust Molly or her apparent helpless state. It was a question to be considered of course, if she could manipulate reality through her writing, what other weapons did she have in her arsenal?
"Do you know what we've been through as a result?" Sherlock wondered, keeping his voice soft as if this was just a normal conversation. The girl sniffled, as if she was trying to keep her emotions under more control. Now that the confession had been shouted she seemed to be handling her shame a bit better. Whatever sort of punishment she had been expecting did not come to pass, and now she at least looked less nervous.
"Well I imagine you're a bit embarrassed. I didn't expect anyone to find them, I figured the online readers would take it for a made up story, with two of my original characters." Molly admitted quietly.
"So you don't know about...about anything else?" John presumed, scratching the back of his head a bit awkwardly as he tried to find the proper phrasing.
"What else could there be?" Molly wondered nervously, looking around as if to make sure there had not been an unforeseen consequence of her writing. Sherlock looked towards John, wondering who should be the one to admit to her the true power of her words.
"You don't think it's odd then, that I live in a big empty mansion, on the side of the highway?" John pointed out.
"I figured...well I figured you were just moving in." Molly whispered in a weak voice, as if she was trying very hard to figure out just what these boys were hinting at. It was no doubt that their words were not very clear, but her confusion only solidified the theory that she had no idea what power she really had.
"Do you know who's trapped in my closet right now? As we're speaking, right down the hall?" John asked again. Molly's eyes widened in horror, finally pulling her knees to her chest for an added layer of defense.
"Don't put me in there, please don't! I'll never write about you two again, I'll never even think about it!" Molly wailed, her eyes watering again as John's apparent threat warned of captivity.
"No, no!" Sherlock assured, rushing over and patting the poor girl on the back, trying to calm her down as John's aggressive words began to lead her thoughts astray. He was being rather intimidating, perhaps unnecessarily so, though it was working to get the answers they needed. Sherlock didn't open his mouth to protest, even though he felt a little bit unnerved.
"I'll give you a hint. It's five men, internationally famous, who showed up at my house and kidnaped me." John muttered, leaning his hands against the desk to confront Molly with a much more interrogational pose. The girl's eyes widened, looking back and forth between the boys as if to make sure she was hearing correctly.
"It can't be." She whispered. "You mean it's...you've got One Direction in your closet!"
"Molly, what you write comes true!" Sherlock exclaimed at last, trying to get to the point a bit more quickly than John was allowing for. The girl's brain probably couldn't take much more, between the fear and amazement Sherlock was half expecting smoke to come billowing from her ears. It was too much to process all at one time, even for a girl of her composure!
"You can't be serious." Molly protested in a small voice.
"Why would we lie about this?" John growled. "How could we? We've been living the impossible for about...oh who knows? Months now! Ever since you first arranged our little bus stop meeting!"
"You actually met at the bus stop? In the rain?" Molly clarified, looking between the two with her mouth dropping open.
"Yes, Molly. In the rain." Sherlock agreed.
"And the bleachers then, you actually..."
"Oh yes." John agreed. Molly's face grew continually paler, as if she was beginning to see what had become of her work for these past few months. She was beginning to realize she wasn't just being interrogated by her constructed love story; she was being approached by her two favorite characters. And for once the three of them were all on the same page. Quite literally.
"We've been having this strange affair ever since you arranged it, and to be quite honest..." Sherlock sighed, giving a little smile towards John. "Well you might've been more observant than we ever had been."
"Don't validate her like that!" John protested with a weak finger of accusation.
"John come on, give her some credit! She's our matchmaker, a proper cupid!" Sherlock pointed out in defense. Molly managed a smile, though her face was still white as a sheet.
"You mean you've fallen in love?" she asked excitedly.
"Yes." John grumbled, as if he didn't like it but couldn't dispute it.
"I can't believe this! I'm...I'm an enchantress! I'm a prophet!" Molly exclaimed, leaping out of her chair in excitement and throwing her backpack down upon the table. "I should've had you two solve crimes or something, think of the good we could do for the world! If everything I write becomes reality we could...we could end world hunger! Or stop all wars! Or solve climate change!"
"Molly, this house is proof that there's gaps even to your abilities. Look at this thing; it's crumbling as we stand here!" John pointed out, jumping a bit on the carpet and demonstrating how the floor shifted under his weight. "Any global problems you solve will be mediocre at best, and will probably cause more aftershocks than they're worth."
"But you two are in love, are you not? You're proof that it can work!" Molly exclaimed, ripping open her backpack excitedly and producing her laptop from inside, starting the machine up on the table and bouncing upon the balls of her feet to show her enthusiasm.
"That only worked because you manipulated what was already there. We weren't forced to love each other, we surely already did." Sherlock pointed out.
"I'm a genius, a genius! I knew it the moment I saw you two in my office! When John apologized, so sweetly! It was then that I knew there was something more, something that had to be elaborated on! Enemies to lovers is the best trope ever!" Molly exclaimed, waving her hands in the air triumphantly.
"Well it can't go on." John said at last, bringing down the girl's mood almost as effectively as if he had slapped her in the face. Suddenly her smile faded, and for a moment she stared at him, as if trying to figure out just what he meant by that.
"I'm sorry?" she muttered.
"It can't go on. Stop writing, stop all of this. I don't know if it's your computer that's cursed or if it's these particular prompts, but I want nothing more of it. Delete the files; trash the computer, whatever you have to do." John insisted.
"I thought you said you liked each other? That it was working out?" Molly whispered anxiously, her fingers starting to clutch onto the table for support. As her excitement drained away she appeared exhausted, disoriented from this roller coaster of emotions she had been put through all within the span of a few minutes.
"It's like puppets, perhaps. We may enjoy the dance that you've got us doing, but we'd rather be free to do it ourselves. We don't need the strings anymore; we can stand on our own." Sherlock offered, a more reasonable explanation for John's more violent request.
"Well...well I guess I could stop writing you two." Molly whispered. "I mean, if you think it's best."
"You have to stop writing anything, at least not with that computer. Something there is otherworldly, and I can't let you interfere with anymore lives." John insisted. Molly began to tremble once more, though Sherlock recognized a look of determination within his partner's eyes. John wasn't going to back down; he wasn't going to play to Molly's pleas and cries. He was justified in his angle of course, seeing as though one little love story had caused the entire world to go mad! Molly had power that she couldn't control, and now that she was self-aware, well who knows what else she might manipulate? Even in the hands of what seemed to be a level headed girl, the power was too overwhelming. It was too strong for even Molly Hooper to handle.
"But I could save people, I can change the world." she whispered again, trying to defend her stance in the face of two brick walls.
"At what cost? John's been stolen from his house, I've been beat up multiple times, we've all gotten detention..."
"That cafeteria incident wasn't me!" Molly defended.
"Maybe not explicitly." John growled. "But after having read some of your work, you did construct detention without explaining the cause."
"I'm sorry, okay?" Molly whispered. "But you can't make me stop!"
"Consider the consequences, Molly. You got what you wanted in the end, John and I really do love each other, but..." Sherlock's words were interrupted when his words of diplomacy were instead replaced by rough, determined action. A loud crash brought each one of them to attention, jumping from their silence and noticing the broken pieces of the laptop just quick enough to process John's ultimate decision. The carpet was littered with shards of plastic and metal, the traces of what used to be Molly's main tool of mass destruction. Her scream was ear shattering, though it didn't last for long. What began as a scream of anguish instead turned to one of fear, growing and changing in octave, for suddenly the ground beneath their feet vanished into thin air, the carpets and hardwoods dropping off and sending each one of them plunging from the second story all the way down to the undisturbed dirt below. It wasn't a long fall, just enough to startle the poor kids as they hit the dust in a hard, uncoordinated and unexpected way. Sherlock found his face smashed into the dust, his fingers clawing at the scarce weeds that had made their home in what was now an abandoned lot. Clothing fluttered from above, each one of John's possessions that had made the trip from his house scattered in all directions, what remained of reality that had been hidden away in this falsified house. Sherlock could hear yells and cries of surprise from farther along; obviously the rest of the party had met a similar fate when their constructed reality had lost its control. The music had cut out and the background noise became the highway, the passing of cars as they zipped along at breakneck speeds, as well as a faint squeaking coming from Jelly Bean's overturned cage.
"What the h*ll?!" came the screech of Mary Morstan, the first to get to her feet and react to the situation. She was turning in circles, looking up and down and trying to process how she ended up in an abandoned lot.
"Where'd the house go?" called another voice in stark protest, their words slurred from the excess drinking. Slowly the rest of the company began to get to their feet, thankfully unharmed as they readjusted to their surroundings. Sherlock sat up groggily, looking over to see John stumbling to his feet and looking around. It felt as if they had woken from a dream, as if their insides had been flushed out with water and released of any foreign, manipulative presences. Sherlock raised his arm and felt, to his relief, that the motion was completely his own. His fingers flexed on his command, his eyes blinked when he willed them to.
"What have you done?" Molly whispered, crawling about in the dirt to retrieve the broken shards of her laptop, holding each of the shattered plastic pieces close to her heart in despair.
"I've lifted the curse!" John announced at last, his voice coming off as much more hostile than what would've been expected. Sherlock looked up at him, his eyes wide and almost uncomprehending. He remembered what he had promised in the doorway, just before the final confrontation. Their love was real, their love would always be real, and when it was all over...it would still remain. Did it still remain, as his promise had stated? Did he still love that boy now that he was looking with his own eyes and interpreting with his own heart?
"John?" Sherlock whispered. The boy recollected himself, brushing the dirt from his blonde hair and looking around at their captive and disgruntled audience. None of the party goers could comprehend what had happened; even Sherlock who had lived through the whole experience was helpless to explain!
"Sherlock." John muttered. "Why don't you get up?"
"Ya, okay." Sherlock agreed, scrambling to his feet and looking at his companion hesitantly. What was he feeling; now that he was free to think for himself? Was there that same spark, the same he remembered from his months under the influence of another? Was he just as in love as he had been before?
"I believe we've promised these kids a show, and if the house's collapse wasn't interesting enough, I'd like to hold up my end of the deal. This time as myself, with my own way of doing things." John decided, marching up to Sherlock with his solider composure, grabbing onto the boy's waist and pulling him into a passionate, captivating kiss. The noise from the small crowd was lost to the ringing in Sherlock's ears, though they cheered wildly despite their overwhelming confusion as to what had just happened and what was currently going on. Sherlock clutched onto John's head, steadying him there in that moment, feeling the familiar strands of his thin blonde hair and taking in every motion shared between the two of them, every touch and sensation. It was a quick kiss, one conducted purely for show, though when he at last pried away Sherlock took to breathing heavily, clinging to John's shoulders and hanging most of his weight upon the sturdily built football player. He stared within those eyes, trying to determine his own feelings about the affair. Was it all that he had remembered, all that he had hoped it would be? A kiss like he had shared so often before, a kiss that used to be so magical?
"Just like before?" John whispered, his voice nervous and unsure. Sherlock nestled closer, wrapping his arms a bit tighter along the shoulders of John Watson, staying safe within his grasp and comfortable even in this large crowd of onlookers.
"Of course." He agreed with that smile of relief, letting out a laugh. "Of course it's the same."
"Thank God." John whispered, kissing him again for good luck, much to the enjoyment of the crowd that had joined around them, intermingled within the dust and the shock of the last couple minutes. They felt free, each one of them, from the bonds of external influence. And Sherlock and John, wrapped within each other's arms, well they felt that they could stay that way forever. They were satisfied with their ending, satisfied that they had freed themselves from the oppression of their author's puppet strings, but little did they know Molly Hooper was not acting alone. Yes, she was the easier one to grasp, the easier one to defeat. But their happy ending wasn't organized by Molly Hooper, nor would the rest of their lives be influenced by her decisions. Sherlock and John were not completely free from external influence, being as though they were tangled in much thinner, almost invisible strings. I still have the power; I can take them back, throw them onto the highway, break their hearts and ruin the reputations. However I see, just as Molly Hooper once had, that they truly are meant for each other. Just a little push in the right direction is all that is truly needed. Though I say, with some confidence, that they won't find me so easily.   

A/N: There you have it my dears, the breaking of the forth wall! I hope you enjoyed the story, I think this was by far the most humorous book I've written in a long time (if you don't count the OG stories that get humor points for the sheer quality of writing) and it seemed to go over pretty well! Well you guys know me by now, and probably can guess that it's low on my list of favorites. Too much laughing and too little crazy people! All the same it was an enjoyable write, part of an almost infinite series of stories constructed in my head while I was at work last summer. Oh how watering potted plants really gets the brain churning! I wondered if you guys caught onto the fanfiction aspect early on, or suspected Molly Hooper. There were some interesting theories in the comments section, but tell me honestly...did you get it right? Next up we've got a very exciting tale! I loved writing this one. It's about priests and demons, and will be up this Sunday! Thanks for reading everyone!