The director threw himself into a seat in the front row of the theater before hollering, "Start at the beginning of the play!" 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!