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"Fiction." Shirley Holmes strode beside her partner. "Creatures of ink and paper."
Jane Watson shook her head with a smile. "Yet people believe they're real – so many that we make a living answering requests sent to imaginary men."
"I'm not complaining about the idiocy that pays me!"
Both women laughed. Their shoes clicked on the macadam walkway, their arms full of parcels. The dull fog of early evening enveloped them.
"Why is that so, do you think?" Watson asked. "Why do they seem so real to everyone?"
"Wishful thinking." Shirley nodded toward a cluster of people waiting for an autobus. "Life is uncertain. Not every mystery can be solved. Sometimes evil triumphs over good, and the wicked go free while the innocent die. Sherlock Holmes is pure logic and intellect, and he always solves the puzzle and brings justice."
"Dr. Watson?"
"Ensures this lofty being has a human connection with the world."
Something clicked in Jane's mind. "They are tulpas."
"What?" Shirley stared at her partner.
Of course her rational friend wouldn't know the word. "It's a supernatural creature that only exists because a large number of people believe it exists."
Jane looked back toward the bus stop. And for just a moment she saw two shadowy figures of men before the lamppost.
Shirley snorted. "I think my theory is better."