John and the Purple Crayon
John had questions. First, where was he? The room was blank and bare. He didn't remember getting there and saw no way of leaving.
Second, when had he changed into footie-pyjamas? He felt no telltale bump on his head and no residual sensation of being drugged.
His gaze landed on the only item in the room. A purple crayon? He smiled and picked it up. A way out! He drew a door in the wall and opened it, anticipating great adventures.
"Wake up, John. You're dreaming."
John rolled over and looked at Sherlock. "Sometimes, you are no fun at all."