***WARNING- COMPLETE AND UTTER CRACK***
Hello! Well, a month ago I watched both The Reichenbach Fall and The Empty Hearse for the first time back-to-back. I was a bit late getting into this show, and I must say that it was every bit as sob- inducing as my friends promised. After watching these two episodes, I needed a coping mechanism for all the feels I was experiencing, so I went to Youtube. This fic was loosely inspired by the video "It's Raining Men on Baker Street" by lotrfan2888. I messaged them a while back to ask if they'd be okay for me to create this little interpretation of their video. It's been a month without a response, so I thought I'd go ahead and post it. If you're out there, lotrfan2888, and would like me to remove this, please message me! Enjoy!
"JOHN!" A shout rang out through 221B Baker Street.
"Yes, what is it, Sherlock?" John asked, exiting his room to hear what was undoubtedly another shocking revelation about some murder or robbery.
"All of the reports match, all of the sources are coinciding, it's going to happen!" Sherlock shouted, hopping over his poor footstool of a coffee table and sliding across the floor in his wonderfully fluffy woolen socks. "I've done all the research, there's no way it won't happen now!" He leapt into the air joyfully, bumping into his poor doctor and prompting a shout of frustration.
"Sherlock," John grumbled, rubbing his now-injured shoulder, "I can honestly say I have no idea what you're talking about. I thought you said you didn't have a case right now."
"No case? NO CASE?! You can't possibly have forgotten, John!"
"Yeah, well, I'm lacking in real estate for the whole mind castle thing," John scoffed. Suddenly, an immense rumble sounded through the windows of the flat. "Sh…Sherlock? What's going on?" Before John could answer, he heard a loud smack against the window. Hurrying over to the far side of the room, it became clear what exactly was happening. "Oh my…"
Splayed across the window and hanging on for dear life laid one D. I. Lestrade, grinning madly as if his wife had finally ended her cheating ways and decided to stick with him.
"Sherlock, wh… why's Greg on our window?!" A smattering sound echoed through the little flat as Sherlock began prancing around the living room. If John didn't know the man any better, he might think he was… dancing? Before he could question Sherlock's (perhaps drug induced?) motives, a loud crack rung out through the flat. John ran to investigate. Lying on their rug, along with a bunch of plaster and wood (Mrs. Hudson would have a fit about that, John thought), was a man covered in dust.
"Er… you alright?" John asked, a bit confused. The figure suddenly lurched off the ground, did a back flip, and landed with the skill of a trained acrobat. Is that… oh my gosh. The flip had shaken the dust off and John could see the man- it was Sherlock's nemesis, James Moriarty.
"Oh my word… Sherlock!" John sprinted into the kitchen where Sherlock stood spinning around. "It's him!" Sherlock turned towards the panicking doctor with a look of surprise upon his face.
"Oh, really? How quaint!" The detective strode towards the living room and slapped his…well, apparently former arch nemesis?... on the back. "EYYY! WHAZZUP?!" He asked.
"Just stayin' alive, Sherly! Just stayin' alive!" The two men clasped hands and began to spin around in circles.
"Okay... what the HELL is going on?" John shouted. At that moment, he heard a sharp knock at their door. "Oh, for the love of- " John was stopped as he pulled the door open. Standing at his door was a group every slightly attractive- and even unattractive- man he'd ever met: Anderson, Henry Knight, even Mycroft, all grinning like idiots!
"Hello, Johnny boy!" Mycroft crooned. John stopped himself before slamming the door in their jam- eating faces. He walked purposefully to Sherlock, who was busy attempting and failing to do an elaborate showgirl dance alongside Moriarty. The bumbling doctor grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.
"SHERLOCK!" He yelled, agitated. "Tell me what the hell is going on or I swear I will kill you the MOMENT you're off this high, and I mean it!"
"Oh, come on, deduce something for once, John!" Sherlock laughed in a crazed manner.
"NO! TELL ME, NOW!" The kitchen roof suddenly gave way to tons of men careening towards the earth. The refrigerator was smashed, spurting red liquid that John only hoped was just an experiment of Sherlock's, not one of these…rather familiar men. Where had he seen all them before? There was one man from the Chinese circus… and was that his old buddy, Mike…?
"IT'S RAINING MEN!" Sherlock belted, prompting shouts of joy from all the men around him and many more from women in nearby flats and on the street. "HALLELUJIAH! IT'S RAINING MEN!"
John was utterly confused. Befuzzled. Bamboozled, even. "Mrs. Hudson!" he called, panicking.
"I'm busy, deary!" she replied, pulling Hot Extra #21 through the sea of attractive men. Their shouts were growing louder as they hoisted Sherlock and Moriarty, still dancing, onto their shoulders.
"IT'S RAINING MEN!" John, realizing there was no turning back now, attempted to run down the stairs. There was no hope. Even Matt Smith and Misha Collins were in the stairway, and they haven't even made a cameo yet. Struggling to escape, John continued to be buried by the loads of hunky guys. So, this is the way it ends… not by a bomb at some pool, not on the battlefield in Afghanistan for my country, but buried by a sea of men…
John couldn't help but think that the Woman or maybe Molly would have enjoyed this fate much more than him.
"IT'S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJIAH, IT'S RAINING MEN…"