The day that YOU met Benedict Cumberbatch
In the weeks that have passed since your accident, you have begun to get used to the idea of remembering memories. Because that is what you are doing, in a way; remembering the memories that you have, for they are still there just... hard to get at. Hard to... remember. You can see faces in a crowd and know which ones that you recognise and which ones you do not, but you have to work at it to find out HOW recognise them and who they are to you.
You are pondering this idea as you take your seat in the first class window-seat on a train to London. The ticket had been a rather wonderful birthday present. A train so modern must have been very expensive and you are so grateful to be on it. It's a privilege.
Leaning your head on the window, the coolness of it relaxes you down and stops your head from throbbing so much. Having already had your ticket checked, you decide that it wouldn't be any trouble at all if you just... for a moment... closed... your eyes.
...
When you wake up, the first thing that you notice is the movement. It takes you a moment to remember where you are and what you're doing here and there must have been a slight flicker of panic cross your face because the man sitting opposite looks up from his book.
"Are you alright?"
The voice strikes a chord in your mind. Deep, articulate and smooth... like chocolate. You recognise it and you are sure of that but... the voice does not seem to be familiar with YOU. How odd.
Curiosity is what makes you look up. The man is clearly tall and a stray curl of his dyed-black, thick hair is resting on one of his highly prominent cheekbones. His eyebrows are furrowed and the cupid's bow of his lips is pursed in an expression that is one of concern. And there it is again; that recognition. It's nagging at you. Taunting you. How do you know this man?
You suddenly realise that it has been nearly ten seconds since he asked you if you alright and, in your confused state, you cannot find the words to answer him so merely nod with a weak smile.
The man smiles back. A kind smile. A warm smile. A... so very familiar smile. Yet there is NOTHING behind it. He merely is being /kind/ not because he knows you, but because you can see that he is a gentleman.
That smile does not fade as he looks back to his book.
And for some reason, you cannot seem to look away from him. It's like... before you lost your memory, this man was important to you. But how can he possibly be important to you if he does not even know you?
You frown. A confused and frustrated frown. And you decide now that you would much rather have lost a limb than have lost your memory. Your memory is what makes you YOU. It is precious.
Time passes. Seconds. Minutes. You're not sure exactly how long, but you know that it's been a while. You keep finding yourself looking up at the man as if maybe THIS time you'll see the final piece to complete the puzzle. But you have no such luck.
Eventually, you completely give up and realise that the only way to get answers is to ask the confusing man some questions first.
You straighten up and clear your throat.
"Um... sorry, excuse me."
He looks up from his book once more, and you half expect to see him annoyed that you have interrupted his reading, but his face holds nothing but kindness. The man raises his eyebrows slightly, as if encouraging you to go on.
"Yeah, er... hello. I was... just wondering, um... have we met before? It's just that, well... I recognise your face from somewhere and I was just wondering where I've seen you anywhere because I know that I have seen you at one point or another and... er.. yeah."
You trail off, realising that you are rambling. You feel your cheeks flush red with embarrassment. This man does not know you; he must think you are insane! What kind of strange person asks questions like this?
Again, though, he surprises you by not laughing or looking angry or frustrated. He just smiles again.
"No, we have not met, I'm afraid. What's your name?"
Blinking a few times, you manage to splutter out your name. Why are you suddenly feeling so nervous around him? He has just told you that he does not know you so... you clearly do not know him. Right?
"It's a pleasure to meet you." He continues. "I'm-"
But you cut him off. You're not exactly sure why. There's just a sudden burst of something in your mind. It feels like it does when you are just about to remember something important.
"You're B... B..."
Your ultimate concentrating face is on, although you have absolutely no idea where this is going and you literally feel like you have just plucked the 'B' out of thin air. The man is frowning at you, but only slightly. Like he is expecting you to guess correctly.
"You're British-Guy Silly-Name!"
The words blurt out in a rush before you can stop them; your cheeks turning even redder than they were beforehand. This. Is. So. Embarrasing. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
A deep chuckle interrupts your mental self-scolding. The man is laughing. PROPERLY laughing. And yet, strangely, he doesn't seem to be laughing at you, as such, but more at your words. Like they are an inside joke.
As the laughter fades away, a massive grin is still on the man's face as he speaks again.
"Benedict Cumberbatch."
TIIIING.
That name. It is a name that is important. A name that you admire. A name so strange and unique that you wonder how on earth it could be forgotten. Yet, it has been forgotten. The name matches the face and it matches the recognition that you feel but there is still something missing.
Though the huge grin is still on Benedict's face, a frown is still present on yours as you phrase your next words.
"Benedict... Cumberbatch. I recognise that name too. But you say that you haven't met me before. Then how could I know you? It doesn't... make... sense."
A sudden look of realisation crosses Benedict's face. You recognise that look too. The pitying look that you have grown to loathe so much. He feels sorry for you. He knows what you're going through and how much it hurts. But you don't particularly like the idea of people knowing that you are not exactly coping with this. The sympathy that is meant to comfort you but instead frustrates you to no end.
The next time the man opposite you speaks, his voice is low with compassion and filled with sympathy and understanding.
"I... do acting. That's what I am... an actor. You most probably recognise me from that."
An actor... yes. You suppose that does make sense. He must have been an actor that you greatly admired for you to have such a strong feeling of recognition when you saw him. No wonder you had been feeling embarrassed and nervous before.
"Acting."
You murmur, just loud enough for him to hear although you really are just talking to yourself now.
"Did I want to do acting...? I... I... can never quite remember."
Very familiar tears begin to prick at your eyes. These tears always come at the most unpredictable of times. They are tears of loss and envy and dismay and pure frustration. But you blink them back, as you have learnt to do so well and turn back to the Benedict, putting on a smile.
"Is it good to be an actor? Do you enjoy it?"
A number of emotions are playing across the man's face. You see the sympathy and the feeling of helplessness. He has just met you, but you can see that he wants to help in any way that he can, even if it takes him the whole train journey.
It is a pain and a great misery for anyone to lose their memory and, although Benedict has just met you, the kindness in his eyes tells you that he understands what it would mean for you if you remembered the times that you have had and find the lost moments.
And so his stories begin. The stories of the world's only consulting detective and a geeky scientist and a phenomenal painter and a futuristic terrorist and a DRAGON. So many different characters that this man has played and so much of a success that he has become. Although you may not remember seeing any of his work, you admire him just for the amount that he has done. The man must have some fantastic talent.
When you get home, you shall have a marathon of all of his pieces of acting. His films and his TV shows. And you shall relive the admiration that you had felt for him once upon a time.
And you shall NEVER forget the day... that you met Benedict Cumberbatch.
. . .
I literally have no idea why I just wrote this. Felt like I needed to write and out pops this idea. I don't know... did you like it? Should I do more like this? Please let me know in reviews. x