"John! Will you get that?"
John looked up from his paper. The door had been knocked on. Not like it would be for a case.
"John! I'm expecting someone!"
"Yeh? Get the door yourself!"
"John, just do it!"
John gave a mighty humph, then walked over to open said door. He opened it slightly. The doctor knew better than to open all the way for someone Sherlock knew.
"Have an appointment?" John said to the faceless man behind the doorway.
"Yes," replied a familiar baritone. "I have an appointment with Sherlock Holmes. The convention is today. I was informed he needed my assistance."
John opened the door fully to stare the man with the face. The stranger looked quite powerful- stockily built and muscular. He had the same flash of intellect in his eyes that Sherlock had. Most of all, the stranger shared the face of said World's Only Consulting Detective.
"What the-"
"Out of my way, Holmes is waiting." The stranger pushed John aside as if he were tossing a rag doll. Quite frankly, John felt like a rag doll when the powerful hands latched onto his shoulders and roughly shoved him out of the doorway.
Sherlock came out of his room. "Khan-"
"Sherlock!"
The two embraced. They could have easily been mistaken for twins. Suddenly, Sherlock let out a whoosh of air, and began gasping for breath.
"Choking me! Choking! Khan... STOPPIT!"
"Oh! My apologies." Khan released Sherlock from the bear hug, and the latter fell to his knees, attempting to regain his breath.
Sherlock coughed before speaking again. "Glad you could make it early. There's still a lot to do for the convention." He stood up.
"Hold it!" John stepped in between the two. "I want to know exactly what is going on here." The two men loomed over the doctor by no less than five inches. "Sherlock, you have a twin?"
"Not exactly. Alternate universe inhabitant."
"Quite right, Sherlock." He turned to John "My name is Khan Noonien Singh."
"Okay, well-"
A knock on the door interrupted him. "Oh! John, would you get the door? And entertain our guests." Sherlock motioned to Khan. "We have work to do."
Sherlock and his alternate universe counterpart walked back to Sherlock's room, chatting all the way.
John opened the door. Another... duplicate greeted him. "You're here for the convention?"
"Why, Yes!" The stranger stared at John in shock. "How did you ever guess?"
"Kind of a long story. What's your name?"
"Christopher. Christopher Tietjens."
"Tee-jens?" John's eyebrow lifted. "How do you spell that?"
"T-I-E-T-J-E-N-S. Tietjens."
"Silent second T?"
"Correct. And your name?"
John held out his hand. "John Watson... PhD."
"Pleased to meet you Doctor Watson."
The two sat down in the living area. They remained so for several seconds. John broke the ice.
"So... What do you do for a living?"
"I used to work in government, but I enlisted in the army. Things got a bit strange from there."
"You don't say... I was a military doctor!"
"Really? Where?"
"I saw action in Afghanistan. Y'know. Desert."
The stranger's face twisted. "Odd. I don't recall fighting in... Well, it doesn't matter."
"Which war were you in?"
"The Great War."
"World War I?"
Christopher sat up stock straight and leaned towards John from his seat "You mean there were more?"
"Yeah- WW II. Then a whole host of others... You aren't from around here." John paused to think. "What year is it?"
"1919. The war just ended. At least, I think it is. Knowing all this," he motioned to the flat. "I'm not really sure anymore."
"That explains a lot. It's 2015 now."
"What? How does that- that's impossible!"
"Believe me, Chris. I think we'll see many stranger things today."
Sherlock came out of his room. His eyes met John's and the detective shrugged, motioning back to Khan hunched over dozens of scattered papers in the bedroom. "He wanted coffee and a few biscuits." John rolled his eyes.
As Sherlock started the coffee, he also began conversation. "Christopher! Glad you could make it- I thought you couldn't."
"So did I. Unfortunately, Sylvia had other ideas." Tietjens shifted so that the left side of his head could be clearly seen.
John had a shocked 'how did I not see that before' expression plastered on his face.
Sherlock flinched at the sight of blood in the man's hair. He (far too, in John's opinion) casually asked, "how did she manage that?"
"A porcelain vase. Luckily it was thin enough to shatter instead of take my head completely off, but those shards still hurt. I didn't have anything else to do today so I decided to come."
John immediately stepped into the conversation. "Here, let me see that."
Sherlock watched nonchalantly as John got out the first aid kit and picked red-covered bits of vase out of Christopher's scalp with a pair of tweezers.
Once the coffee was done Sherlock quickly returned to his room. John was still examining Chris's head.
"Be glad you didn't get a concussion. That vase could have done some serious damage."
John's sentence was punctuated by a massive roar from above. "Oh for the love of-" The roar overwhelmed his complaint.
"Anyone home?" A rumbling voice shook the building. John looked out the window and saw exactly what he did not want to see.
"Ah! Are you the man in charge?" The massive voice continued to shake the building.
"Ummm- yeah! I'm in charge of guests!" John shouted up to the towering figure. "Tell me your name?"
"Smaug!... Oh! And tell the host that Sauron gives his regards, but he isn't exactly mobile, if Sherlock takes his meaning, so he couldn't come." Smaug paused. "And he said to tell Sherlock that if his deductions are so fantastic he should have realized that the Eye cannot move from the tower so he says for Sherlock to... umm..."
John laughed at Smaug's next words. The dragon was clearly uncomfortable with cursing Sherlock out. Even if it was just a message from his employer.
John walked back to the bedroom. "Hey- Smaug's here."
Khan sniggered. Sherlock managed a small chuckle. "I'm pretty sure the whole street heard." Sherlock burst out laughing after thinking of what the neighbors felt about a dragon twice the size of a jumbo jet sitting on the pavement.
Khan smiled as he said, "Who has he got with him this time?"
"Sorry, what?" John lifted an eyebrow.
Sherlock finished the thought. "Smaug always brings a guest. He had Thorin with him last time. The year before, he brought Gandalf. Even if he wasn't actually supposed to be here himself. The whole pre-determined projects thing. Y'know." Sherlock and Khan continued laughing.
"Okay... I think I'm just going to go... Do... Stuff."
"Yes, please, John. You're a terrible distraction." John would have felt insulted, had a huge smile not been plastered on Sherock's face.
When John returned to the main room, he found Christopher at the door.
"Oi! Chris, I'm supposed to handle the door. You're a guest."
Tietjens continued looking through the tiny sliver that the door did not occupy. "There's some...thing out there. It... Sounds very like you."
"What?" John opened the door the rest of the way and found himself staring at... Well, himself.
"Ummm... Hello... I'm Bilbo Baggins. Is this the Conference?"
John was still somewhat in shock as to seeing himself through the doorway. (A short version, but his own face nonetheless)
"Yes, Bilbo, of course. Come in."
"Thank you."
The three sat there for quite some time, just staring at each other.
"So..." Bilbo started a new conversation. "This is 221B. It seems... Different from what I had imagined. But then- I live in a hole..." The little hobbit smiled warmly. "Yeah, it isn't perfect, but it's home."
John smiled at... Well, he couldn't call Bilbo his doppelgänger, could he? "I guess that goes for everyone." He looked back at Christopher. "Right, Chris?"
The said man snapped out of his daze. "Sorry, what?"
"A man's home is his castle. Isn't it?"
"Umm... Yes."
Both John and Christopher jumped up when the door received a frightful battering. Their eyes met.
"Chris, I don't know how you know there are going to be people outside the door when I can't hear them, but really," he walked over to the door. "I'm supposed to get the guests."
He opened the door and a wave of people rushed in, almost knocking him over.
John stared at all of the newcomers. They all looked like Sherlock. "Umm...Hello... Can I have your names?"
"Stephen Hawking."
"Dr. Strange."
"Mr. Turing."
"Julian Assange."
"William Pitt."
A tall wolf walked up. He extended his paw. "Sorry, I can't tell you my name. Classified business, you know how it is."
John took the large padded paw in a handshake. "Umm... I don't, really- Mind if I just call you 'Classified' then?"
When all was said and done, John learned that standing in his flat were Julian Assange, Stephen Ezard, William Ford, Charles Aiken, Alan Turing, Dr. Stephen Strange, Paul Marshall, William Pitt, Peter Guillam, Stephen Hawking, Major Jamie Stewart, Luke Fitzwilliam, Lt. Jimmy Langley, Rosencrantz, Frankenstein, and one Vincent Van Gogh. And apparently, less than half of the invitees had come.
It was all quite confusing to the doctor. Poor Tietjens was very nearly delirious.
John made his way back through the sea of Sherlock-lookalikes to Chris, who was rocking back and forth on a chair.
"Quite a few people, eh?"
Christopher said nothing.
"Well, I guess this is why Sherlock bought all the food stored up in the pantry."
Christopher still said nothing.
"Come on, let's get acquainted with all these guys."
Hawking, Turing, and Assange were having a discussion of being misunderstood geniuses. Classified was complaining to Dr. Strange about being the only animated character present. Rosencrantz was musing to Frankenstein about the wonders of being dead, to which Frankenstein replied with grunts and groans.
John led Christopher to Lt. Jimmy Langley and Maj. Jamie Stewart. They were having a conversation about the World Wars.
"And then I said," Jimmy pointed accusingly at an invisible person. "'Well, you'd better-"
"Hello?"
"Oh, hi there." The major was the first to notice Chris and John. He smiled broadly. "I know the stature of a militia man when I see it. What ranks are you two?"
"I'm a captain." John looked at Chris. "And you're... What are you?"
"I..." He put his hand to his forehead. "Sorry, the time travel hasn't made me well."
"Oh, don't mind it." Jimmy mused. "I felt a little strange coming out of the universe-gate myself."
John hoped to avoid an awkward silence, so he struck up a conversation with Stewart.
"By the way, I never knew what happened to you. I mean, we know you were captured by the Germans, but War Horse never gives you an ending. What did happen to you?"
Jamie flushed an embarrassed red before he answered with a chuckle, "I really don't know, either. Your guess is as good as mine."
Everyone laughed. Langley sniggered, "you mean you honestly don't know what happened to yourself?"
"Well, I certainly don't get a happy ending in the movie, that's for sure." Everyone laughed again.
Christopher looked at Jamie. "Then what do you do all day? If you have no ending, then how are you supposed to have the magical 'happily ever after' sort of thing?"
"Well, mostly I just sit on my horse and look sort of ashamed towards Germans, that's how you last see me in the movie. But sometimes the Germans get bored. So they go back off to their camp to hang out. And no one is really dead, so everybody gets back up. Then we troop off to the German camp and have a big party until nightfall, when we have to go back to our old positions."
"Sounds fun."
"The best part of it- that we don't have to worry about any other part of the war, so we can do whatever we want, at least until nighttime, that is." This elicited another laugh.
Christopher was apparently having a good time when John departed the conversation two minutes later.
Everything seemed to be going fine. Well, Dr. Strange was busy keeping Frankenstein out of the pantry, Classified was literally bouncing off the walls, and 221B sounded as if it were being raided by a knot of toads, but other than that the Conference seemed to be going well.
The door received another knock. John warily opened it to a well-dressed man of around forty. And yes, he looked like Sherlock.
"Hello- I'm Benedict Cumberbatch." He glanced at all of the people inside. "I would guess that this is the Conference?"
"Oh... Ummm yeah." He extended his hand. "John Watson... I assume you're the guest of honor?"
"I wouldn't necessarily say it that way, but I suppose yes... Err... May I come in?"
"Where are my manners? Of course, yes!" John smiled sheepishly and led the newcomer inside.
"Benedict," John began.
"Please- just call me Ben." He smiled warmly at John.
"Oh, right. Ben, you seem different than everyone else here, why is that?"
Cumberbatch pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the floor before turning to face John. "Well, I suppose that it is a bit complicated, but I'll try to explain. You see, a lot of these people are fictional where I come from. I'm an actor, and these," he motioned to Frankenstein. "Are people or characters that I've played."
John pondered this for a while. "But... I've heard of a lot of them. Stephen Hawking is a real person. So are Van Gogh and William Pitt."
"Yes, they are real in my universe as well, but I have portrayed each of these people in a movie or a television show. That is why they all look like me."
"So... If that's true... Then Bilbo and I must be connected by an actor, too. We look a lot alike."
The actor gave a slight smirk. "You catch on fast. Yes, you two are connected by a real-world person- Martin Freeman."
"Wow... So this is a conference of all the people that you've played in movies... But why today?"
"Today is my birthday. I'm here to give a short welcoming speech, and bestow upon the new people who haven't been here for the past conferences something of a Rite of Passage into what Sherlock and Khan have affectionately dubbed the Cumber-Clan. But then I'll probably have to go- Sophie will probably want to spend my birthday with me."
"Your wife?"
"Yes... Married just this last February. And a son this last June."
"Well, hope you have a good rest of your birthday." Both of their gazes drifted to Sherlock's room. "Where is Sherlock? He can't still be working!"
"Well," Ben checked his watch. "T's almost time to start. You had best get him so we won't have to start the conference without our host."
John scrambled throught the sea of Cumberbatch lookalikes to Sherlock's bedroom. He knocked on the door.
"Sherlock? Your guest of honor is here!" He opened the door. "Sherlock?" Khan was waving his hand across Sherlock's face.
"He's in some sort of trance." Khan grabbed Sherlock by the upper arms and shook him violently. Sherlock still stared blankly into the wall. "I've been trying to wake him up for a couple minutes.
"Oh, great." He bent down to look Sherlock in the eyes. "Sherlock," he shouted, "not a good time to go to your Mind Palace, mate!" He hit Sherlock gently on the side of the head. "Hey, in there!"
Khan looked worriedly at John. "What are we going to do?"
"Not much we can do." John slumped his shoulders resignedly. "He's gotta come out of it on his own."
"And exactly how long with that take?"
"Who knows? He can be like that for hours."
"Terrific. The Conference is starting in..." He checked the clock on the dresser. "Three minutes and Sherlock decides to take a catnap."
"Hmmm... Well, I might be able to get him out of it... Hold on." John took a deep breath, and whispered, "Sherlock, we're out of milk."
The detective's eyes immediately focused. "WHAT?!"
"Oh, good. You're awake. Conference starts in two minutes."
Sherlock dipped his head to John slightly. "Thank you- but that really was a mean thing to say, that we have no milk- Pah!"
"Alright," Khan huffed impatiently, "now that this little situation is all sorted out, can we please go into the main room?"
"Yeah," John mused, checking his watch, "We probably ought to."
The trio made their way into the main room. All of the guests were chattering like squirrels to their hearts' content, never mind the fact that 221B sounded like it had been invaded by a troop of monkeys.
Khan looked at the clock on the wall. It was time to start. "Quiet, everybody- quiet down," apparently his voice was entirely lost in the din, as no one stopped talking. "Quiet! The conference is now in session!" Still, there was no response. Bilbo looked up at Khan. The little hobbit then stood up on a chair and raised his hands. Almost immediately, the chatter ceased. Khan turned a bright, embarrassed red- John could've likened him to a beet.
"Thank you, little hobbit." Ben reached down and patted Bilbo on the shoulder. He looked out across the many faces (they all looked very much the same, but nonetheless). "So, here we are. All of these people from all of these different places, and not one of them had a different face from the man next to him!" This elicited a few chuckles from the crowd.
"I want to welcome you all to the 2015 Cumber-Conference, as Sherlock and Khan, the Conference's founders have called it for... Two years now?"
"Almost three," Sherlock mused.
"And I want to thank our host. Sherlock is one of the core characters that I've played. He is the character, alongside of Khan who is three years younger, who has enabled me to work on so many projects and gain as much renown in my own universe as I have. I want to thank you all for your efforts, we are all in this together."
John couldn't have found the speech stranger if he tried.
"Now to welcome all of the Newcomers of the year 2014! First up- Everyone's favourite Arctic wolf, Classified!"
Classified padded up next to the man and shook his hand, which was rather strange to see... Especially Classified had paws instead of hands.
"Thanks so much. It really has been exciting to meet you all. I wish Ben a long and bountiful career, and a loving family." The wolf blended back into the crowd after finishing. John wasn't sure exactly how it was possible for a wolf to blend in with humans, but it was.
"Thank you, Classified." Ben paused to gather his thoughts. "And now for the great codebreaker genius who brought us all things from the first computer to the CAPTCHA code- Mr. Alan Turing."
Said man walked up to greet his... John really didn't know what to call all of these Sherlock-lookalikes. Doppelgänger? Imposters?
"Thank you, Benedict. I've had a wonderful time meeting everyone here. I look forward to seeing all of the newcomers to the Conference. I wish Ben a good marriage and a great family."
By this time, the guest of honor was beginning to tear up, so Sherlock took the center stage. "I think we all do. Now, Since all formalities are finished, I think we had best let our dear actor get back to his family. Let the remaining festivities commence!"
All of the guests went back to chatting, and now eating as well. John looked around. There didn't seem all that much for him to do.
John snapped his fingers in remembering. He quickly grabbed a few plates and loaded them with food. It wasn't easy. All of the guests had filled 221B to the max capacity and more. John held the plate high above his head, and made his way out to the stairs. He finally came to the door that led outside. He put his plate-balancing arms out of the door and whistled a few trills. A giant taloned hand reached down, and John set the plates onto it. John heard an apparently whispered 'thanks' before he went back up to the party. Well, they wouldn't have to worry about Smaug torching the place, at least not while he had a snack.
When he returned, the guest of honor had vanished. Gone back to his home, John presumed.
Sherlock was standing by the window watching the street. He was playing his violin as well, but he seemed to be more interested in the street than his strings. Suddenly his expression darkened and he made an awful slide on the strings.
"John," he called above the din of the guests.
"Yeah?"
"Make sure the plates are kept full." Sherlock stormed out the door, violin and all.
"Where are you going?" John called to Sherlock.
"To stop a party-crasher," Sherlock yelled back over his shoulder from the bottom of the stairs.
John, being the curious person he was, followed Sherlock out into the street. He couldn't believe his eyes.
"What are YOU doing here?" Sherlock wielded his violin bow accusingly at the Police Call Box.
A tall fellow with a goofy grin stepped out of the Call Box, which John could see wasn't really a Call Box at all, but some sort of spaceship.
"Oh, just dropping by. I know that it's Ben's birthday, and I wanted to wish him well."
"He's gone by now- and you'd best go, too, before the fans find you. I know how they are... Doctor."
"Doctor?" John walked up behind Sherlock. "Who?"
"Exactly." Sherlock kept the snarl on his face. "It's the Doctor."
The other fellow bent over to look at John. "Precisely." He then pulled himself to his full height and pointed angrily at Sherlock. "And that's Doctor WHO, to you mister!"
John looked at the both of them in confusion. "What?"
"No, John. Who."
John gave Sherlock his best 'not good' face. "This feels a lot like Abbot and Costello. Do I say 'I don't know' next?" He paused for Sherlock's reaction.
"He's on third."
John blew up. "Y'know, I'd like if you made sense once in awhile!"
Sherlock looked at the Doctor accusingly and gestured back to John. "You see what you've done? He has a hard enough time grasping the concept of the fandoms already!"
"Oh, fine." The Doctor stepped back up to his Call Box. "I'll go. But say Happy Birthday to Ben if you get the chance, OK?"
"Alright," Sherlock said resignedly. "I'll drop him a memo sometime.
"Well, best get back to business. Those Weeping Angels won't fight themselves, you know." He closed the door to the Call Box and was gone. Box and all.
John looked at Sherlock.
"Blasted Doctor Who. Thinks he knows everything." His eyes met John's. "Well, what are you staring at?"
John shook his head. "That was weird."
Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I couldn't agree more." He began walking back up to the door. "Come on, John. Those plates will need filled soon."
"Ummm... yeah. The plates. Sorry."
Sherlock held the door open. "Well, don't worry. For your first encounter with him, that was really good."
John could hear the guests still chattering from the bottom of the stairs. "Thanks a lot." He made his way up the stairs. Now, which plate was probably the emptier by now? Well, he'd find out soon enough.
Sometime very, VERY much later...
Cleanup... Was absolutely terrible. Khan, Bilbo and Smaug helped, but dragging all of the waste out to the alleyway was horrendous. And maybe the guests really hadn't made that much of a mess. John wondered if it had something to do with the demeanor of the actor who played them all. Still. There were just so many guests. Cleanup took awhile.
Smaug told stories the whole time. Tales of glory and wars, and of course the fact that he had considered bringing all thirteen of the other Dwarf Fellowship. John nearly fainted upon discovering that they might have had thirteen more guests. Upon seeing this, Bilbo commented that they were excellent at cleaning, and though they still couldn't distinguish a doily from a dishcloth, their hands were steady with the wares. Even after hearing Bilbo's defense of the dwarves John was quite unconvinced.
Sherlock seemed tired. Not as in a sleepy way, but more in a 'I really hate this, I never want to have a party here again' way.
And, true to his personality, Khan picked a fight with Smaug about whose fandom was better. From what John could hear, they both made excellent cases.
And still later...
It was nighttime when Khan decided to go back to his cryotube in his own universe, and Smaug and Bilbo started off to Lonely Mountain.
John was exhausted, and Sherlock looked dead on his feet. (Again, not in a sleepy way, but in a 'I hate parties now' way.)
"Well, it was a good Conference." Khan smiled as he made his way out of the door. "See you next year!"
"Goodbye!" Sherlock called down the stairs after him. John watched as Khan vanished back into his own universe out of the door to the outside with a whoosh and a blue glow.
Sherlock ran to the window. John followed just in time to see Bilbo mounting the dragon.
"Have a good flight back!"
"Will do, Sherlock," Smaug rumbled.
"Tell Sauron we missed him-"
"I will." Smaug readied himself for flight.
"Oh! Smaug?"
"Yes?"
"Can we have the Conference at Lonely Mountain next year? 221B is getting crowded with all of the people." Sherlock deflated slightly upon saying this. John's mouth turned up at the corners. He really was exhausted.
"Sure. Lonely Mountain it is."
"Thanks."
"Bye, Sherlock! Until the next time!" Smaug flew up into the clouds and vanished with the same blue glow that Khan had made.
Sherlock walked to his chair and plopped down. "Wow. I am... Really getting too old for this." He shook his head.
"Don't worry, Sherlock. You wont be old for quite some time." John smiled broadly. He sat down to his laptop and tapped in his security code. It didn't accept. John blinked. Twice. He let out an exasperated sigh. "Sherlock-"
Sherlock's expression turned frantic for an instant before he cut John off. "Want to play chess?" He stood up to retrieve the board.
"What did you do to my computer?" John stood up.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock answered, albeit far too quickly. He put the board down on the coffee table. "I'll let you win." He gave John a cheesy smile.
John smiled and shook his head. He went to sit down. "Now, where's the fun in that?"
Sherlock shrugged. "Okay, then, I'll let you lose."
"Game on, Sherlock."
Brainy
Energetic
Noble
Enthusiastic
Dedicated
Inspiring
Charming
Talented
Happy 39th Birthday to our dear Benedict Cumberbatch! May his home always be filled with the laughter of children and with life's little miracles.
Please excuse grammatical errors.
Rights to respective owners.