"Where the hell's Lestrade?" John whispered urgently to Sherlock. Their place of hiding in shadowy doorway gave them scant cover. They were startlingly vulnerable.
Sherlock was tensed to move. "We'll be found out if we move. We'll be found out if we don't."
That was a call to action if John ever heard one. He cocked an eyebrow, primed for the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through his veins.* "Over there, on the count of three, the tall–"
An explosion of sparks and smoke!
"Shit!" someone bellowed.
There was a barrage of curses around them.
"Cut!" screamed McGuigan, as he hurled an invective at the still smoking set light that had blown.
It had been a particularly long and tense day on the set. A brutal shooting schedule, made worse by multiple tech problems, had put them behind. Everyone was tired; tempers, almost non-existent among this tight-knit crew and cast, flared. Thoughts of overtime creased Moffat's brow as he rocked on the balls of his feet; he was not a happy man. Gatiss, also the writer of the episode, stood patiently, but the stoop in his shoulders did not sit well with the three-piece Mycroft suit he was wearing.
Cumberbatch was slumped against a wall, head back, eyes closed. Near him, Freeman sat in silence, his between-takes humour nowhere to be seen. Exhaustion was evident in both their faces.
Five minutes later, there were murmurs among the crew, and it was evident from their activities that filming was about to resume. Martin stood, his lips pursed in thought, and he walked over to Benedict, who startled at the sudden interruption. Martin leaned in and spoke quietly to the taller man. Benedict met his eyes, raised an eyebrow, then finally gave a short response.
Gatiss watched the exchange and his mouth quirked up in a slight smile, recognising the familiar sight of actors discussing how to play a scene. It was a short set up involving only the two characters, their tension in the doorway, and the sudden, running break from cover. Now Benedict was nodding emphatically and adding to the discussion. They both nodded, a consensus reached.
"Positions!"
The actors resumed their places. The crew settled. A moment…then…
"Action!"
"Where the hell's Lestrade?"
"We'll be found out if we move."
A pause that wasn't there before…
"We'll be found out if we don't."
Martin edged closer to Ben.
"Sherlock?" A hint of hesitation in his voice.
The script supervisor looked up quizzically.
"John?" Sherlock's reply was a tentative whisper.
They were off script.
Gatiss and Moffat exchanged glances then looked to the director. Intrigued and trusting, McGuigan made a circling gesture for the camera to keep rolling.
The actors were very close to each other, a certain tension between them…no, not tension…anticipation. Suddenly they moved together, each grabbing the other in an embrace, and…
Kissing!
Wildly passionate, groping, hands everywhere.
"What the hell-?" Moffat sputtered as the crew gasped. The kiss seemed endless. Eight seconds…nine…
Their lips still touching, holding each other tightly, Ben and Martin started to shake with laughter.
And Gatiss lost it. And then crew. Giggles, howls, and guffaws rang through the night.
Martin and Ben finally separated, doubled over in hysterics, each trying to hold the other up. Gales of laughter spread through the crew, an elixir like no other.
Gatiss scrubbed his hands over his face but it didn't wipe out his smile or his appreciative look.
Moffat stood, incredulous, slowly shaking his head. "Oh, God, if the fans ever hear about this!"
"Oh my God, the fans!" Martin gasped. "Well, it's what the fans want, why not give it to them?" he said, sending him and Benedict into a new volley of giggles.
"Camera is still rolling," McGuigan said to no one in particular.
"Shit. We're doomed," intoned Benedict between chortles.
The actors were still doubled over, wiping tears from their eyes and moisture from their mouths. It took a full thirty seconds to pull themselves together.
"Okay, people. Let's get this done!" McGuigan shouted, epically failing in his efforts to stop chuckling.
As their make-up was touched up, the actors' eyes scanned the crew. There were pats on backs, arms slung over mates' shoulders, and not an ounce of tension or fatigue in anyone's faces.
"Places!"
Ben and Martin took their places, side by side. They grinned at each other.
"Well done," Ben whispered to Martin, who tilted his head in mutual acknowledgement.
"Likewise." He paused, then added, "Good kiss."
Benedict gave him a Sherlockian glare. Silly bastard was trying to break him up again. It didn't work. At least not that it showed. Martin snorted.
A pause, a breath…and it was Sherlock and John standing in the shadowy doorway, and ready for…
"Action!"
*Yes, with an unabashed and unapologetic nod and acknowledgement that this is taken from the BBC Drama trailer; a line written, one presumes, by oh-so-wonderful Mark Gatiss.