"I'm bored," stated Sherlock as his eyes stared ahead of him. John was busy behind him, typing up another blog post on his laptop.
"Why don't you see if there is something on the telly for once?" suggested John as he kept typing. "See if there is something amusing on there for you."
"The only things I find amusing are those things that are utterly atrocious, John, and those sort of things tarnish my mind palace."
"Well, I think for one night, your boredom wins over the tarnishing of your mind palace," said John. "I'm not a magician, Sherlock. I can't magic up a case for you to solve."
"Bugger..." muttered Sherlock as he finally let out a long sigh of defeat. "Fine. Can you at least magic up the remote so I don't have to get up?"
John chuckled slightly as he reached on the desk for the remote and tossed it across the small length of the room so it could land softly on Sherlock's lap. Sherlock let out a small humph before picking the remote up from his lap and turning the telly on.
As he began to scan through the channels for something that even remotely caught his interest, John's clicking on the keys filled the background with noise. When Sherlock saw a televised dramatization of a crime scene, he stopped.
"Ah...yes. Lets see how many things I can find wrong with telly cops examining a crime scene this time."
Sherlock set the remote on the arm of the chair as he crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. Sherlock examined the crime that had unfolded on the screen in front of him before he was introduced to the people investigating the crime scene. When he heard their names, he sat up straighter in his chair; eyes widening in shock. It took a lot to shock this famous consulting detective, but this certainly packed a punch.
"There is no bloody way that that is..."
"What's wrong this time, Sherlock?" asked John as he looked up from his typing to see what Sherlock was going on about.
He pointed at the screen as if he were accusing it of some foul act, which in Sherlock's mind, it had indeed had.
"You see those two people on the screen right now, John? The guy with the scruffy beard and vacant eyes and the lady standing beside him?"
John narrowed his eyes as he studied the people examining the crime scene before looking back at Sherlock.
"Yes...what's your point, Sherlock?"
"That's, apparently, how America views Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."
"Sherlock, not every American cop show is taking a personal jab at you," stated John. "I thought we went over this once when you decided to try watching 'Bones'."
"No John. This is different..."
Sherlock claimed the remote on the arm rest and turned the volume up so that John could hear the people's names as they were being addressed. That caught John's attention for sure. He felt his jaw drop open slightly as he slowly swiveled in his chair to watch the telly screen full on.
"You have got to be pulling my leg..." muttered John in utter disbelief.
"The Americans are tarnishing our good name, John," said Sherlock. "They've reduced me to a drug induced psycho and you to a babysitting nurse."
John let out a small sigh before turning back to his blog.
"Well, there isn't much we can do about it, Sherlock. We at least can be comforted by the fact that what they are portraying is fictional and that will never happen where we are concerned."
"Yes, you're right, John," said Sherlock with a sigh of relief as he shut the telly off. "That will never in a million years happen because I refuse to let it."
Later that night, Sherlock got ready for bed. For the rest of the evening, he had not been able to take his mind off the American Sherlock, the "Elementary" show, that he had viewed. To him, everything that he had seen unfold in that show for the brief ten minutes he had allowed himself to view it completely contradicted the entire view of Sherlock that had been provided for the world. Yes, he may have his drug problems, but he was no where near the state they had placed him in, nor did his blogger take on any feminine qualities. He sighed with a tiny bit of frustration as he climbed under the duvet and tried to make himself go to sleep. After a few minutes, he managed to allow his eyes to close in dream filled slumber.
Sherlock found himself in this blacked out room. He opened his eyes and could hardly see two feet in front of him. He allowed himself to sit up in an attempt to get some sort of bearing on his location. Suddenly, he heard a click sound out light began to flood onto the floor he was seated on. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he found that he was on a stage. He looked down and saw his reflection in the black varnished floor, seeing his puzzled expression staring back at him.
He tore himself away from his reflection when he heard the click of approaching footsteps. He searched the stage for the person and soon saw this beastly person coming into view. The man looked as if his face had been completely burnt off and patched back together like some sort of patchwork quilt. A long, ugly stitch ran down his face in a loop sided oval as if trying to piece together things that wouldn't ever quite work together cohesively. The man smirked when he saw Sherlock staring up at him in awe filled terror and soon sat on the ground beside him.
"Well hello, Sherlock. It's nice to finally meet you."
Sherlock fixed his inquisitive gaze upon the monstrous man beside him.
"How do you know my name?..."
"Oh, everyone knows your name! You're Sherlock Holmes, the world famous consulting detective of 221 B Baker Street!" exclaimed the man with a chuckle.
The man wrapped an arm about Sherlock suddenly as he moved to get into a crouched position.
"Guess who I am, Sherlock? You claim to be so good at figuring things out. Figure me out."
Sherlock turned his eyes upon the man again, trying to figure out who this man of monstrous qualities could be.
"I..." He gulped as he slowly began to see the sinister look reflected in his eyes. "I don't know what you are...All I can see is a monster."
"You don't know?" said the man with a rumbling laughter. "The great Sherlock Holmes is finally stumped! How very amusing!"
The man bent his head closer to Sherlock's ear as he whispered softly, "I'm you, Sherlock. I'm the American version of you."
Sherlock stiffened in the man's grasp as he trained his fear filled eyes to stare straight ahead.
"Really?..."
"Yes, Sherlock. Really. I'm surprised you didn't figure it out considering how monstrous you thought the Americans had made you."
"I...I didn't see what they had done like this."
"Oh, but didn't you? You were oh so disappointed by how you were portrayed, claiming that your good name had been tarnished..."
The man looked down at Sherlock to see that he was still staring straight ahead, refusing to look at him. He chuckled again as he kept his tight grip on Sherlock.
"Let me show you something, Sherlock."
The empty air that Sherlock had been staring at a second ago slowly began to spin with colors as a picture unfolded in front of him. It was a picture of the Baker Street flat; the room currently empty for the time being.
"What am I suppose to be seeing?" asked Sherlock, clearly confused.
"Just watch. Soon you'll see the American version of your show; of the monster that you could become..."
Someone slowly came into view then in the scene in front of Sherlock. Sherlock studied the person that had entered the scene closely. Whoever had entered the scene currently had their back to him so he couldn't see who it was. All Sherlock could see were some of the traits that the person possessed such as the long, curly blonde hair and the tan dress coat.
"Sherlock, I'm home!" called out a female voice.
"Do you know who that is, Sherlock?" asked the man laughing with glee at the terror of recognition that was slowly filling his eyes. "That's John, Sherlock."
As the man said that, the person slowly turned around so that Sherlock could indeed see that it was John. He jumped slightly at the horror of it.
"John makes one bloody ugly woman..." he said as he noted all the familiar qualities about his flat mate that were encased in the woman standing before him in the vision. "I hate to see what I look like..."
"Wait for it," said the man.
As Sherlock continued to watch the scene of terror, he saw female John turn back around to start moving further into the flat in search of him.
"Sherlock, where are you?"
Female John stopped outside Sherlock's bedroom door, letting out a small sigh of frustration.
"Sherlock, how many times do I have to come home to this, huh?"
"Feel free to leave anytime. You aren't my nurse."
"No, I really am."
The view soon changed to show the interior of Sherlock's room then as the female John stepped inside and walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock looked the same except for the fact that he was lying on the bed in a drugged state; bags hanging underneath his eyes. His face held a pale color and possessed a five o'clock shadow that he was too lazy to remove. A picture of someone lay by his side on the bed. Female John walked over to the picture to pick it up.
"How can you still be fawning over Jamie, Sherlock?"
"Leave me alone...I'm trying to clear my mind..."
"Drugs are not the way to perform such an action, Sherlock. I've been over this with you."
"Who's Jamie?" asked Sherlock in confusion.
"Let me show you," said the man making it so the image in front of them focused on the picture on the bed beside Sherlock.
Sherlock once again jumped in horror as he saw the James he knew looking feminine.
"I've seen enough. Stop this right now."
"This is what you'll become in America's view...isn't is simply splendid, Sherlock?"
"Stop! No! I don't want this! I want it all to just stop!"
"No, Sherlock. You need to wake up to these truths. You need to do it before it's too late, Sherlock. It's simple to just wake up."
Sherlock's eyes flew open then; frantically searching the ceiling overhead. John stood by Sherlock's bedside, frowning down at him.
"I was sleeping and woke when I heard you mumbling from your room. It appeared as if you were having a nightmare, Sherlock," said John in concern.
When Sherlock heard John's masculine voice, he turned his eyes to look at him and sighed in relief.
"Good. You aren't a woman."
"Excuse me?" asked John as both eyebrows shot up in question.
"Never mind..." He sat up slowly in bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
John sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed, watching him closely.
"Do you want to talk about the dream you had, Sherlock?" asked John.
"No. I really don't want to dwell on it anymore. I want to burn it out of my mind palace. Just answer one question for me."
"Certainly. What is it, Sherlock?"
"Is James still a male too?"
"Of course," said John with a chuckle. "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that brain of yours, Sherlock."
"Trust me, John. This time, you really would not wish to know. I can tell you one thing though with absolutely certainty, John."
"What's that Sherlock?"
"Americans are certainly strange and puzzling creatures."