The Sherlock Holmes Show

Rating: T

Author's note: This is a rewrite. I am still the same author but I just decided it was time to improve some of my work. Same plot. Same direction. Nothing except the style should be too different. Thank you so, so, much MorbidbyDefault for letting me use this idea!

CHAPTER 1:

"We've become bored with watching actors. Give us phony emotions. We're tired of pyrotechnics and special effects. While the world he inhabits… is, in some respects, counterfeit, there's nothing fake about Sherlock Holmes himself- No scripts, no cue cards. It isn't always Shakespeare, but it's genuine. It's a life."

He's pacing back and forth, this gnawing itch in his brain telling him to think. Just think. Think and maybe he could relieve himself of this dreadful apathy. He hasn't had a case in so long and he felt like exploding. What was wrong with London? Beautiful crime rate, perfectly scheduled but then it just dies down. He swore it did it on purpose just to throw him off. He needed the lab. He needed to experiment. He needed to do something. Anything to rid him of this pesky itch! He couldn't even smoke since John found and disposed of his cigarettes.

"Well, for me, there's no difference between a private life and a public life." Mycroft nods softly as if trying to completely convince himself he really believed that, "My life… My life is The Sherlock Holmes Show. It's a lifestyle. It's a…" Mycroft looks off camera before returning, "Noble life, and" He smiled, "a truly blessed life."

He grew restless, growling ferociously and threw his coat on. He yanked his scarf and ran down the steps, heading out. Halfway onto putting on his scarf he yelled out to Mrs. Hudson, "Won't be home in a while, do have a good night, Mrs. Hudson." Finally finished, he completed his look with a ruffle of his hair.

Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly at him and waved as he ran off to find a cab. "That boy…" she whispered to herself before returning back into her flat.

"It's all true. It's all real. Nothing here is un-true. Nothing you see one this show is fake. It's-" John Watson rubbed the back of his neck, sighing softly and, "It's merely controlled."

On John Watson's blog he was rereading some cases, thinking about how brilliant he was and ignoring the cabbie as he tried to make idle chit-chat. He sent off a text to Margaret, warning her he was headed over there.

(Last time he came un-announced she kicked him out with such frantic urgency because she did not do autopsies in front of people.)

Be cautious of your cabbie.

His brows furrowed at her response to his text. What exactly does she mean? There was no possible way she was watching him but just to calm the uneasiness in his stomach he looked out both windows. She was nowhere to be seen.

What exactly do you mean?

-SH

The cabbie, just like anyone would have, gave up on speaking to him. That didn't stop Sherlock Holmes' wandering eyes to do a bit of deducing. Father. Divorced. Mother has custody. Working as a cab driver to get by. Nothing was out of the ordinary- in face he was dangerously boring. There was nothing that Sherlock had to be cautious about. He checked his phone. Double checked. Triple.

No response.

He could feel the irritation bubbling through his veins. What did she know that I don't? How did she even know what cab he was taking? Must have been watching her stupid thriller films. And that was that.

He moved on.

"Sherlock Holmes! The great detective."

Sherlock looked up from his microscope for a brief second at the cheery voice.

"Mike Stamford! The mediocre teacher," Sherlock mocked his happy tone, dismissing him quickly as he looked back down at his microscope examining a swab of his neighbor's relentless Dalmatian's saliva.

"Margaret," Mike nodded to her as a sign of acknowledgement.

Molly tentatively nodded back, shifting uncomfortable now that he was in the room. It wasn't how he spoke to her or how he looked at her. It was him in general. His friendliness towards Sherlock, it wasn't right. It made her sick. You were once like him. She tried to destroy that image in her head: She, ready and waiting, for any orders given to her through an earpiece; absolute madness.

No. Never again.

"New tea in the Cafeteria today Sherlock, try it, would you?"

Sherlock sighed yet accepted the mug. He gave it sniff, nothing really out of the ordinary except maybe this one was richer in color.

"What is it?" He questioned, hesitant to drink something new.

Mike visibly brightened.

"It's Twinings! 300 years of loyal service and great flavor!" Mike was looking off somewhere and Sherlock had to look around the room and tried to find where he was gazing at. But it was like he was staring at nothing. There was nothing there.

"Hardly new then, isn't it?" He said casually, "Mike, are you alright? Never mind I don't really care. Just, get some help if you need it for god's sake you were staring off into nothing," Sherlock sipped the tea, finding it absolutely ordinary, "tea was fine, thank you."

Mike chuckled at his joke and shook his head, walking out without a word.

Molly twiddled with her thumbs. Yes, Molly, although it's hardly a nickname for Margaret she preferred Sherlock to call her anything but what they call her. She made her way next to Sherlock, watching him take notes on the bacteria in the saliva. Say something. Go on, don't be a nervous little mouse.

"Erm-" she cleared her throat, "H-how was your day?"

Oh, perfect. You're going to be the girl that saves him.

"Ah, boring, no cases, no cigarettes, it's like the whole of London is deliberately making me bored just to see if I would kill a man." He spoke quickly, as if just to get all the words out and return to his dog dribble. He sipped some more tea, keeping his eyes on the lens. At least she was attempting small talk, though it was really not her area.

Molly scuffed her brown loafer on the floor, melancholic mood slipping through her.

"Don't give them any ideas…" She muttered to herself. Oh God, she could already imagine they were planning something like that out. She could feel her heart beat pick up the pace.

"Who is "them", Margaret?"

Molly's eyes widened for mere second. She didn't bother looking up at him while she tried to regulate her heart beat. Control. Control. Control. Steady her emotions. He couldn't tell, he couldn't tell, he couldn't-

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Wait, what is she doing? Oh my god! Someone get her out of there, someone-"

A dainty hand flew in front of the workers face, stilling his movements. He was confused, "Mr. Moriarty?"

"Have a little faith."

The worker felt chill run down his spine with the mere sight of his boss' smile.

"N-nothing I uh… misspoke."

Sherlock squinted, boring his eyes into. He took a sip of his tea, not even a single blink. He waiting for her to crack like the fragile thing she was.

This is getting nowhere.

"You seem a bit angry, Margaret. Is there something wrong?" He turned his full attention to Margaret, "Anything I could… solve?"

Molly giggled slightly and shook her head, "No, no nothing like that." He was so silly sometimes. It made her wonder if it was worth signing away her life to ruin his.

Sherlock deflated from his previous excitement and returned to his drool sample, finishing off the tea.

"I was just thinking about those, uh, reality TV shows. Do you watch them?"

"I am familiar with trash telly."

"Well, I was just wondering why people find it entertaining. They're watching every minute of that person's life and how anyone…" she looked away, peering into the security camera above, "anyone would be happy living that life, always surrounded by cameras."

James Moriarty frowned, he knew she wasn't going to say a word, but in a way she was trying to manipulate the audience. It didn't matter; no one would listen to her. It was nice to see little mousy Molly had a bit of a bite.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You shouldn't waste your intelligent mind thinking about such dribble." He smiled briefly at her before scribbling a few notes down in his legal pad. He tried to expel the slight embarrassment he felt because he too loved watching those shows purely to keep his deductions sharp.

Her lips quirked up at the edges of her mouth, failing to give a real smile, and sighed. This wasn't going well.

What did she expect? She wasn't even escorted out. Even they knew, she would guess the audience did too, that she didn't count…

But she would keep trying! It was horrible what they were doing to this poor man, it was in-humane. Molly would stop at nothing to make things right. To get Sherlock Holmes off of this horrid show.