"Wake up. The game is on."
That's what I heard whispered in my ear as I slowly awoke from sleeping on what felt like a couch. The deep, and admittedly heavenly, voice that I heard sounded strangely familiar. For a second, I thought that voice was...nah. It couldn't be. It was impossible, I thought. Couldn't be who I thought it was. Little did I know, that's exactly who it was.
"Oh, please, don't make me get the cow bell. I actually woke up in a good mood today and I decided to be nice. Being nice is overrated. Get UP!" The voice grew loud and annoyed. My eyes finally and slowly flickered open and to my surprise, even through the blur in my eyes, I could recognize those icy blue eyes looking down on me through those drop dead gorgeous black curls covering his eyes. And don't even get me started on those damn cheekbones.
That's right. It was Sherlock freaking Holmes!
Well, Sherlock from the BBC show at least. I know there's dozens of Sherlock's out there between the shows and the movies and the books and the parody pornos (Not that I've seen any of them. I swear I haven't.) but the fact that the very man who single handedly ruined my life with his stupid adorable face was in my roo...wait a minute. I'm not even in my room anymore. I'm in 221B! What the hell was going on?
"Ah, yes. You're awake. Finally. I thought you were dead for a moment. Now that would've been inconvenient." He exuded smugness in his tone, but I was still too shell-shocked to properly respond as I nearly jumped out of my skin while examining the room. It was just like how it looked on the BBC show.
"Benedict Cumberbatch?" I groggily looked up to him; still in a state of shock and a slightly sleep endued state. It didn't immediately dawn on me that I was talking to the character opposed to the actor. Could you blame me? Just telling you now makes me sound crazy.
"Who?" He looked at me like I was crazy and I just spoke an unrecognizable language. "Nevermind. No time. A case is afoot. Now, quickly, get your coat." He told me as he walked over to a coat rack and grabbed his signature coat and scarf.
"Why?" I asked as I sat up and leaned against the couch.
"Why?" He repeated, even more lost than before, as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. "What do you mean why? Did you bump your head again?" Again? When was the first time I bumped my head, I wondered. Maybe that's what happened. Yeah, maybe I bumped my head and now I'm dreaming. But this felt real. But wouldn't most dreams feel real when you're in a dream? God, my head hurts. I had so many questions. I guess I'll let him finish talking for now. One question at a time. "We've been over this. John's too busy with his marriage duties to Mary to fulfill his duties as a companion. I needed someone to work cases with. That's why I invited you into my network. After all, two heads are better than one and since my brain already handles the capacity of two people, a third would do just fine by my side." He gave a cheeky, but brief, smirk. The smug bastard. Sexy bastard, but an arrogant and smug one nonetheless.
"I meant why am I here." I elaborated as I stood up.
He rolled his eyes. I could tell Sherlock was growing weary of my questions. The fact I could tell Sherlock was standing right in front of me makes me wonder how I was able to contain my excitement for so long. I also started to question my sanity, but that's not the point right now. "Again, we went over this. I let you rent out John's old room so I could call on you as soon as possible when need be. Much more convenient than calling you and waiting twenty minutes for you to arrive." Wow. I must be a really important part of his network if he'd go through all the trouble. He could've chosen anyone else in his network to be this close to him, but he chose me. Makes me feel all special and fuzzy inside. Maybe he...wait...focus! Remember, this is all just some weird mumbo jumbo world. Probably a dream. Or the life I lived...or thought I lived...my whole life was some dream. God, I hope so...
"No, I mean...like, I wasn't here before. Last thing I even remembered was..." Huh. I was drawing a blank. Small, minor, and barely even clear flashes were popping into my head all at once and I couldn't comprehend not a single one of them. "...um...I think I was sleeping. No, wait, I was crossing the street. I think."
"You were crossing the street. What a revelation." He rolled his eyes as he headed towards the door. "Now, hurry. Your coat. We should get to the case before Anderson manages to muck up the evidence."
"But..." I just sighed in confusion. The more I went on, he'd just think I was a loony. If I did hop into another world, it's not like he'd know how to get me back to mine. Or if I even wanted to go back now I think of it. I mean, who wouldn't jump on the chance to live in their favorite fictional world with their favorite fictional character? You know you would too. So I decided to play along. I went towards the coat rack and grabbed a coat, which looked like it was in my size, that looked like I picked it straight out of the John Watson collection. Maybe that's why Sherlock added me to his network. I fit his fetish for John. Anyway, I followed him out the door and closed the door behind me. "So, what's this case supposed to be about anyway?"
He just looked at me with a smirk as we walked through the night's wind and stopped by the side of the road. It was a smirk that was more gleeful than I expected coming from Sherlock Holmes. I mean, I knew the man could get a little excited when it came to murder, but it was like he turned into The Grinch; grinning from ear to ear and happy just to see something wicked. "Guess." He told me before he whistled for a cab.
I was slightly taken aback by such a statement. I don't have mind reading powers. I can't just guess what's on someone else's mind, especially when that someone is Sherlock Holmes. If he's smiling, then anything from murder to John Watson could be on his mind. "I...I can't." I admitted in bewilderment. "Why can't you just tell me?"
In that very moment, that's when a cab pulled up. Sherlock held the door open for me. What a gentleman. "Because this is a case that I'm sure is one that will strike your fancy." He told me as I got inside. He shortly sat down beside me afterwards and closed the car door. "Brixton, Laurston Gardens. Step on it." He told the cab driver to which the driver obliged as he drove off.
"Strike my fancy? What would make you say that?" I asked Sherlock with even more confusion.
He still couldn't take that stupid grin off his face. I couldn't tell if he was genuinely excited or if he just enjoyed watching me squirm. Maybe both knowing him. "You'll see." He murmured softly.
With that, I started to think hard. What could he possibly mean? I wondered. Then I suddenly realized what he told the driver. "Hang on...Brixton, Laurston Gardens? That's where you and John worked your first case together, isn't it? The first victim? For Study in Pink?"
He nodded. "I can tell you're already intrigued. You figured it out yet?"
I shook my head. "Well...no...but-" And then it hit me before I even knew it. "Wait, are there more fake suicides happening? Like a copycat killer?"
He was quick to shake his head. "God no. That's so four years ago. This ones fresh. This ones new. This ones...all about you."
"Woah." I sputtered in amazement. Not only for the fact that I think Sherlock had rhymed right there (who did he think he was? Dr. Seuss?) but because this was getting exciting. This had been such a weird day and nothing was making sense, but I'd be damned if I wasn't gonna have some fun while I was here.
After a few minutes of driving along the streets of London, we arrived at Laurston Gardens. Once we got out the car, we headed straight through the police caution tape and made our way inside. It was just like the Study in Pink episode, except there was no Anderson or Donovan out front. They must've been inside, I thought. I followed Sherlock up the staircase, still trying to figure out what he was talking about. I finally caved. "I give up. This is wracking my brain." I told him. "Who's death are we investigating?" I asked him as we finally made it up to the room, where Lestrade was standing in front of the door. With a wave of his hand, he guided us towards the direction of the body on the ground, which Anderson and Donovan were surrounding. Sherlock looked at me with a disappointing look.
"Isn't it obvious?" He said as I pushed my way through Donovan and Anderson to get a look at the victim's face. I gasped and my face turned white the moment I laid eyes on the victim's face.
"Yours." Sherlock finished.
I was staring at my own dead body on the ground. Locking it's eyes with mine. Or locking my eyes with my own eyes. Now this really isn't making any sense. My heart is racing. Pounding out my chest like some Looney Toon. I think I'm having a panic attack. This was getting kinda scary now. I don't think I wanna be here any more. I wish this was a dream. I wish I was back home where things at least made more sense than this. I...I...
I fainted.
"Dear...deary? Wake up?"
As I started to wake up, my head was banging. Like I just hit it on a table or something. Was all that with Sherlock a dream? Where am I now? It appears I'm sitting upright in a chair with my hands folded on a table. And something smelled good. As my eyes flickered open, I looked down and saw a plate in front of me. On my plate was some Chicken Caesar Salad, which looked delicious by the way, but the food became irrelevant as soon as I looked across from me and saw who I was sitting in front of...
"Thank heavens you're alright." The person blew a sigh of relief. "Are you alright?" That person was Benedict freaking Cumberbatch! I was sure it was the actor this time because he had his hair slicked back the way he usually has it and unlike Sherlock, Ben gave a genuine smile and even some passion in his eyes. Woah. Benedict Cumberbatch was looking at me with passion in his eyes. Even a tad lustfully. And I think we were in the dining room of his home. What the hell was going on now? Was that bit with Sherlock a dream? This is getting weird.
"Ben...Benedict?" I sputtered in shock. Practically stuttered. Wouldn't you if Benedict Cumberbatch looked at you like you were Loki and he was ready to "kneel"? Uh...sorry. I get...excited when Benedict Cumberbatch is the room. Hell, I get...excited just thinking about him. Woo, is it hot in here? *snaps out Benedict induced trance* Um...back to the story...
"Yes, sweetie? You hit your head hard on the table. Is something wrong with the salad?" He asked me with so much care and concern in his eyes. Someone looks at you like the way he looked at me, he makes you feel like royalty.
I took my fork and then started to eat away at the chicken salad. "Mhm...no, it's delicious." I said as I practically scarfed my face. It was delicious. Can you blame me? Which, now I think of it, if something I ate made me pass out and hallucinate, I probably shouldn't keep eating it. But with Ben looking at me the way he looked at me, whether this was another dream or not, I couldn't think straight. "Uh...I...I hit my head a little hard. Mind reminding me why we're here?"
"Well, our reservation at Dorsia got cancelled. Poor booking. So, I got my personal cook to spruce something up for you, me, Martin, and Amanda." Benedict explained. My mouth dropped at the idea of me actually having a double date with Amanda Abbington, Martin Freeman, and Benedict freaking Cumberbatch. "And they cancelled on short notice because of...well, honestly, knowing them, they were probably fornicating and lost track of time. Anyway, that just leaves the night to us." He smiled at me and gave a wink. I nearly melted.
At this point, the food was so good and the setting felt so romantic (there was a candle in the middle of the freaking table! And rose peddles!) I didn't even feel like asking a bunch of questions. I just wanted to enjoy the evening and...huh...not feeling too hot right now. Room is spinning. Thoughts are slurred. I try to stand from the table and I fell to the ground.
Benedict, for some reason, laughed. "It's about time. I thought that dosage would never kick in properly." He said as he stood from the table and walked into the kitchen.
"Wh...what?" I sputtered out the only words my slurred speech could muster as Benedict returned with a sinister smile on his face and an apron that read "I like my eggs with Benedict". I should probably mention that it looked like the apron had small stains and sploges of blood on it. Oh, and he had an axe in his hand. It's the little things that escape me sometimes.
"The dosage." He reiterated as he grabbed a knife on the dining table and started to sharpen it along his axe. "See, honey..." He gave a sarcastic, condescending impression of his usual adorable act that he puts up in front of the camera. It was like watching Christian Bale in American Psycho all over again. "...we're at a point in our relationship where, since there's no need to hide secrets from each other, that I had a dirty little secret...I'm utterly insane. See, just for shits and giggles, I like a good decapitation every blue moon but in some cases, yours included, I like to cut people up in pieces and then eat them. I know, I sound like a not so well functioning sociopath." He giggled in delight of his own demented evilness. "Funny story: I originally auditioned for the part of James Moriarty, but they said I looked too 'nice'." He scoffed.
"Is it done yet?" A dark figure asked as it came out of the shadows. To even greater surprise, that person was Hannibal Lector.
"Haven't started cooking yet, no thanks to you. I thought you dosed the salad properly?" He asked Hannibal. I still couldn't believe my eyes as I laid paralyzed on the ground. Benedict Cumberbatch was a serial killer working with Hannibal Lector. What's next, I wondered.
"Dibs on the eyes." Hannibal said as Benedict walked towards me with the axe.
"You always eat the eyes! You nearly screwed up today! I'm getting the eyes! You're getting the tongue!" Benedict demanded.
"But the tongue is so...unsanitary." Hannibal cringed. "Can I have the pinky toe instead?"
Benedict groaned. "Deal." He then raised his axe above his head and before I knew it, I had an axe coming towards me at full speed. I clenched my eyes and shrieked.
I don't even think he had killed me yet. I just fainted again.
Wake up! Are you alright! Wake up!
Not again.
Another dream. Hopefully, I was awake this time. I was hesitant to open my eyes, but then I thought it couldn't get any worse than that. As I opened my eyes, a light beamed down on me. Then, I realized that was the sun.
"Oh, thank God!" Said a relieved Benedict Cumberbatch. Now, I was really confused. He sound really and genuinely worried and concerned. No actor could pull off the way he was acting now. Maybe everything with Benedict being a serial killer was a dream. Why am I having weird dreams about Benedict Cumberbatch. I probably spend too much time on Tumblr. "Are you okay? Does anything in your body feel sprained or fractured?"
Wait, why should my body feel sprained or fractured? I wondered. What happened? And why was I lying on the cold hard ground? *cue Taylor Swift screaming like a goat in the distance*. Man, I really do need to get off Tumblr once in a while.
"Are you going to kill me?" I asked him straight up. His eyes lit up with astonishment.
"What? Heavens no! I already had a heart attack when you ran in front of my car!" He defended himself. I looked behind me and it appeared I was laid out in front of a Fiesta ST. I glanced up slightly and noticed that Martin Freeman was making a phone call until he noticed me. He hoped out the car.
"How's she doing? I already called the ambulance." He told Ben.
"No, it's fine. I'm alright." I said as I stood up on my own two feet. This was just a weird hallucinogenic day and I just wanted to get home as soon as I could and lie down. Not sure about sleeping for a while though. "So, I just bolted in front of your car."
Benedict nodded and slicked his hair back. "Yes, though it wasn't your fault. It was mine. You were just jogging. You were wired in." He said as he handed me my iPod and headphones. "You were just practicing good exercise. I should have paying attention to passengers instead of chatting with my friend, Martin." He pulled out a checkbook and started to jot down some things. "I can't help but feel like this is completely my fault and I caused you an inconvenience. Are you sure you don't need a hospital? Here, let me at least compensate-"
"No, really. It's fine." I tried to reassure him. He was just panicking and rambling. "I don't want your hospital and I don't want your money. I just want to go home and put this weird day behind me." I said, sounding drained. I wasn't sure if I was more drained because I got hit by a car or from all those exhausting dreams. Probably the car hit.
"Are you sure? Martin and I could treat you to dinner?" He offered, but really, dinner with Benedict after my dream and Benedict and Hannibal trying to turn me into Eggs Benedict? I think I'll pass.
"No, thanks." I told him as I started to walk off.
"Well, I have to do something to make up for this. I feel terrible." Then, he paused as if a light bulb went off in his head. "I know!" He spouted with a snap of his fingers. "I'll give you an acting part on Sherlock! I promise! I can't promise it'll be a big part, but I'll try to get Steven to write you an important supporting part just for you!"
"Are you sure Moffat would go through all that trouble?" Martin Freeman finally spoke up.
"He should. I mean, he made the part of Mary a really important part because he liked Amanda so much. Who knows what other parts he can spew out?" He told Martin before he turned back to me.
I'll admit, that sounded super tempting. I loved Sherlock and I always wanted to do some acting. Maybe this could be my big break, but more than anything: a supporting role on my favorite show? How could I pass that up? "You know, I think that'll do." I said with a smile trying to sound as low key as possible and not too desperate. I think I failed, but I didn't care. This was too awesome.
I hope to God this part wasn't a dream.
THE END