*recommended that you read at least Elementary School Teachers and Cat Day-Care Owners first. Also, if you're following this story, I am not abandoning it, I'm just not going to be able to update for a few days. This one's a little weird, but please review! Even if you don't like it, tell me what you think.
Three men sat in a room, hunched over a table. One of the men had dark curly hair and a tight and shimmering purple shirt and another had cropped grey hair and an ugly green jacket. The final man had slicked back, dark hair, a high forehead, deep round eyes and breath-taking eyebrows. This final man spread his hands out.
"Well, boys welcome to show business. I can't wait to show you what I have going on out here in the big bad world." He grinned and cracked his gum. He leaned over, his fingers interlaced. "How would you like to begin with," he shuffled through a stack of scripts, "Hansel and Gretel? Classic children's tale you know. I love fairy tales." He looked up with a smile that neither of the "boys" trusted.
"I'm not well acquainted with it." Sherlock frowned.
"Well, we could give it a go I suppose. But, er, who's going to be Hansel and who's going to be Gretel?" John said. He was, of course, the man with the ugly jacket. Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock flipped through the script and threw it on the table.
"I'm certainly not going to play a little girl or her moronic brother. Can you imagine? Breadcrumbs? Biodegradable, considered food by at least half the woodland food chain, it's impossible. Give us another."
"Oooh, touchy I see. Well, maybe you have a point. However, I also have a point." Jim, The Spider, as he was known in showbiz, leaned back in his chair.
"What's your point?" John asked.
"You need money. I have a way for you to make money fast. I'm the man you need."
"You're not a man at all, you're a spider. At the center of a cinematic web pulling a thousand strings and knowing specifically how each one dances. You can do better than a washed up children's tale." Sherlock said, leaning forward. Jim laughed.
"Very good." He bugged out his eyes. "How about...The Saucer of Milk? It's a classic."
"I have history with that book." John nodded at it, rather uncomfortable, an elementary school looming before his eyes.
"I have an aversion to cats."
"Do you? I love cats. Oh well." He dropped The Saucer of Milk on the table. Brushing off his Westwood suit, he stood up and began pacing.
"Of course, you two realize that I won't be able to offer you anything but The Saucer of Milk?"
"What? That's outrageous." Sherlock leaped up. Jim put his hands in the air.
"Take it or leave it." He smiled.
"We'll take it." John said. Sherlock fumed.
"I knew you'd agree. See you later boys. You'll meet your co-star in a few moments." Jim walked out. He paused in the threshold. "Of course, you'll be reading everything cold on a teleprompter. But that's just how these things go. John, you're the saucer. Sherlock, you're the owner. Bye." He raised his eyebrows and left. Sherlock looked at John. What had they signed up for?
A few hours later, they were in the make-up room. Sherlock had an apron on, and they were giving him false eyelashes.
"He didn't tell me the owner was a woman." Sherlock glared at John, who had white powder on his face and was sitting in a large white inner-tube. "You look revolting."
"You too."
"Alright, get on set everyone, Mr. 'Olmes, Watson, everyone."
"Who's our costar?" No reply. John waddled out in his inner-tube and sat center stage. The cameras began rolling. He smiled.
"'There was once a small kitten, he fit in a mitten. And his, er, favorite drink in the world was milk'." Sherlock made his entrance, his face paler than John's, one of his eyelashes falling off.
"'And the kitten would purr and the kitten would stir that drink of the gods, soft as silk.' Revolting rhymes, what trash are they giving kids today." Sherlock spun around in a lanky circle. "'Oh, Mr. M., come to dinner, you're such a winner, we have milk for you to drink."
"'I vant to take it, you'll never make it, you two are dinner I think.'"
"Those aren't the words-" John waddled around in his inner-tube confused as a giant white fluffy cat appeared. It looked out with wide brown eyes. "Oh, God, Sherlock he's back. The cat's back." John and Sherlock bolted off-stage in their strange attire.
Needless to say the show was a smash hit, save for the few sensitive souls that it traumatized. They wanted to make a sequel titled Oranges, but they had to get replacement saucers and owners, and it just wasn't the same.