For those of you who saw Benedict Cumberbatch on BBC’s Top Gear (or caught the clip on YouTube before it was pulled), you know he was:
- Adorable (It’s like watching the human version of Labrador puppy; just so much good-natured enthusiasm )
He also had a bit of fun at Mycroft’s expense with the stupid question about how Sherlock survived the fall in Season 2, Episode 3, The Reichenbach Fall. There’s a nice bit of summation — with wonderful screencap photos and gifs — here on Buzzfeed. There’s also a lovely promotional teaser on the TopGear.com site here. I nearly wet myself laughing when Mr. Cumberbatch channeled Obi-wan Kenobi saying “Use the track, Benedict.”
But part way through Benedict Cumberbatch did a riff on fan fiction — slash aka Johnlock in particular — which included what I’m certain he thought was an impossible scenario.
Actually, I believe the line was:
“Now there’ll be a load of fan fiction of John Watson, handcuffs, floating in space.”
Unbeknownst to Mr. Cumberbatch, I love a challenge… so below is a bit of flash fanfic (and please note, Mr. Cumberbatch, it is not slash aka Johnlock. We aren’t all prurient, but we are creative).
[Oh, and I should point out that I managed to work in Clue #2 for Sherlock Season 3 — Rat — into the story so I’m counting it as part of that challenge as well.]
Sherlock Is Lost in Space
by J.H. Watson
(~ 700 words)
His instincts were screaming “Danger! Danger, John Watson!” and he turned towards a movement in the shadows just before nothing.
John opened his eyes to find himself blind, all was black. He stifled a moment of panic and called out, “Sherlock!”
John Watson was relieved by a slightly muffled reply of “Don’t shout.” He tried to move, but he struck something within a fraction of inch. “Ow! John, don’t move,” Sherlock ordered.
“At least you’re short. I’m folded up like an origami crane.”
John chose to ignore the short remark, letting it feed the slow burn he was building until it could safely boil over. He tried to flex in place as he asked, “Where are we?” Before he got an answer, he added in a tight voice, “It felt like something just crawled over my arm.”
“Probably a mouse.”
“Or a rat. Could be a rat. I didn’t get to check all of the experiments being sent.”
John stifled a shriek as he felt something slip down his stomach and nestle in the hollow between his thighs. He felt unusually light-headed and queasy and would swear he was floating about an inch from the side of the wall — or floor — or ceiling. “Sherlock. Where. Are. We.” John gulped and pinched his lips together to choke back the upheaval in his stomach.
“Don’t you dare vomit! We’re in a cargo box in space.”
“Space! Outer space?”
“You just said we’re in outer space in a small box with rats! I think this justifies a bit of shouting!”
“It could be worse.”
“How could it possibly be worse?”
“We could be without air and the bomb we’re lying on could be live.” John Watson’s stomach dropped as if in free fall, ice filled his veins. He twitched involuntarily and then froze. “Relax, John. I disarmed the bomb before we were attacked. The ATV just docked with the space station so we should be discovered shortly.”
John felt the tug on the handcuff attached to his wrist. Without looking up from the screen he was watching, John asked, “What are you doing?”
“This is ridiculous. I’m going to help the others,” Sherlock replied. The clasp of the cuff around his wrist popped open. He removed his wrist. The cuff bobbled, floating in the air. Sherlock did a slow turn and reached for a handhold as he floated up.
Still not looking at his partner in crime-solving, John said, “Put it back on, Sherlock.”
Pettishly, Sherlock asked, “Why?”
“Because the astronauts have threatened to send you on an indefinite walk in an infinite space without a suit if I don’t keep you away from them and out of trouble. I told you to try and not be annoying. We’ve only got one more week before we can go home, so put the handcuff back on.”
Sherlock simply stared at a far wall with a childish expression somewhere between a frown and pout, like a two-year old contemplating a temper-tantrum. John sighed. “Come on. You promised, Mycroft. He’s doing the best he can.”
“Well, he wouldn’t be having to do anything to get us back if you’d just told him you suspected a terrorist attack on the space station instead of sneaking us on base to tackle them ourselves. But no, Sherlock Holmes had to be the big hero. You had to take out the bad guys yourself and show your big brother how smart you are. Of course, you might have included me in on your plans a bit sooner.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”
As Sherlock snapped the cuff back on his wrist, John relented and said, “We could go check on the rat. Feed it. Take some data.”
Sherlock made a face as he said, “I’m tired of rats.”
“Oh-ka-aay. How about we watch a movie?”
“Star Trek?” Seeing a combination of scowl, sneer, and disdain blend on Sherlock’s highly expressive face, John added, “You can even mock the science and Spock’s logic while we watch.” It’s not like he isn’t going to do it anyway, John thought.
Sherlock sighed. “Fine. But I’ll need sunglasses for all the lens flare.”
John Watson shook his head. It was going to be a very long week.
### End ###