In case you’ve missed the news, both Sherlock and Dr. Who, as well as Benedict Cumberbatch and Matt Smith, are going head to head in the National Television Awards competition. The winners will be announced on 23 January, 2013. I confess as much as I like Matt Smith and The Doctor from time to time (no pun intended), I’m rooting for Sherlock and Benedict Cumberbatch (although, I have some friends who are in a real fehklumpt (I was going to use “feshmeckle” but can’t find out how to spell it correctly in Yiddish), because they are true fans of both the shows and the men).
My reasons for supporting Sherlock are beautifully explained in a Los Angeles Times article for which I’ll simply include the following excerpt:
For the generations of men who have wondered what it is women want, this year has made it fairly obvious. We want a man of devastating intelligence, cerebrally and physically nimble, whose vast store of arcane knowledge is foundation for a super-human ability to solve problems and the fascinating, frustrating wall that protects a tender heart.
Seriously. This is better than 99% of the explosion-heavy movies I’ve had to endure for the past few years. I’d *pay* to see this (even if it doesn’t make sense, but then again Dr. Who never has…that’s half the fun). I mean, Sherlock, Watson, 2 Doctors, Moriarty, The Master, Mycroft, River Song, companions, Weeping Angels and more. Oh, my.
Dinosaurs on a spaceship? Dinosaurs on a spaceship? I sincerely hope Moftiss is planning to give me something even better for Season 3.
You’ll be getting punched int he face by John at the very least. That should stop you from being bored for at least a few moments. I confess the idea of Sherlock trying to wrap his mind around Dr. Who is intriguing (look I live in a rural area with all that implies that has become one of Death’s Little Waiting Rooms (aka a retirement community) so I have to come up with something to stop me from hearing the conversations around me (or what passes for conversations. I mean exactly how many times can you get excited about the sun coming out for half a day?)). Hmmm.
Yes, I think this is definitely some flash fanfic. Give me a moment to make some tea. If you don’t see the fanfic below, check back in an hour.
Don’t Blink, Sherlock
by J.H. Watson
“John, say that again.”
John sighed. He just wanted to watch the episode, but Sherlock was bored so he’d decided to watch with John. “Amelia Pond is the Doctor’s mother-in-law. Eventually. Well, now, actually because he’s already married River Song.”
“Who is really Melody Pond, Amelia and Rory’s daughter?”
“And Rory is really a Roman Centurion?”
“Right. Well, he started out as just a bloke who grew up with Amelia, but then he got killed, but came back from an alternate universe as a Roman Centurion who pledged to guard her tomb, which was actually a stasis box, for thousands of years until she was released in the 21st Century.”
Sherlock steepled his fingers and gave John his don’t-lie-to-me-you-know-who-I-am stare. “You’re making this up.”
“No, I’m not. It’s not my fault you wouldn’t watch the episodes in sequential order before this.”
Sherlock shifted in his chair. He held his empty cup out towards John. “I visited the fan sites. And Youtube.”
“Right. And how’s that working out.”
John automatically took the cup, went into the kitchen, filled it with coffee and two sugars, brought it back and placed it into Sherlock’s waiting hand. Sherlock took a sip, grimaced slightly and placed the cup on the table beside the chair. “What’s with the bow tie and the hat?”
John sat back down in the other chair and picked up the remote. “The Doctor thinks bow ties and hats are cool.”
“What happened to the glasses?”
“That was the tenth Doctor.”
“Right. So there have been 11 Time Lords.”
John sighed. “No, Sherlock. There was an entire planet of Time Lords who all died in a big battle to save the universe, except for the Doctor. And, well, the Master.”
“I liked the Master.”
“You would,” John said under his breath.
“What did you say?”
John’s shoulders sagged. He went slack in his seat. “Nothing. Can I start this episode now?”
“I just want to get this straight. All of these different actors are really the same person?”
“Yes, Sherlock. The Doctor regenerates, but each time he looks different.”
“Then it isn’t actually regeneration. From a scientific standpoint. And how can he meet his past incarnations. And why doesn’t he ever meet his future incarnations?”
John sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Sherlock. It’s a wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey thing.”
“A what?” Sherlock furled his brow with a puzzled expression as if he thought John had gone mad.
“Look. Just go with it. Either watch the episodes with me or don’t.”
Sherlock stiffened. “Fine.” His lips tightened into a thin line of pout as he picked up a magazine.
John knew he’d pay for losing his temper later. John sighed again and pressed play on the remote. The familiar and unmistakeable theme music started.
From behind the magazine he obviously wasn’t reading, Sherlock haughtily said, “What I really don’t understand are the Companions. Why would anyone be a companion to someone so self-absorbed that he doesn’t care that he continuously puts their lives in danger?”
John rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and replied, “I have no idea.”