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Sherlock Is Lost in Space


Benedict Cumberbatch as BBC Sherlock reading a  sheet of paper

I bet John’s going to blame me for this. I didn’t think they’d take it as a challenge.

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 )
  • Charming
  • Genuine
  • Fun

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.

Benedict Cumberbatch on BBC TopGear ribbing Sherlock fanfiction

Benedict Cumberbatch underestimates the ability of fan writers to meet his challenge.

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.

“I’m cramping.”

“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.”

“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?”

“Stop shouting.”

“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.”

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