BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Sherlock and John: Lost in Translation

Request for @lonamoon

Basically every fangirl's dream come true

~

The lightning flashed in all directions. Sherlock and John sprinted through the trees, dodging bolts that landed all around them. One minute they were investigating a trail of blood through the woods, the next the sky was throwing a fit and they were running for their lives

"Over here!" yelled John, and Sherlock turned to find his friend sprinting off to the left towards a rectangular booth. What was a phone booth doing all the way out here?

The two sprinted over, hoping this was a start to finding a place to take cover until it was all done. Just as John had his hand on the door to open it, and Sherlock's left shoulder brushed against the wall, a strike of lightning landed on the booth, lighting up the whole sky, and all of Sherlock and John's world.

~

A grey light seeped through the eyelids of John Watson, and he rubbed them with his fists. His whole body felt achy, and it was hard enough to just open his eyes. When he did, he was met with the face of... himself? And Sherlock? He punched the body next to him, shaking Sherlock awake and pointing to their faces and bodies plastered straight above them on the ceiling. They were on a poster, the neat title "Sherlock" labeled beneath them.

"Where are we?" asked Sherlock, looking around and jumping when he finally saw the girl sitting on the stool, staring right at him. "Who are you?" he asked, and John tore his attention away from the sight above him.

The two men looked at the girl. She looked to be about (your age) years old. She seemed to be hyperventilating, her chest moving rapidly up and down, but no sound came out. Her eyes were wide, almost scared, but excited at the core. Then she was down.

"She's fainted," yelled John, pushing himself out of the bed he hadn't realized he'd been laying in. Sherlock followed, grabbing the glass of water on the bedside table and throwing some on her face to wake her up. Her body twitched and her eyes opened again, but she took one look at the two men standing over her and fainted again.

They looked at each other, confused out of their minds. This had to be the work of Moriarty. How else would they end up in a random girl's room? This was probably a ploy to kill them. "What should we do?" asked John.

"Wake her up again and interrogate her," said Sherlock. He grabbed the girl's shoulders and shook her awake. Slowly her eyes drifted open. She looked between the two of them, then started laughing. "What is your name?" asked Sherlock, complete seriousness in his voice.

"I go to the kitchen to get a pop tart and I come back up and find B-Benedict Cumberbatch and M-Martin Freeman. In my bed. In my room."

"Cucumber who?" asked Sherlock, giving John a look.

"Oh I see what you're doing Ben, trying to make fun of those fake Cumberbitches that don't know how to say your name right," she laughed. Cumberbitches? mouthed John at Sherlock, who just shrugged his shoulders in reply. "Oh don't worry Martin, I haven't forgotten about you. I know how much you hate feeling second place to Ben. If you ask me, you're just as hot," she said, reaching her hand out to rub it across his cheek. John moved his head back though, out of reach of the strange girl who was calling them strange names.

"Why do you have a poster of us above your bed? Who are you? Some kind of murderer?" asked Sherlock, feeling uncomfortable as the girl ran her eyes up and down his face. He hadn't realized how close he was to her.

"Benedict, I never imagined my face so close to yours," she whispered, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "I must be dreaming. This is not real. Benedict and Martin, dressed in character, accusing me of being a murderer."