Performance In a Leading Role (2/?)
Title: Performance in a Leading Role
Author: MadLori
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 5000 (this chapter)
Genre: AU, romance
Warnings: None
Rating: PG for now, may go up to NC-17 later
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?
Chapter 1
Key To Meta References (I’ll do this at the end of subsequent chapters but this one’s for chapter 1 because I didn’t think to put it on the actual chapter):
1. The David who cast Robert Downey instead of Sherlock is David Fincher, director of many awesome films including Se7en and Fight Club, who directed RDJ in Zodiac.
2. RADA is the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, a school that turned out many great British actors. Incidentally, Benedict is not one of them, he went to LAMDA, the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts.
3. Quentin is, of course, Quentin Tarantino.
4. The director of Sherlock’s failed film The Schrodinger Paradox was Paul Haggis, director of Crash.
5. Shadow Unit, the material being optioned by the Coen Brothers for a franchise, is a real series of paranormal thriller novels by a group of sci-fi and mystery authors. Google it, it’s fantastic. I have no inside information about film options, I made that part up.
6. Jim Schamus is the CEO of Focus Features, the art-house branch of Universal, and he is Ang Lee’s longtime producing partner. They’ve worked together on all of Lee’s stateside films.
7. The Jimmy that Sherlock considers his costar is meant to be James McAvoy, who is in reality close friends with Benedict Cumberbatch. He is, in fact, committed to a sequel to Wanted.
8. Only one person commented on the character’s names in the script. I came very close to naming those characters Benedict and Martin, but that was a bit too meta even for me so I went with the soundalike names of Benjamin and Mark.
Disclaimer: Any and all Hollywood gossip and dialogue pertaining to or assigned to actual people is entirely of my own invention. Although one does hear things if one pays attention.
Chapter 2
Sherlock was nearly upside down when he heard Sally’s key in the door. She clomped in with her ridiculous shoes and tossed her keys to the table. “Sherlock?”
“I’m in here.”
Footsteps approached. “Who the hell do you think you’re supposed to be, Vincent Cassel?”
“People keep telling me that I ought to be doing this yoga thing. I’m finding it pointless and absurd.”
Sally’s face popped into view as she bent over to look at him. “I think you’re doing it wrong.”
“Nonsense. I found multiple instructional videos online, I am following them precisely.”
“Are your chakras aligned?”
“There are no such thing as chakras.”
“I could get you a real yoga instructor, you know. One phone call and I’d have twenty vying for the job.”
Sherlock righted himself, staggering a bit as all the blood rushed out of his head. “Who on earth would subject themselves to such a practice?”
“It’s very popular.”
“So is ‘Jersey Shore.’ Need I further qualify my opinion?” He went into the kitchen in search of water.
“I’ve got the production schedule for Untitled Film of Gayness.”
“I hope that’s not the new title.”
“No, just a handle of my own devising.”
“Let’s not suggest it to the poor screenwriter, shall we?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Did you know the entire shoot is in Toronto?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Huh. Looks like it’s Canadian camp-out time.”
“I’m sure the studio will provide us with adequate accommodations. How long’s the schedule?”
“One week rehearsals, eight weeks principal.”
“Eight weeks, hmm. Well, I suppose it is a fairly long script.”
“Read-through and rehearsals will be here, three days’ time for production setup, then principal will start.” She hesitated. “I got a call from Harry Watson.”
“Who?”
“John’s PA. You know. John? Your co-star?”
“Ah, yes.”
“She said that John would like to meet up with you in private. Dinner or something. Just to talk about the film, get to know each other, that sort of thing.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course he would. He thinks that we have to be best mates to act together, because he’s an amateur face-puller who wants everyone to like him.”
“Some people like being liked!”
“It certainly isn’t necessary for a realistic performance.”
“No, but it is necessary if you want anybody to ever want to work with you, ever again.”
“If you’re good enough, they’ll work with you whether they like you or not.”
“You really are socially tone-deaf, aren’t you? It isn’t just an act, it’s a legitimate malfunction!”
“I have neither the time nor the inclination to change my behavior so as to make others more comfortable. If they are uncomfortable, that is their affair.”
Sally sighed. “I ought to just tape-record you sometime so that when they ask why you’re still single you can just play it back and it’ll clear everything up.”
Sherlock tossed his empty water bottle into the recycling. “Call John’s PA and tell him dinner is acceptable. Schedule it for me.”
Sally made a note on her PDA. “Are you going to watch the Globes tonight?”
Of course he was. He had his supplies all laid in. His favorite kosher-dill flavored popcorn from the gourmet shop down the street, a case of Orangina and the makings of vodka tonics for the moment when stupid people began winning awards and drinking became necessary. “Eh. I suppose so,” he said to Sally.
“John’s a presenter, you know.”
“Is he?” Sherlock sniffed. “They never ask me to present. I only get an invite if I’m nominated.”
“They don’t ask because the one time you presented, you stood up there like an automaton and read the lines like you had a gun to your head, and made it very clear that you had nothing but contempt for the entire proceeding.”
Sherlock considered this. “Was it really that bad?”
“Please. Boards wish they were that stiff.”
“Hm. Well, the whole thing is tiresome anyway, with the suits and the red carpets and the screaming fans and all the ridiculous arse-kissing.” He shuddered. “I’d rather watch from my living room.”
“Isn’t it funny how you always claim to prefer the option that you’ve gotten stuck with through being a complete prat?” She headed for the door. “I’m off to the dry cleaner’s and then I’ll pick up the revised scripts, okay?” She hesitated. “If you like, I’ll come back and watch the Globes with you.”
He would have liked to say yes, please. Sally was fun watching awards shows. Her snark, usually focused on him, became redirected towards the show in a way he found amusing. He shrugged. “Whatever you like.”
She grinned. “I’ll stop off and get some Tim Tams at the world market.” She was out the door. Sherlock smirked. God, he hated that woman.
Sarah cocked her head. “I don’t like the tie/shirt combination.”
“But - the stylist said…”
She flapped a hand. “Stylists. Stylists can’t stop dressing you like a fifty-year-old stockbroker with two kids and a minivan. You’re young and hip! You do not want this Regis Philbin look.”
“I’m not as young and hip as I used to be.” John frowned. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I was ever hip.”
“The suit’s good, at least.” She whipped the tie off his neck. “Come on, work with me, John. We’re going to be in a thousand photographs together tonight.”
“And they’ll all be asking us when we’re getting engaged or something equally appalling.”
“So we give them the old ‘we’re focusing on our careers’ line, hold hands and walk on by.”
“Did you see Perez Hilton yesterday? Another unidentified source claiming that you’re my beard.”
Sarah laughed, pawing through his rather disorganized pile of ties. “If all these unidentified sources ever got together they could form an army and take us all down.”
“You’re always my beard. Isn’t that odd? They never report it the other way.”
“You mean the correct way?” She came up, victorious. “A ha! This one. Take off your shirt, that color white’s all wrong.”
John looked down at himself. “There are different colors of white?” He shrugged and took off his jacket, then his shirt, letting Sarah redress him. “Wow. That really is much better. And if even I can see it, it’s got to be.”
She smiled, standing behind him and smoothing the lines of his jacket. “What would you do without me?” She patted his shoulders and sat down to touch up her makeup. “Oh, that’s right. You’d be fending off ambitious starlets right and left.”
He watched her in the mirror. “How’s Anthea?”
Sarah met his eyes in the reflection, sadness pulling at her expression. “Home. By herself.” She sighed. “I will bring her to next year’s red carpets. I swear. This film is going to make me, John. I can’t even tell you.”
“It’s going well?”
“Honestly? It’s a dream. It’s that shoot we all fantasize about and never get. Clint is brilliant. He’s just got this way of speaking and guiding, it’s buoying everyone up. This is the best work I’ve ever done, and I know everyone else would say the same. We’re all making each other cry on a daily basis.”
John grinned. “I’m glad. You might be a nominee on next year’s red carpets.”
“God. Don’t say it. You’ll jinx me.” She stared at herself in the mirror. “It’s my ticket, John. I’ll be able to come out and my career can survive it.”
“I hope so. God, it infuriates me. This business has more poofs than you can have hot dinners thrown at you but nobody acknowledges it. Nobody comes out. I don’t understand it. This town, I swear. At home it wouldn’t be such a cracking great scandal.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re straight.”
“Ish.”
“Ish?” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Is there an actor alive who’s completely straight? I doubt it. You don’t work in this business with the people who are in it and not jump the fence a few times.”
“This is too interesting a conversation to have right now when we’re already late.” She got up and took his arm. “Come on, you handsome thing. You’ve got a statue to give away.”
Sally had hunkered down on Sherlock’s couch with a plate of nachos and an Orangina. He glumly munched on his kosher dill popcorn and watched his colleagues traipse down the red carpet, being asked who they were wearing and if it was an honor to be nominated.
“Okay,” Sally said. “Are you going to run it down for me, or what? Half the fun - actually, almost all the fun - is listening to you pick everyone apart.”
He sighed. Of course he was, but he wouldn’t let her know that was the fun for him, too. “What do you wish to know?”
“You know! Who’s having an affair? Who’s secretly gay? You can tell by their tan lines or something, right?”
“Who’s having an affair? It’d be quicker to name who isn’t.” He narrowed his eyes, watching the parade of designer clothing. “Oh, dear Lord, she could at least be subtle about it.”
“About what?”
“She’s taken a much-younger lover. Look at her clothes. She’s dressing ten years too young all of a sudden, she is usually very age-appropriate. And she’s got her hand on her husband’s elbow instead of holding his hand.”
“That could mean anything.”
“No, look at her right hand. She’s wearing a ring, a smallish ring, too small for her husband to have given it to her. It’s a less expensive piece than her others. A gift from a less-established paramour with less refined tastes than her or her husband. Rather cheeky of her to wear it in front of him. He probably knows. Works out well for him. I hear he’s shagging his agent.”
Sally sat up straighter. “Look, there’s John! Oh, he looks fantastic!”
Sherlock eyed her. “You think so?”
“Thank God, looks like he ditched that awful stylist who dressed him like her father.”
“Hmm. It is a nice suit. That color combination should not work.”
“It does though.” She was grinning.
“Oh, you fancy him a bit, do you?”
“I think he’s adorable. So does half of America. And you get to shag him, you lucky bastard.”
“There will be no shagging!”
“I’ve read the script! You’re going to have to simulate giving him head, you know.”
“I’m a professional! I’m sure it will be done very - artistically!”
“Sarah looks nice.”
“Who is that, again?”
“Sarah Sawyer. They’ve been dating about a year. She was a bit player but then Clint cast her as the female lead in that suffragette film he’s shooting. The buzz out of that set is amazing. I’ve got a friend who’s the second AD, she says Sawyer is a sure thing for a nomination next year.”
“Well, she needs to reconsider what size gowns she orders. One deep breath and she’ll be showing us her bits.”
“Perez Hilton is fixated on her being John’s beard, but it’s just a rumor.”
Sherlock laughed. “His beard? They’ve got it backwards.”
Sally frowned. “Huh?”
“She isn’t his beard, he’s hers. That woman is a lesbian.” He leaned closer and cocked his head. “She has a longtime partner. At least five years…and her partner is pregnant.”
Sally leaned close too, peering at the screen, where John and Sarah were exchanging inane chitchat with Billy Bush. “Are you sure?” He just gave her a look. “Oh, sorry. Of course you’re sure. So John isn’t gay?”
“Well, he doesn’t identify as such. No man works as an actor for any length of time without having certain experiences.”
“Including you?”
“Did I give any indication that I was excepting myself?”
“You are holding out on me, Sherlock Holmes.”
“What, by withholding information that’s none of your business?”
“Hey, the second someone digs up an old blurry photo of you getting off with some bloke in a bar, it becomes my business, and Greg’s business, and your publicist’s business.”
“There are no blurry photos. I would never stoop to such tawdry behavior.”
“So, what? You hire high-end rent boys?”
“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”
“That wasn’t a denial!”
Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Sally. Really. Do you honestly think that I would have to pay for sex?”
She opened her mouth and shut it again. “Okay, point.”
John took a big swig of his beer, relaxing a little. It was ridiculous that he ought to still get stage fright when he was presenting at these things, having done over twenty films, but this was different. But, he hadn’t flubbed his lines and he’d managed to shake Russell’s hand as he gave him his statue, exchanging an insincere one-armed hug with the man, who he’d never met in his life nor wanted to.
But now, the mildly-enjoyable part. The post-awards party. Sarah had gone home. Both their publicists had screamed bloody murder at the very idea. “There’ll be reports that you went to the parties alone!” his had shrieked. “That she left without you! Trouble in paradise!” He profoundly didn’t care. He had entered into this fauxmance on the advice of those same blasted publicists, although to be fair, he’d known what he was getting into. Sarah was a friend, he wanted to help her, and he hated trying to be single in Hollywood. He wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship but endless were the women who seemed interested in pursuing one with him, or rather with his name. “I need a permanent cockblock!” he’d shouted to his publicist after fending off a particularly persistent young actress for the fourth time. Her eyes had lit up and he’d known he was in trouble.
But it was wearing on both of them. Sarah wanted to be able to go out in public with the woman she loved, and John felt the pressure of duplicity whenever he was asked about Sarah by a talk-show host or an interviewer. He tried to avoid the topic, but getting journalists to respect your personal privacy was a task for a better man than he.
The downside was now he was alone at this party. He’d hoped to find some friends, chat a bit, catch up on the gossip. And, if he were totally honest with himself, do some subtle gloating about the film he’d just signed on to, which no doubt everybody here had heard about. The prospect of chatting up some people who’d worked with Sherlock before and could give him the straight dope wasn’t unwelcome, either. If he didn’t get himself locked into conversation soon, he might have to make a run for it. He’d counted at least three young actresses eyeing him so far, all of them hoping to get their photo snapped with him, thus guaranteeing themselves some face time in US Weekly.
Oh, thank God, he thought, spotting a familiar face. “Paul!” he said, waving.
“Oy, Watson!” came the answering hail. Paul emerged from the crowd, tall and blond and dashing as ever. John tamped down his height envy. He’d have to be doing that a lot in the coming months. Actors were, on the whole, surprisingly short, but Sherlock was six full feet if he was an inch. Paul shook his hand warmly, grinning. “Nice job up there tonight. Didn’t even trip over your own feet, well done.”
“Oh, thanks, you wanker. Congratulations on not winning, by the way.”
Paul shrugged. “Didn’t expect to. It was a token nomination. Where’s Sarah?”
“Oh, she’s gone home.” John didn’t need to prevaricate. Most everyone in town knew the score.
Paul nodded. “When’s the baby due, then?”
“August.”
“Tell her congratulations from us, eh? I’m hearing some things about Clint’s film. Might be seeing her on the stage next year, and not as a presenter.”
“It’s about time. She’s very talented. I knew it was just a matter of finding the right project.”
Paul smirked. “Speaking of…”
John blushed and ducked his head to hide his grin. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I read that script. I thought it was phenomenal. I’d have gone after Benjamin myself but I’m booked up. I think you’re great for it.”
“Really?” John couldn’t help but fluff up a bit under the praise. He had tremendous respect for Paul as an actor, and his opinion mattered.
“Really.” He looked and sounded so sincere. John didn’t think he was just talking him up. “I’ve been saying for years you need to get out of the rom-com business. It’s fun now and again, but how many has it been?”
“Too many,” John said, taking another drink.
“You’re in a rut, John. This is just what you need. You’re going to knock everyone’s socks off.”
“Ta, mate,” John said, feeling absurdly choked up. “Ta very much. Say, you haven’t worked with Ang, have you?”
“No. Jenny has, do you want to ask her? I think she’s getting a drink.” Paul craned his neck, looking across the room for his wife. He caught her eye and beckoned her over. John drew himself up a bit. Paul’s wife was one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood, and she’d always been a bit of a fantasy crush of John’s. She came gliding over, looking perfect as usual.
“Hey, John,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Congratulations on the project. It’s very exciting.”
“Thanks. Listen, what’s Ang like to work with? I’m just trying to psyche myself up.”
She looked thoughtful. “Don’t expect much give and take on set. He’s very quiet. He’ll let you know what he wants, but he’ll leave you to do the work yourself.”
“Hmm. Okay. We’ve got a full week of rehearsals scheduled.”
“Yes, he loves rehearsals. Take advantage of that time, that’s when you’ll really worry out how he wants you to play things. He won’t give you line readings, he’ll - well, sometimes he won’t make much sense, there’s still a little bit of a language barrier there, but you’ll get the idea.”
John nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Rely on Jim Schamus. He’s fantastic, he’ll be a real ally for you on set. Where are you shooting?”
“The whole shoot’s in Toronto.”
“Standing in for New York?”
“No, actually, the story’s set in Toronto. That’ll be novel. We won’t have to do that whole ‘I can’t believe it’s not New York’ thing.” John took a breath. “But it’s not really Ang I’m nervous about.”
Paul nodded. “Sherlock. He’s a piece of work. Neither of us have had the pleasure. Russell says he’s a nightmare.”
“I’ve heard he’s all Zen Master and Method while he’s working.”
“Oh, God, no,” Paul said. “Sherlock isn’t Method. That would require emotional awareness. No, he’s a mimic. He’s an astonishing observer of detail. I sat next to him at the nominee’s luncheon when he was up for Kanisza. He could just look at somebody and know who they were sleeping with, how their career was going, how their finances were and whether or not they were thinking about changing agents. And he’s always right. It’s a bit creepy. He doesn’t try to get inside characters. He observes and reproduces. With amazing effectiveness.”
“I hope that’ll be enough for this material. It’s very emotional, more so than the sorts of roles he typically plays.”
“If he wanted the part he must be up for it.”
“Let’s hope so. Our screen test went well. I think we’ll work it out.”
Paul grinned. “If you do, maybe we’ll be seeing you on the stage next winter.”
John laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to find John Watson waiting for him when he arrived at the restaurant, precisely on time as was his habit. People in the business were usually notoriously late, always eager to demonstrate to you that their time and attention were in greater demand than yours. John rose to shake his hand. “Sherlock, nice to see you,” he said, smiling.
“Pleasure,” Sherlock said, neutrally. He sat down and motioned to the waiter. “Vodka and tonic, please,” he said, noting that John was drinking a beer. Of course he was. He looked around at the restaurant. It was a comfortable but obviously upscale place, private and quiet. No one had looked at him twice when he’d entered, and there were no paparazzi camped out at the entrance. “I’ve never eaten here before.”
“It’s a bit of a closely-guarded secret,” John said. “The peanut gallery hasn’t discovered it yet. You’ll find the food very good.”
“I’m sure.”
“So, did you watch the Globes last night?” John said, eagerly.
“I may have caught a few minutes here and there.”
“I was presenting.”
“Oh. Shame, I must have missed that.”
“Did you hear about the bit of nastiness backstage?” John said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial look of gossip about him.
“Why would I have?”
“Marty and Chris Nolan got into a bit of a tiff. Words were exchanged.”
“Oh?” Sherlock said, hoping he sounded profoundly uninterested, when in fact he was keenly so. He was eyeballing a project that he hoped to pitch to Nolan next year.
“I don’t know what prompted it. But you know they’re really squabbling over who gets custody of Leo.”
“Clearly Marty has the greater claim. Leo’s only made one film with Chris. Leo is Marty’s new muse. Besides, Chris has been in bed with Christian for years.”
“That’s gone south. Christian boarded the one-way train to Crazytown last year. Chris would already have stepped back if Christian wasn’t signed for Batman. He’s taking up with Joe pretty strong as well, if you’ve noticed.”
“Joe is one to watch.”
“Yes, he is.” John took a breath. “Well. I asked you to dinner because I thought it’d be a good idea for us to get to know each other a little. We’re going to be working very closely together.”
Sherlock considered his words for a moment. The fact that he was considering them at all gave him a bit of pause; normally he’d just have out with whatever came to mind. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm, John, but it’s not necessary for us to engage in some kind of bonding exercise to perform well together.”
“Maybe not, but it might make the whole experience more pleasant.” John shifted in his seat.
“You’re referring to the intimate scenes we’ll be required to perform.”
“Are you concerned about that?”
“No, should I be? I’d think you would have lost your horror of such things, with all the romantic material you’ve handled.”
“This is different. In those films I kiss the girl and the music swells and it fades out. It’s all very innocent. This is going to be real and raw and honest. I won’t have a lite-rock soundtrack to plaster over the awkward bits.” John shifted again. “And I admit, I’m concerned with what Ang said this morning about the rehearsals.”
“What about it?”
“He’s going to rehearse us separately?”
“Yes, I expected that.”
“You did? It surprised the hell out of me. What’s the point of rehearsing if we can’t rehearse together?”
“We’re shooting this film in sequence, as much as possible. Benjamin and Mark start out the film strangers, feeling their way around each other, coming to an understanding. Ang wants us to be in the same position. He doesn’t want us to be accustomed to one another when we start the shoot.”
John shook his head. “I don’t mind admitting it, Sherlock. I’m not used to working this way.”
“That’s because you’re used to working with pedestrian directors barely a step up from music videos who show up for the paycheck, tell the actors where to stand, sit in silence when they deliver the lines and yell ‘cut.’ Ang is an artist. He has real vision, vision he’ll want us to implement. We have to be in tune with him, not with each other. What is between our characters will evolve through their dialogue and their interaction, not ours. What does or does not exist in our interpersonal relationship is irrelevant.”
“I just don’t know if I can disconnect the way you seem to be able to. I have to access my emotions if I want to portray them.”
“Everyone works differently.”
“And I’ve worked with some visionary directors, I’ll have you know,” John said, his forehead creasing a little. “I worked with Altman. I was in Short Cuts.”
“You were?” Sherlock said, struggling to remember.
“Yes. I got very good notice from that performance.”
“You couldn’t have had much time with Robert. Didn’t that film have something like fifty speaking parts?”
John smiled. “Yeah, it was a bit crowded at craft services. But Robert gave us all his full attention. He taught me more about acting in one day than I learned over a year of night-school drama classes.” He sighed. “He was a great director.”
“He was,” Sherlock agreed. “I regret that I never got to work with him.”
Silence fell. The waiter came to take their orders. Sherlock waved him away, to John’s obvious puzzlement. “You’re not eating?” he asked.
“John, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to socialize too much. As I said earlier, Ang wants our characters to evolve together. If he’s keeping us separated for rehearsals, I doubt he’d be thrilled to find us sharing a meal.”
“One meal doesn’t make us best mates,” John said.
“I’m sorry, I’ll have to bid you goodnight.”
John stared across at him. “You are going to be hard work, aren’t you?”
Sherlock smirked. “That depends entirely on you. Respect my methods and my boundaries and we’ll get along just fine.”
He crossed his arms on the table. “You don’t think I can do this part, do you? Your contempt for me and my career is dripping from every word you say. You could hardly believe it when I told you I’d been in an Altman film.”
Sherlock sighed. “The roles you perform aren’t what I’m accustomed to in my co-stars.”
“I am not the roles I perform, or the sorts of films I’ve been in,” John said, his voice taking on a bit of an edge.
“This film means a lot to me, John. I don’t want it bungled by bad casting decisions.”
“Like me, for instance?” Real anger was rising to the surface. Sherlock had known it was only a matter of time before the tiresome pride and hurt feelings mangled any chances they’d had for a cooperative working relationship.
He sighed. “Those decisions aren’t mine to make.”
“Is this some attempt at sabotage? Make me uncomfortable enough and I’ll quit the film so you can go get McAvoy or whoever else you want to play Mark?”
“Not in the slightest. I wouldn’t lower myself to such methods.”
John got up. “I may surprise you, Sherlock Holmes.”
Sherlock gave him a weary half-smile. “The curse of being me, John, is that I am rarely surprised.”
“We’ll just see about that.” John turned and left the restaurant.
Sherlock eyed John’s half-finished beer, and signaled the water. “Check, please.”
Key to Meta References for Chapter 2
1. The Vincent Cassel joke derives from an infamous scene in “Ocean’s Twelve” when Cassel goes through an extensive sequence of odd contortionist Cirque du Soleil moves, practicing for a heist.
2. Toronto frequently stands in for New York in films, as shooting in Canada is much cheaper.
3. The actress Sherlock identifies as having taken a younger lover isn’t meant to be anyone in particular.
4. The actor John presents a Golden Globe to is Russell Crowe.
5. The couple that John talks with at the party is Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connelly. She worked with Ang Lee in “Hulk.” Her description of his working methods is drawn from the statements of actors who’ve done films with him.
6. The directors’ tiff John describes involved Martin Scorsese and Christopher Nolan, both of whom are known for forming close relationships with actors and working with them repeatedly. After his longtime collaboration with Robert DeNiro petered out, Scorsese seemed to have found a new partner in Leonardo DiCaprio, with whom he’s made four films. DiCaprio starred in Nolan’s “Inception” and Nolan’s relationship with Christian Bale is reportedly on the decline after Bale’s erratic behavior of late. The Joe referred to is Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who also starred in “Inception” and is also in “The Dark Knight Rises.”
7. Robert Altman did direct a film called “Short Cuts,” which is brilliant. Needless to say it did not star John Watson. :-)
8. John's statement about "more poofs than you can have hot dinners thrown at you" is lifted from a direct quote from Martin Freeman about the prevalence and widespread closeting in Hollywood.
Next Chapter
Author: MadLori
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 5000 (this chapter)
Genre: AU, romance
Warnings: None
Rating: PG for now, may go up to NC-17 later
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?
Chapter 1
Key To Meta References (I’ll do this at the end of subsequent chapters but this one’s for chapter 1 because I didn’t think to put it on the actual chapter):
1. The David who cast Robert Downey instead of Sherlock is David Fincher, director of many awesome films including Se7en and Fight Club, who directed RDJ in Zodiac.
2. RADA is the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, a school that turned out many great British actors. Incidentally, Benedict is not one of them, he went to LAMDA, the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts.
3. Quentin is, of course, Quentin Tarantino.
4. The director of Sherlock’s failed film The Schrodinger Paradox was Paul Haggis, director of Crash.
5. Shadow Unit, the material being optioned by the Coen Brothers for a franchise, is a real series of paranormal thriller novels by a group of sci-fi and mystery authors. Google it, it’s fantastic. I have no inside information about film options, I made that part up.
6. Jim Schamus is the CEO of Focus Features, the art-house branch of Universal, and he is Ang Lee’s longtime producing partner. They’ve worked together on all of Lee’s stateside films.
7. The Jimmy that Sherlock considers his costar is meant to be James McAvoy, who is in reality close friends with Benedict Cumberbatch. He is, in fact, committed to a sequel to Wanted.
8. Only one person commented on the character’s names in the script. I came very close to naming those characters Benedict and Martin, but that was a bit too meta even for me so I went with the soundalike names of Benjamin and Mark.
Disclaimer: Any and all Hollywood gossip and dialogue pertaining to or assigned to actual people is entirely of my own invention. Although one does hear things if one pays attention.
Chapter 2
Sherlock was nearly upside down when he heard Sally’s key in the door. She clomped in with her ridiculous shoes and tossed her keys to the table. “Sherlock?”
“I’m in here.”
Footsteps approached. “Who the hell do you think you’re supposed to be, Vincent Cassel?”
“People keep telling me that I ought to be doing this yoga thing. I’m finding it pointless and absurd.”
Sally’s face popped into view as she bent over to look at him. “I think you’re doing it wrong.”
“Nonsense. I found multiple instructional videos online, I am following them precisely.”
“Are your chakras aligned?”
“There are no such thing as chakras.”
“I could get you a real yoga instructor, you know. One phone call and I’d have twenty vying for the job.”
Sherlock righted himself, staggering a bit as all the blood rushed out of his head. “Who on earth would subject themselves to such a practice?”
“It’s very popular.”
“So is ‘Jersey Shore.’ Need I further qualify my opinion?” He went into the kitchen in search of water.
“I’ve got the production schedule for Untitled Film of Gayness.”
“I hope that’s not the new title.”
“No, just a handle of my own devising.”
“Let’s not suggest it to the poor screenwriter, shall we?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Did you know the entire shoot is in Toronto?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Huh. Looks like it’s Canadian camp-out time.”
“I’m sure the studio will provide us with adequate accommodations. How long’s the schedule?”
“One week rehearsals, eight weeks principal.”
“Eight weeks, hmm. Well, I suppose it is a fairly long script.”
“Read-through and rehearsals will be here, three days’ time for production setup, then principal will start.” She hesitated. “I got a call from Harry Watson.”
“Who?”
“John’s PA. You know. John? Your co-star?”
“Ah, yes.”
“She said that John would like to meet up with you in private. Dinner or something. Just to talk about the film, get to know each other, that sort of thing.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course he would. He thinks that we have to be best mates to act together, because he’s an amateur face-puller who wants everyone to like him.”
“Some people like being liked!”
“It certainly isn’t necessary for a realistic performance.”
“No, but it is necessary if you want anybody to ever want to work with you, ever again.”
“If you’re good enough, they’ll work with you whether they like you or not.”
“You really are socially tone-deaf, aren’t you? It isn’t just an act, it’s a legitimate malfunction!”
“I have neither the time nor the inclination to change my behavior so as to make others more comfortable. If they are uncomfortable, that is their affair.”
Sally sighed. “I ought to just tape-record you sometime so that when they ask why you’re still single you can just play it back and it’ll clear everything up.”
Sherlock tossed his empty water bottle into the recycling. “Call John’s PA and tell him dinner is acceptable. Schedule it for me.”
Sally made a note on her PDA. “Are you going to watch the Globes tonight?”
Of course he was. He had his supplies all laid in. His favorite kosher-dill flavored popcorn from the gourmet shop down the street, a case of Orangina and the makings of vodka tonics for the moment when stupid people began winning awards and drinking became necessary. “Eh. I suppose so,” he said to Sally.
“John’s a presenter, you know.”
“Is he?” Sherlock sniffed. “They never ask me to present. I only get an invite if I’m nominated.”
“They don’t ask because the one time you presented, you stood up there like an automaton and read the lines like you had a gun to your head, and made it very clear that you had nothing but contempt for the entire proceeding.”
Sherlock considered this. “Was it really that bad?”
“Please. Boards wish they were that stiff.”
“Hm. Well, the whole thing is tiresome anyway, with the suits and the red carpets and the screaming fans and all the ridiculous arse-kissing.” He shuddered. “I’d rather watch from my living room.”
“Isn’t it funny how you always claim to prefer the option that you’ve gotten stuck with through being a complete prat?” She headed for the door. “I’m off to the dry cleaner’s and then I’ll pick up the revised scripts, okay?” She hesitated. “If you like, I’ll come back and watch the Globes with you.”
He would have liked to say yes, please. Sally was fun watching awards shows. Her snark, usually focused on him, became redirected towards the show in a way he found amusing. He shrugged. “Whatever you like.”
She grinned. “I’ll stop off and get some Tim Tams at the world market.” She was out the door. Sherlock smirked. God, he hated that woman.
Sarah cocked her head. “I don’t like the tie/shirt combination.”
“But - the stylist said…”
She flapped a hand. “Stylists. Stylists can’t stop dressing you like a fifty-year-old stockbroker with two kids and a minivan. You’re young and hip! You do not want this Regis Philbin look.”
“I’m not as young and hip as I used to be.” John frowned. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I was ever hip.”
“The suit’s good, at least.” She whipped the tie off his neck. “Come on, work with me, John. We’re going to be in a thousand photographs together tonight.”
“And they’ll all be asking us when we’re getting engaged or something equally appalling.”
“So we give them the old ‘we’re focusing on our careers’ line, hold hands and walk on by.”
“Did you see Perez Hilton yesterday? Another unidentified source claiming that you’re my beard.”
Sarah laughed, pawing through his rather disorganized pile of ties. “If all these unidentified sources ever got together they could form an army and take us all down.”
“You’re always my beard. Isn’t that odd? They never report it the other way.”
“You mean the correct way?” She came up, victorious. “A ha! This one. Take off your shirt, that color white’s all wrong.”
John looked down at himself. “There are different colors of white?” He shrugged and took off his jacket, then his shirt, letting Sarah redress him. “Wow. That really is much better. And if even I can see it, it’s got to be.”
She smiled, standing behind him and smoothing the lines of his jacket. “What would you do without me?” She patted his shoulders and sat down to touch up her makeup. “Oh, that’s right. You’d be fending off ambitious starlets right and left.”
He watched her in the mirror. “How’s Anthea?”
Sarah met his eyes in the reflection, sadness pulling at her expression. “Home. By herself.” She sighed. “I will bring her to next year’s red carpets. I swear. This film is going to make me, John. I can’t even tell you.”
“It’s going well?”
“Honestly? It’s a dream. It’s that shoot we all fantasize about and never get. Clint is brilliant. He’s just got this way of speaking and guiding, it’s buoying everyone up. This is the best work I’ve ever done, and I know everyone else would say the same. We’re all making each other cry on a daily basis.”
John grinned. “I’m glad. You might be a nominee on next year’s red carpets.”
“God. Don’t say it. You’ll jinx me.” She stared at herself in the mirror. “It’s my ticket, John. I’ll be able to come out and my career can survive it.”
“I hope so. God, it infuriates me. This business has more poofs than you can have hot dinners thrown at you but nobody acknowledges it. Nobody comes out. I don’t understand it. This town, I swear. At home it wouldn’t be such a cracking great scandal.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re straight.”
“Ish.”
“Ish?” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Is there an actor alive who’s completely straight? I doubt it. You don’t work in this business with the people who are in it and not jump the fence a few times.”
“This is too interesting a conversation to have right now when we’re already late.” She got up and took his arm. “Come on, you handsome thing. You’ve got a statue to give away.”
Sally had hunkered down on Sherlock’s couch with a plate of nachos and an Orangina. He glumly munched on his kosher dill popcorn and watched his colleagues traipse down the red carpet, being asked who they were wearing and if it was an honor to be nominated.
“Okay,” Sally said. “Are you going to run it down for me, or what? Half the fun - actually, almost all the fun - is listening to you pick everyone apart.”
He sighed. Of course he was, but he wouldn’t let her know that was the fun for him, too. “What do you wish to know?”
“You know! Who’s having an affair? Who’s secretly gay? You can tell by their tan lines or something, right?”
“Who’s having an affair? It’d be quicker to name who isn’t.” He narrowed his eyes, watching the parade of designer clothing. “Oh, dear Lord, she could at least be subtle about it.”
“About what?”
“She’s taken a much-younger lover. Look at her clothes. She’s dressing ten years too young all of a sudden, she is usually very age-appropriate. And she’s got her hand on her husband’s elbow instead of holding his hand.”
“That could mean anything.”
“No, look at her right hand. She’s wearing a ring, a smallish ring, too small for her husband to have given it to her. It’s a less expensive piece than her others. A gift from a less-established paramour with less refined tastes than her or her husband. Rather cheeky of her to wear it in front of him. He probably knows. Works out well for him. I hear he’s shagging his agent.”
Sally sat up straighter. “Look, there’s John! Oh, he looks fantastic!”
Sherlock eyed her. “You think so?”
“Thank God, looks like he ditched that awful stylist who dressed him like her father.”
“Hmm. It is a nice suit. That color combination should not work.”
“It does though.” She was grinning.
“Oh, you fancy him a bit, do you?”
“I think he’s adorable. So does half of America. And you get to shag him, you lucky bastard.”
“There will be no shagging!”
“I’ve read the script! You’re going to have to simulate giving him head, you know.”
“I’m a professional! I’m sure it will be done very - artistically!”
“Sarah looks nice.”
“Who is that, again?”
“Sarah Sawyer. They’ve been dating about a year. She was a bit player but then Clint cast her as the female lead in that suffragette film he’s shooting. The buzz out of that set is amazing. I’ve got a friend who’s the second AD, she says Sawyer is a sure thing for a nomination next year.”
“Well, she needs to reconsider what size gowns she orders. One deep breath and she’ll be showing us her bits.”
“Perez Hilton is fixated on her being John’s beard, but it’s just a rumor.”
Sherlock laughed. “His beard? They’ve got it backwards.”
Sally frowned. “Huh?”
“She isn’t his beard, he’s hers. That woman is a lesbian.” He leaned closer and cocked his head. “She has a longtime partner. At least five years…and her partner is pregnant.”
Sally leaned close too, peering at the screen, where John and Sarah were exchanging inane chitchat with Billy Bush. “Are you sure?” He just gave her a look. “Oh, sorry. Of course you’re sure. So John isn’t gay?”
“Well, he doesn’t identify as such. No man works as an actor for any length of time without having certain experiences.”
“Including you?”
“Did I give any indication that I was excepting myself?”
“You are holding out on me, Sherlock Holmes.”
“What, by withholding information that’s none of your business?”
“Hey, the second someone digs up an old blurry photo of you getting off with some bloke in a bar, it becomes my business, and Greg’s business, and your publicist’s business.”
“There are no blurry photos. I would never stoop to such tawdry behavior.”
“So, what? You hire high-end rent boys?”
“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”
“That wasn’t a denial!”
Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Sally. Really. Do you honestly think that I would have to pay for sex?”
She opened her mouth and shut it again. “Okay, point.”
John took a big swig of his beer, relaxing a little. It was ridiculous that he ought to still get stage fright when he was presenting at these things, having done over twenty films, but this was different. But, he hadn’t flubbed his lines and he’d managed to shake Russell’s hand as he gave him his statue, exchanging an insincere one-armed hug with the man, who he’d never met in his life nor wanted to.
But now, the mildly-enjoyable part. The post-awards party. Sarah had gone home. Both their publicists had screamed bloody murder at the very idea. “There’ll be reports that you went to the parties alone!” his had shrieked. “That she left without you! Trouble in paradise!” He profoundly didn’t care. He had entered into this fauxmance on the advice of those same blasted publicists, although to be fair, he’d known what he was getting into. Sarah was a friend, he wanted to help her, and he hated trying to be single in Hollywood. He wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship but endless were the women who seemed interested in pursuing one with him, or rather with his name. “I need a permanent cockblock!” he’d shouted to his publicist after fending off a particularly persistent young actress for the fourth time. Her eyes had lit up and he’d known he was in trouble.
But it was wearing on both of them. Sarah wanted to be able to go out in public with the woman she loved, and John felt the pressure of duplicity whenever he was asked about Sarah by a talk-show host or an interviewer. He tried to avoid the topic, but getting journalists to respect your personal privacy was a task for a better man than he.
The downside was now he was alone at this party. He’d hoped to find some friends, chat a bit, catch up on the gossip. And, if he were totally honest with himself, do some subtle gloating about the film he’d just signed on to, which no doubt everybody here had heard about. The prospect of chatting up some people who’d worked with Sherlock before and could give him the straight dope wasn’t unwelcome, either. If he didn’t get himself locked into conversation soon, he might have to make a run for it. He’d counted at least three young actresses eyeing him so far, all of them hoping to get their photo snapped with him, thus guaranteeing themselves some face time in US Weekly.
Oh, thank God, he thought, spotting a familiar face. “Paul!” he said, waving.
“Oy, Watson!” came the answering hail. Paul emerged from the crowd, tall and blond and dashing as ever. John tamped down his height envy. He’d have to be doing that a lot in the coming months. Actors were, on the whole, surprisingly short, but Sherlock was six full feet if he was an inch. Paul shook his hand warmly, grinning. “Nice job up there tonight. Didn’t even trip over your own feet, well done.”
“Oh, thanks, you wanker. Congratulations on not winning, by the way.”
Paul shrugged. “Didn’t expect to. It was a token nomination. Where’s Sarah?”
“Oh, she’s gone home.” John didn’t need to prevaricate. Most everyone in town knew the score.
Paul nodded. “When’s the baby due, then?”
“August.”
“Tell her congratulations from us, eh? I’m hearing some things about Clint’s film. Might be seeing her on the stage next year, and not as a presenter.”
“It’s about time. She’s very talented. I knew it was just a matter of finding the right project.”
Paul smirked. “Speaking of…”
John blushed and ducked his head to hide his grin. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I read that script. I thought it was phenomenal. I’d have gone after Benjamin myself but I’m booked up. I think you’re great for it.”
“Really?” John couldn’t help but fluff up a bit under the praise. He had tremendous respect for Paul as an actor, and his opinion mattered.
“Really.” He looked and sounded so sincere. John didn’t think he was just talking him up. “I’ve been saying for years you need to get out of the rom-com business. It’s fun now and again, but how many has it been?”
“Too many,” John said, taking another drink.
“You’re in a rut, John. This is just what you need. You’re going to knock everyone’s socks off.”
“Ta, mate,” John said, feeling absurdly choked up. “Ta very much. Say, you haven’t worked with Ang, have you?”
“No. Jenny has, do you want to ask her? I think she’s getting a drink.” Paul craned his neck, looking across the room for his wife. He caught her eye and beckoned her over. John drew himself up a bit. Paul’s wife was one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood, and she’d always been a bit of a fantasy crush of John’s. She came gliding over, looking perfect as usual.
“Hey, John,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Congratulations on the project. It’s very exciting.”
“Thanks. Listen, what’s Ang like to work with? I’m just trying to psyche myself up.”
She looked thoughtful. “Don’t expect much give and take on set. He’s very quiet. He’ll let you know what he wants, but he’ll leave you to do the work yourself.”
“Hmm. Okay. We’ve got a full week of rehearsals scheduled.”
“Yes, he loves rehearsals. Take advantage of that time, that’s when you’ll really worry out how he wants you to play things. He won’t give you line readings, he’ll - well, sometimes he won’t make much sense, there’s still a little bit of a language barrier there, but you’ll get the idea.”
John nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Rely on Jim Schamus. He’s fantastic, he’ll be a real ally for you on set. Where are you shooting?”
“The whole shoot’s in Toronto.”
“Standing in for New York?”
“No, actually, the story’s set in Toronto. That’ll be novel. We won’t have to do that whole ‘I can’t believe it’s not New York’ thing.” John took a breath. “But it’s not really Ang I’m nervous about.”
Paul nodded. “Sherlock. He’s a piece of work. Neither of us have had the pleasure. Russell says he’s a nightmare.”
“I’ve heard he’s all Zen Master and Method while he’s working.”
“Oh, God, no,” Paul said. “Sherlock isn’t Method. That would require emotional awareness. No, he’s a mimic. He’s an astonishing observer of detail. I sat next to him at the nominee’s luncheon when he was up for Kanisza. He could just look at somebody and know who they were sleeping with, how their career was going, how their finances were and whether or not they were thinking about changing agents. And he’s always right. It’s a bit creepy. He doesn’t try to get inside characters. He observes and reproduces. With amazing effectiveness.”
“I hope that’ll be enough for this material. It’s very emotional, more so than the sorts of roles he typically plays.”
“If he wanted the part he must be up for it.”
“Let’s hope so. Our screen test went well. I think we’ll work it out.”
Paul grinned. “If you do, maybe we’ll be seeing you on the stage next winter.”
John laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to find John Watson waiting for him when he arrived at the restaurant, precisely on time as was his habit. People in the business were usually notoriously late, always eager to demonstrate to you that their time and attention were in greater demand than yours. John rose to shake his hand. “Sherlock, nice to see you,” he said, smiling.
“Pleasure,” Sherlock said, neutrally. He sat down and motioned to the waiter. “Vodka and tonic, please,” he said, noting that John was drinking a beer. Of course he was. He looked around at the restaurant. It was a comfortable but obviously upscale place, private and quiet. No one had looked at him twice when he’d entered, and there were no paparazzi camped out at the entrance. “I’ve never eaten here before.”
“It’s a bit of a closely-guarded secret,” John said. “The peanut gallery hasn’t discovered it yet. You’ll find the food very good.”
“I’m sure.”
“So, did you watch the Globes last night?” John said, eagerly.
“I may have caught a few minutes here and there.”
“I was presenting.”
“Oh. Shame, I must have missed that.”
“Did you hear about the bit of nastiness backstage?” John said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial look of gossip about him.
“Why would I have?”
“Marty and Chris Nolan got into a bit of a tiff. Words were exchanged.”
“Oh?” Sherlock said, hoping he sounded profoundly uninterested, when in fact he was keenly so. He was eyeballing a project that he hoped to pitch to Nolan next year.
“I don’t know what prompted it. But you know they’re really squabbling over who gets custody of Leo.”
“Clearly Marty has the greater claim. Leo’s only made one film with Chris. Leo is Marty’s new muse. Besides, Chris has been in bed with Christian for years.”
“That’s gone south. Christian boarded the one-way train to Crazytown last year. Chris would already have stepped back if Christian wasn’t signed for Batman. He’s taking up with Joe pretty strong as well, if you’ve noticed.”
“Joe is one to watch.”
“Yes, he is.” John took a breath. “Well. I asked you to dinner because I thought it’d be a good idea for us to get to know each other a little. We’re going to be working very closely together.”
Sherlock considered his words for a moment. The fact that he was considering them at all gave him a bit of pause; normally he’d just have out with whatever came to mind. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm, John, but it’s not necessary for us to engage in some kind of bonding exercise to perform well together.”
“Maybe not, but it might make the whole experience more pleasant.” John shifted in his seat.
“You’re referring to the intimate scenes we’ll be required to perform.”
“Are you concerned about that?”
“No, should I be? I’d think you would have lost your horror of such things, with all the romantic material you’ve handled.”
“This is different. In those films I kiss the girl and the music swells and it fades out. It’s all very innocent. This is going to be real and raw and honest. I won’t have a lite-rock soundtrack to plaster over the awkward bits.” John shifted again. “And I admit, I’m concerned with what Ang said this morning about the rehearsals.”
“What about it?”
“He’s going to rehearse us separately?”
“Yes, I expected that.”
“You did? It surprised the hell out of me. What’s the point of rehearsing if we can’t rehearse together?”
“We’re shooting this film in sequence, as much as possible. Benjamin and Mark start out the film strangers, feeling their way around each other, coming to an understanding. Ang wants us to be in the same position. He doesn’t want us to be accustomed to one another when we start the shoot.”
John shook his head. “I don’t mind admitting it, Sherlock. I’m not used to working this way.”
“That’s because you’re used to working with pedestrian directors barely a step up from music videos who show up for the paycheck, tell the actors where to stand, sit in silence when they deliver the lines and yell ‘cut.’ Ang is an artist. He has real vision, vision he’ll want us to implement. We have to be in tune with him, not with each other. What is between our characters will evolve through their dialogue and their interaction, not ours. What does or does not exist in our interpersonal relationship is irrelevant.”
“I just don’t know if I can disconnect the way you seem to be able to. I have to access my emotions if I want to portray them.”
“Everyone works differently.”
“And I’ve worked with some visionary directors, I’ll have you know,” John said, his forehead creasing a little. “I worked with Altman. I was in Short Cuts.”
“You were?” Sherlock said, struggling to remember.
“Yes. I got very good notice from that performance.”
“You couldn’t have had much time with Robert. Didn’t that film have something like fifty speaking parts?”
John smiled. “Yeah, it was a bit crowded at craft services. But Robert gave us all his full attention. He taught me more about acting in one day than I learned over a year of night-school drama classes.” He sighed. “He was a great director.”
“He was,” Sherlock agreed. “I regret that I never got to work with him.”
Silence fell. The waiter came to take their orders. Sherlock waved him away, to John’s obvious puzzlement. “You’re not eating?” he asked.
“John, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to socialize too much. As I said earlier, Ang wants our characters to evolve together. If he’s keeping us separated for rehearsals, I doubt he’d be thrilled to find us sharing a meal.”
“One meal doesn’t make us best mates,” John said.
“I’m sorry, I’ll have to bid you goodnight.”
John stared across at him. “You are going to be hard work, aren’t you?”
Sherlock smirked. “That depends entirely on you. Respect my methods and my boundaries and we’ll get along just fine.”
He crossed his arms on the table. “You don’t think I can do this part, do you? Your contempt for me and my career is dripping from every word you say. You could hardly believe it when I told you I’d been in an Altman film.”
Sherlock sighed. “The roles you perform aren’t what I’m accustomed to in my co-stars.”
“I am not the roles I perform, or the sorts of films I’ve been in,” John said, his voice taking on a bit of an edge.
“This film means a lot to me, John. I don’t want it bungled by bad casting decisions.”
“Like me, for instance?” Real anger was rising to the surface. Sherlock had known it was only a matter of time before the tiresome pride and hurt feelings mangled any chances they’d had for a cooperative working relationship.
He sighed. “Those decisions aren’t mine to make.”
“Is this some attempt at sabotage? Make me uncomfortable enough and I’ll quit the film so you can go get McAvoy or whoever else you want to play Mark?”
“Not in the slightest. I wouldn’t lower myself to such methods.”
John got up. “I may surprise you, Sherlock Holmes.”
Sherlock gave him a weary half-smile. “The curse of being me, John, is that I am rarely surprised.”
“We’ll just see about that.” John turned and left the restaurant.
Sherlock eyed John’s half-finished beer, and signaled the water. “Check, please.”
Key to Meta References for Chapter 2
1. The Vincent Cassel joke derives from an infamous scene in “Ocean’s Twelve” when Cassel goes through an extensive sequence of odd contortionist Cirque du Soleil moves, practicing for a heist.
2. Toronto frequently stands in for New York in films, as shooting in Canada is much cheaper.
3. The actress Sherlock identifies as having taken a younger lover isn’t meant to be anyone in particular.
4. The actor John presents a Golden Globe to is Russell Crowe.
5. The couple that John talks with at the party is Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connelly. She worked with Ang Lee in “Hulk.” Her description of his working methods is drawn from the statements of actors who’ve done films with him.
6. The directors’ tiff John describes involved Martin Scorsese and Christopher Nolan, both of whom are known for forming close relationships with actors and working with them repeatedly. After his longtime collaboration with Robert DeNiro petered out, Scorsese seemed to have found a new partner in Leonardo DiCaprio, with whom he’s made four films. DiCaprio starred in Nolan’s “Inception” and Nolan’s relationship with Christian Bale is reportedly on the decline after Bale’s erratic behavior of late. The Joe referred to is Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who also starred in “Inception” and is also in “The Dark Knight Rises.”
7. Robert Altman did direct a film called “Short Cuts,” which is brilliant. Needless to say it did not star John Watson. :-)
8. John's statement about "more poofs than you can have hot dinners thrown at you" is lifted from a direct quote from Martin Freeman about the prevalence and widespread closeting in Hollywood.
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