Performance In a Leading Role (15/20)

[madlorific]

Title: Performance in a Leading Role
Author: MadLori
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 9,700 (this chapter)
Genre: AU, romance
Warnings: None
Rating: NC-17
Beta: tzikeh
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 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9 -- Chapter 10 -- Chapter 11 -- Chapter 12 -- Chapter 13 -- Chapter 14 -- Interlude


Chapter 15

[notice posted on www.holmesfans.net and www.watsonweb.org]

Dear HFN and WWO Members:

We know some of you have been wondering about the Big Announcement that we’ve been hinting at. To those of you who’ve been helping us implement the big change, thanks for keeping the secret! We didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag until we were ready.

We are super excited to announce that starting Monday, HFN and WWO will be merging! It’s been something we’ve considered for awhile, since our two sites started sharing so much content and working together over the summer, and now that our fantastic guys have confirmed what so many of us already suspected, it just seemed like the right time!

These URLs will continue to function, but all visitors will now be redirected to our new, jointly-run site:

www.holmesandwatson.net

Rest assured that John and Sherlock will each still have their own forums on the site, but there will also now be a joint forum. We will be sharing server space and web space and combining our image and video archives for easy browsing. All your usernames and passwords will continue to function on the new site. If you’re registered on both sites with two different usernames or passwords, you’ll be asked to pick one for the new joint site.

We know that our two sites will be just as happy together as John and Sherlock are. We will continue to support them in their individual careers and in their life together, and hopefully in lots of future projects together as well!

See you on the new site!

Love and kisses,
Megan, Webmistress of HFN
Shirley, Webmistress of WWO

[posted to Just Jared]

Spotted Tuesday morning at LAX was Sherlock Holmes, hiding behind dark glasses and trailed by a crapload of photographers. Can’t blame the guy-the media scrutiny on him’s been relentless. No sign of boyfriend John Watson-looks like Holmes is flying solo. He’s scheduled to appear on David Letterman’s show Tuesday night, so he’s probably on his way to the taping. Holmes and Watson have not been seen in public together since they outed themselves as a couple last Friday. Must be testing the waters.

[from Peter Bart’s opinion column at Variety.com]

The fact remains that no one can predict how this is all going to shake out for either of these two men. It’s an open secret in Hollywood that many top-tier performers are gay, but no one has ever wanted to go first. It is ironic that these two actors, who are both in their first same-sex relationship, should be the ones who break through the rainbow ceiling and see what the view looks like. Will this be a nine-days’-wonder that only serves to further showcase the hypocrisy of the business? Everyone’s rushing to pat them on the head and shake their hands, to commend their courage, while behind their backs directors withdraw casting offers, producers cross their names off to-hire lists, and roles dry up. I spoke to one producer who would not be quoted by name, but who stated in no uncertain terms that his studio would be extremely hesitant to cast either of them again, regardless of the role.

Everyone loves you to your face in Hollywood. But in the end, they only love the money you can bring in.

[from the comments on Time.com’s article, “An Unexpected Outing”]

Sabine432: These men are role models to children! I am truly disgusted that they would expose their deviance so publicly. John Watson especially has been in many family-friendly films, but how can any Christian family watch them now? Knowing that he is a homosexual? The Bible speaks out against these deviances and we need to cut the poison from the fabric of this immoral society, beginning with these Hollywood types who sleep around and lie men with men and think it makes them heroic.

AstroBoy2397: Sabine, I guess you skipped over those parts of the Bible where it says that God loves all of us just as we are, and He made us all in his image, including people who are gay. God doesn’t make mistakes. John and Sherlock are being honest and truthful. I guess you don’t care about THOSE family values. Just the ones that would make everybody like you.

GeorgeRTL: I couldn’t care less if they’re gay, but do they have to shove it in everyone’s face? Can’t they be gay for each other in private and leave their business in their own house?

JillianMo: I guess for some people, “shoving it in everyone’s face” means existing. John and Sherlock have done nothing different than any other two people in a relationship. They’ve been photographed once, holding hands and looking happy. Why should they have to act any differently than a straight couple, or hide away inside their house?

[“Body Language” feature in US Weekly]

We’ve asked our resident body-language expert, Marilyn Roos, to analyze the most talked-about photo of the week, featuring newly-out couple John Watson and Sherlock Holmes leaving a Los Angeles eatery shortly after their unexpected revelation at a Variety screening.

“They’re standing quite close together,” Roos says. “Closer than they need to, and their bodies are angled toward each other, which indicates that they enjoy being in each other’s company. Their fingers are intertwined, which is a more intimate way to hold hands. Notice the way John’s shoulders are squared and back; he may be self-conscious about his height compared to Sherlock’s. They’re maintaining eye contact and their smiles are genuine. Their body language is that of two people who are very much in love.”

[from the “John and Sherlock” forum thread on afterelton.com]

PhillyGuy Am I the only one who kinda resents it that these two guys are suddenly the Face of Gay Liberation? Who the fuck are they, anyway? How can they come out of the closet, they were never IN the closet! It’s a slap in the face to those of us who spent our entire lives dealing with intolerance and bigotry and being tormented and bullied and called faggot and queer and all the rest of it. They spent their whole lives enjoying their straight privilege, then suddenly discovered the wonders of sucking cock and in like two minutes they’re being held up as the new heroes of the gay community? Not my heroes, thanks.

ArminHammer PhillyGuy, wtf? Now you have to EARN gay cred or something, like it’s goddamned merit badges? You get one for being called a buttpirate and another one for getting ex-gay literature left in your mailbox? Bullshit. Getting bullied sucks balls but it doesn’t make you MORE GAY than someone who never had to go through that. There’s no minimum closet-time requirement. I don’t give a shit how long J and S were gay, or if they were gay at all, or even if they’re gay NOW [Mod Note: go over to the “J&S - Gay or Bi?” thread to debate that one, it’s been ruled off-topic here]. They came out as a couple, which means they fucking SIGNED UP for all the crap that they’re gonna get for it from here on in. They accepted it, and accepted that it might end their careers, and said “Bring it on, because we’re in love and we’re not going to hide.” That’s what makes them heroes to me, not whether or not they ever had to hide their Playgirls when they were sixteen.

John had been a little surprised by how much he missed Sherlock; he hadn’t thought that a separation of barely three days would be so difficult, although he had been far from idle. He’d taped his appearance on the Ellen show, which would air on Monday. Ellen had been funny and supportive, and the audience had been receptive. He’d left the studio feeling more optimistic about his own future than he had in quite some time-a feeling that had lasted a grand total of twenty-five minutes until he’d gotten home and switched on the news, only to see a debate program on CNN featuring some pundit or another claiming that his relationship with Sherlock was a devastating strike against the traditional position of the gay community that people were born gay. How could such a claim be made now, the pundit had demanded, when two previously-straight men could ‘go gay’ for each other so quickly? The gay-rights activist on the other side of the debate had effectively countered the argument, saying that the ability to love either gender was no less an inborn trait than straight or gay, but the very fact that John and Sherlock’s relationship was being used as a weapon against gay rights was profoundly disheartening. There was already a small but not-insignificant faction within the gay community that resented him and Sherlock being elevated to gay-icon status, feeling that they had not paid their dues, nor earned the right to be such visible symbols of gay pride.

He glanced at his watch again, sighing with impatience. He was pondering popping in a Hitchcock film to distract himself when his mobile went off. He grinned at the text message; it was the automated alert from the gates to his neighborhood that someone had just used the access code to enter. Sherlock would be here in five minutes. He got up and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea.

The garage door opened and John heard Sherlock’s car pull into the garage. The back door opened, he heard the thump of Sherlock’s suitcase as he dragged it over the threshold, and then there he was. John’s stomach did a little cartwheel; three days was apparently enough time for him to be freshly affected by Sherlock’s unique beauty.

Sherlock beamed a wide, genuine smile when he saw him. “John,” he said, dropping his briefcase.

John met him halfway and they embraced. “Welcome home,” he said.

“It’s good to be home. It’s been a long day.” Sherlock drew back and kissed him, first quickly, then with more intent, his tongue slipping between John’s lips as they pulled tight against each other. John ran his hand up into Sherlock’s soft curls and rose up on his toes to kiss him harder. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek and his jawline, then hugged him again, pressing his face into Sherlock’s neck.

“I missed you,” he said.

Sherlock held him tight. “I missed you as well, my love,” he murmured. John smiled at the endearment. It slipped easily from Sherlock’s lips, as if he’d said it many times, when, in fact, this was the first.

He pulled back and squeezed Sherlock’s arms. “You want some tea?”

“Yes, thanks.” Sherlock took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair.

“You should eat something.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sherlock, if you’ve consumed any food since breakfast, I’ll eat my hat.” Sherlock just stood there, looking guilty. “I thought so. I made a batch of that soup you like.”

Sherlock perked up a bit. “With the little meatballs?”

“Yes. Go sit down.”

“Are you mothering me, John?”

“No. I’m taking care of you, because that’s what one does for one’s partner.” He steered Sherlock over to the kitchen table and sat him down.

Sherlock looked up at him. “Oh, is that what one does? Why, then, is it always you taking care of me?”

“Because someone has to, as you’re absolute pants at it.”

Sherlock stared down at the mug that John set before him. “Shouldn’t I be bringing you tea as well?” he said, sounding puzzled. “Is this something that will fester within you until you explode with resentment?”

John sat down with a sigh. “You were reading Cosmo on the plane again, weren’t you?”

“Someone left one behind in the seat pocket.”

“Well, whatever Cosmo has to say about it, I don’t need you to make me tea. I like taking care of you, you tolerate being taken care of, so it’s all fine.”

Sherlock smiled, then drank his tea while John heated up a bowl of soup and brought it over to him. He could tell that Sherlock was not in a chatty mood, so he fetched his laptop from the den and settled at the table with his own tea to read some emails.

For several minutes they sat in silence, Sherlock quietly eating his soup in miniscule sips. John got distracted by a long email from his solicitor, but as he opened up the Reply window, he became aware that Sherlock hadn’t taken a bite in some time. He looked up to find Sherlock watching him, one eyebrow arched, like he was trying to suss him out. “What?”

“You…aren’t talking.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Sherlock shifted in his chair and thought for a moment before speaking. “I have observed that people who fancy themselves in a relationship with me always wish to be talking. Most people find silence unnerving. And you yourself are fond of talking, as a rule.”

John crossed his legs and thought for a moment before he spoke. “You get a certain look when you don’t feel like talking, it’s an expression around the eyes that I can’t quite describe, but I know it when I see it. This typically happens after you’ve been around a lot of new people and had a lot of activity, and need time to let your brain stop…masticating.” Sherlock smiled at the word. “You’ve got that look now. I don’t have anything urgent to tell you. So we don’t need to talk.”

“John, you’re….” Sherlock began, looking at him as though he were the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. “I can’t help but fear that I am getting rather the better deal in this relationship.”

John snorted. “Really?”

“How can I not? I have a handsome, talented boyfriend who makes me delicious soup and brings me tea while being charming, considerate, and a fantastic shag.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” John said, “I sound like quite the catch.”

“Meanwhile, you are stuck with a stroppy, ill-tempered, arrogant wanker who can’t even keep a secret for four bleeding months.”

John leaned closer. “You are all those things, yes. But you are also a fascinating, passionate genius who not only helped me rediscover my love of acting but who went on national television and fearlessly told the world that you’re in love with me.”

Sherlock met his eyes. “I am in love with you.”

“Likewise.” John winked. “And you’re a pretty fantastic shag, yourself.”

Sherlock didn’t smile at that. “This is still new to me. I….” He cleared his throat and fidgeted in his chair. “I wish to be a good partner to you.”

“If you weren’t, you’d know it. I’m not shy.” He leaned forward and kissed him, drawing it out. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll take care of you some more,” he whispered against Sherlock’s lips.

“God, yes,” Sherlock murmured, cupping John’s face in his hands and diving into his mouth. John let himself be thoroughly kissed for a few moments, feeling how much Sherlock had missed him in the greedy urgency of his mouth . He got up, took Sherlock by the hand, and led him up the stairs to their bedroom.

John hadn’t said as much to Ellen, but her questions about his sexuality were a little more complicated than he’d let on. He still wasn’t sure any one label fit him, but it had to mean something that it was so electrifying to share his bed and his body with another man-a man with similar urges and appetites to his own. Such thoughts were his own to keep; he couldn’t exactly go on national television and tell the world he’d discovered that he really liked cock.

Tonight, he wanted to be in charge. He wanted his very own Sherlock-shaped plaything to toss around the bed and pleasure and take pleasure from. Sherlock’s mood, a little wrung-out and passive, was perfectly suited to John’s plans. He stripped him and went to work on him, using his mouth and his hands until Sherlock was practically melting into the bed. By the time he straddled Sherlock’s waist and sank down on his hard cock, they were both damp with sweat and heavy-breathed with arousal. Sherlock pressed his head back into the bed, arching his neck as his hands came up to seize John’s hips. “God, John,” he groaned. “You feel gorgeous.”

John smiled down at him, moving his hips across Sherlock’s groin, gasping as his cock grazed that spot inside him. “Three days felt like forever,” John muttered, grinding himself down on his lover.

Sherlock slid his hands up John’s chest and pulled him down to kiss him, his hips starting to move beneath John’s. “I couldn’t stop thinking of you while I was gone,” he breathed into John’s mouth between kisses. “It was quite distracting.” His hands slid down John’s back to grip his arse as their tempo increased. Sherlock was taking charge of the proceedings and tipping things back in his own favor, which suited John fine. He’d had his way with him; now it was Sherlock’s turn. He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s throat, going still and letting Sherlock fuck him. He knew he’d be on his back any moment, and sure enough, he’d barely thought it before Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and rolled them over.

John giggled as Sherlock settled between his legs, bent, and crushed his mouth to John’s. John hung on as Sherlock took his time with him. He wound his legs around Sherlock’s hips and tilted his own, biting at Sherlock’s mouth as they moved together on their bed. He didn’t know what it meant, or if it meant anything at all, but as much as he enjoyed being on top he also enjoyed this, being taken, accepting Sherlock into his body. There was something about it, something sexy and powerful about being wanted like this and seeing it reflected on Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s neck, his breath warm and damp. John held him tight, limbs encircling his body as his hips drove forward. He could feel that Sherlock was close by how he was moving. “Yes, yes,” he hissed into Sherlock’s ear. “Harder. Fuck me harder.” Sherlock groaned and moved faster, then his body clenched and stuttered and John felt him come, the intimacy of that act lighting his brain with the bright electricity of their connection.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock gasped, sagging into his arms. He kissed John’s throat and chest as he slid out of him and down his body until he could take John’s cock into his mouth. The sight of Sherlock’s damn near pornographic lips wrapped around him was almost as arousing as the sensation. Sherlock looked up at him from beneath the sweep of his dark lashes, and that was all it took. John was spilled into his mouth with a shout, one hand clenched in Sherlock’s curls.

They lay half-entwined when it was over, catching their breath and wavering in and out of consciousness. John let his arm circle Sherlock’s back, his fingertips tracing the lines of his shoulderblade. Sherlock fetched a deep sigh, which turned into a quiet chuckle. “What?” John said.

“Oh, nothing. Just…a cup of tea and a shag as a ‘welcome home.’ How very British of us.”

John giggled. “The only thing missing was having to queue.”

“If I had to queue to shag you then something would have gone terribly awry.”

John laughed, relaxing into the contentment of having Sherlock home. They grew quiet again. “You were brilliant on Letterman,” John finally said.

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise. “I never know what to say. I always think that I sound like a prat.”

“You didn’t sound like a prat. You were adorable.”

“Hmph. Adorable. What every man dreams of being.”

“Hold up, there. I’ve carried that adjective around for my entire life, you can have your turn now.” He pulled Sherlock closer into his arms. “You said some lovely things.”

“All true.”

“I’m sure you’ve spoken to Irene. She was thrilled.”

“She told me I did well, yes.”

“She said you came across as honest, brave, and charmingly lovestruck.”

“Ugh. How…pedestrian.”

“You looked terribly fit, too.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I wore that shirt just for you. I know you like me in that color.”

“I like you in any color.”

A few moments went by in silence. “I still can’t believe you let Ellen call me.”

John laughed. “Tell me you saved the message.”

“Naturally. But John, my God. My outgoing message is so…so….”

“Sherlocky?”

“Possibly.”

John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s hair. “One more week of publicity and premieres and we’re done.”

“Don’t tease me. Are you sure we’re really done? There isn’t some secret, sneaky obligation we’ll be required to carry out?”

“No. One-hundred-percent done.”

Sherlock went quiet. After a moment’s thought, he propped up on one elbow and looked down at John. “Then I have a proposition.”

“What?”

“Once we’re done, let’s scarper. Get out of town, and not just for a weekend, either. Neither of us have got much on that can’t be rescheduled or taken care of by email. Let’s go home for awhile.”

“Home? You mean London?”

“Well, I was thinking Sussex, but yes. We could spend Christmas there.”

John smiled, touching the tip of his index finger to Sherlock’s nose. “I would love that.” He pulled Sherlock back down against him. “Oh, Irene had another piece of news, as well. She said the advance ticket sales for the limited release are higher than any film in history that wasn’t a sequel or a franchise. We might break Brokeback’s record for highest per-screen average.”

“I find myself not caring in the slightest.”

“You ought to care! If this film does well, it’ll smooth a lot of ruffled feathers.”

“I was never that concerned about this film’s box office. Anybody who’d be put off by our relationship wasn’t going to go see it anyway, so all it can do is help business. It’s the films we haven’t yet done, the ones we haven’t yet been offered. That’s what concerns me.” He rolled away and sat up, propping himself against the headboard. “You need to be able to capitalize on this performance, John. I fear they won’t let you.”

John leaned his head against Sherlock’s bicep. “Will you still love me if I have to take a job digging ditches?”

Sherlock chuckled, a deep basso rumble in his chest, and John felt him kiss the top of his head. “Of course. But it won’t come to that.”

“It won’t?”

“No, I’m sure someone would hire you as a waiter first.”

“Remember the plan,” Irene said, as they rode in the limousine down to Grauman’s Chinese Theater.

“It isn’t as if this our first time on a red carpet,” John said. “Sign some autographs, pose for some photos, have some quick chin-wags with the press.”

“Don’t torture me, Watson. We need to be careful how you present yourselves.” Irene sighed. “No kissing, okay? Let’s take things one step at a time.”

“Did you honestly think we were going to stand there and get off with a million flashbulbs going?” Sherlock sneered.

“It’s my job to anticipate problems, all right?” She shook her head. “I hope it isn’t too much of a madhouse.”

The discussion about how to handle the Los Angeles premiere event had been fraught. The studio’s first idea, that John and Sherlock ought to arrive separately and keep their distance, had been quickly shot down by Irene. Their relationship was public knowledge-in fact, it was becoming a public obsession-and to separate them and pretend it didn’t exist would only draw more attention to it, not to mention it would seem cowardly and disingenuous.

Even their clothing had been a matter for discussion in memos and conference calls. A premiere wasn’t a formal event, so tuxedoes weren’t an option; how should they dress? They shouldn’t clash, as they’d no doubt be in many photos together, but neither should they look like they’d dressed to match each other. Sherlock had chosen a navy blue three-piece suit with a very thin windowpane check in contrasting white, a pearl-gray shirt, and a white tie, while John was wearing a gray suit with a white shirt and a coral tie. In fact, it was the same suit he’d worn when he’d shown up in Sherlock’s dressing room on his closing night. He’d taken it out of the closet and laid it out on the bed, then looked up to see Sherlock watching him with an unusually sweet smile on his face. “My favorite suit,” he’d said.

“There are going to be a lot of movers and shakers at this premiere,” Irene said. “I’m talking the sorts of people who don’t normally attend premieres for films they’re not in. There’s going to be triple the usual amount of press and everyone wants the chance to look like they support your courage and accept your relationship and blah blah blah,” she said, miming a yapping mouth with one hand. “But even token acknowledgments from as many of the elite as possible could be important for your standing in the community.”

“Look, it’s going to be all right,” John said. “You’ve barely slept in two weeks, Irene. You don’t have to do this with us. Sally and Harry are meeting us. Why don’t you go on home? It’ll look odd if you’re with us, anyway. We don’t need a minder.”

Irene sighed. “I can’t, John. I’d only go home and stress about it anyway, watching the live feed online. I’ll hang back; nobody will even realize I’m there.”

They were nearing the theater. The crowds were starting to line the streets. People cheering, endless rainbow flags, signs with their names on them…and protestors. A lot of protestors. “Bloody hell,” John muttered.

GET BACK IN THE CLOSET. FAGS OFF THE SCREEN. AIDS IS GOD’S CURSE ON GAYS. SODOMITES BURN IN HELL.

Sherlock reached out and clasped John’s hand. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured.

John nodded. “I know.” He turned his head and met Sherlock’s eyes.

“Come here,” Sherlock said. “Let me get it out of my system now.”

John smiled and let Sherlock pull him close. They kissed for a few moments, then drew apart. Sherlock reached out and straightened John’s tie.

“You look gorgeous,” he said.

John grinned. “You look devastating.”

“Are you two through?” Irene said. “We’re next. Please tell me you’re not about to get out of this car with massive boners.”

Sherlock laughed. “We do possess a modicum of self-control, Irene.”

“Speak for yourself,” John muttered. He’d had to run through a few of his more potent anti-erection memory tapes, but everything was under control now.

Their car pulled up to the end of the red carpet. John swallowed hard, pushing down his nervousness. This would be their first joint public appearance since the screening. Their first time stepping out as a couple. Someone opened the car door; Sherlock gave John one last glance, and then stepped out of the car. John heard the massive eruption of cheers and applause. He watched as Sherlock waved, buttoned his jacket, and then he moved aside. John got out, and the whole world was flashbulbs and faces. There were more cameras than he’d ever seen on a red carpet in his long career of walking them. Throngs of fans behind the barriers, all of them holding up cameras or mobile phones, many with signs: JOHN + SHERLOCK FOREVER. WE LOVE YOU JOHN + SHERLOCK. EQUALITY ON THE BIG SCREEN. Rainbow flags were everywhere. John waved, and the crowd’s cheers went into hyperdrive.

Harry appeared at John’s side, holding a clipboard. “Sign first, then press,” she murmured in his ear. John moved to the barriers, smiling, to sign some autographs. The excited faces of the fans, the babble of their overlapping voices, the clicks of their cameras and phones-it was almost overwhelming. He signed his name, asking for the fan’s name when possible, posing for a few hasty mobile phone photos, chatting as much as one could in such chaotic circumstances. He glanced to his left and saw that Sherlock was doing the same, about ten yards further down the line. A young man asked John to sign his very well-defined bicep; John laughed and did so as the nearby onlookers cheered and whistled.

“Entertainment Tonight, John,” came Harry’s voice in his ear. He waved to the fans and let her guide him to where the reporter was stationed. Yes, he was excited about the film. Yes, he and Sherlock were doing fine. Yes, it was a big deal, no it wasn’t revolutionary, fantastic director, amazing script, great opportunity; John barely had to think about it, it was the same boilerplate language he’d spouted on endless red carpets and junket interviews, with the added wrinkle of his relationship being the subject of attention.

Harry guided him to another reporter; he couldn’t even tell who they were with. He saw Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, standing with E!News. John made quick work of the reporter in front of him and moved away to sign some more autographs. He put on his usual rope-line smile and scrawled his name over and over. The faces all blended together. Their excitement and their adulation was at once invigorating and exhausting-an untidy mix that could only be understood by those in the public eye.

John glanced up at the massive marquee above their heads. The film’s title, his face, Sherlock’s face. First, it was a script. Then it was an opportunity. Then it was a dream come true. Then it was a profound professional experience. And now it is a film, about to be seen by audiences, but even if it sinks without a trace, it will have given me more than just a paycheck.

Just a film. Two hours of digital images and sound. A dance in the air of light and color that would dissipate into nothing if it were not stopped by a blank white screen. The culmination of months’ work by hundreds of people. Just a film. An ephemeral conceptualization that could not know John’s deep gratitude, nor could it know the transformation it had wrought in his life. John Watson was now a Before and After, and the line of demarcation was this two-hour series of flickering still frames. John had only had two great loves in his life, and this film had reawakened his passion for one while introducing him to the other.

John turned away from the barriers, his eyes seeking out his partner’s tall figure. Sherlock. Where is Sherlock? I can’t walk this carpet without him. I won’t. He was across the carpet, finishing up an interview. John waved to the spectators and headed toward him, just as Sherlock turned away from the reporter and saw him. They met in the middle. Sherlock gave him a questioning look. What’s wrong?

John just smiled. Nothing. I love you.

Sherlock smiled back. He glanced around at the reporters, the photographers, the fans, the protestors, their fellow actors and the Hollywood elite that surrounded them. He looked back at John, one eyebrow arched. Well? Shall we?

John nodded. Hell, yes.

They reached out and joined hands, twining their fingers together, and resumed their walk up the red carpet. The flashbulbs went supernova, and the cheers of the crowd redoubled. They waved at the fans, they talked to the press, they greeted their peers, and they didn’t let go.

Sherlock clambered into the limo after John, both of them barely suppressing giggles. John grabbed him and pulled him in, tossing him down onto the seat and attacking him as the limo door was closed behind them. Sherlock’s hands clamped onto John’s arse as John kissed him, near-frantic with need. They were both on a high that had started with their impromptu hand-in-hand trip down the red carpet and had continued through the rapturous reception that their peers had given To a Stranger. They’d been congratulated and hugged and had their hands shaken more times than they could count, and now it was off for more of the same. At least there’d be an open bar at the party.

“You owned that red carpet,” Sherlock growled, sucking on John’s neck.

“Don’t leave a lovebite,” John said, pulling back. “We still have to be presentable.” He kissed Sherlock again, and for a few minutes it was just lips and tongues and hands everywhere. “Your mouth,” John murmured, against the mouth in question, his words worked in between kisses, “ought to have epic poems written about it.”

“Are you volunteering?” Sherlock said, kissing John back and chuckling low in his throat.

“God, no. I’m pants at poetry. I’ll just have to be content to kiss the hell out of it.”

“Acceptable,” Sherlock said, grabbing the back of John’s neck and pulling him close again. After a few more moments, he angled his head up to look out the window. “We’re getting close.”

“Goddamn right we are,” John gasped.

“No, smart arse, we’re getting close to the hotel.”

“Oh.” John pulled away, reluctantly. He sat up and straightened his tie. Sherlock did the same, checking that his hair wasn’t too mussed. “I think I’ve just discovered another advantage to dating a bloke,” John said.

“What’s that? And if you say again that it’s nice to be able to share socks I am going to deck you.”

“No,” John said, laughing. “I can get off with you in the backseat of a limo and not have to worry about ruining your makeup, or getting any of it on me.”

Sherlock grinned. “Yes, I think that’s definitely advantage: gay. Although we trade embarrassing makeup stains for the heartbreak of stubble burn.”

The limousine pulled up to the hotel. Photographers and fans were lined up on either side of the entrance, but compared to the throngs at the red carpet it seemed modest and restrained. They gave each other a quick once-over to make sure they didn’t look like they’d just had their tongues down each other’s throats, then climbed out. This time, there was no hesitation. John reached out for Sherlock’s hand just as he emerged, and they walked into the hotel together, waving and smiling.

The party was well underway by the time they entered. They got a healthy round of applause as they entered, which they acknowledged with a few bows and waves, and then everyone went back to the business of partying. “Drink?” Sherlock asked him.

“God, yes.”

“Be right back.” He squeezed John’s hand and vanished into the crowd.

“John!” said a familiar voice, its owner emerging from the throng near the bar.

John grinned. “Paul, Jenny! I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, hugging them each in turn.

“Wouldn’t have missed it. The film turned out quite well, didn’t it?”

“Thanks, thanks so much.”

“You were amazing,” Jenny said. She certainly sounded like she meant it.

John went a bit pink. He still felt like a fidgety schoolboy around her. “It was a really tough part, but the good kind of tough, you know?”

“And you’ve got more out of it than just a line on your resumé,” Paul said, his eyes twinkling.

John laughed. “Quite. I seem to have acquired a tall, cranky thespian along the way. I don’t know what to do, he just keeps hanging about.”

“Speak of the devil,” Paul said, as Sherlock reappeared with a glass of red wine and a gin and tonic.

“Sherlock, I don’t think you’ve met Paul and Jenny,” John said, taking the gin and tonic.

“No, I haven’t,” Sherlock said, shaking Paul’s hand and then Jenny’s.

“Good to meet you,” Paul said. “Astonishing performance in the film.”

“Thank you. My co-star was a bit of a hack, but I muddled through.” They laughed, and John started to relax. He was glad to have a chance to chat with Paul and Jenny, and especially for them to meet Sherlock. They were friends that he trusted and a welcome presence here, where even people’s praise had to be examined for ulterior motives. After a few minutes, Sherlock excused himself to talk to a friend from RADA. Jenny watched him go, then turned back to John. “He seems lovely, John.”

“Oh, don’t be fooled. He’s on his best behavior tonight.”

“One hears such things about him. He doesn’t seem like a man who’d be so…difficult.”

“He can be. Especially about the work. But I can handle him.”

“You look really happy,” Jenny said.

John sighed. “I am. God, it sounds cheesy, like something from one of my rom-coms, but I never knew I could be this happy.”

“Well, mate, we’ve got to be off,” Paul said. “Say goodbye to your better half for us.”

“Will do,” John said, kissing Jenny and hugging Paul. “But Paul?”

“What?”

John grinned. “I’m the better half.”

They laughed and headed off. John glanced around, but didn’t see Sherlock. He meandered toward the buffet with a mind toward investigating the hors d’ouevres situation, but he was stopped halfway there by Jim Schamus. “John, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Jim, hello. It went well tonight, I thought.”

“Very well. Ticket pre-sales are looking very promising,” Jim said. “The reviews are stellar.”

“Am I forgiven for falling in love with my co-star and stealing your news cycle?”

Jim gave him a wry smile. “Talk to me after nominations come out.”

“Who are you putting up?”

“What do you mean?”

“For Lead versus Supporting. May as well flip a coin.”

Jim swirled the ice in his glass. “Well, that’s an interesting question, John. We’re going in a different direction.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re putting you both up for Lead.”

John blinked. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m quite serious.”

“We’ll split the vote and neither of us will get nominated.”

“According to our research, you stand an excellent chance of both being nominated.”

“Then we’ll split the vote and neither of us will win.”

“But if you’re both on the ballot….”

The light dawned. “I see. Turning it to your favor, is that it? John versus Sherlock? A house divided? Oh, the melodrama and the magazine covers.”

“It’ll make for great press.”

“Very clever, Jim.”

He sighed. “It’s not all a strategy. I feel strongly that you both deserve a nomination. They’re both leading roles, and both brilliantly performed. I have every confidence that one of you will win.”

“It’s too early to make predictions.”

“Not too early to make plans, though.” Jim smiled. “John, I hope you and Sherlock know that whatever else happens, I’m very happy for you, personally.”

“Thanks. Everyone’s saying that. Whether that happiness extends to hiring either of us ever again remains to be seen.”

“I’d hire you again. In a heartbeat.”

“To play someone other than a gay man, I mean.”

Jim chuckled. “How about a serial killer?”

“Oh, yes. The next logical step,” John said, laughing.

Sherlock came up to his side, sliding one arm around John’s shoulders. “Evening, Jim,” he said.

“Sherlock. It’s been a good night so far.”

“Hello, darling,” John said, feeling buoyant. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “How many gin and tonics have you had?”

“This is still my first. Just enough to take the edge off.”

“Well, this might help. I just had a lovely chat with Spielberg. He was…supportive.”

Jim sighed. “Yes, he would be, in public. A lot of people will be. Much as I wish the focus could be on the film itself, our box office will probably benefit from all the attention. But I worry for your future in the business.”

John sighed. “It’s a party. Let’s leave off the bollocks political maneuvering and try to enjoy ourselves.”

Sherlock made a face. “I suppose we are the main attraction, and are therefore expected to…mingle.” He shuddered a little.

John gave him A Look. “And you’ve been doing so well, too.”

“The banality of Hollywood small talk is rapidly eroding my dedication to uphold the promise I made you that I’d behave.”

“You’ll survive.” He took Sherlock’s hand and they bid goodbye to Jim, then left the bar and waded into the crush of people.

For the next hour, they mingled, chatted, and were congratulated by a lot of people John barely knew. He was really beginning to crave the company of someone he actually cared about when he saw a familiar face approaching through the crowd. “John!”

He met Rachel halfway, hugging her tightly. “There you are, pigeon,” he said, grinning. “I was wondering where you’d got off to, I didn’t see you leave the premiere.”

“Oh, we had to stop off at my agent’s office,” she said, flapping an impatient hand. “I’m so sorry we’re late. Oh, John, I….” She broke off, shaking her head a little.

John nodded. “I know, luv. I know.” She hugged him again. “My life’s a bit topsy-turvy since I saw you last.”

She laughed. “I’d say that’s an understatement! John, have you met Daniel?” she said, indicating her new husband, who was waiting patiently at her elbow.

“No, we haven’t met,” John said, shaking the his hand, trying to keep a dignified look on his face while his mind yammered oh god oh god it’s james motherfucking bond and dear god he is fucking gorgeous.

“Good to meet you, John,” Daniel said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well, I hadn’t heard much of you,” John teased, shooting Rachel a look. “Would have been nice to at least get an email that you were getting married!”

“I know, I know,” she said, hanging on to John’s hand. “We wanted to be quick and quiet about it.”

“That you were. You ought to meet…oh, where the hell is he? Hang on a mo.” He took a few steps away, finally catching sight of Sherlock talking to a man whose name John couldn’t recall, a twentysomething runway-ready specimen who John had seen in one of those “Top 30 Under 30” articles about up-and-coming actors. Sherlock was babbling about something, but the other man was…God, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he bent over and presented like a bonobo. John darted over and tugged on Sherlock’s sleeve. “Sherlock, come meet Rachel and Daniel.”

“Oh yes, of course.” He turned away from his conversational companion without a word. The young man was watching Sherlock leave with a wistful glance at his arse; John tossed him a stern look as he led Sherlock away.

John steered Sherlock back over to Rachel and made introductions. Sherlock smiled and shook hands all around, and there was more gushing over the film. “Listen, I really admire what you two did,” Daniel said. “It’s about time.”

“We didn’t set out to be trailblazers,” John said.

“And now we get to stand around and wonder if we still have careers,” Sherlock added.

Rachel shook her head. “I’m worried about that. People’s careers have been sunk by less.”

“And yet Tom Cruise can spout the most insane gibberish you ever heard and he still has one,” Sherlock said.

Daniel made an irritated noise. “Well, he’s Cruise, isn’t he? And I wouldn’t lay odds on his longevity. Circling the drain, from what I hear.”

“Hope you won’t be hearing the same about us,” John said.

“We’ve just come from London,” Rachel said. “A lot of people there are rather hoping you two will come home.”

“May just do,” Sherlock said. “Anyway, we’re going spend some time in Sussex after the premieres. I suppose what we do after that will depend on what comes up. I may have some theater on next summer.”

“If you hit a rough patch, we’ll just re-team for another rom-com, John,” Rachel said, grinning. “We’ve only been asked a hundred times.”

“Fantastic. We’ll be the new Meg-and-Tom.”

They laughed, and the conversation flowed easily. Daniel seemed like a pleasant fellow. He and Rachel were aglow together, and it made John wonder if he and Sherlock had the same glow. As they stood chatting, Sherlock’s arm settled around John’s waist, his thumb making small strokes on his back, and John leaned into his side a little bit. At one point, while Sherlock and Daniel were talking over one another in their shared enthusiasm for Frankenheimer, John caught Rachel’s eye. She glanced from him to Sherlock and back again, then gave him a fond, understanding smile. John smiled back.

Eventually, Rachel and Daniel took their leave with more handshakes and cheek-kisses and promises to get together soon. “She’s rather lovely,” Sherlock commented.

“She is. Once upon a time I quite fancied her. I suppose I still do.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind.”

John took Sherlock’s hand. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“Come on, with me.” John led him down a deserted hallway off the lobby, looking for a private spot. He found an unused coat-check room and ducked inside, pulling Sherlock after him and shutting the door. “All right, Your Majesty. Who was the pretty boy?”

Sherlock frowned. “Whoever can you be referring to?”

“That tarty lad you were talking to before I brought you over to meet Rachel.”

“One of those twentyish chaps who fancies himself the next Brad Pitt. I’ve no idea who he was.”

“Then why were you talking to him?”

“He said he’d seen me in Closer and wanted to ask me about my performance.”

“That git’s probably never been to London in his life. Sherlock, he was trying to pull you.”

Sherlock blinked. “Yes, of course he was. Am I supposed to have taken some sort of preventative action?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. “John. Please, say that you’re not actually jealous.”

John stuck his chin out. “Why on Earth should I be?”

“You are,” Sherlock said, a smile spreading slowly over his face. “You’re jealous.”

“Wouldn’t you bloody well be? If I were being chatted up by some fit young twat?”

“Says the man who was, not five minutes ago, mentally undressing Daniel Craig before my very eyes.”

“That’s different! And I was not!”

“Oh, but you were. At least I displayed no interest in that fit young twat, as you call him. Whatever sexual interest he may have in me is none of my business. And don’t look like that, I don’t blame you for ogling Mr. Craig. He is quite dishy, after all. But honestly, John. Surely you couldn’t entertain any notion that I’d have the slightest interest in that young man?”

John crossed his arms. “No. I suppose not.”

Sherlock stepped closer. “You suppose not, eh?” He dipped his head down and fixed John with an intense stare. “You know you’re the only man for me, don’t you?”

John shivered a bit at the purr in his voice. The things he could do with that instrument sometimes bordered on the indecent. “Yes, I know.”

“Good. In that case, I think I shall go out there and find that young man and ask him to chat me up some more.”

John’s eyes snapped wide. “What? Why?”

“It occurs to me that the last time you got jealous, I got rather spectacularly shagged. So it might behoove me to cultivate some jealousy in you now and then.” He slid a finger under John’s lapel, his voice dropping again to lion-in-the-wild levels. “Might I be the happy beneficiary of the consequences?”

John looked up at him, his jaw clenched. “Keep it up, Holmes, and you’ll be their beneficiary right here in this cupboard.”

Sherlock smirked. “I trust my point is made.” He bent and kissed John, hard and swift. “We’d best get back, though.”

“Hang on a moment. Sherlock…all right, yes, I was a tad jealous, but this is serious. You’ve got to be more careful. Neither of us can be seen flirting with other people, or being flirted with. We’ve just come out, we can’t afford ‘trouble in paradise’ rumors to start now. And you know that the busybodies in this town are stalking our every move, looking for signs of discord that can be blown up into reports that we’re on the rocks already.”

“That’s preposterous. We’re not on the rocks.”

“Of course not. But it won’t do for you to be photographed with some chap making googly-eyes at you.”

Sherlock nodded. “All right, I see your point. God, but it’s tiresome.”

“I know. The attention will ease up eventually. I hope,” he added, under his breath, as Sherlock opened the coat-check door and they walked back down the hall to the party.

“I’m for another drink,” Sherlock said. “You?”

“Not just now, thanks.” Sherlock disappeared into the crowd. John hung back for a moment, drawing no one’s attention from where he stood in the shadows of the hallway.

“It’s all fake, you know.”

John turned, startled. The young man who’d been chatting up Sherlock was standing right next to him. “I beg your pardon?”

“All of this. These congratulations, all this support. It’ll vanish the moment you actually want a job. It’s all lip service, because no one wants to get a rep as an intolerant douchebag. You’re not hearing what’s being said behind closed doors.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re privy to all these secret conversations,” John said.

“My boyfriend’s an assistant director; he hears things.” The man knocked back the rest of his drink. “Six months. That’s how long it’ll take. That’s how long people will feel obligated to put on a supportive face so as not to appear homophobic. Six months until they’ve put in their time and can start avoiding you like the plague. Might be a year if this movie wins an Oscar, or if one of you does. Yeah, the art-house crowd might stick by you, but you can’t ride that train forever. No way does some Midwestern hick watch a movie starring some guy he knows is a fag. So it’ll be genre pictures or snooty Shakespeare that nobody will ever see. Kind of a comedown from the paychecks you’re used to. I hope his ass is worth it.”

John ground his teeth together. Irene will axe-murder you if you punch someone at a premiere party. “You certainly seemed to be appreciating it earlier.”

The man sighed, and went on as if John had not spoken. “You’re the one who’ll have to be realistic here. He’s spent his life in an ivory tower, the happy land of indie films and highbrow cinema where you can be alternative and nobody cares. You and I work in the real world. We know the score.”

John turned and faced him. “Stay the hell away from Sherlock, you got that? I don’t know who you think you are, but he is spoken for.”

The man smiled, a sad, resigned smile. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t try it. He’s just so damn pretty, I couldn’t resist the chance to talk to him. You two seem good together-I respect that. It’s just-I wish the business really were how it’s pretending to be right now.” He started to walk away, but turned back. “Oh, by the way, thanks for nothing. Now that you guys have popped the cherry, my boyfriend wants us to come out, too.” He shook his head, then turned and left.

John stood there for a moment, stunned. He shrugged it off and headed back into the fray. He spotted Sherlock in a corner talking with…my God, is that Ron Howard? John approached and they both looked up. “Oh, John, good,” Sherlock said, taking his hand and pulling him down to sit next to him. “Do you know-”

“Yes, Ron and I had a couple of meetings when he was casting Angels and Demons,” John said, shaking the director’s hand. “Good to see you.”

“Likewise, John. I’m breaking the rules a little, springing this on you before we’ve got the official go-ahead,” Ron said, scooting a bit closer. “But I was just about to tell Sherlock that Brian and I are working up a project that I hope he’ll be interested in.”

“What sort of project?” Sherlock asked.

“An HBO miniseries. We’re looking at six hours total, three two-hour episodes. We’re ready to start pre-production and casting; we’re just waiting for the green light from HBO on the financials.” He hesitated. “It’s something a little different for us, but we’re really excited about it. Your name is at the top of a very short list for the lead role.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Ron,” Sherlock said.

“It’s about the life of Nikola Tesla. He was super interesting, the story practically writes itself.”

John could almost feel Sherlock vibrating. He had a keen interest in science, and to play a famous scientific figure was one of his dreams. That it would be Tesla was just the icing on the cake. “Is there a script?” Sherlock asked, his voice admirably even, betraying nothing of the fact that John knew he had to be holding himself back from flying across the couch and shrieking “Where do I sign?”

“Script is still being worked on. Bill Broyles is co-writing it with Simon Singh, who’s a really fantastic science journalist.”

Sherlock glanced at John. “When do you want to shoot?” he asked.

“We’d love to start principal next fall and air it in summer of 2013.”

“Have you, well…” Sherlock hesitated. “Does HBO know that you want me for this role?”

“They do.” Ron smiled. “If you’re concerned about your marketability, they’re not worried about it. It helps that Tesla was celibate his whole life, so…well….”

“There wouldn’t be a love interest,” Sherlock said.

“Cable’s the place to take risks these days,” Ron said. “I mean, I’m not your agent or anything, but I think this would be a really good way for you stay in the market. This could be Emmy material for you, and good visibility.”

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock nodded, squeezing back. “Well, Ron, it’s hard to talk seriously about it without a script, but I’m very interested.”

Ron smiled. “Good. I’ll send some pages to your agent, all right?” He got up. Sherlock and John did the same. “I just wanted to float it past you.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Sherlock said, “who are you looking at to play Edison? In any biopic about Tesla, he’d almost be a villainous figure.”

“I know,” Ron said, grinning with glee. “We’re counting on that. It would sure get people talking. Nothing’s official, but we’re hoping to meet with Liev Schreiber.”

Sherlock laughed. “Don’t make me want this job too much, Ron.”

Ron shook his head. “I don’t think you could want it more than we want you. Think it over, read the pages. I’ll be in touch with your agent.” He got up. “I have to get going. Guys, look…this film tonight knocked my socks off. Really, really great work.”

“Thank you,” John said. “And while you’re handing out dream projects, let me know if you’ve got one for me, too.”

Ron laughed. “I’ll do that. Good to see you guys.” They all shook hands, and Ron left.

Sherlock turned slowly toward John, head down, his hands coming up to grip John’s forearms. “John,” he breathed.

“I know.”

“John.”

“I know.”

“Did that just happen?”

“It did. I was right here.”

Sherlock lifted his chin and met John’s eyes. “Nikola Tesla, John. Tesla.”

John laughed at his fanboy glee. “Don’t get too worked up, it could still fall apart.”

“They’re into casting and scriptwriting, they wouldn’t be that far into it if they weren’t serious. John, my God….” He shook his head.

Sherlock constantly battled boredom and was always hoping for work that would excite him; when such work was offered, he could be almost childlike in his unrestrained enthusiasm. For John, who just wanted him to be happy, seeing him like this was -God, John wanted to kiss him. He didn’t see any photographers nearby, but it was the ones you didn’t see that you had to worry about.

He was spared the decision by Sally appearing out of nowhere. “You two have got a few things to tick off before you can leave,” she said, without preamble. “You need to get some face time with Ang and Molly and the other castmembers, the photogs need some candids, and I’ve got a whole list of people here who want to congratulate you.”

John nodded. “When’s our flight tomorrow?”

Sally made a face. “Bloody eight a.m. I tried to get it later, but they want you two in New York in time for a photocall and press conference.”

Sherlock’s good humor had vanished. “Junkets, John. Junkets will be the death of me, I swear it.”

“It’s only a week,” John said, gripping his hand. “One more week and then it’ll be you and me and Sussex and Christmas. No agents, no paps, no press, no public relations.”

“Keep talking. I may need you to compose me some sort of mantra to recite when we’re in our hundredth airport in four days.”

Sally grinned. “I’m having the Findleys get the house ready for you two. Oh, and Sherlock, don’t forget to ring Mycroft.”

“How could I? The bastard texts me once a day.”

“Might I finally meet this brother of yours?” John asked. “And your Mum?”

“Possibly, if it’s excruciating agony you desire for your holiday diversions.”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They can, and they are, and they’re rather chuffed about it, too.”

“I’m going to be picturing you and me in front of that big fireplace to get myself through the next week,” John said.

Sherlock looked down at him, a real smile sneaking onto his face. “Hmm. Yes, that might just do for me as well. Tell me, what are we wearing while we’re in front of this fire?”

Sally rolled her eyes. John ignored her and squeezed Sherlock’s fingers. “I think you can suss that out, if you put those deductive powers to work on it.”

Sherlock shook his head, sighing. “Sally, let’s get ourselves sorted here, shall we? My desire to kiss this man is rapidly gaining ground on my desire to preserve public discretion, and if we dally for too long I fear it will leave it in the dust, and then all my troubles will be over, because Irene will kill me.”

Meta Notes

1. Just Jared is a gossip website; AfterElton.com is a gay-focused pop culture website.

2. Paul and Jenny are Paul Bettany and Jennifer Connelly, making a return appearance from an early chapter.

3. Rachel is Rachel Weisz, John’s co-star in Rewind, which was the successful and well-reviewed romantic comedy that got John started in the genre. Weisz made some headlines earlier this summer with the out-of-nowhere news that she’d married Daniel Craig, almost in secret.

4. The pretty boy that chats up Sherlock is not meant to be anyone in particular.

5. Ron Howard referenced “Brian,” by whom he means Brian Grazer, his producing partner. Howard and Grazer are co-founders of Imagine Entertainment.

6. Sherlock and Daniel bond over their love of director John Frankenheimer, who directed The Manchurian Candidate and Seven Days in May and who was known for psychological/political thrillers.

7. Bill Broyles is a screenwriter known for historical/military scripts; he wrote Apollo 13, Cast Away, and Saving Private Ryan. Simon Singh is a science writer whose books, including Fermat’s Enigma and The Big Bang, I highly recommend for layreaders with an interest in science.

8. John’s conversation with Jim about the Oscar nominations reflects real conventional wisdom; in reality it is very unlikely that both John and Sherlock would both be submitted for consideration as a lead actor. It is the filmmakers who decide who is going to be submitted and in which category, not the actors, so this decision is not up to John and Sherlock. This occurred with Brokeback Mountain, which led to the odd situation of Jake Gyllenhaal being nominated as a supporting actor even though he actually had more lines of dialogue in the film! But hey, it’s a fanfic, suspend your disbelief.

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