More weird Sherlock-related dreams
First one: Mark Gatiss was filming something, and he'd apparently managed to clone himself...you could tell which was him and which was the character he was playing by their hair colour (himself was the ginger; the character was the brunette). I was helping out with the filming, and the scene was in a very posh dining room/ballroom from the 1920's, with costumes to match. At one point ginger Gatiss leaned over from the next table and asked me, of his character, "Say, who is that remarkable fellow over there?" I knew a cue when I heard one: he wanted me to introduce the character for the benefit of the audience. So, in-character, I replied, "Why, that's Lucifer Box, secret agent in Her Majesty's service. Dashing fellow, have you met him?"
Later on, there was a group of people huddled behind a metal barrier, which looked like either a baseball dugout or a barricade on the Titanic. Ginger Gatiss was there, when brunette Gatiss offered him a hand up and out. I wasn't entirely sure that was wise - OMG Blinovitch Limitation Effect! - but he looked up at his dark-haired saviour like an apostle to a god, and he pulled himself up and out from behind the enclosure.
Next dream: I was in a room that looked like a cross between a sitting room in a very posh English mansion and a proscenium stage. Benedict Cumberbatch was perched on the sofa. I knew he was currently playing Michael Darling in a stage production of Peter Pan, so I asked him if he was up for a spot of flying. He accepted. I flew behind him, and as we zipped all over the house, through endless rooms and corridors, he was impressed that I could do it so much more smoothly and get so much better range of motion because I didn't need the rigging or the harness to fly; I just did it naturally. It was a bit like free running near the ceiling, actually; bouncing off corners and twisting and turning in mid-air. I was probably also showing off a bit (or a lot), being so much more fluid and graceful than he was stuck in his flying gear.
When we were done I asked him if he thought he could still do it without the harness. He said no. So I ditched him (!) and went off for some more flying on my own. I only remember two other places I went after that; a large stone building with a courtyard, like a big red brick house or school. I flew up to the roof and there was an abutment in the attic with lots of people sleeping in rows of beds with their names on a brass plaque set in the window that looked down on the bed where they were sleeping (see-through graves in an attic, maybe?). Then I was on a residential street and saw a broken-down pram near the sidewalk, and wanted to see how it looked from a weathered dead-looking tree a block away, so up I went. Didn't look that different, really; just smaller.
The weird part is, I've had flying dreams almost my whole life, but it's only recently that they've been so much about showing off: I never used to have an audience or witnesses to my flights, and they used to be much more in the open air, through clouds and trees, not so much inside buildings. And not so much about taking pleasure in showing off to the poor earthbound clods who couldn't follow me.
The biggest lingering result of this dream, however: I now desperately want to see Benedict Cumberbatch in his Michael Darling costume. Preferably with Martin Freeman as John, Mark Gatiss as Hook, and Moriarty as Peter.
Q
And Molly as Tinkerbelle - "you silly ass!"