[Fanfic] The Excellent Adventures of Channel 221 Evening News [part 1/4]
Title: The Excellent Adventures of Channel 221 Evening News [part 1/4]
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Author: plalligator
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, with side Mycroft/Lestrade. Mostly gen and ensemble shenanagains, though.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, hooray! Not a whole lot of warnings, tbh, other than a possibly horribly inaccurate portrayal of what a TV news stations is actually like.
Summary: Sherlock is Channel 221's top investigative reporter. John is his cameraman. Together, they fight crime. Investigate crime. Try to get on with their jobs and their not-quite-relationship in the face of psychotic madmen, mysterious construction crews, an outbreak of unexpected office romance, and their gossiping coworkers. (Otherwise known as the TV news AU, otherwise known as the fic (based on a show) about a show about news.)
Notes: Deanon from sherlockbbc_fic
::
Episode 1
“...and now we’re off for a short commercial break, but we’ll be right back, isn’t that right, Sally?”
“It certainly is, Anderson. Don’t go away, folks, we’ll be right back here on Channel 221 with all the evening news and then some.”
“And out! Back from commercial in five!”
“Oi, Anderson! Donovan! Where the hell is Sherlock? Have either of you two seen him? He’s on in fifteen minutes!” The two anchors at the desk immediately drop their picture-perfect smiles, and the whole studio gives a collective silent groan.
Greg Lestrade, producer and director of the highly acclaimed-no, really-Channel 221 Evening News, gazes around in the resounding silence and lowers his head into his hands.
“No, don’t tell me,” he says, through his fingers. “No one can find him.”
Sally Donovan and Anderson Smith exchange glances and shrug.
“Who can tell where the freak is? He’ll turn up, Greg,” Sally says, placating.
Molly speaks up, somewhat shyly. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back in time for his segment! He’s never missed a show before. I’ve told you about Sherlock, haven’t I, Jim? He’s ever so clever.”
“Wow! Maybe you could tell more, you know, over coffee?
"Oh, of course, Jim!"
"If you two lovebirds are quite done, maybe we could focus on the issue at hand?"
"Sorry, Greg."
"Hey, what's the big deal about this Sherlock guy, anyway?"
Absolute silence reigns, every eye in the studio focused on a single hapless cameraman.
John blinks. "Uh...I'm sorry. Was it something I said?"
Mike is the only one to speak. "Oh, mate, you're going to regret asking that."
"Is he?"
Sherlock Holmes sweeps into the room. "Your name is John Watson. You're obviously new to the job, but not new to the industry. Recuperating after a debilitating injury and a long stay in the hospital. Nice to meet you, my name is Sherlock Holmes. Come see me after the show. Shut up, Anderson."
"But I wasn't--"
“I said shut up. Honestly, can your and Donovan's little act get any more insipid? It's all 'oh yes Anderson' and 'oh yes Sally.' You're practically simpering. Work on that, will you? Oh, and Greg? I was investigating. You know, for the show. Incidentally, we should be coming back from commercial break in two minutes and forty-five seconds. Shouldn't you all have something you should be doing?"
::
John doesn't mind his job at all. In fact, he rather likes it. Being a cameraman is not at all bad. The people are mostly nice, the hours are at least regular, and it's fairly easy. It's not really what he would like to be doing, but at least it pays the bills.
Harry helped him get the job. They always used to joke about how they both ended up in the TV biz, with Harry on one side of the camera and John on the other. Unfortunately that joke lost a bit of its humor when it turned out John wouldn’t be able to do anything other than studio work for quite a while.
Harry got him the interview, but he's confident he got the job based on his own skill.
Sometimes he wishes it were a tad bit more exciting.
::
John finds Sherlock after the show, and gets his first real look at him. Sherlock’s standing around rather irritably, having his makeup removed by a motherly-looking old lady.
"Um, wow," he thinks, hoping the blood rushing to his cheeks and...other places...isn't too obvious. Sherlock is tall. And thin. And has messy, curly hair. And-oh god-those cheekbones. It's like someone took all John’s buttons and lined them up and tap-danced on them.
“Um. Hello?”
Sherlock turns, straightening his suit lapels and waving off the makeup lady. John is positive that he sees her wink at Sherlock before leaving.
“Hello.” Sherlock puts his hands in his pockets and subjects John to a cool stare, and John feels the compunction to say something.
“That stuff you said earlier-about me-how did you know?”
Sherlock begins to walk, his long stride forcing John to hurry to keep up with him.
“Oh, that? Simple. Your ID tags says John Watson, so you’re Harriet Watson’s brother. You’re obviously new to the show, if you didn’t understand why the others were upset. But you know your way around the camera in a way that says technically skilled. Thus, not new to the business.” He walks across the studio in a way that proclaims that he is not going to yield to any mere mortal, so people and equipment and furniture had better get out of his way first.
“Furthermore, your ignorance of who I am indicates that you haven’t seen the show recently, or even any news or television. That says long absence in a place that receives little or no connection with the outside world. The tan lines around your wrists and neck indicate work, not vacation. So, either you were filming on a long assignment in a remote place, probably of desert or tropical climate. Probably a documentary, then. The injury part is obvious, as are the signs of stress. Your limp seems to trouble you erratically, and you are obviously irritated by it. Probably psychosomatic. You were, however, wounded in your left shoulder.” Sherlock smirks at John’s surprised expression and continues.
“It’s fully healed now, but you’re still not used to using it, suggesting that it was quite serious and you were required to avoid using it while it was treated. So a desert climate that is also a combat zone. That narrows it down to much of the Middle East and certain parts of Africa. I know of two projects in those areas from the last year-one in Sudan and one in Afghanistan. You’ve been in the hospital-you must have, with those injuries, but, hmmm, you could have caught up with the news in the hospital. You didn’t bother. That indicates a general lethargy and disinterest with normal life. Understandable, as you’ve been working on this project for at least a year, maybe two. People can get absorbed into their work. Your cheap clothes say you’ve fallen on hard times and have probably taken this job as a way of getting your feet back under you. There’s more, of course, but I’m rather in a hurry.”
He stops abruptly, and pivots.
“Our of curiosity, which one was it?”
John gapes. He opens his mouth, closes it, shakes his head, and sighs.
“Afghanistan. But that’s-that’s absolutely amazing! I mean-wow.”
For the first time, Sherlock seems to really look at him. His eyes are penetrating, but John can’t say he finds the sensation completely unpleasant.
“Is it, now,” he says slowly. “So. A cameraman used to documentary filmmaking in Afghanistan. You’ve seen violence. And you’re not some moron just out of college.” He claps his hands. “Fantastic! I can fire my current cameraman, finally! From now on, you’ll work for me. I do a lot of fieldwork, you should like that.”
John feels himself smile. Well, what the hell. He was looking for something more exciting.
“Yes, I expect I will...Sherlock.”
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Author: plalligator
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, with side Mycroft/Lestrade. Mostly gen and ensemble shenanagains, though.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, hooray! Not a whole lot of warnings, tbh, other than a possibly horribly inaccurate portrayal of what a TV news stations is actually like.
Summary: Sherlock is Channel 221's top investigative reporter. John is his cameraman. Together, they fight crime. Investigate crime. Try to get on with their jobs and their not-quite-relationship in the face of psychotic madmen, mysterious construction crews, an outbreak of unexpected office romance, and their gossiping coworkers. (Otherwise known as the TV news AU, otherwise known as the fic (based on a show) about a show about news.)
Notes: Deanon from sherlockbbc_fic
::
Episode 1
“...and now we’re off for a short commercial break, but we’ll be right back, isn’t that right, Sally?”
“It certainly is, Anderson. Don’t go away, folks, we’ll be right back here on Channel 221 with all the evening news and then some.”
“And out! Back from commercial in five!”
“Oi, Anderson! Donovan! Where the hell is Sherlock? Have either of you two seen him? He’s on in fifteen minutes!” The two anchors at the desk immediately drop their picture-perfect smiles, and the whole studio gives a collective silent groan.
Greg Lestrade, producer and director of the highly acclaimed-no, really-Channel 221 Evening News, gazes around in the resounding silence and lowers his head into his hands.
“No, don’t tell me,” he says, through his fingers. “No one can find him.”
Sally Donovan and Anderson Smith exchange glances and shrug.
“Who can tell where the freak is? He’ll turn up, Greg,” Sally says, placating.
Molly speaks up, somewhat shyly. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back in time for his segment! He’s never missed a show before. I’ve told you about Sherlock, haven’t I, Jim? He’s ever so clever.”
“Wow! Maybe you could tell more, you know, over coffee?
"Oh, of course, Jim!"
"If you two lovebirds are quite done, maybe we could focus on the issue at hand?"
"Sorry, Greg."
"Hey, what's the big deal about this Sherlock guy, anyway?"
Absolute silence reigns, every eye in the studio focused on a single hapless cameraman.
John blinks. "Uh...I'm sorry. Was it something I said?"
Mike is the only one to speak. "Oh, mate, you're going to regret asking that."
"Is he?"
Sherlock Holmes sweeps into the room. "Your name is John Watson. You're obviously new to the job, but not new to the industry. Recuperating after a debilitating injury and a long stay in the hospital. Nice to meet you, my name is Sherlock Holmes. Come see me after the show. Shut up, Anderson."
"But I wasn't--"
“I said shut up. Honestly, can your and Donovan's little act get any more insipid? It's all 'oh yes Anderson' and 'oh yes Sally.' You're practically simpering. Work on that, will you? Oh, and Greg? I was investigating. You know, for the show. Incidentally, we should be coming back from commercial break in two minutes and forty-five seconds. Shouldn't you all have something you should be doing?"
::
John doesn't mind his job at all. In fact, he rather likes it. Being a cameraman is not at all bad. The people are mostly nice, the hours are at least regular, and it's fairly easy. It's not really what he would like to be doing, but at least it pays the bills.
Harry helped him get the job. They always used to joke about how they both ended up in the TV biz, with Harry on one side of the camera and John on the other. Unfortunately that joke lost a bit of its humor when it turned out John wouldn’t be able to do anything other than studio work for quite a while.
Harry got him the interview, but he's confident he got the job based on his own skill.
Sometimes he wishes it were a tad bit more exciting.
::
John finds Sherlock after the show, and gets his first real look at him. Sherlock’s standing around rather irritably, having his makeup removed by a motherly-looking old lady.
"Um, wow," he thinks, hoping the blood rushing to his cheeks and...other places...isn't too obvious. Sherlock is tall. And thin. And has messy, curly hair. And-oh god-those cheekbones. It's like someone took all John’s buttons and lined them up and tap-danced on them.
“Um. Hello?”
Sherlock turns, straightening his suit lapels and waving off the makeup lady. John is positive that he sees her wink at Sherlock before leaving.
“Hello.” Sherlock puts his hands in his pockets and subjects John to a cool stare, and John feels the compunction to say something.
“That stuff you said earlier-about me-how did you know?”
Sherlock begins to walk, his long stride forcing John to hurry to keep up with him.
“Oh, that? Simple. Your ID tags says John Watson, so you’re Harriet Watson’s brother. You’re obviously new to the show, if you didn’t understand why the others were upset. But you know your way around the camera in a way that says technically skilled. Thus, not new to the business.” He walks across the studio in a way that proclaims that he is not going to yield to any mere mortal, so people and equipment and furniture had better get out of his way first.
“Furthermore, your ignorance of who I am indicates that you haven’t seen the show recently, or even any news or television. That says long absence in a place that receives little or no connection with the outside world. The tan lines around your wrists and neck indicate work, not vacation. So, either you were filming on a long assignment in a remote place, probably of desert or tropical climate. Probably a documentary, then. The injury part is obvious, as are the signs of stress. Your limp seems to trouble you erratically, and you are obviously irritated by it. Probably psychosomatic. You were, however, wounded in your left shoulder.” Sherlock smirks at John’s surprised expression and continues.
“It’s fully healed now, but you’re still not used to using it, suggesting that it was quite serious and you were required to avoid using it while it was treated. So a desert climate that is also a combat zone. That narrows it down to much of the Middle East and certain parts of Africa. I know of two projects in those areas from the last year-one in Sudan and one in Afghanistan. You’ve been in the hospital-you must have, with those injuries, but, hmmm, you could have caught up with the news in the hospital. You didn’t bother. That indicates a general lethargy and disinterest with normal life. Understandable, as you’ve been working on this project for at least a year, maybe two. People can get absorbed into their work. Your cheap clothes say you’ve fallen on hard times and have probably taken this job as a way of getting your feet back under you. There’s more, of course, but I’m rather in a hurry.”
He stops abruptly, and pivots.
“Our of curiosity, which one was it?”
John gapes. He opens his mouth, closes it, shakes his head, and sighs.
“Afghanistan. But that’s-that’s absolutely amazing! I mean-wow.”
For the first time, Sherlock seems to really look at him. His eyes are penetrating, but John can’t say he finds the sensation completely unpleasant.
“Is it, now,” he says slowly. “So. A cameraman used to documentary filmmaking in Afghanistan. You’ve seen violence. And you’re not some moron just out of college.” He claps his hands. “Fantastic! I can fire my current cameraman, finally! From now on, you’ll work for me. I do a lot of fieldwork, you should like that.”
John feels himself smile. Well, what the hell. He was looking for something more exciting.
“Yes, I expect I will...Sherlock.”