Write Me into Your Daydream

Dreams can be dangerous. The tendency in which dreams take what you desire most in the world and dangle it just out of reach can propel people to great success or it can drop them over the nearest cliff. Because, more often than not, when a dream offers you everything you have ever hoped for just as it comes within reach, you wake up.

That's what I was waiting for as my plane crossed the Atlantic, to wake up, for the world to turn and laugh at the girl foolish enough to believe in a dream come true. But nothing like that happened. Steven Moffat sat beside me as he quietly read through the last half of my fanfiction. Every now and then he would ask about a characters motive behind certain actions. I would answer, my voice shaking with anxiety. I want to be happy about this, and a small part of me was. But I couldn't be allowed to lose my senses. No matter how much I wanted this to come true, and my god did I want it to come true, it wouldn't be the fairy tale I daydreamed it would be.

But maybe it could be something close.

"You still think I'm lying to you," he said closing the binder with my story inside.

I shrugged, my eyes followed the flight attendant as she made her rounds, "I feel I've done nothing to deserve an opportunity like this, like I cheated."

"In a way you did," he reasoned. "You didn't go through the usual channels to get here but you are here all the same."

"People don't like cheaters," I sighed looking out my window, "Do you think they'll hate me for it?"

"Oh, most definitely," he said and my head whipped round, "Just as all public figures are disliked for taking short cuts. How dare you have the surgery to look the way we demand that you look. How dare you make a joke that offended me but not someone else and they thought it was funny. Everyone has an opinion and they are not afraid to voice it. It is a hazard of the job. Not everyone likes you."

"I've always understood that," I sighed, "It's impossible to please everyone and some people will not like you for the simple sake of not liking you. But I've always gone out of my way to avoid giving them a reason to hate me. Public scrutiny has always been… an issue I'd rather not deal with."

"Is that why you have the pen name?"

"It is and it is why I'd like to continue to use that name going forward," I said, tapping my finger so my class ring clicked against the arm rest. "I'm about to step into a world I never dreamed I'd even get close to. As Lux I would never be able to handle it, it's too much at once and even gradually I don't know if I could. But as Mayfor… well she's kind of like my shield, she can handle… anything."

"You talk like an actor assuming a character," he mused and I shrugged.

"Sometimes I have to be something similar to that," I admitted, "Just to get through the day I have to adapt, adjust my personality to best navigate the situation at hand."

"Ma'am?" the attendant made me jump and Steven chuckled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," I gave her a weak smile and averted my eyes.

"Did you need anything before the plane begins it's decent?"

"Uh, no- I'm fine."

"Okay, and you Sir?"

"I'll be fine, thank you,"

"Okay." She walked away and I let out a slow breath.

"So what personality did you assume there?"

"None," I glared slightly, "I didn't know she was coming just yet."

He looked at his watch, "She is making her final rounds a little early but not entirely outside of normal. We should be at the airport within the hour."

"Oh good," I sighed closing my eyes.

"Afraid of flying?"

"No I'm just bored out of my mind." I muttered letting out a short breath. "I have been for most of the flight."

"You could have slept."

"And throw off my already screwed up sleep schedule," I rolled my eyes, "while simultaneously trying to get a jump start on adjusting to the new time zone? Yeah, not that easy."

Steven laughed at me, "Miss Sofer, you will be a delightful addition to the writing staff."

"Not me," I reminded him, "Mayfor. She's your new writer."

"Yes I know-"

"I need to hear you say it," I said turning in my seat to face him. "Please."

He frowned, his head tipping to the side as his eyes met mine, "Mayfor Night will be a wonderful addition to the writers of Sherlock. She is taking season three to a place we couldn't be happier with."

I gave him a weak smile, "Thank you."

"We should get you a disguise," he said with a thoughtful frown, "A wig and a light coat for you to wear during the read through and on set so no one recognizes you."

I made a face, "We'll mostly be inside; kinda warm don't you think?"

"Probably," he pursed his lips. "Maybe a pair of sunglasses."

"What about when I run into someone and I don't have my wig or sunglasses?" I asked with a small shrug.

"You're staying at the hotel."

"What if I'm on set or somewhere I shouldn't be?"

"You are desperate to poke holes in this plan."

"I believe in being prepared."

"Mark has a niece about your age," he said. "You can say you are her if you are caught in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"We should ask him about it first," I sighed, "He'll be at dinner tonight, won't he?"

Steven laughed, "He wouldn't miss it for the world, plus it's been in the calendar for months. This would have been our last meeting before the read through to be sure we are all on the same page. But, as you and your coöperation change everything it is more along the lines of going over your story with a fine tooth comb to be sure we don't miss any important details."

"So basically it's the same thing but now I'm coming along."

He frowned thoughtfully, "And yet it seems like everything has changed."

Everything had changed, just not for him. My whole world would never be the same but it still didn't feel real. This wasn't my life, how could it be? This sort of thing only happened on TV or in bad Mary Sue fanfictions, not to me. Even hours later, as I unpacked my bags, I was waiting for my alarm to go off. Though I had allowed myself to be happier, allowed that part of me to grow and radiate joy. I sat at the foot of the canopy bed smiling like an idiot as I pressed my forehead against the post. My story was going to be on TV. The world was going to see my ideas performed by brilliant actors and my character was going to come to life. For this one perfect moment reality and my daydream were one in the same and I was so, so happy.

"Ah there she is," I heard Steven say as I approached the table of writers tucked at the back of the restaurant in my hotel. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce Mayfor Night, the mind behind See no Evil. My dear, as you know this is Mark Gatiss and Stephen Thompson."

"Pleasure," Stephen bowed his head.

I bowed my head as well, "Yeah, you too."

Mark smiled and reached for my hand, "My dear, it is an honor to meet you, I am a big fan."

"T-thank you," I stuttered out.

Steven began, "Season three, as everyone one here knows, will be based on Miss Night's fanfiction See no Evil. This meeting is for us as mere readers to ask questions and better understand the material."

"I'll try to answer any questions you have as best I can," I said with a shy smile.

"Okay first things first; why does Hanna do the cooking and cleaning?" Mark demanded and we all gave a chuckle. "It has really bothered me; she's such a brilliant character with more than enough money why is she doing the mundane work around the flat?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Because she's not helpless."

"I understand that but please elaborate."

"No offense but I don't think you do," I bit my lip and tapped my ring on the table, "In the first chapter Molly wants Hanna to hire someone to come around and help her with things but she says no because she's not helpless."

"But she's brilliant," he continued, "Surely she could make better use of that time."

"She can but it's not about that," I explained, "for Hanna doing the dishes and cooking the food is a way of telling the world that she doesn't need to be coddled. That just because she is blind it doesn't mean she can't still do things on her own, she is her own person and she can do things for herself."

Mark smiled before hold his hand, palm up, towards Moffat. "Pay up."

I frowned looking between the two, "You bet on what my answer would be?"

"He thought it was just to fill her time."

"Five years in a house alone," Steven scoffed as he but a twenty in Marks hand. "Not much to do otherwise."

"Don't look now but we have admires," Stephen said averting his gaze from the entrance of the restaurant where a few people with expensive cameras stood.

I turned my face, my hair falling over my shoulder to create a barrier. "Steven, should I leave?"

"Probably best," he said looking at the paparazzi through the corner of his eye. "Do you have that notebook with you?"

"Yes."

"Ask us for autographs."

I pulled out the book from my pocket and slid it across the table. Flipping my hair back over my shoulder I smiled and began fidgeting my hands nervously in my lap, "You guys are amazing! Doctor Who and Sherlock are brilliant and I am so sorry for interrupting your meal but can I possible have your autographs? I mean, it's just- you guys are my heroes! I wish I could come up with things half as brilliant as you all do!"

"Something tells me that one day you will," Mark chuckled as he signed the page.

I took back the little notebook, and beamed as I stood up. Glancing down at the page I saw the note Steven wrote there and nodded before scurrying off towards the entrance. I kept beaming, looking down at the signatures and back at the table like I couldn't believe my luck at running into them here of all places. The paparazzi seemed to buy it, ignoring me as I passed them by to make my escape to the elevator.

I could feel myself start to panic. Less than a day, hell less than two hours, in London and already some idiot with a camera might have compromised my identity. I cursed my reckless behavior. I shouldn't have gone to dinner without a disguise. I should have been more vigilant of my surroundings. The public knew that the read through was happening soon, the press would pay a lot for the secrets of season three. How did I forget the facts, I sighed heavily as I banged my head against the cold metal of the elevator wall.

There was a ding and the doors opened. I kept my head against the wall, cringing as I realized the elevator hadn't moved since I stepped inside. I was still on the ground floor and it was entirely likely that whoever had joined me saw me walk in. Just don't acknowledge him, I told myself as I quietly prayed, to whatever god would listen, that I become one with the wall and cease to exist.

The enigma behind me shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Clearly unsure if he should say something or just let me stew in my awkwardness. "Are you okay?" his voice was deep, smooth; it entrapped my consciousness in the riddle of its familiarity. I had heard that voice before, but where?

I answered him with a shrug, "I've been better."

"Do you need me to call someone…?"

Why are you talking to the freak in the elevator, I thought as my eyes narrowed. "No, I'm okay."

"Okay."

Silence.

"It's just that you're standing in front of the buttons-"

"Right, what floor?"

"6"

"Oh goody."

I could nearly hear him raise an eyebrow, "You have something against the sixth floor?"

"No," I let out a deep breath as I stood up straight and turned around, "It's noth-HOLY MOTHER OF GOD-" I slapped my hand over my mouth and backed into the corner I had just come out of.

"Right… I'm nearly positive that people should only react like that when they see their worst nightmare come to life." He shifted his weight again, "And if I'm your worst nightmare than I do apologize."

"You…" I trailed off, taking two baby steps forward to poke him in the breast pocket of his expensive looking suit. "You're real…"

His eyes narrowed just a fraction, "Yeah, last time I checked."

I stepped back again, "Right sorry- I should keep my hands to myself."

He smiled, "Don't worry I won't press charges."

I gave an anxious laugh, "Thanks, you've put all my worry to rest."

"Is your imagination usually vivid enough to warrant a jab to the chest?"

"It can be," I said looking down at my fingers as they fidgeted with the long sleeves of my hoodie. "Never underestimate the power of daydreams Mr. Cumberbatch, the moment you do is the moment you become a slave to their will.

He raised an eyebrow, a bemused smirk spreading across those soft pink lips, "How do you mean?"

I paused, my gaze catching his, "I-I don't know actually." I frowned in thought and cleared my throat, "I was just kind of saying words in a moment of panic but it raising an interesting point none the less. I will have to explore the train of thought further and I'm rambling on when you could care less- what floor did you say? Six right?" I rushed my words as I turned away from him. What I need right now, I thought in despair, is for a mysterious freak lighting storm to send a million volts of electricity through my body before disappearing from inside these metal walls.

I could head his chuckle as a hand was placed on my tense shoulder, "Relax," he smiled as I turned my head to look at him. "This isn't going nearly as bad you think it is."

A relieved smile flickered across my expression, "Are you sure? Because I'm ninety-eight percent certain that I sound like a crazy person."

He nodded slowly, his eyes locked on mine, "You're doing fine."

"Okay," I took a breath, "Thank you, I was on the verge of a panic attack."

"I wouldn't want you to go through that because of me," his smile was gentle as his hand dropped from my shoulder. "Unpleasant things."

I bit my lip, "Very unpleasant, thank you."

He held up his hand for me to shake, "Benedict Cumberbatch, but I gather you already knew that."

"Lux," I introduced myself as my small hand slid into his, "And yeah, I did. For a while, after I finished season two of Sherlock, I was convinced I was going to marry you."

He laughed with me as he turned to face the doors, "Well what changed that?"

"Reality," I shrugged, turning as well. "The chances of meeting you were virtually nonexistent. Plus you're happy with your girlfriend- Olivia I believe is her name- I don't want to be known as that girl."

He raised an eyebrow, "Olivia and I have not been together for years-"

I interrupted him with a shy smirk, "Did you really think everyone bought your break up story?"

He turned back towards me, "Yes. We did."

I shrugged, shifting my weight away from him, "Most people aren't okay with their ex coming to a show where they will be in the nude, much less they bring a relative- and I know you're acting but it's still… unusual."

"We separated on good terms," he persisted.

I gave him a weary smile, "You told all the reporters that but it still felt…off. I didn't believe you."

He turned back towards the doors, "Has anyone ever told you that you are far too perceptive for your own good?"

"I've upset you," I looked away.

"No," he sighed, "just unnerved me. To my knowledge on one took the story as anything but truth. For one as young as you to see through it is troublesome to say the least. Perhaps I'm not as great an actor as everyone says."

"No!" I grabbed hold of his arm and his gaze whipped around to catch mine, "You're an amazing actor! Please understand that! What you give to these characters is beautiful to behold. I don't see you on the screen I see Sherlock which is more than I can say about some other actors in Hollywood. So please don't ever doubt your abilities."

A faint smile flickered across his lips as one hesitant hand reached up to squeeze mine lightly, "Okay, I won't."

I nodded once before realizing I was still holding his arm and quickly let go. "Sorry."

He laughed, "I suppose it doesn't matter anymore that you knew the truth about Olivia and I. We're no longer together, for real this time."

"What happened?" I asked before slapping my hand over my mouth, "Sorry it's not my place to ask-"

"It's fine," he smiled but I could tell it wasn't, "Work got in the way, I travel a lot and she couldn't come with me much of the time. We grew apart."

"Long distance can be hard."

"You speak from experience?"

"Oh no, I've never had a real relationship," I explained, "But I write, short stories. One centered on a man who's life wish was to travel the world while his love was committed to their roots."

He tipped his head to the side a skeptical expression clouding his eyes, "No offence, but it's not the same."

My eyes narrowed, "Offence taken because to me it is. These aren't just stories. These characters, their emotions, are very real and I feel all of it when I write. Her pain and his ambition, the world their part of… it's more than just words on a page to me." I turned away from him, my eyes falling to my hands as I spun my ring around my finger. "I-I think I'll take another elevator. Goodbye Mr. Cumberbatch-"

"Lux," he grabbed hold of my arm and turned me before I could push the button to open the doors. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Please, share the lift with me." I hesitated before nodding once. He let me go and I pressed the button to the sixth floor. The ride was silent, but not unpleasant as we stood side by side. Meeting him wasn't what I thought it would be, whether it was better or worse I couldn't quite decide. It was… something else.

We walked down the halls together and he glanced sideways at me. "So…" he trailed off and I glanced at him, "What brings you to London?"

"Work," I toyed with the ends of my sleeves, "I was offered something… something I could never pass up."

"What as that?" he asked as we turned the corner to see Mark standing in front of my door.

"Oh there you are," he said looking at me as he strolled down the hall. "I was wondering where you had run off to. Hello, Ben I hope she wasn't bothering you."

I gave him a small shrug as Ben looked between us, "You know her?"

"She's my cousin's daughter," Mark explained, "At the request of my family, and a touch of fondness for the girl, I agreed to let her audition for a role in season three. And should she not get the part she would serve as my personal assistant on set."

Ben looked to me, "I thought you said you were a writer?"

I shrugged, "Everyone has a hobby."

"You were telling him about your writing?" Mark beamed, "Lux is a wonderful writer."

"Not that good," I muttered, shifting my weight.

He chuckled, "She's better than she gives herself credit for."

"Speaking of writers," Ben's focus turned to Mark, "Has that woman arrived?"

"Her name is Mayfor and yes she has," Mark sighed glancing at me briefly. "We had a brief dinner with her before something came up and she had to leave early. I didn't get to ask your question and I still think you would insult her."

"What question?" I asked with a frown.

"She shouldn't be insulted," Ben ignored my question, "She's lucky we're doing her story at all if you ask me."

"Yes, Ben, you've made your position on the matter very clear," Mark pursed his lips. "Have you even started reading the story yet?"

"Of course I have," he waved off the other man.

"In what chapter does Sherlock come back?"

"You mean it's not chapter one- what's the point if it's not chapter one?" Ben asked with a frown and I ground my teeth together. What's the point? The point was to set up Hanna! To bring her to the story as a full-fledged character, not a shadow to solidify over the course of the story. I wanted her to be established before Sherlock comes into her life. I didn't want him to define her.

Ben clearly didn't understand that.

"I'm gonna go to bed," I excused myself.

"Lux," Mark stopped me before I got the door. "Auditions for a lead in the show are tomorrow, will you be coming?"

"Me?" I raised an eyebrow, and offered him a small chuckle, "No, I'm not that good an actress. Plus that writer woman, Mayfor, is intimidating; I'm not about to get her in way."

"I think you would do fine," Mark persisted, "but if you don't think you're up for it then I respect it. Perhaps you can tour the set since you will have free time." I nodded once before pushing open my door and disappearing into my room. I fell asleep quickly. Physically I probably could have stayed up a while longer but I was just so emotionally exhausted. I felt like I'd been awake for days on end. Everything was going well and then that damn elevator ride happened. First of all it was the strangest conversation I'd ever had with another human being. And, being the high functioning hermit that I am, I've dug myself into a few pretty bizarre interactions. Second, where was the charming, polite, gentleman he was always portrayed to be? He wasn't rude, at least not directly, but he wasn't the man I thought he was.

As I lay back on my bed, my hair strewed across the pillowed and my eyes slowly fluttering to a close, one last thought crossed my mind and infected my dreams.

Benedict Cumberbatch was a professional liar.