The head of BBC lounged in his leather chair and sipped his drink. It was a long day, and all he felt like doing was sleeping. He flipped through a copy of GQ, and was just about to dose off when he heard it. A rumble sounded throughout London's BBC offices, and resounding yelling was getting louder and louder. He looked at the glass on his desk, where the liquid inside made rings. He stood and stode to the window and peered out. He could see a wave approaching, and it was made of...people? Women and adolescent girls tore through the streets of London, their eyes set on BBC. He gasped, but he wasn't surprised. He knew that something like this was going to happen. He picked up his red phone and said, "Hurry, get security outside. It's begun." He sat down and braced himself. It was the dreaded Invasion of the Fangirls.


Benedict Cumberbach and Martin Freeman lounged in their specially marked chairs, reading their scripts. They sighed, wishing the film crew would hurry up. "So, what do you think is taking so long this time?" asked Martin, "Last time it was a chip run." Benedict shrugged. "Who knows why. I just want to get this show on the road." Suddenly, the door burst open and four security guards ran in. "Mr. Cumberbach, Mr. Freeman, we need you to come with us." They looked at each other and stood. "What's the matter?" asked Martin. One of the guards, a tall bloke named Bob, replied, "You are in immediate danger from an outside force. They want both of you, and the Head's head on a platter." Both gasped. "Don't tell me-" said Martin, "It's the IFG?!!" Bob nodded. "Yes sirs, it is." A loud yelling came from outside. "Let us in!!!" yelled several female voices yelled from outside, "Give us Sherlock! Give us John!" Martin and Benedict ran for all they were worth, heading towards the garage.


Benedict Cumberbach and Martin Freeman lounged in their specially marked chairs, reading their scripts. They sighed, wishing the film crew would hurry up. "So, what do you think is taking so long this time?" asked Martin, "Last time it was a chip run." Benedict shrugged. "Who knows why. I just want to get this show on the road." Suddenly, the door burst open and four security guards ran in. "Mr. Cumberbach, Mr. Freeman, we need you to come with us." They looked at each other and stood. "What's the matter?" asked Martin. One of the guards, a tall bloke named Bob, replied, "You are in immediate danger from an outside force. They want both of you, and the Head's head on a platter." Both gasped. "Don't tell me-" said Martin, "It's the IFG?!!" Bob nodded. "Yes sirs, it is." A loud yelling came from outside. "Let us in!!!" yelled several female voices yelled from outside, "Give us Sherlock! Give us John!" Martin and Benedict ran for all they were worth, heading towards the garage.


"Hello?" answered another familiar voice, this one male. "Simon?" Simon Pegg's eyebrows raised. "Hey Martin! You alright, man? I heard they swarmed the BBC." Benedict looked over at Martin. "You guys know each other?" Martin smiled. "Yep," he replied, "We talked doing The World's End, and we've kept in touch." Simon cleared his throat. "Anyway, what did you call about?" Martin sighed. "Can we stay with you for a little while? They're trying to hunt us down." The phone was silent. "Simon?" He came back on the phone. "Yeah, um, let me see." His covered the mouthpiece, but they could still hear, though it was muffled. "Hon? Could Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbach stay for a bit?" The reply was muffled, but it sounded like a 'Sure, go on then.' Simon uncovered the mouthpiece and said, "Yeah, come on then. But hurry!" Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mate! Be there in a bit." He hung up and drove.


Meanwhile, things were at their wildest at the BBC. Moffat and Gatiss were tied together with tissues stuffed in their mouths so they wouldn't scream. "Give us Sherlock!" the group chanted, "Give us Sherlock! Give us Sherlock!" Some were chanting, "Give us Johnlock! Give us Johnlock!" The Head had barricaded his door and shut the blinds. He took a swig from his drink as he sat in the corner of the room. Someone began to bang on the door. "Let us in! You lazy bloody cowards!!" He covered his ears with his hands and screamed, "Go awaaaaaayyy!!" Silence came from the other side of the door, then, "Ready, girls? 1...2...3!!" The hammering was louder and more forceful. He ran to the other side of the room. "Help me..." he whimpered.


Back at Simon's house, they sat at the dinette in the kitchen and sipped on Earl Grey. "Thanks again," said Martin, "We'd be sitting ducks out there if it wasn't for you." Simon sat back in his chair. "It's alright, mate. I know you'd do the same for me." There was a knock at the door. "Oi, Simon, open up!" He stood and walked to the door. Opening it, Nick Frost came in. "Did you see the news? They've taken over the BBC!" He looked over and saw Benedict and Martin sitting at the small table. "'Eh, you came 'ere?" he said, "I guess you lot'll be safe, then. They won't think to look here." He sat down at the table. "I heard they got your places under watch, too." They both sighed and nodded. "Well, maybe this'll all blow over." said Simon, joining them. Martin's head swivled to face him. "Didn't you say that line in Shaun of the Dead, and things didn't just 'all blow over'?" His eyes widened. "Oh yeah..." Martin slumped down in his chair. "Hopefully, you didn't just jinx us."


The banging on the Head's door continued, unrelentlessly. The large cypruss chest he'd used as a barricade had budged quite a bit, and soon they'd be able to get through. His hands shaking, he poured another drink. He tried to take a sip, but his hands were shaking so bad that he just sloshed it all over himself. Wham! Wham! He whimpered. "Why me?" he muttered, "Why today?" With one final slam to the door, the chest moved just enough for the girls to begin to flood into his room. As they all ran towards him, he saw his life flash before his eyes and as they lunged, everything went black.


It was time for Spaced: The Film, which Edgar Wright decided to make. Simon, Benedict, Martin, Nick, and Jessica Stevenson (who still hung out with Simon and Nick) were gathered around Simon's TV. Just as Tim was about to propose to Daisy, the feed was interrupted by a figure in a black cloak. In the background was Moffat and Gatiss, tied together with another man in a suit. "That's the Head of the BBC!" exclaimed Martin. Everyone's eyes widened in shock.



The cloaked figure spoke. "Benedict Cumberbach and Martin Freeman, we know you're watching!" she said, her voice clearly female, "We have your bosses. If you want them to live with their dignity, come out and talk to us! We want to have a word!" another figure appeared at the edge of the camera, also masked and cloaked. "A bit of Johnlock wouldn't hurt, either." she said, also clearly female.


She was yanked from the camera by an unseen hand, and the first fan girl continued. "So, like I said, come on out...and...stuff." She sighed and talked to someone off camera. "I told you this would happen if we didn't write a script!" A voice yelled back, "It's just 'cause you're a rubbish conversationalist!" The figure put her hands on her hips. "What's that got to do with anything?" The voice yelled back, "You're talking to them, aren't you? So, you're having a bad conversation because of YOU." The figure crossed her arms. "Yes, and one-sided." she muttered. Footsteps approached the camera. "Chav, don't even!" The girl was taken aback. "What did you call me?!!" Just as the other girl appeared in the frame, lunging at the one in the cloak, they went to a 'Technical Difficulty' sign on screen, with baby George's likeness on it.


The group stared at the television screen. "What are we going to do?" asked Martin. Benedict sighed. "I guess we'll go out there to speak to them." Everyone looked at him. "That's suicide!" said Jessica, "And I'd kinda like to see where Sherlock's gonna go from where the last season left off." Simon whipped his head around to face her. "And you don't want them to die, RIGHT?" She nodded. "That too." Nick thought before he spoke. "Well, don't just walk out there for one thing; you'll definitely be gonners then. No, we need a plan..."


Meanwhile, at Fan Girl HQ, they were all waiting for a response from their message to their 'Pretty Boys'. Some were wrapped up in a thrilling game of poker, some were reading the Sherlock manga they translated into English, and then there was the small group doctoring the scrapes and bruises of the girls from said message. "Easy with the rubbing alcohol!" yelped the cloaked figure, who was a young teacher by the name of Suzanne. "Oh, shut it." growled the girl who lunged at her, a chef at a five star resturant named Evelyn. The girl cleaning them up, the young mangaka named Grace who wrote said Sherlock manga, sighed. "Maybe this has gone to far." she said, "It's not their fault for season three not being out."



She received angry looks from almost all of the girls in the room. "They're the actors, so they should help us out. We're offended by the BBC that they aren't coming out with their products sooner, so we should receive compensation!" replied one of the girls from the poker area, a lawyer named Cassie. A resounding response of 'Yeah!', 'That's right!', and 'Amen, Sister!" echoed throughout the room. Grace sighed. "Yeah, maybe..." She didn't mean it though, she just wanted the glares to go away. Her agent, Esther, patted her shoulder. "it's okay." Grace nodded. "I know."


As soon as the rest of the fangirls were passed out, Grace and Esther slipped out silently. They moved along the shadows, looking for the one place they figured that the two targeted stars would be. Grace was the one to peer in windows, while Esther was the look-out. After a few hours, she finally peered into the window of Simon Pegg's house, where Benedict and Martin were sleeping on the couch. "Found them!" she exclaimed, grinning. She ran over to the front door and knocked. "Who is it?" asked a drowsy voice, probably Simon's. "Candy Gram." replied Grace sarcastically. The door opened, a bright faced Simon looking out.


"You aren't a candy gram." he said, sighing. Grace shrugged. "No, but I got a Snickers in my satchel. It's yours if I can come in." He stiffened. "Um, that's not such a good idea. Everything's messy..." She grinned. "Yeah, two refugees litering your couch." she replied. Simon's eyes widened. "Um, no I don't." he said, rather unconvincingly. "Okay, first off, you're an actor, so you should be better than that at lying. Second, you might want to draw your blinds if you're hiding two wanted men." Grace said, crossing her arms, "I'm not going to hurt them; I'm here to help."


Simon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure that's what the Nazis said to people hiding Jewish families before they pumped them full of lead." he muttered. Grace held out her arms. "You see a gun on me?" she asked. He shook his head. "But what about your bag?" She sighed. "You can go through it, Warden. Can I come in now? This cold English air is making me freeze my tail off." Simon nodded. "Come on in." Grace smiled and stepped inside.



"Here's my bag." she said, handing him her satchel. Simon set it on the table usually reserved for bills and opened it. "Cadbury, Cadbury, Cadbury..." he paused and looked at her. "I have a sweet tooth." replied Grace, smiling, "Pick whichever you want." He reached in and came up with a Cadbury with hazelnuts, wrapped in a bow. "I'll take this one; my wife will want the bow." Grace's eyes widened and took it from him. "No, not that one!" He looked at her. "Why not? You want the bow?" She shook her head. "It's the kind of chocolate you want.” Simon tilted his head. “What do you mean?” She looked at the bar, an evil grin on her face. “Ever have trouble going to the loo?” He snorted. “Why do you carry that around?” She laughed. “For J.K.Rowling. I want revenge.”


Simon laughed. “Why, because she killed Dobby?” Grace shook her head. “She played a game of Words with Friends with me and kept using words from Harry Potter, but when I try to use ‘Shazam’, I get a no! You believe that?” He tried to keep a calm composure, even though he was thinking of his former show and an ill Potter. “Anyway,” said Grace, “I want to see the boys now, if I can.” Simon nodded. “Come on, then.” he said, walking to the living room. “Wake up!” he yelled, trying to stir the pair. She waved him off. “I got this.” she said. She took her cell from her pocket and turned the volume all the way up, then walked over and placed it next to Martin’s ear. She pressed ‘play’ on her phone and AWOL’s voice burst out from the phone. “WAKE! UP!” Martin gasped and flailed his arms, hitting Benedict square in the nose. Of course, then he woke up, just as startled.


They looked up at the strange girl with the phone that played music quite loudly. “Hello!” she greeted, smiling. They exchanged looks, then looked back at her and screamed at the top of their lungs. She looked over at a small bottle next to a fern and grabbed it, then sprayed them with its contents. They stopped screaming and coughed. “What was that?!” sputtered Martin. Grace shrugged. “I think it’s water, but I’m not sure.” Benedict sighed. “We’re going to die.” he muttered. Grace shook her head. “Not right now, you aren’t. Maybe when you’re eighty or something, but I’m not going to kill you.” Martin looked at her, glaring. “Why? So you can make us your slaves or something?” he asked, his voice a bit angry. “No,” replied Grace, “I want to help you out.” Martin sighed. “I’ll bite. Why do you want to help us?” She looked down at her feet and said. “I feel bad...” Benedict chimed in. “Well, it’s not entirely you fault, right?” Grace shoved her hands in her pockets. “It might be; I was the one to start the Invasion.”


"What?!!" yelled the pair simultaniously. "What do you mean you started it?" asked Martin. Grace continued to stare at her feet. "It all started with a joke at the end of one of the volumes of Sherlock. I said that a group of fangirls needs to swarm the BBC to get you guys on the ball. Well, some of the reader sent in letter, then more and more, until I had a stack of letters so high I bet it could reach the moon. The first girls had told their friends, who told their friends, and so forth and so forth until everyone who watched or read Sherlock was into the idea. So, I kinda said, 'Yeah, we'll just go down there and demand they put out season three!' or something like that, and they all did it!" She looked up at them, face flushed in emberassment, "But it was just a joke, that's all I meant by it, I swear!"


"So, how are you going to help us?" asked Martin, his features softer. He felt bad about making the young girl feel bad, then a thought popped into his head. "Wait, you said you wrote, right? How old are you?" Grace sighed. "I'm twenty-two." Martin was taken aback. She looked more like twelve than twenty-two. "Why do you ask?" she added. Martin shook his hand. "Nothing, nevermind. Um, do you have a plan?" Grace bit her lip. "I do, but I don't know if it'll work." Benedict leaned in. "Well, what is it? We're pretty desperate here, living like we're in the Iranian Hostage Crisis." She nodded. "Alright, so here it is..." She leaned in and whispered her plan. "Um, I don't know if we have anything like that in England." piped up Martin. Benedict nudged his shoulder. "Come on, we've got those blokes from Top Gear still around. It's a possibility." Martin shrugged. "Alright then. When will you try to get this plan into action?" Grace sighed. "Soon, soon." She stood and reached into her pocket. "Here's my card. I'll call you with more information."


On her way out, she placed a bar of chocolate on the table for someone to get. Esther stood in the bushes, looking at the door. "Well, how'd it go?" Grace shrugged. "I don't know yet. I have to look into a few things, but I think it'll be okay." Esther bit her lip. "I hope you're right." Grace smiled and waved her off. "Aw, aren't I usually?" Esther put her hands on her hips. "You said that Firefly would be on for at least a decade." Grace sighed. "Well, that's different. It should've been that way." Esther rolled her eyes. "Your death threats to Joss Whedon didn't help." Grace sighed. "Shut up and come on." She yanked on Esther's arm. "Where are we going?" she asked, stumbling behind. "We're going to find a venue!" Declared Grace, stepping back onto the street, "A venue for the grand reveal."


It was eight in the morning before Grace finally found the perfect spot that could take them in that day. She called with the good news and said that they wouldn't have to bring anything, but just to come. She walked into FanGirl HQ and announced that Sherlock and John were to appear that day, giving out the location and time. "You're not joking? They're really going to speak?" asked Evelyn, the chef. "Yep," replied Grace, "In the flesh!" Everything was going according to plan, and Grace hoped with all her heart that it'd stay that way.


When it was three in the afternoon, she headed to the venue. Benedict and Martin were already there. "So, did they believe you?" asked Benedict, eyes eager. "Yes they did," replied Grace, smiling, "And you need to get ready." She pulled on their wrists and lead them to their dressing rooms. "Your costumes are waiting for you inside." As she walked away, they both wondered aloud, "What costumes?" They went to the clothes rack and saw the clothing selection and they realized. "So that's how it is." They sighed and changed, worried of how things would turn out.


It was ten 'till five, and the arena was incredibly crowded. It was easy to tell who'd gotten there the earliest, since all of the front seats were taken. The boys were pacing, worried that something would go wrong and they'd lose their careers, or worse, their lives. "Are you ready?" asked Grace, getting ready to go to her assigned place. "As ready as we'll ever be." replied Benedict, the worry showing on his face. "Okay, I'm going to go get everyone ready. Get to your place, alright?" They nodded. Grace smiled, worry showing on her face as well. "Give it your best, boys." she said before departing.


Grace stepped into the booth and sat in the chair. She watched the time carefully, waiting for the clock to go to five. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, and then she dimmed the lights. The noise in the arena quieted down and she spoke into the microphone. "Welcome, fangirls, to the Manchester Cage Fighting Arena. Are you ready for the main attraction?" The girls all said, "Yes!" Grace smiled. She turned on the fog machine and said, "Here we go, the Dynamic Detecive Duo, the boys you've been waiting for, SHERLOCK AND WATSON!!!" The arena was filled was cheers as the lift for the center of the arena rose, revealing Benedict and Martin in Sherlock glory. Benedict wore the black coat, blue scarf and ear-hat, and Martin in the striped jumper and driving hat. They smiled and waved like beauty pageant winners, the applause growing.



A mic descended from the ceiling, which Martin grabbed to keep steady. "Hello there, Ladies!" the pair greeted, making the fangirls whoop, hollar, and whistle. Martin spoke first. "We know you've been waiting for the new series, and we're trying our best to get it filmed as soon as possible while still keeping the quality you all love. We just need a bit more time, and I know it seems like we'll never get it done, but we promise we are trying." He turned to Benedict. "Isn't that right?" He nodded. "Yes we are. And we'll put it out on the same day for both the US and UK!" The crowd cheered. "Now, are there any questions?" asked Martin? A hand in the audience raised. "Yes?" asked Martin. "Um, well, we know you're trying, but can you give us a little something to keep us happy in the wait?" asked the fangirl, "Like a bit of...Johnlock?" The crowd cheered, and soon they were chanting, "Johnlock! Johnlock!" They looked at each other and Martin sighed. "Alright." he said, then grabbed Benedict and smooched him on the lips.



The crowd went wild, and the platform lowered back down. "Well, I think that went well." said Martin, as soon as they got off the platform. "Yes," replied Benedict, "And now let's never speak of this again." Grace strolled up to them. "Well you can walk down the street now without having to worry about being tackled and held hostage." she said, smiling, "Nice kiss, by the way. Did I see a bit of tongue?" Esther pinched Grace's ear, hard. As she winced in pain, Esther asked, "So, are you ready to get back to the set?" The boys smiled. "When can we start?"



Life was back to normal. The girls got into the Head's office with a bust of Jeremy Clarkson, a gift from the boys at Top Gear. It was not missed. The first Sherlock episode of the season was put out like a movie, and it was a hit. Grace went to the premier and spied an old aquaintance. "Long time, no see." she greeted. "Grace, my dear! How have you been?" asked J.K.Rowling, smiling. Grace held out a chocolate bar. "Here, a treat for the movie." She looked at the wrapped. "Ah, Cadbury with hazelnuts! Thank you." she took the bar and smiled, then strolled off. Grace donned an evil grin as she watched Rowling go, Simon grinning because he knew what would happen. Grace kept in touch with Martin, Benedict, and Simon, even while she lived in Japan.



Grace was asked to adapt the Hunger Games into a manga, and it was a best-seller. She was doing well, and then one day, she mentioned that she wished that the newest film would come out already. The fangirls smiled and readied their newest plan of attack. And the Head? He decided to retire early, and is living in a beach house in Honolulu with his wife. He still has nightmares of the Invasion, though, but when he sees his state of living, he can shrug it off. And me? Well, I'm just the writer, and this is the end of the story...or is it? You'll just have to see for yourself. I'll be waiting for the new season like you are, dear reader, but hopefully, I've at least whet your appetite for the time being, like writing this has done for me. Thank you and good evening.