A STUDY IN SINK

The day John Green realized Benedict Cumberbatch was hiding in his house was the day his collection of Nicholas Sparks novels spontaneously fell off the bookcase in his office. This surprised him. What surprised him more was that there was a face, shelf high, now clearly visible in the spot where the books had been.

It was the face of Benedict Cumberbatch.

“Who are you?” Cumberbatch said, Cumberbatchly.

“I’m John Green,” said John Green.

“Clearly an alias. Let’s see who you are really.” Benedict Cumberbatch touched his hands together in prayer formation, and touched them lightly to his lips. “Weight evenly distributed, no reliance on the lumbar region of the spine, a slight hunch in the thoracic. You work at a standing job, at a counter. Your hair is tousled, quite high, indicating that you either use a lot of product or it’s stress. But no one with that haircut would use that degree of product and there’s no telltale smell or sheen, so it’s natural. Stress. Combined with the standing job, that indicates customer service. There’s residue of some kind of foodstuff on your shirt. You’ve tried to wipe it away but the trace is still there. Food service, then. The stain is high on your body—you work at a counter, most likely. The substance is high fat but highly viscous and faintly white. A commercially produced milkshake, most like. Considering your age, I’d suppose you’re likely to be advanced in this position, so I think we can reasonably conclude that you are the manager of a fast food restaurant. A Burger King, perhaps, or a Wendy’s.”

“You’re right about the hair being caused by stress,” John said. “The white stuff is baby puke, and I stand at a treadmill desk, which you know because you’re looking at me standing on it. What are you doing behind my bookshelf?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Things you couldn’t possibly understand,” said the Cumberbatch. “You’re boring.”

It was at this point that John Green realized something was not right. So John Green picked up his phone.

             In Missoula, Montana, Hank Green reached out of his massive outdoor hot tub to answer his phone. His hot tub was in the shape of Science itself and was the only one of its kind in the world.

HELLO, JOHN. said Hank Green. I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW I’M IN MY HOT TUB SO KEEP IT CLEAN.

“Got it,’ John Green said. “Listen, it looks like Benedict Cumberbatch has been secretly living in my house.”

BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH IS IN YOUR HOUSE? said Hank. YOU MEAN, LIKE, SHERLOCK?

“I mean exactly that,” John said. “And I think? He thinks? He’s Sherlock Holmes?”

THAT’S REALLY WEIRD. said Hank.

“I know.” John cast a glance over and saw Benedict Cumberbatch sniffing the edges of his books. “He got, like, behind the bookcase? You know that kind of free-standing one, that’s like a grid?”

OH YEAH I KNOW THAT ONE.

“Yeah, well, he got behind it. I don’t know how long he’s been there.”

HANG ON…

Typing could be heard.

YEAH. IT JUST TURNED UP ON THE NEWS. “BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH ESCAPES FROM SET OF SHERLOCK.”

“’Escapes’ seem like a weird word to use,” John Green said.

Benedict Cumberbatch pushed over the bookcase, straightened his coat, and stepped over the mess.