Obsessed fans who shell out to schmooze with Sherlock
JAN MOIR meets the obsessed fans who crossed the world to do just that
DEARLY beloved, we are gathered here together to witness the union between this mighty television series, Sherl ock, and i ts devoted (not to say obsessive) fans. That means you, Cumberbitches and Cumberbabes. And you, trusty Sherlockians and doughty Moriartists.
It means all the fans who have travelled from all over the world to come here, to worship, to adore and to feel the Sherlove.
This is the first ever Sherlock fan convention, known simply as Sherlocked, held in celebration of the cult BBC TV series with a global audience i n more than 200 television territories.
It is being staged at the exCel centre in London’s Docklands, complete with Sherlock TV sets, Sherlock memorabilia, a Sherlock bus, Sherlock’s front door, Sherlock shopping opportunities and, most exciting of all, Sherlock stars.
Scream! For we all know what that means, don’t we? It means that Benedict Cumberbatch is in the house.
‘Is he here yet?’ cries Lina from Stockholm, who has brought her favourite teddy bear for him to autograph. A gesture that would be cute in a little girl, but a bit worrying in an adult graphic designer running her own business.
‘The rules are different when it comes to Benedict,’ she insists, giving teddy a kiss before plunging through the crowd in search of her hero.
‘Oh God, when I see him, I will just die!’ cries Carolina Galleguillos from Santiago, fanning herself with a programme.
Her friend, Silvith Tello, loaded down with a set of Sherlock espresso cups, a Sherlock T-shirt and a Sherlock poster from the BBC gift shop, is equally enthralled. ‘I am not going to say anything to him. I just want to hug him.’
Both aged 20, the girls work in a branch of Starbucks in the Chilean capital. They estimate that their trip cost one million Chilean pesos each (just over £1,000) but don’t care about the price.
‘We became friends because we love Sherlock so much. He is everything to us,’ says Carolina. ‘ He is intelligent — and pretty.’
Should I shush the gush and tell her that right at this moment, Cumberbatch himself is moving across the floor of the arena? I don’t want her to actually melt in front of me.
Dressed in a black jacket and trousers, with a buttoned-up grey shirt, his chiselled profile is unmistakable, his gaze fixed in the middle distance.
He IS the meat in a sandwich of close protection heavies, with personal security jammed at each of his shoulders to ensure his safe passage through a sea of fans who would quite possibly rip him from limb to limb — in a loving way — given half a chance.
By the time the crowds notice him, he is almost gone. The screech of gasps and screams that this unleashes must be the soundtrack to his life on Planet Cumberfame.
Later, while hosting a talk onstage at the convention, he admits that he finds high-profile celebrity is something he finds difficult.
‘Being visible is weird and taxing and strange,’ he says. ‘ But being able to be here and talk to you all i n my own voice normalises it.’ Normal? Surely there is not much that is normal about this three-day fanfest which gives Sherlovers the chance to hang out with the show’s stars — with the exception of Martin Freeman, who plays Dr Watson and is otherwise engaged.
There are photo opportunities, autograph sessions and talks with Sherlock stars such as Mark Gatiss (the series’ co- creator, who also plays the detective’s brother, Mycroft), Una Stubbs (the housekeeper Mrs Hudson) and Andrew Scott, the very popular Moriarty.
However, access to Benedict Cumberbatch himself depends on how much fans are prepared to pay — and the prices are astonishing.
Those who have booked VIP packages (£2,995 each), Platinum passes (£595) or Gold passes (£295) are given myriad chances to meet him. But holders of the basic £44 weekend ticket won’t get any proper quality time with their idol. Not even an autograph scribbled by the star himself in situ — although, for a price, they can queue to have a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it photograph taken with him, if they are quick enough to get on the list.
Most of the time, the fans seem to spend endless hours in queues, obsessing over autographs from the cast as if they were holy relics.
They queue to pose for selfies by the 221b Baker Street door used in the series, they queue to see the costumes, they queue to buy a £30 framed scrap of Zoffany wallpaper used in Sherlock’s living room.
One of the most popular draws over the weekend are the talks on the main stage, especially the sellout Cumberbatch one.
By Saturday lunchtime, he had been blitzed backstage with the usual avalanche of wedding proposals, fan tokens and love notes. ‘All sorts, you just wouldn’t believe it,’ says the compere.
During the Q&A sessions, Ben — as the most devoted fans call him, as though they really are friends — reveals that the s uccess of Sherlock has been ‘ beyond our wildest expectations’.
Want some more Sher- f acts, Sher-fans? His favourite part of the relationship between Holmes and Moriarty? ‘ everyone has a nemesis who compels them to do better.’ The violin? He ‘ hates playing it’ and ‘having to pretend I’m good at it is agonising’.
Cumberbatch has a head cold over the weekend, but soldiers on like a trouper. He obliges with a reprise of his famous impression of Chewbacca from Star Wars, but is not pleased with his effort. ‘More like a Scooby Doo yawn,’ he says.
Lucy from Leicester asks if he could do his speaking role in The Hobbit as the mighty Smaug and try ‘a little bit of dragon voice?’ He roars into the microphone on cue.
He makes a reference to his new wife, which draws oohs and aaahs from the floor. ‘I know lots of brilliant people. My wife is very brilliant,’ he says. What about impending fatherhood? ‘I’m very excited about that.’
It was interesting that, unlike the babbling Cumberbitches who are too excited to explain why they love him so much, Cumberbatch himself understands Sherlock’s appeal perfectly.
In one conversation, he described Holmes as a ‘brutal human being’, but recognises why he is so attractive to women — particularly his long-suffering assistant, Molly.
‘He treats Molly badly, but she hangs on in there. And part of the female appeal is that women think: “If I was the person looking after him, he would be all right”.’
Taking part in the photo sessions, Cumberbatch is charming and polite, lightly slipping an arm around everyone’s shoulders, smiling on cue.
The fans get about seven seconds each with him — just enough time to blurt out a starstruck hello or a suggestion for a pose.
‘Jazz hands? Finger point?’ he repeats, then sportingly complies.
AGAINST the blue backdrop, everything about him is finely tailored, from the shape of his head to his approach to the job. He is very contained, even a little distant.
Yet when the photographs are printed, spewing out instantly from a machine in the Sherlocked studio, his star quality is evident.
The fans look dishevelled, gawky, ramshackle, homespun, whatever. He, on the other hand, l ooks brilliant i n every single one, shimmering straight down the lens, imbuing the photo sausage factory with a bit of dignity.
And a bit of dignity is what is sorely needed. For there is no escaping the fact that the first ever Sherlocked may have been attended by thousands, but it is a rather mercenary, expensive experience.
Cumberbitches Caitlin French and Becky Grant bought £29 day tickets and travelled down on the coach from Leeds. They are both dressed in lab coats like Molly in the show and had a great time, mainly because ‘ we are obsessed with Benedict’ and being somewhere in his vicinity was enough of a thrill.
But not everyone was so easily pleased. A fan called Marion Legrand tweeted that: ‘I know it’s the first Sherlocked, but it seems that unless you’ve got lots of money to spare, you don’t get much.’
Others agreed that there was not much to do if you were on a budget, and that ‘ everything had a price’, and it was like ‘paying £29 to enter a Sherlock gift shop’.
However, plenty didn’t think it was a let- down. Massimiliano Manera came from Trento in Italy, where he is studying to be a doctor. His trip cost him £2,000. ‘Not everything was right, but it was awesome for the first time,’ he said.
The dopey Dr Watson might find it an impenetrable mystery why people would spend a fortune to fly around the world to meet Sherlock Holmes. But the Cumberbabes and Cumberbitches know better.