Dear Mr. J.L. Miller:
Greetings from the Colonies! I hope this finds you keeping well.
I was surprised to have read about your behaviour in my morning newspaper this day and saddens me to think that you thought it beneath you to interact with the fans of your pitiful excuse of a show. It's obvious the time you spent with Benedict (the REAL Sherlock!) during the run of Frankenstein taught you nothing about common courtesy and that fame can be fleeting--no matter who you are or pretend to be.
You'll find that we fans are a fickle bunch and that, if you rile us in any way, shape or form, you'll find that your fall from your pedestal will be very, very short. I strongly advise you to take a page from Benedict's book. He makes time for the fans he has, and I will tell you we are legion. He won't just stand there with his arms crossed looking like he wouldn't give us the time of day. The man is a first rate gentleman and, for the past ten years that makes up the length of his newborn career, he has worked his butt off. He's never let the fame go to his head, unlike some other people of whom I've heard, and we. his fans, are all the better for it.
Your behaviour today was only another nail in the coffin of your travesty of a show. I suggested in the previous paragraph that you should take a page from Benedict's book, but I also suggest you follow Ms. Lui's lead when meeting and greeting fans. You'll learn plenty.
So, Mr. Miller, if you don't want to find yourself out of a job, I suggest that you get down off your high horse and stop treating the fans like they're something you just scraped off the bottom of your boots and, as I said before, we fans are fickle, and we'll drop you in a heartbeat. You're only a pretender to thrones of Cumberbatch and Freeman.
Watch your step!
Sincerely yours always,
A REAL Sherlock Holmes Fan.