The Arrival Of The Stranger I Knew

 Since a young age, I've had a powerful imagination, so it is no surprise that my first reaction when the doorbell rang was chainsaw massacre. I peeped out from behind the blinds shielding me from the bay window that was the outside world's portal to me. I could see nothing but a scruff of auburn hair peeking out past the indent in our house that housed the door, grabbing my keys. Then I advanced upon the door.
 You know that scene in 'The Night Before Christmas' when he first sees saint Nick, well, but what to my wondering gaze should attach, but a Honda civic and Benedict Cumberbatch.
 His face was as perfect as I'd been led to believe and a pang of jealousy that he could exist sprouted in my stomach, soon to be replaced by a crippling terror that my Scottish accent would be too much for the self-confessed posh-boy.
 "H-Hi," I stuttered, "Can I help you in some way?"
 "Yes, at least I hope so. Can you point me in the direction of Hamilton Grammar School?"
 "Okay, but I want something in return."
 "What?" he asked warily, which was understandable considering the reputation of Cumberbitches.
 "A photo, an autograph and the permission to tell Twitter that I'm talking to you."
 "Yes, yes and yes so long as you don't tell people where you are."
 "Um ... Two people know where I live but I could pretend I'm on holiday or something."
 "No, no, it's fine. Just don't explicitly say that I'm in Hamilton. "
 "Okay, hold on a moment. There's a pen on that table. I'll need to write down the directions anyway."
 I zipped around the hallway into the living room and thrust my hand under my coffee table to rummage around in the pile of junk - it's like those Garbage Islands everyone says are going to be kilometres wide in the future - for a notebook. I emerged with one dotted with monkeys and flipped it open, handing Benedict FREAKIN Cumberbatch a Sharpie. He scribbled something illegible on the page, then handed it back to me.
 "Directions, then photo. By the way, where are your parents?"
 "Oh, they're on holiday. They're letting me prove I can be in the house by myself. Anyway, so once you get out this street, you go to the bottom of the hill turn left at the road you can't get to the main road from then at the mini-roundabout by the big tree you go past the car wash the take the street at the left of the church until you get to the end of the windy street then cross the road and turn left at the bottle-bank then follow the street until you get to the pedestrian traffic lights and you can see it by then can I ask why?"
 His face was caught somewhere between impression and a smirk, as he requested that I either write that down legibly or accompany him to the school. What did I reply? What do you think I replied?