There are times in the Community Sherlockian when we tend to refer to "standing on the terrace." It's a good tradition. A solid tradition. But tonight I find myself thinking it's just not enough.
I have to blog about something that will come very hard for me, and if you are up on the locals of Sherlock Peoria, you might half expect what that is. If not, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
The Lascar left us tonight. Quickly, quietly, in the company of folks who cared for him.
But when I think of my friend, the terrace scene from "His Last Bow," does not seem to ring true at all. I find myself going to "The Devil's Foot."
Holmes and Watson are sitting on the grass, after coming as close to death as they had been in any case I can think of.
"Upon my word, Watson!," Holmes said, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for oneself, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."
Watson is quick with his reply: "You know that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."
The Lascar and I had a few unjustifiable experiments in our Sherlockian time. He was a rascal, that one, as his namesake, and we did wind up, on occasion, sitting in the figurative grass. (I say figurative, because even if you sat on the Lascar's lawn, the grass was always trimmed so short it you could hardly touch it.) And it was, when all is said and done, a joy and a privilege to find one's self there with him.
There shall undoubtedly be more on this subject in days to come, but for now I think I'm just going to sit on the grass a few more minutes.