Well, I guess I really shouldn't have complained about the 8:58 thing in my previous post. Turns out it was just a sham start time for PBS to run its commercials prior to an actual 9:00 p.m. start time of the new Sherlock. And PBS then spared us the person with the British accent saying something about Conan Doyle and/or Holmes. And, I am told, they didn't cut anything this time around. So thanks to PBS for not getting in the way once the time was here.
And what time was that?
Time to get together with old friends.
You know, I could go on about this detail or that detail. Compare it to past exploits, call out favorite characters, make a comment about . . . no, tonight I won't even do that.
I've always enjoyed my friends. The nearby ones, whom I got to see this weekend. The faraway ones, whom I only get to see every year or so . . . sometimes longer. But the thing about good friends is that no matter what the interval, when you come together once more, it only takes a little bit before it's just like it always was. That little miracle . . . that consistent chemistry over time . . . it's a joy I've been lucky enough to have grown quite familiar with over the course of my life.
And tonight, it just felt a lot like that.
It doesn't matter what those friends have been particularly up to. It was just good to be with them again for ninety minutes, to spend an evening with them. And I'm not talking about characters in some TV show that just had six previous episodes.
I'm talking about Sherlock Holmes. And Dr. Watson. Mrs. Hudson. And G. Lestrade. Oh . . . and Mycroft Holmes, even though he's always been more the "friend of a friend" sort. Folks whom I've know all of my adult life. Yes, yes, I know they're only shades of real people, imaginary spirits evoked by a medium -- be it literary or video based. But I've know them a very long time.
And tonight, they came back for a visit. And it was just like old times.
Works for me.