Hangry for Sherlock.

I got a bit "hangry" a few days ago. Don't know if you have any acquaintances who use the term, but it's that combination of hungry and angry that enhances both feelings with them coming at you at the same time. You're hungry, and you're angry that you're hungry.

It's most often seen it during the hunt for a restaurant during a busy season, like Mother's Day, when everywhere that anyone wants to go seems to have hour-long waits and groups of people get lost in a limbo of searching, but not finding, as their blood sugar plummets.

For me, however, it came with the joyous announcement that BBC Sherlock would start filming again in 2016.

2016! Filming! Next year! After we wait another five months or so until that Christmas episode that is being spoilered about the net! And then wait another year or so after that for the newly filmed 2016 trilogy to roll out.

And then it occurred to me. Benedict Cumberbatch is a full two decades younger than I am. He has said that he'd like to play Sherlock Holmes for a very long time. I could, potentially, spend the rest of my life waiting for Sherlock  episodes to come out, and then actually die before the series has its final episode.

The concept of vampires was surely invented by someone past middle age, because as this point, draining the youth from a few silly young wastrels isn't seeming like such a bad idea. I must be, I realized, getting "hangry."

At what point will the joy of new Sherlock episodes be outweighed by the sheer pain-in-the-ass nature of the weight between them? At what point does one go, "Well, yeah, I think Elementary is crap, but it's on every week, so I might as well blog about it instea . . ." Oops, I guess that point has already come and gone. But it probably is the point when some better, faster Sherlock Holmes shows up and starts emptying Sherlock's waiting room of its fans. Yes, nigh impossible to imagine, I know, but stranger things have happened.

So "hangry" for Sherlock was I the past few days that I finally found myself inexplicably turning to the Canon Prime to search for pancakes. Pancakes! And there I found some comfort, as little Lucy Ferrier spoke so sweetly of pancakes in the non-Sherlock part of A Study in Scarlet, another time when I just kept waiting for Sherlock Holmes to appear.

"I'll tell her how awful good you've been," young Lucy told her companion, speaking of her late mother. "I'll bet she meets us at the door of Heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was fond of."

I hope Lucy's mother is carrying some butter and maple syrup, too, when I get there, because if I'm still waiting for Sherlock episodes, I'm going to need a full-on pancake pig-out to ease my "hanger."