You might have seen the headline today, "Steven Moffat reveals death threats from Sherlock fans," and thought, "Oh, those kids today are just kuh-raaaay-zee!"
But I have to tell ya, in my day, Sherlockians didn't just do stuff like this . . . well, other than sending orange pips to other Sherlockians, which, when you come right down to it, is a death threat . . . but let's not mince words: When an old school Sherlockian wanted to kill someone, they killed them.
Well, allegedly. C'mon, if you're a halfway decent Sherlock Holmes fan, you have to be smart enough to get away with major crime, don't you? Okay, maybe not that guy . . . or that lady from . . . but you know you surely could. Don't let me put ideas in your head, though.
The problem was, back in the day when Sherlockians sent the orange pips to each other, most of the would-be victims were just as foxy as their attempted murderers, so that's why you didn't hear about a lot of deaths. Lots of out-foxing going on . . . at least that's my theory. A few folks probably got away with it . . . allegedly . . . making it look like natural causes, and all. They didn't go for the big, flashy "Hey, let's tunnel into this bank like 'Red-headed League.'" Those kinds of fans were always getting caught. (And usually disavowed by the Sherlockian community, which is why we never saw their names in journals and such after they tried it.)
It's always easy to get down on the next generation for not being everything you thought the previous generation was, so I'm not going to blather on condemning these new millennium Sherlockians for their lack of blood lust. They've got other issues getting in the way. When you're trying to cook up just the right aphrodisiac that can be slipped unnoticed into the craft services beverages during the next season of Sherlock on a Cumberbatch-Freeman-only filming day, well, that takes a lot of energy out of your murder plots.
But they'll get there eventually. Don't you worry. One of these days, we older Sherlockians will be kicking the bucket right and left, and you'll go, "Isn't that odd? And one of these little Native American figures is being broken off every time one of them passes . . ." (Hey, it's movie-Canonical! Well, maybe. I fell asleep during that movie.)
So, anyway, I didn't see "Arthur and George" on PBS. But it wasn't because I was out killing anybody. Or disposing of their body. Not like I premeditatedly didn't watch "Arthur and George" for any reason. Just in case you were wondering why this blog was appearing instead of a a review of that show.
That is all.