Screams.

I really enjoy a particular Three Patcher on Twitter, one Caroline/avawtsn. And she was screaming today. I've come to trust Caroline's opinion on some subjects, and, as I wrote, she was screaming today.

As much as one can scream on Twitter, that is. And my first thought was, "Holy crap, Sherlock came out of the closet!" Nothing less earth-shattering could raise that level of reaction, surely.

But I had forgotten.

I had forgotten Steven fucking Moffat when he is on his game.

Excuse the profanity, I had to get one out tonight. And that's the one. Here, anyway.

Because, you know . . . you know all those people who decided Sherlock had jumped the shark. You know all those Sherlockians who just don't watch this show because it's just so not Canon. You know those folks who try false equivalency to try to raise Elementary a notch or two. You know all those people?

Well, they can %$!*& my #(&$ing lily white #@$&#* and *&$@# the @%#&# off the Queen's &$^#(*# on Christmas &$#%@ing Day!

Because, goddamn if "The Lying Detective" didn't have it all. One story. One Canonical story. With the ghost of a best-selling pastiche laid over. And a beloved character allowed to just be all the more lovable, and huggable, and kissable, because SHE is just such a sweetie. Foreshadowing details layered in, so you see that the carpet is a bloodstain just before get to know why the carpet is a bloodstain. And that great, big, tremendous bombshell from ancient Sherlock lore that we all wanted to see woven in, finally showing up at last.

If our paths ever cross, you might find that I'm not exactly the person portrayed in this blog, unless you catch me at the right moment. Not usually a cursing, ranting maniac on the exterior, though my internal life is another matter entirely. And what was going on in that internal life tonight, so as not to frighten my flat-mate?

Screaming. I was screaming.