And so it begins.
Yes, I knew I was really going to miss going to 221B Con in Atlanta this year, thanks to an unforeseeable combination of events. No big deal, I miss a lot of things. Symposia, Holmes Birthday weekends, various banquet-ish events . . . the mind has a way of minimizing negative things like pain in one's memory.
And then the tweets and photos started to show up in social media. And it's only Friday night.
Oh, the energy!
Oh, the fresh ideas!
Oh, the beautiful cosplay!
Nothing in the Sherlockian world was ever like 221B Con before 221B Con. Yes, there have been some wild and wonderful weekends in my Sherlockian life in places like Minneapolis, Kansas City, or even Dubuque, Iowa over the years, but nothing was ever quite the same as 221B Con. Nothing. That isn't John Bennett Shaw spinning in his grave you're hearing, that's him fighting to get out, resurrect, and get down to Atlanta. He would have loved this.
And did I really just see a picture of Playboy bunnies re-enacting the Reichenbach fall? Be still, my beating heart!
The most satisfying part for me, even at a distance, is seeing more classic Sherlockians headed that way this year. Last year, the handful of us old world Holmes fans walking into 221B Con seemed at first like a small expeditionary force landing on an undiscovered planet full of Sherlockian glamazons. Eventually we all found that "We are them, they are us, and this was Earth all along," and I look forward to others amongst our legion making that discovery as well.
At some point during the last day or so, I saw a preview for a movie called "Heaven Is Real." It didn't mention 221B Con, focussing on some kid who supposedly died, came back, and talked about his grandpa. But I know what my version of the movie would feature prominently . . . and I even saw a Winglock there last year.
Sherlockian heaven is real. But this year, I'm grounded. Heavy sigh.