You are definitely not Sherlock Holmes, and neither am I. Sherlock Holmes is Sherlock Holmes, and I'm sure that is at least one point upon which we can all agree. As far as anybody else being Sherlock Holmes (Cumberbatch, Rathbone, that guy who isn't), I'm even more sure we have, and will probably continue to, disagree.
But here's the question I really want you to consider. Are you Sherlock Holmes?
Yes, I already said you're not, but I'm peculiar that way. What I'm actually asking is this: In your heart of hearts, at the very core of your being, when you enjoy Sherlock Holmes to the fullest in whatever version or format, who are you relating to the most?
Do you see yourself as a Watson at heart, or a low-functioning Sherlock Holmes whose talents just don't click into gear as often as you might like?
And ask yourself the same question about your friends: Are they Watsons to your Holmes, or are you a Holmes to their loyal Watson?
We find ourselves on different sides of that fence with different folk at different times in our lives, 'tis true. But in the wee hours of the morning, when darkness is all around and you may or may not hear something slithering down the bellpull you don't remember having, who do you think you are? The one who is going to deal with it, or the one who waits for the person with a clue to deal?
Okay, so that last bit might bias your answer a wee bit -- didn't mean for it to go how it went, but just became enamored with it at the end. But I am curious about which choice is floating around in Sherlockian brains out there, and perhaps I'll ask you someday. But feel free to take your own poll in the meantime. I'm just taking a moment on a Saturday afternoon to wonder around.
I never told you how I met Sherlock, did I? I had a fleeting glimpse of him in my early youth when I read a few stories about him (abbreviated/translated) that left me with no real impression whatsoever. So I forgot about him.ReplyDelete
Then, one late Sunday night, I sat on my sofa, bored, switching channels on the TV and suddenly landed in a taxi. Said taxi came to a stop and the cabbie proceeded to take his passenger into a house at gunpoint. As soon as he had produced his weapon, the passenger and I both said, 'Dull.' (Of course we said it in German, 'Langweilig.') I had my finger on the remote, ready to click away, but at that I stayed and followed their story. I was hooked.
So, yeah, I'm a Sherlock. I can totally understand him. I spent the first thirty years of my life complaining, 'I'm surrounded by idiots!' (now I mostly think it, but it's still true). I can understand not caring about the victims of the crimes he solves - even recommend it - because what use would it be? Better to concentrate on the facts. If you need someone to commiserate with you, go to your friends or see a counsellor. Scaring a witness into giving her statement? Of course. Time is of the essence here, abducted children and so on.
Where we deviate is in the heart. I'm far colder than he is. The rooftop scene would have gone totally different with me as I wouldn't jump to my death for my friends (though an air cushion would be worth consideration). Which is probably why the sudden outburst of emotion in S3 so irritated me. Not my area, can't follow.
I'm a Watson,not a daring, fiercely independentReplyDelete
man of action like Holmes -- additionally, BOTH
my shoulder & my leg hurt...
I'm more spectator than protagonist;
more raconteur than adventurer, plus
I own a bull pup although it suffers from the mange...
I have had experience of women which extends over
many counties and three separate aldermanic districts.
And for the life of me, I can't find my checkbook.
Sherlock, albeit with a damaged chip in my brain--that chip that processes the details I notice into something coherent, as opposed to what I actually get which is a jumble of details that might or might not be connected, relevant, or useful.ReplyDelete
I'm assertive in that I don't wait around for someone to do something for me if I can do it--or get it--myself. If there's a snake coming down the bellpull or a burglar hiding behind the draperies, I'm dealing with it. The world waits for no man and as a woman, I can't wait for the world, lest I never get what I need.
But like Watson, I dislike confrontation and I feel horrible if I know I've been rude. It tends to put the brakes on my full-steam-ahead tendencies. It's a good thing, else I'd be constantly running into things full tilt before I have a chance to analyze potential pitfalls and avoid them.