Happy All Saints Day, the day that all saints are honored!
Unlike more organized religions, Sherlockiana does not keep official records of its saints, nor have a nomination process for same, miracle requirements, etc. But we have saints nonetheless, whether it is our virtuous late members of the fandom or the kind and patient living folk that make all our lives so much more pleasant.
Sometimes it's the simple things, like a couple of fellows who regularly contribute to a podcast week-in and week-out, or sometimes it's the lasting memory of a Sherlockian known for a lifetime of generosity and encouragement. The tireless efforts of those who toil in the Sherlockian fields for our relatively small audience, for decades, are definitely up in that rank . . . even if they have a bad moment and get nasty for a minute or two and we're still pissed off at them about . . . oh, excuse me. Got a little off my happy thought for a moment.
Yes, Sherlockian saints, those lovely people who put on the events that let us get away from our workaday lives for a weekend to exist in, as Doyle used in a title "The Country of the Saints." (And, fortunately, we never have to spend those weekends discussing that part of our Canon.)
Outside of A Study in Scarlet, "saints" is mentioned one other place in said Canon, The Hound of the Baskervilles, where the ancient manuscript reads:
" . . . he was a most wild, profance, and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbors might have pardoned, seeing that saints never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a byword throughout the West."
Saints do flourish in these parts we call Sherlockiana, at least the level of saint that I know best. So today's a good day to let one's mind wander along and mentally visit those we have known over the years, passed and present. And maybe even offer a word of thanks, speaking of which . . .
Thanks for reading these little essays, this diary of a Sherlockian who can't seem to stop writing. Were you not here, my particular Sherlockian malady might make me continue to do this, but it's comforting to know that a few folks get some value out of it as well. You're saints in that ephemeral place I call Sherlock Peoria, even if you don't get a statue in a cathedral for it.