Next year, I think I'm going to try just going with January 6th as "Sherlock Holmes Day."
I mean, really, that's what it is -- a holiday to celebrate Sherlock Holmes.
And the whole concept of January 6, 1854 being the date Sherlock Holmes was born . . . heavy sigh. To a Sherlockian chronologist of even rookie status, putting that exact date on something with no concrete Canonical provenance just makes one shake one's head. And what's that Vincent Starrett poem that we all like so much say?
"Who never lived and so can never die."
Yeah, childbirth is something for mere mortals and really gross old-timey gods. Even the idea that someone out there could have a dried umbilical cord from Sherlock Holmes as a sacred relic in their Sherlockian trophy case . . . well . . .
But we just want to give him a birthday cake and presents, and take him to Simpson's so the wait-staff can sing him that non-legally-troublesome birthday song that was restaurant popular for a while and bring him special dessert.
All of which sounds just so not-Sherlock-Holmes, despite the fact that "The Adventure of the Furtive Festivity" exists and is very cute.
Why does it have to be his birthday?
If it's "Sherlock Holmes Day," we can actually up the level of celebration to parades and other public displays. Birthdays are a pretty limited commemoration, really, one that doesn't rise above a certain level when the birthday person isn't present, as Sherlock Holmes will most likely never be.
Unless he gets actually born somehow. Then, I guess, we can celebrate his birthday.
Approriate afterword for this January 6: Yeah, today was just not a good day to celebrate anything in America. Especially a human being known for his intelligence. On to next year.
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