Stresslock Holmes

How stressful was Sherlock Holmes's job?

The man loved his profession and the challenges it handed him . . . and that was probably the part of his job that did the most damage. Not the bruisers, the killers, the thugs, etc. The love of his job.

Who can ever forget, once read, that Maupertuis business, "an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch."

Staying awake for five days straight is, indeed, possible for a human to do, but their mental functions are sure to decrease over that time. After five days without sleep, Sherlock Holmes might have been almost . . . normal?

But even Sherlock Holmes can't work fifteen hour days for two months without collapsing when whatever motivation that was driving him so hard suddenly disappears when the case was solved, at which point all the stress and strain came back on him.

We know the downtimes of his career were more problematic than the busier times, but the Maupertuis case definitely falls at an extreme end of the spectrum. Were it not of his own choosing, and those fifteen hour days were done at the demand of an insistent boss, we should call such a taskmaster all sorts of horrible things, but as it was Sherlock Holmes pushing himself for a job he obviously felt was necessary to be done, we do tend to let his boss off the hook.

But, man, what end was worth all that stress, all that work? That couldn't have been one he was doing simply for the mental stimulation. Surely lives had to be at stake, and lives he cared about at that. Some of his family involved? Or was he pushing something else from his mind with that "work is the best antidote to sorry" motive he consoled Watson with in "Empty House?"

There are depths to a work-stressed Sherlock Holmes we have yet to plumb.

WWSHD?

WWSHD . . . what would Sherlock Holmes drive?

Yes, yes, there was that Model T Ford in "His Last Bow," but a.) Watson was driving, and b.) in 1914, the Model T Ford was the only Ford available in Britain. But it was an American car, not an Aston-Martin, a Rolls-Royce, a Vauxhall . . . or maybe something from his maternal ancestor's country, like a Renault or a Peugeot. But first, Sherlock Holmes would have to have a reason to have a car, like getting out of his usual major metropolis home. CBS's Elementary plopped him in New York City, as much as a non-personal-car metropolis as London . . . but what if he had been based in Los Angeles? Or Denver? Or any other one of the thousands of American cities that require a car?

Would he choose a car that blended in with traffic, for easy surveillance, tailing, that sort of thing? Or would he want a fast car, for racing to stop a crime or catch a fleeing criminal? Just how much would local law enforcement let him get away with?

When the idea of a modern Sherlock Holmes crossing over into the world of The Fast and the Furious movie franchise today, the idea did not seem all that strange. The crimes and plottings at the heart of most of those movies fits right into Holmes's area of expertise. But it definitely raises one question like a giant American flag over some retailer wanting attention -- Sherlock Holmes would then have to have a car, and a perfect car, with a racing engine that matched his racing engine of a mind.

When confronted with that problem in attempting the start of a little fan fiction, "The Fast and the Mysterious," I took the easy way out: I made up a car that doesn't exist. Sherlock was so original in every other aspect of his life, I saw him as driving something as unique and innovative as he was. Watson was the fellow who drove the Model T, and in disguise, at that. No, Sherlock Holmes would drive something both special and specifically chosen.

And I've no idea what that would be in the real world, chosen from existing cars. Not a car guy myself, driving the most non-descript common little sedan available, going for the "blending into traffic" option. As Sherlock Holmes moves out into the universe of stories beyond the Victorian era, however, writers are going to have to start giving him vehicle choices at some point. Or even motorcycle choices, if that's what his personality demands.

What would Sherlock Holmes drive? Well, I look forward to finding out.

I don't like . . .

With a couple of big finale events in the past month, we've been deluged with a lot of different "I don't like . . ." opinions. It's all familiar turf by now. Fans that didn't like the turn the story took. Non-fans who proudly flaunt their non-participation. Outrage junkies who proudly outrage that other people are having outrage about something they aren't outraging about. We have such a diverse rainbow of hues and shades of "I don't like . . ." these days that it's truly astounding.

And we've seen it all in Sherlockian fandom over the last century. With such an ancient fandom, we've been a bit ahead of the curve on so many things as our world turns more geek-y by the minute. So maybe it's time we get ahead of the curve on doing better with it all.

Rolling through podcasts this morning as I worked, I heard a nice line from Penn Gillette that went, "When it comes to any sort of art, the person who likes it is always right."  As we've brought the Doyle's Rotary Coffin society to live with its motto "No Holmes barred!" a lot of us have been thinking hard about our Sherlocks and what it is that makes us like or dislike a Sherlock, and how it's really okay that other people like Sherlocks that may not be to our taste.

"But I really have reasons for not liking this Sherlock!" one might protest. "I exist! My thoughts are valid! Other people agree with me!"

Yes, yes, and we need to feel like we're not alone in the universe. We need to find common ground, to relate with each other. But here's the thing: Do you want to hang out with a bunch of people who are just bitching about a thing all the time? Or would you rather hang out with enthusiastic lovers of a thing and soak in that radiant happiness? I have to worry about anyone who would choose the former.

If you work in a field, creating Sherlock Holmes stories, constructive criticism, analyzing what seems to work and what doesn't work is important. And even if you enjoy Sherlock Holmes, just figuring out what aspects of Holmes you enjoy so you can get more of that, is important. But those are matters we all have to decide for ourselves, and not try to decide for the human race as a whole.

One of the things I have long loved about 221B Con is that I can walk into any panel discussion, even of something I've never tried or understood, and hear why people love that thing. And I can share their joy, even if I may not yet find joy in that thing myself. If I instead went "Well, I am never going to read or watch  XXXXXXX!" in some weird moment of pride of my purity of ignorance, I would completely miss out on adding that joy to my life. And none of us needs less joy.

We're moving into a future that seems to have a near-infinite number of Sherlocks in it, and I'd guess that every one of those Sherlocks exists because at least one person enjoys their story and the turns it took. And with all those Sherlocks, our Sherlockian potential for fun is growing to about as much fun as we can possibly hold in our little human brains.

Breaking "I don't like . . ." habits can be hard. But as I'm learning every day, the rewards for working on that are really pretty cool. Like Sherlock Holmes, whichever one you think is cool.

Elementary, Season 7, Episode 1: England means Canon!

The year of the co-detective continues. Elementary spoilers ahead!

We started with Holmes and Watson in theaters, a tale of raising the good doctor up to co-detective status with Holmes. And now, with the resumption of CBS's Elementary in its final season, which left Holmes and Watson as co-detectives with neighboring offices at 221 Baker Street in London, the theme . . . one hopes . . . continues.

In the final moments of Elementary last season, the Canonical location brought a Canonical tale being investigated at the last. (Not that the previous six seasons didn't have two or three Canon-based episodes over all those years.) And in the opening moments of its first season-seven episode, Elementary goes full Canonical again . . . and actually enhances "Six Napoleons" in a rather cool way. Boscombe Valley gets a mention, and Abbey Grange. England means Canon!

And Holmes and Watson's British police contact, a female Athelney Jones, has a very Holmes and Watson bias against Joan.

"Just because I'm American doesn't mean I love guns," Joan Watson argues, but I'm already harkening back to Dr. Grace Hart and Millicent from that movie, who identify themselves as "American ladies!" and whip out their guns. Did the writers see that bit?

There's an acid-throwing that's not done by Kitty Winter, as she herself soon tells us. She's an investigator herself, specializing in missing girls. We might have had a glimpse of Clyde in the episode's very first scene. (My little bedroom TV was not up to side details like the terrarium in corner screen.)  And with a quick scene of Detective Bell getting a present in the mail from England with Captain Gregson there to comment, it would seem the gang's all here.

Did Joan Watson dye her hair blonde to mimic DCI Athelney Jones's blonde locks? Sure it doesn't seem like Joan, but Watson does seem to care about Jones's regard.

Sherlock buying ice cream for Kitty Winter's son Archie is a real treat for me, since my one piece of AO3 fanfic is ice cream based. Sherlock Holmes and ice cream, trending!

Detective Bell is not only looking sharp this season, though, he is sharp, and working Gregson to clear Holmes from the mess that pushed him back to England. We all know that Holmes and Watson have to go back to New York at some point, but England seems to have such brighter, newer police facilities.

Joan Watson wears pink pants now? (American pants, not British "pants." Joan having "Pink Pants Thursdays" is a place that . . . well, it might be appropriate, given John's Mondays. You tell me.) That blonde dye-job may be affecting her wardrobe. She's not happy in England, though, and the blonde hair and pink pants seem to have something to do with it. Sherlock, however, is so healthy and happy in London that you have to wonder how much New York might have been responsible for all his issues. Also, Gregson is being a real dick, so he's not making NYC any more attractive.

If it seems like I'm ignoring the main investigation here, even though I've developed a more accepting attitude toward Elementary, like its fellow procedural Lucifer, I'm still here for the ongoing character stuff and not the mystery-of-the-week. It's the odd thing about these procedurals -- even though the characters can be as alluring as the fallen angel himself, the little mysteries never seem to draw me in for some reason. Perhaps because the central figure in these cases is always dead, unlike most Canonical cases which usually had a living client we could care about. Or even a Scotland Yard inspector who actually came asking for help, not irritated that Holmes and Watson keep hanging around the office. (That nice, clean, new British office.)

When the villain is finally caught, Sherlock's simple look and nod of "Yes, you're caught!" makes me laugh. It's almost like a male criminal needs to check with another male in a room of female authority figures, but that thought makes me stop laughing, dammit. That was still such a good face Jonny Lee Miller made.

But then, big cliffhanger at the end, and we're left feeling a bit guilty for thinking Gregson was a dick, as he's lying in the hospital near dead. If only they could have moved him to England in some exchange program, at those nice, clean London cop shops before this!

Twelve episodes left to go -- that's a full Adventures, Memoirs, or Return in old-style Canon -- and this episode's title "The Further Adventures" was a nice touch in that direction, especially as this final season came as a bit of a surprise to all. On we go.

A trail of Arthur-crumbs.

Among the golden nuggets found during tonight's discussion of "Priory School" at Peoria's North Branch Library was one that was very new to me, and worth a blog post. I don't remember how Mary O'Reilly phrased it exactly, but the gist was this:

Why would Conan Doyle give a character in a story his own name?

The Duke's son, ten-year-old Lord Saltire who attends the Priory School, is named Arthur. As in "Arthur" Conan Doyle.

Those of us who dabble in fiction didn't think that giving a character in our story our own first name was something one would naturally gravitate toward. And yet Conan Doyle does it more than once. Actually, a lot more than once.

His first Sherlock Holmes novel, the first person who gets arrested . . . Arthur.

His second Sherlock Holmes novel, the missing father of the client . . . Arthur.

His first book of Sherlock Holmes short stories, the wrongly accused son . . . Arthur.

His second book of Sherlock Holmes short stories, the alias of a thief . . . Arthur.

His third book of Sherlock Holmes short stories, the kidnapped son . . . Arthur.

Still, in that third book of short stories, the up-and-coming forger . . . Arthur. Dammit!

Thought I had a pattern going, of one Arthur per book.

But fourth novel of Sherlock Holmes, guy who needs a place to stay . . . Arthur.

The fourth book of Sherlock Holmes short stories, a murder victim . . . Arthur.

The fifth book of Sherlock Holmes short stories, the guy writing the preface . . . Arthur.

The Hound of the Baskervilles is the only Sherlock Holmes book without an Arthur, unless you count Casebook since it's Arthur is Arthur Conan Doyle's preface. But let's take this odd pattern a step further. Authors don't seem to use their own first name for one character, much less eight. And what word does "Arthur" look very, very close to?  "Author."

So if John H. Watson was actually using Arthur Conan Doyle as a literary agent and changing a few of the names along the way, what would it tell us that two of the books were without an "Arthur?"  Maybe a tip-off that Watson wasn't the "Arthur" of those books?  We've heard tales of how Doyle based Hound on a moor ghost story he heard from Fletcher Robinson. And we know Casebook has a tale completely lifted from a Doyle play. So the pattern seems to fit, doesn't it?

John H. Watson, leaving us a trail of bread-crumbs as he acknowledged his literary agent in every single book he was responsible for. And then when the practice stops, so apparently, had he.

Walp, it's a theory anyway!

The milk and cookies man

These days when one speaks of someone lying stretched out on the bearskin rug in front of the 221B Baker Street fireplace, thoughts are probably going to come to mind of sexy-time Holmes or Watson in one of their younger personas. This is a fairly recent development, however, and for most of the century prior, that someone was most likely the more comic figure of a man with the more comical name of Thorneycroft Huxtable laying spread-eagled and face-down on that same rug.

When Thorneycroft Huxtable rouses himself from this collapsed state, his first sentence to to beg forgiveness, and his second sentence is to ask for milk and cookies.

But here's the thing: Sherlock Holmes gets volume "H" of an encyclopedia. Dr. Watson has plainly stepped back when Huxtable scrambles to his feet. But no one goes for . . . or calls Mrs. Hudson to ask for . . . the milk and cookies. And yet Thorneycroft Huxtable is eating milk and cookies.

Were the milk and cookies already present in the sitting room, and Huxtable was just asking for something readily available?

Which brings up the question, whose milk and cookies were they? Suddenly anyone who had any love for Nigel Bruce surely has visions of that fine fellow with his hand caught in the cookie jar, and a milk-and-cookies Watson becomes very easily envisioned. Sherlock certainly doesn't seem like a guy who eats a lot of cookies, with that waistline. But Watson . . . the guy who first came to Baker Street "as thin as a lath" . . . is just the sort of guy a caring landlady like Mrs. Hudson is going to want to feed cookies to, and Watson is just the sort of guy who would eat the cookies out of social niceties alone. (But, still, who doesn't like cookies? Other than a detective who doesn't eat while thinking hard on a case, of course.)

This, of course, happens in "The Adventure of the Priory School," which I love for two reasons, among all the others, the milk and cookies up front, and the cocoa that Holmes uses to help lure Watson into early morning action when they are staying on site. And any man that is going to go for morning cocoa, is probably also a milk-and-cookies man, plainly not being lactose intolerant.

I'm sure we'll discuss deeper aspects of "Priory School" at Thursday night's meeting of the Sherlock Holmes Story Society at the Peoria Public Library's North Branch, but at this very moment? I can't seem to get past the cookies and cocoa.

Getting your Watson up

Back from a longish vacation that turned out to be a lot more stressful than relaxing. It's Monday. I have to go from driving interstate highways to getting on the on-ramp back to my job and going from zero to seventy as fast as I can.

And who's out patron saint for that?

John H. Watson.

The guy that was constantly getting the "Is that convenient to you, Watson?" or the "Come at once if convenient -- if inconvenient, come all the same." And if that doesn't sound like a job, I don't know what does.

John Watson isn't the guy that gets to sit around and go, "Hmm, I think this case interests me. Maybe I'll look into it."  No, John is a doctor who takes the patients that come in his door or summon him out to their homes, a former battlefield medic who dealt with what was put before him. And when Sherlock Holmes appeared next to his bed before dawn on a given morning, he got up and went.

Not even sure where he was going, Watson went.

John H. Watson is the guy you want to be on a Monday morning, not Sherlock Holmes.

The old campaigner. The warhorse who answers the trumpet call. Loyal and true and ready to deal with what's out there, like it or not.

Maybe later in the week, we can be Sherlock. But it's Monday.

Time to be Watson.