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| "Killing me. Please. That's so two years ago." |
From mom I get my love of philosophy, spirituality, nature
and old movies among many other things
From my dad I get my love for a broad range of music, comedy
and laughter, British humor and Sherlock Holmes.
I’ve always loved Sherlock Holmes, not just because I like
puzzles and mysteries but also because I love Sherlock Holmes' application of
deductive reasoning. And of course
there is the enigma of Sherlock Homes himself, an iconography based on Sir ArthurConan Doyle’s portrait of genius cloaked in madness, addiction, restlessness,
tactlessness, selfishness, detachment and non-conformity. Where James Bond
would use physicality and weapons, Sherlock uses only his intelligence and
condescension.
His public are confounded and appreciative of the first
quality and dread the latter respectively.
So yes, I’m taking about television because I’m addicted to
BBC’s Sherlock but I’m also taking about a personality which constantly intrigues
me because I have that kind of time on my hands at the moment.
In the first season of Sherlock, we learn who he is and how
he functions at his best. He is selfish, manipulative verbally acrobatic,
insensitive, restless, private and ridiculously smart to say the least.
In the second season we see his weaknesses and fears as he
is nearly stumped by a case of the supernatural, nearly matched by the one and
only woman who ever penetrates his thick cerebral boundaries, and pretty much brought
to his knees by his nemesis, Moriarty who knows that his true weakness is his
affection for John Watson, an affection whose depth, even Sherlock is too dense
to comprehend until this, the most recent, third season.
After committing the necessary and
seemingly unforgivable, Sherlock begins to let himself open to the reality that
John is a cherished companion but in doing so under such circumstances he does
not anticipate John’s discovery of another companion as well. John, a
relatively well adjusted, level headed, compassionate, social creature meets
someone, falls in love, gets married as many people do. He loves Sherlock
though he fails to understand him and forgives him repeatedly, though
begrudgingly even when one would understand if he walked away from Holmes and
never looked back. But John functions on certainties, habit, reliability,
domesticity and an open admission of friendship and love that are as foreign to
Sherlock’s existence as the possibility of deep sea diving is to a
Sparrow. Sherlock is rendered speechless and paralyzed at
the possibility that anyone could truly care for him and more even, that he
should believe it or feel worthy of it. The smartest man in London and he
cannot understand why anyone should care for him despite his impossible nature.
Episode two (because I can’t wait to watch whenever PBS airs
it. I’m already on episode two) left me with an odd feeling as (SPOILER ALERT)
Sherlock walks away from John’s wedding ceremony all alone in the night with
his famous long dark overcoat fluttering in the cold behind him. Sherlock is
capable of so many things, has so many admirers, just as many haters and more
than his share of opportunities to get paired up if this was what he wanted.
But he lives a life of the mind and is mistrusting of anything, which veers
away from the logical and practical applications of deductive reasoning. Even
his love of playing the violin is largely mathematical and pattern obsessed.
Though the results of his playing are a heart rending beautiful sound, he is
not nor ever has he ever been concerned with beauty for beauty’s sake.
Sherlock gets off on solving mysteries, period. When He goes
to Molly Hooper to ask her to be his partner while John is stilled pissed at him he asks, “Would you like to solve mysteries?" and poor, lovelorn Molly says at the
same time “Have dinner?” Because this is what she wants. She wants intimacy
with Sherlock. Sherlock wants intimacy through the unlocking of secrets, yet he
is stunningly unaware of his own secret. He hits a wall at the idea that human
companionship should hold any value for him or that he should have anything to
contribute to the life of another other than that great gift granted to him of
the ability to surgically unravel the most diabolically constructed crime.
We only like to do what we do well. We are lost when we find
ourselves in a place where the tools, which we have sharpened daily, and into
which we have invested a great deal of time and effort, have no use. We don’t
know who we are anymore. We don’t know how to gain control of the situation. We
feel exposed, weak, and vulnerable. What happens next, both in life and in art
(some might argue that there is no difference) is usually a defining moment.
Watching Sherlock leave his best friend’s wedding reception
alone made me feel something familiar. It reminded me of how lonesome it can sometimes be to
let yourself feel particularly if you have neglected that part of yourself for so long that you are barely aware it exists until the doors are flung open. It also reminded me of what can happen if you wait too long
to let people know how much they mean to you. You can end up trapped in a
prison of your own making, feeling very much out in the cold. Even the people
who care about you deeply won’t always hang in there forever if you don’t let
them know how you feel.
It’s interesting to watch this journey through Cumberbatch’s
performance which is one of a total commitment to what, until season 2
Sherlock’s believes is a dedication to raw fact and his worship of deductive
reasoning, his addiction to breaking open the securest of locks, all except for
himself.
