Raise the Surveillance Status to ‘Active’

I wrote about Sherlock last night and how much I love everything about the show. Last night, I also talked my dad into watching an episode with me.

He came over today to watch Sherlock. I couldn’t decide where exactly to start. I told him that as much as I’d love to start with Season Three, just because it really has been exceptional so far, I should probably start with A Study In Pink. He went on a diatribe about how he wasn’t going to get into a television show, he doesn’t watch television, it doesn’t matter where we start. I knew he would act this way, which is why I was torn over which episode to show him.

After some internal debate, and after asking a friend, I decided on ASiP – to introduce him to the Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman version of the characters. Plus, it really is a brilliant episode. 

Upon first seeing Martin, he exclaimed, “Hey! That’s the hobbit!” He was already laughing during the press conference when Sherlock was texting everyone, “Wrong.” Just a few minutes later and he’s already saying, sheepishly, “Okay, I think I could get into this.” 

After Sherlock invited John to live with him, dad said, “That’s how they met?! This is too good for TV.” When Sherlock ran off, leaving John at the crime scene with the Pink Lady, dad admitted his man crush on Martin Freeman: “He can say more by not saying anything.” Yes, dad; the fandom is very much aware of Martin’s expertise.

He laughed, he asked questions, he was rather enthralled. 

When Mycroft said, “Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson” and they walked off in slow motion to the theme, dad and I looked at each other, and he reached over to shake my hand. I couldn’t contain my smugness.

“This show… is awesome. You bitch. You’re like a drug pusher. How do you expect me to walk away from this show without needing to watch more?”

And, much like at the end of a successful drug deal, we shook hands again.

As he got up to leave (I have an errand to run), he said, “God. Pretty soon I’m going to have Sherlock shit all over my house! My chickens will be wearing little black coats!”

I told him I didn’t have anything going on tonight after my errand, so we made plans for him to come back over and watch The Blind Banker. I told him not to Google any spoilers.

 

Growing up, watching movies with my dad was essentially one of my favorite past-times. It’s because of him that I have such a passion for film and television. It’s because of him that I know what Airplane! is, and Spaceballs, unlike so many of my friends. It’s because of him pointing out different things or wondering out loud why the director shot the scene a certain way or how the score is in a certain scene that I do those things. 

So, being able to introduce him to Sherlock, a show that manages to be the brightest light shining in a world full of torches, is an immense pleasure. The fact that he loved it, well. 

Back into Battle

“When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battle field.”

So says Mycroft Holmes in BBC’s Sherlock.

It’s funny. I had avoided watching Sherlock. Seeing it on Netflix and thinking, oh God, they made another tv show out of it. Thinking it couldn’t possibly be better than the RDJr films of which I was such a fan. Funny how now I can hardly stand the RDJr films after becoming so engrossed in Sherlock.

It just took that one viewing. Luckily for me, when I begrudgingly started watching a year ago, both seasons were already available on Netflix. To say I became passionate about the show/its characters/its creators/its actors would be a gross understatement. There have been few shows in my life that grip me so, and Sherlock, I am increasingly proud to say, could be the ultimate.

When I started watching a year ago, I couldn’t get enough. I’m not sure how many times I’ve watched each episode. How many discussions I’ve had about each episode. How many analyses I’ve done on each episode. The more I watch, the more I notice, the more I learn. It’s addicting, really: theorizing, analyzing. I haven’t read all of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes Adventures, so I have nothing to compare, but also, no expectations.

Upon finishing episode three of season two, the finale – as there are three episodes per season/series – I felt like I’d just finished an incredible book. I was tear-streaked, antsy, taking calming breaths, maybe even having to get up and pace. In such a short time, I’d grown to love these characters, aspired to be these characters. And then it was over. 

Once a third season had been commissioned, the floodgates opened. 

I was fortunate enough to spend time in London last summer and visit various Sherlock filming locations. I was even around to watch them film in person. I was even able to meet a few of my heroes. 

To me, it had been a hell of long wait. To those who had been around since the beginning, it had been even longer. (I parlously found Tumblr and, like many, got my Sherlock fix that way). 

But finally, it was here: Sherlock Season Three, starting on New Year’s Day.

The first episode, “The Empty Hearse,” was nothing if not the biggest gift to the fans. To us. To the people who waited. Like a loved one coming home after so long and the reunion actually being everything that you’d ever dreamt of. I’m not a huge fan of spoilers, so I won’t reveal anything in particular. I’ll just say that it was an absolute blast of an episode. 

The second episode, “The Sign of Three,” just aired today. Again, no spoilers, but to me, this episode could very well be perfection. I’ve never been so blessed as when I’m wracked with sobs due to the beauty of something. Truly. 

I was compelled to write simply because, well, I have that feeling again. The feeling I had when I watched Sherlock for the first time. I’m re-invested. I’m re-invigorated. I’m back on the battle field. To me, it feels real. These characters, these things. It all feels real. I feel involved. I feel like I’m running alongside. No, I’m not as clever as Sherlock Holmes, nor as brave as John Watson. I don’t need to be. But I can try to be. 

It’s that feeling again. Thrumming through my veins. Thoughts buzzing through so quickly, I can’t focus. If this is what falling in love is like, well. 

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