My impression of what a Sherlock Holmes' story is actually like.I came down to breakfast one morning to find my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes disembowelling a gerbil with a teaspoon.
"My dear Holmes," said I, "is that really necessary?"
Barely glancing up from his gruesome task, he told me that it was. "You see, Watson," he continued, "there is matter that I believe may soon become illuminated not only to you but the whole of London society."
"Good God, Holmes!" I cried. "Whatever is this?"
"Have patience, Watson," returned he. "You will understand directly."
Two days later, I came down to breakfast to discover my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, dressed as a goldfish.
"Ah Watson," he greeted me. "You remember the matter we spoke of the other day?"
"I do, Holmes, I do!"
"Well, it is even darker and more disturbing than even I at first realised."
The next day, I came down to breakfast to discover my friend lying disconsolately among the bacon.
"Are you quite well, Holmes?" I enquired.
"I have solved the case, Watson." He sat up, brushing a fried egg from the lapel of his dressing gown. "Allow me to elucidate."
By which I mean, everything happens very statically and in a quintessentially Victorian way.
Holmes is a prick and Watson is a sycophant. The theory of deductive is bobbins and I feel genuinely sorry for Lestrade.
However ... this is motherfucking Sherlock Holmes.
And I enjoy the hell out of it. Maybe precisely because it is completely stupid.