~continued from last post
Here we are… two people who met during an experiment
involving blood and the foundation to a bond that would run far deeper than the
scarlet fluid was laid down with the amazing skill of our expert
surgeon/writer. Their romance hidden within a crime scene investigation, these
two men now inhabited the same few square-feet in the upper floors of 221B
Baker Street. Holmes’s observation skills were phenomenal. He was eccentric, narcissistic,
suave…. All the adjectives Watson could
think of. It seems only a matter of time for the great mind to open his dark
secret and ask his companion to accept him for who he really is. In short,
everything is about to be as hunky-dory as possible (talk about insane
wish-fulfillment!); when out of nowhere, there came a problem. Oh shit.
So where are we? We are currently stuck in
limbo between two lovers who seems to be on a quest whose end stands upon the
edge of a knife; stray but a little and all would perish into nothingness. How did
our author get stuck in this quagmire? Even after years of planning, how can
there be a flaw in the plan? What stopped the great confession and prevented
the Mind from revealing that the reason it was seeking endorsement and
acceptance through a drug, than the moral way was because his heart didn’t see
love in the usual places (a.k.a. he’s gay)? There can be several reasons; there
/are/ several ‘accepted’ theories about what happened. But I’d like to state
here my own thought. The reason Sherlock Holmes couldn’t open out his heart and
let John in was because his creator, was afraid. He was scared out of his wits
seeing the impact his creation was stirring within the society. People didn’t just
accept Holmes; they /loved/ him. They loved him so much that, they began to
imagine their own stories and laying down the cornerstone to what would go on
to become the Holmesian Universe. He and John Watson were accepted and revered by
hundreds of people who were slowly calling out in unison, hungry for more of
the detective side of the tale. The romance, his primeval seed, lay unheeded,
almost completely overshadowed, like a medieval castle covered in ivy and
bramble.
Here’s one thing I’d like to point out;
even if my explanation sounds weak and shaky, there’s one piece of evidence that
would turn the table and prove it is the most powerful, strongest theory
available. The reasoning behind our author’s fear is simply because, he’s
human. We humans have a tendency to fear when things begin to move forward
according to an idea that we ourselves know to be our own. When we see that
others are following on our trail, we begin to doubt ourselves and spend
sleepless nights wondering if we’re doing the right thing. (What if we’re
wrong?) It is sickening, because even right now, I’m having that /exact/ same nauseating
feeling on the pit of my stomach; what if someone is reading this?! What if I’m
thinking the wrong way? What would happen if it is proven that I /am/ thinking
the wrong way? Would they all just laugh at me? Would they accuse me and call
me a queer person who’s prepared to blab to an audience about seeing
homosexuality in a revered work of literature? The answer is yes. I do feel
scared at pointing this out.
But then, my conscious gives an answer: of
course, you’re scared. You and so /many/ others before you and /many/ more
after you, would be scared to think that their ego would be bruised by your
different way of thinking. The ego is a part and parcel of being human. When you
do something completely out of the ordinary, the ego is left alone to cope on
its own. It is the virus in the data. It manages to evoke fear within ourselves
and make us doubt and have second thoughts about what we’re doing. Wow… if this
simple truth is applicable to me, why cannot it be the same problem with our
narrator? Why wasn’t it clear to us that our dear author was stopped in his
tracks by the virus in his computer? Isn’t it obvious that he became weary and
tired of carrying on with what he initially set out to do, because his mind
began to question him whether /he/ was doing the right thing? Ego, you bitch.
So there were marriages, women who came so
often to associate themselves with the protagonist lovers. More than often
(indeed nearly on /all/ occasions), they approached the more approachable
variable; Watson, the heart. Of course it wrecked Sherlock!!! He morphed into a terrifying drug-addict who would drown in a pool of cocaine in order to
maintain his famous ‘clever detective’ persona. More and more we’d find him
getting closer to drug abuse because his dark blank space of a heart was pushed
deeper and deeper into darkness by his own creator. It went on and on and on that
in the end, our writer decided to finish everything; the story must come to an
end. Sherlock has to die.
A word to the wise if you’re feeling lost
by this point: always remember that this is the story about a narrator who was
telling his own story. A creation is a creation, no matter how brilliant it is.
But the creator, is always as real as it can be. 😉
No comments:
Post a Comment