~continued from le last post
Alrighty.., now I’m a li’l drunk. What do
you expect?! You killed off Sherlock, you have (literarily) killed off John
Watson during the process, and you managed to push hundreds of your readers (‘fans’?)
off a cliff, you’ve… oh wait; that wasn’t you, that was D-o-y-l-e. That crazy dreamer of an author who decided to write up a ‘one-of-a-kind’,
‘never-attempted-before’, ‘a-love-story-hidden-in-subtext’ sort of detective
tale and then decided to wrap himself up in a blanket and hide under his bed…/what/
am I saying?!.... Maybe I should r-r-really stop.
Whoa, hold yer horses!! What ‘appened to
that /revolution/ you were yammerin’ abou’?!
What revolution?!??? (Blinks) Oh… That. (Goes
off to wash the face and appear a little more sober)
That’s better. Now tell us about this ‘public
revolt’.
(Clears throat). Well, as time went by,
more and more people were able to lay their hands upon the various adventures
of Holmes and Watson. As they began to understand the unique storyline and the
intriguing, (as well as quite novel) narrative, our lovers became something
like a household item. People actually began to believe that 221B, Baker Street
was inhabited by this miscellaneous duo who seemed to just /belong/ to each
other; like a hand and glove. The perfect match; yet it can’t be romantic, of /course/,
for there cannot be /any/ romantic entanglement between two men, /obviously/. (Cough
it’s the /Victorian/-style cough).
Alright,
alright, we get it. They belong together but they don’t /belong/ together, that’s
what you’re saying, isn’t it? (What the...?!)
Never-mind. Slowly (it took nearly a decade
– if you’re not sure, its ten years!),
the number of those who became to love Sherlock and John grew and grew. And as
their numbers increased, the outrage at the way their author decided to end the
storyline became stronger. ‘Bring Holmes back!’ became a public slogan. Many readers
from far and wide flocked together to stand against this unpardonable offence.
It was like the East wind. Steadily it blew
across the deserted, bramble-covered mind-palace of our writer until all the
spiders of ‘doubt’ were swept off, along with their miserable webs. The passage
was unblocked; thoughts were freed from their dungeon; evil has passed. A pen
rested steadily upon our writer’s fingers; warm, pressed paper was lying
underneath, glancing coyly, awaiting the ink that would flow over them; pouring
forth love in cups and buckets.
Sherlock stood, nervous as any estranged-lover
can be, disguised as an old book-seller. He was going to see his Watson. He was
going to speak to the one, whom he loved above /everything/ else in the world. What
will he say? How would he react? Will he even look at him? After-all, it has
been two years since he fell off from the…., the (his heart stammered even as
he thought about it) falls. John will not be happy. I heard that his wife’s no
longer there…oh god.
~That
/pivotal/ creation of an egotistic Doyle…, but we will forgive him; for that is
how we must be. Forgive the man for /being/ a man. Even if we would’ve liked if
he stuck to his plan without wavering, that was the man /we/ wanted him to be.
It may have also been the man who he wanted to be. But the fact remained; he
couldn’t be it. He couldn’t be flawless, perfect. There was no way he could’ve
penned down the perfect love-story the way he dreamed of. It was /always/
possible for things to be completely ruined and destroyed: that is exactly what
happened. He dreamed of perfection when he knew it was unattainable. That’s
/not/ his fault. As much as he wanted Sherlock and John to fall in love, he may
have wondered whether John can be happy with a woman and still be Sherlock’s
companion.
But there can’t be an equilibrium point
between three lovers. For water there may be a triple-point, but in romance,
two hearts form the complete unit. Include a third, and everything collapses;
there’re no survivors. There can’t be a situation where one refers to a person
as ‘the man we both love’… if you ever say that, either you leave, or the other
one has to. You can’t both love the same person. How can he ever return the
affection? How can he just ‘share’ his heart with two people who claim that
they /both/ love him?? He’ll end up feeling extremely uncomfortable and simply
be fidgeting for the chance to flee the city. This is what happened to John
Watson. He became the unfortunate soul caught between fire and water. No wonder his narrative became cloudy and quite mechanical during the last few
years before Sherlock’s death. Sigh….
But now, there were no partners or wives
or lovers or anything (maybe an occasional flirting, but nothing else). He has
published some more of his early adventures with Sherlock. He was still deeply grieving.
‘The best, the bravest, wisest and the most humane human being I have ever
known…’ that’s how he thought of his Sherlock. If that doesn’t scream out ‘love’,
I don’t know what will.
There has been a murder quite nearby where
he now resided. He wished his Holmes was alive. ‘One more miracle, Sherlock. For
me, just for me, just… stop being….dead,’ he whispered.
You’d better be making an honest request,
John Watson. Take a deep breath and walk out that door…. Be polite to an old ‘book-keeper’
you’d be meeting near the crime-scene. He…might be a lot more than a
book-keeper. For one thing, he’s going to follow you back home…
~to be continued.
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