Weird sh!t Sherlock…

[wytchcroft]

… or The Adventure of the Chattering Teeth.

An interesting day, if I do say so myself.

There I am doing the wytchy rounds of sundry drab public offices, all for some housing related reasons too dull to describe, but wait – things pick up of a sudden when a complete stranger in the seat next to me falls into conversation and we get to talking, talking about Sherlock Holmes.

Why? I have no idea, (at the risk of sounding like Tony from the second season of Skins) I don’t remember. But, mostly due to the intelligent stranger, it was a really fascinating chat about the nature of Holmes and Watson as people, their different attributes and characters, and why they so clearly needed each other.

I wondered aloud about the amount of possible projection that goes on in Watson’s assessment and descriptions of Holmes, and vice versa. For example, Watson is always being portrayed as the more sociable and out going fellow and of course he has a reputation as something of a ladies man too*, he marries twice after all. However it is actually Holmes who is described as being able to put women at their ease, and, more generally, he is shown to deploy considerable charm deliberately and effectively as the situation (or indeed the case in hand) requires. It is also Holmes that easily crosses the class barrier, talking easily (as himself or in convincing disguise) to Footman and Baron alike. 

As for Watson’s marriages, the details are vague (indeed the exact number of his wives is still being disputed) and he seems to scamper away from them, as he does with his medical practice, at the first opportunity to join Holmes on another adventure. If his gambling on the horses ‘with half his pension’ is not a humorous exaggeration then perhaps we can actually put the dependable Doctor down as something of a thrill seeker, which casts his Army service in a different light.

Perhaps Watson is also therefore more of a motivating personality than he credits himself. If he had never met Holmes, the good doctor might indeed have lived out a dullish sort of life; a middling general practice, money on the horses and his urge for adventure channelled vicariously through the yellow back thrillers and tales of daring expedition that he so enjoys – but on the other hand Holmes would then have been left to himself and eventually become more and more isolated and cerebral in his criminology career, as well as potentially a fully fledged drug addict. He would not be a failure, far from it, but surely it is plausible that he would resemble far more his brother Mycroft than the active sleuth of Watson’s narratives?  

None of these speculations are especially radical or new (the basis of the Holmes and Watson dynamic has been explored in depth in some of the Holmes stage plays and on television,) but I am keen to read the stories again with these thoughts in mind – there are obvious issues to examine, Holmes’s early career pre-Watson for example, but I’m fairly certain The Musgrave Ritual and Gloria Scott affair will actually back up the argument, it’s interesting that despite supposed reams of papers and items documenting Holmes’s initial cases only two are described in any detail.

The person I burbled all this too had their own perceptive opinions, though somewhat different to mine, seeing Watson as the more rounded character, human and three dimensional in contrast to Holmes as something of a mannerist cipher. Holmes deriving not simply support for his eccentric lifestyle and detection but also an effective balancing opposite; and if Watson’s positive attributes are somewhat played down within the narratives this may not simply be Watson’s authorial modesty but that those very qualities, warmth and heart and humanity, are the easiest to overlook and undervalue because, contrarily, they are the hardest to pin down and describe in prose. Holmes may do, but Watson is – and that’s a definite distinction.  

On the small screen however, no such definite division exists; the Russian series has a warmer, more gregarious Holmes than a superficial reading of the canon might suggest and in contrast to Watson whose stiff character, military baring and somewhat cold manner are emphasised. The Granada series has an initially frosty Holmes and a more fulsome Watson and it is also made clear just how much he relies on Watson to anchor him to reality, The Devil’s Foot and The Eligible Bachelor for example - but as time goes on Holmes is also seen to mellow a great deal, showing a warmth towards his intimate circle (Watson, Mycroft, Lestrade) and degree of impish humour.

So it was that with my head rattling like an old hansom cab, and one full of diverse Sherlocks and faithful assistants, I made my way back home.

And this was when I had a remarkable encounter:  Approaching the gates of the local park I could see a young woman in clear distress lying curled on the ground. I ran up just in time to see her fling out an unsteady arm to hand a mobile phone to another concerned passerby, the phone then being used to summon an ambulance. However, there was confusion as to the exact nature of the problem. The girl on the ground was crying and shaking, and there was a good deal of fresh blood spilling from her mouth onto the gravel around her, despite her attempts to staunch the wound with both a sodden tissue and her t-shirt. The person with the phone clearly believed the girl had been assaulted – and also that she could not speak English. However, looking at the colour of the blood and the pattern it had made I came to a different conclusion. Kneeling down I said, “It’s your tooth isn’t it?”

She nodded, “They took it!” Her reply was difficult to understand, but not because she couldn’t speak English, it was more the sort of slurring that comes as the numbed result of dental injections. “It was the dentist wasn’t it?” I asked. The girl nodded.

The woman with the phone spoke hurriedly into it. “Oh, she hasn’t been assaulted – but she appears to be in shock.” This was at least partially true; the girl was half hysterical, shaking and sobbing, but she was also clearly deeply humiliated by such a public display, being made bloodily abject.

“I’ll get you some water and fresh tissues,” I said, trying to sound reassuring – and I went to the café nearby. 

About five minutes later (at the most) I returned to discover absolutely no trace of either person. They had vanished.

There was no trail of blood (beyond the circular splattering already on the pathway) and no tracks in the leaves or on the grassy banks to indicate which direction the girl might have gone and whether an ambulance had come or not. I was baffled. So much for my attempted Holmes impersonation, I was clearly a Watson!

I asked a few people as I scoured the park for any sign or witness, but nobody had seen anything. I was forced to conclude that some form transport had taken them away - possibly it was aliens.

Walking home I was in a rueful mood. The reason I had been sure that a dental extraction was the cause of the girl’s distress was because such a scenario is all too familiar to me. I remember stumbling, like some crazed horror film extra, along the very same path near the train station, on all too many occasions alas, after having teeth of my own removed. Knowing that I was in fact due to visit the dentist the very next day, Wednesday, it was unsurprising that the memory should have arisen so swiftly.

I am, at times, annoyingly superstitious; “It’s an omen,” I wailed, raising angry eyes upwards. 

“I’m going to lose another tooth and have to go through all this again!!!!!!!!!"

I shook my head to get a grip on my mind. Don’t be silly, I told myself sharply, it’s not a sign of anything except your own nervousness and giant ego, expecting random circumstances to have immediate and specific meaning for you. Honestly! Much chagrined I finally arrived back at chez wytch.

 

And after all that, guess what?

Ohhh yes… I did indeed visit the Dentist yesterday and, yes, another of my teeth will have to come out (despite all those antibiotics and various clinical treatments) – so it’s all come to pass and, with a barely audible hissing, the snake has taken me down and back to square one.

Oh. Balls.

……………………………….

*although this has been exaggerated somewhat by films and television.

Comments

[stoshagownozad.livejournal.com]

oh what a thrilling story! hope you are OK, my friend

[stoshagownozad.livejournal.com]

Actually I was under antibitoics treatment for last week - I did not watch twisted reality, but my night dreams were so colorful and strange and meaningfull (I had a dream, for example, about the "live" dress made of little tender imps! The best dress and the srongest armour I ever can imagine!)

[wytchcroft.livejournal.com]

LOL! with your strongest armour - i can easily imagine, one third cosmonaut, one third joan of arc and one third don quixote!!! :))

[reginaclarejane.livejournal.com]

oh my goodness- what a story, nic.
and a mystery!
bad luck on the tooth, my friend. perhaps she was the ghost of tooth-pulling future!
*hugs*

[wytchcroft.livejournal.com]

and hugs to you :))

[wirral-bagpuss.livejournal.com]

Ugh teeth comming out. i know that feeling all too well. Been there done that and hopefully never again! I do sympathise with your plight! Did you ever ring up the local hospital and ask if the person had been treated? I would be itching to know what had happened! As to the chat on the way home with a complete stranger about Sherlock Holmes i have to say that sounds like a marvellous encounter. I dont get any such luck on my daily train commute although at work i have been able to discuss the Granada series of Sherlock Holmes but noone has really read the cannon. However on my daily commute to and from work i have been known to read my Sherlock Holmes books or watch a couple of my favourite Granada epsiodes on my ipod. And i get some knowing smiles from fellow passengers :D

[wytchcroft.livejournal.com]

i was definitely lucky to meet such a sherlockian! but Holmes is such a passion for people! i'm glad you enjoyed reading this - truth is indeed stranger than fiction. :))