Bimetallic Question Meeting - April 4th, 2013 - Toast to John Watson
We all know that Watson is a pretty awesome companion. He’s great not only at connecting Holmes to the world around him -- but also at connecting us, the audience of his stories -- to Holmes. They’re the original dynamic duo, the first of many -- Batman & Robin, Jeeves & Wooster, Laurel & Hardy -- but I’m not going to talk about that. After all, Holmes got his own toast. He can stay out of this one.
Tonight I want to talk about just how amazing Watson is all by himself.
Because let’s face it. Doctors, Soldiers, Authors -- they’re all esteemed, important, noble, intelligent people. And it’s really not all that often you get them all rolled into one package who can also boast about being “lithe” as “brown as a nut” and a ladies man on no less than four continents.
Have you ever wondered why there was some discrepancy about whether Watson was shot in the shoulder or the leg? I’ll tell you: because he doesn’t remember. He was too busy shrugging off his injuries and waxing his stellar mustache with the tears of the enemy to care about the details of his own war wound.
Now as a writer myself who knows the rigidity of deadlines -- (I won’t pretend I didn’t write this in a fury last night) -- I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to meet the Strand’s grueling schedule whilst also keeping up with a bustling, busy private practice, let alone also finding the “spare time” to help fight crimes and solve mysteries. Can you imagine how early he had to get up in the mornings?
He is also an absolute sweetheart, best illustrated in my opinion in this moment from Sign of Four. When his soon-to-be-wife Mary Morstan is a bit out of sorts, he nervously tries to cheer her up by telling her anecdotes about his time in Afghanistan:
“To this day she she declares that I told her ... how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barreled tiger cub at it.”
I’m sorry, but how endearing is that? It’s no wonder she married him.
Finally, and I think most importantly, is perhaps his most defining characteristic: his humble modestly. Here he is, this incredible master of three very different, very distinct fields who never devotes more than a few sporadic sentences to himself. He is always there to lend a compliment, a kind word and an exhortation to his most trusted and dear friend. Not to mention his skilled pen and abilities as a chronicler.
So let’s raise our glasses to the good Doctor Watson, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say I am hopelessly devoted to this particular devotee.
Tonight I want to talk about just how amazing Watson is all by himself.
Because let’s face it. Doctors, Soldiers, Authors -- they’re all esteemed, important, noble, intelligent people. And it’s really not all that often you get them all rolled into one package who can also boast about being “lithe” as “brown as a nut” and a ladies man on no less than four continents.
Have you ever wondered why there was some discrepancy about whether Watson was shot in the shoulder or the leg? I’ll tell you: because he doesn’t remember. He was too busy shrugging off his injuries and waxing his stellar mustache with the tears of the enemy to care about the details of his own war wound.
Now as a writer myself who knows the rigidity of deadlines -- (I won’t pretend I didn’t write this in a fury last night) -- I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to meet the Strand’s grueling schedule whilst also keeping up with a bustling, busy private practice, let alone also finding the “spare time” to help fight crimes and solve mysteries. Can you imagine how early he had to get up in the mornings?
He is also an absolute sweetheart, best illustrated in my opinion in this moment from Sign of Four. When his soon-to-be-wife Mary Morstan is a bit out of sorts, he nervously tries to cheer her up by telling her anecdotes about his time in Afghanistan:
“To this day she she declares that I told her ... how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barreled tiger cub at it.”
I’m sorry, but how endearing is that? It’s no wonder she married him.
Finally, and I think most importantly, is perhaps his most defining characteristic: his humble modestly. Here he is, this incredible master of three very different, very distinct fields who never devotes more than a few sporadic sentences to himself. He is always there to lend a compliment, a kind word and an exhortation to his most trusted and dear friend. Not to mention his skilled pen and abilities as a chronicler.
So let’s raise our glasses to the good Doctor Watson, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say I am hopelessly devoted to this particular devotee.