A Perfect Unit, A Love Story
Okay-doke, what follows is a kind of essay about the six episodes of BBC Sherlock. Massive, massive spoilers, of course, for every episode, loaded with my opinions, and full of love for the characters.
Special thanks to tikiaceae and Pionie for their help and for sharing my love for all the Holmes and all the Watsons throughout time and space. All crazy opinions and errors found herein are mine, mine, mine.
In mid August 2009, I visited the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London, where I met old Sherlock and spent a happy half hour wandering through their rooms. I found it a homey place, full of books about bees and Dr. Watson's medical bag and a handsome fireplace.
I didn't know at the time there was a new Sherlock being filmed, and when I did learn, I pooh-poohed the idea. How could anyone think of modernizing ACD? What was the world coming to? But dear Lady of Asheru wore me down and I finally downloaded the first episode. Within five minutes I was grinning like a loon and utterly, utterly in love with their texting, their verbal sparring, and the thrill of racing through the London night.
Now we've had six episodes ending with The Fall and I've had a little time to think about them as an entity, rather than individual episodes -- an exercise I think is well worth the time. But I'm still overwhelmed! Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat have said they spent many, many happy hours discussing Sherlock Holmes while traveling to and from Cardiff by train and the two series show the time and love they invested in it. Based on that history, yes, I do believe it's a good strategy to look at all six episodes as one long episode broken by chapters.
Not that ACD wrote his stories this way -- it's well known how carelessly he dashed them off, that he didn't care for Holmes, that he hoped to be remembered for other work, and that he really did try to kill off his hero.
But that doesn't mean we readers don't have the right to think of the stories and novels as all of a piece and try to extrapolate from them a more cohesive whole. Mary calls John "James"? Well, his middle initial is H. so his middle name must be Hamish which is a Scottish variant of the name James. Because 1) why not? and 2) how fun!
So what follows should, I beg you, be read in the light of 1) why not? and 2) how fun! This isn't an essay (it isn't coherent enough) and it isn't a polemic (because, not to be rude, I honestly don't care what others think -- and your opinion is more than valid so I would never, ever try to change it). It's just a stream of conscious thingy I felt compelled to write over a period of some weeks. And in some ways this will never be finished. I've loved Sherlock and John for many years and have shipped them almost as long and no argument or poor adaptation will make me love them less. I loved Basil Rathbone as a child -- he was one of my first crushes and the reason I started reading the stories; I adored The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes; Granada Holmes is a jewel in the crown of ITV Granada Television, and to this day Jeremy Brett's performance fucking breaks my heart; the RDJ-Jude Law-Guy Ritchie version is a hoot and a half; I fell instantly in love with BBC Sherlock and John; thanks to them I discovered the Russian Holmes and Watson, Vasily Livanov and Vitaly Solomin, and to be honest, I like them just as much as I do BBC Sherlock and John.
In short, I love Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. I have for a long time and I expect to for the rest of my life. So this is written out of enormous love for the characters. I can't be very critical about them, nor do I want to be very critical of the show.
Before I start, let me put my philosophy -- ha! such as it is -- out there. No, first let me situate myself: I'm a white, middle-aged, middle-class, college-educated female USian Anglophile living in northern California. That tells you a helluva lot about me.
Second, I think it's okay to like problematic things. For me, all of Sherlock Holmes is problematic. In spite of the good work ACD did in real life, his stories are riddled with racism, anti-Semitism, and sexism. Some passages are really awful, I mean, my-eyes-are-squinching-up-in-distaste-with-the-memory awful. I know we're supposed to give stuff like that a pass because of the time and place in which it was written, but I really can't because of the time and place in which I'm reading. But I still think it's okay for me to like Sherlock and John, in any incarnation.
Third, I think the author is dead. No, not ACD, though yes he is pretty dead, but all authors, including me. Once something is published/posted on the web, I don't care what the author says about it. Monanotlisa recently linked to an excellent post discussing this in more detail: Sexuality, Canon, and Reading the Text, especially the first part: a message, once released, is beyond the control of the author. Very true. So true, in fact, I have stopped reading anything Moffat says because I think he's an idiot. A brilliant idiot to whom I'm very grateful, but still an idiot. Okay, not an idiot, but I don't think anyone has access to his or her subconscious.
Thus, I don't care what ACD said or thought; I don't care what Moffat or Gatiss say or think. The characters and stories have been released to the wild and now they are mine. And they're yours, too! If you want to read them as penguins in Antarctica or ducks in Regent Park (I mean, really as that, not just a fun AU), then bring the textual evidence for it to the table and you might have me believing it, too. And bless you for doing so.
OKAY THAT'S ENOUGH OF THAT. On to what I really care about. A while ago Snarryfool and I had a brief conversation about the BBC Sherlock characters. Alas, her post is locked, but I think it's okay to paraphrase what I wrote her:
For me, the six episodes have added up to a kind of Taming of Sherlock, only "taming" isn't the right word -- the humanizing, or maybe a kind of waking up to the world. And John is the person who wakes him. John's rare combination of compassion and power, his moral authority, essential kindness, and open heartedness, seems to touch something in Sherlock. Watching Sherlock and Mycroft together, I can only assume that Sherlock had never experienced anything quite like John's amused acceptance and even delight (which makes me quite sad for him).
ANYWAY, that's what I see the two seasons to have done: brought Sherlock to a place where he will throw away all he holds dear -- will throw away his life -- to save John, Mrs. Hudson, and Greg Lestrade. It's absolutely heart-wrenching, and Moriarty is evil incarnate to have arranged it.
But what does that mean, the humanization of Sherlock? The dictionary says "To make humane: marked by compassion, sympathy, or consideration." Some socialization -- not teaching Sherlock how to behave but rather persuading him that such behaviors are relevant and worth the effort. Why John can do this is worth another essay. How John does this is through love.
In short, I read the six episodes as a love story.
But first I want to talk about Sherlock's arc. Actually, I think all the characters have arcs: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, James Moriarty, and Molly Hooper, and to a lesser extent, Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. But "lesser" only in the amount of time given to them in the scripts; their arcs aren't any less important. But for now, I want to discuss Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Molly.
Sherlock as the titular character has the most time spent on him in terms of dialog and screen time, but John is a close second. Their arcs are intimately related; as I told Snarryfool, I think that John is the mechanism by which Sherlock awakes to the world, but John has his own arc of re-awakening to the world, but a different world than he knew. In that sense, he and Sherlock trigger each other's awakening.
In classical terms (which I am sadly not qualified to discuss), John's arc is more a descent to the underworld, I think, while Sherlock's is, as my friend Lady of Asheru said to me, hamartia, hubris, anagnorisis, peripeteia, nemesis, and catharsis.
VERY briefly, very inexpertly, and drawing heavily on my Merriam-Webster, hamartia is a character's tragic flaw and Sherlock's is, of course, his belief that he can do everything by himself. That's his hubris, his overweening pride in himself. Anagnorisis is the point at which he realizes his true self, which he wouldn't have done without John -- and to a certain extent, James Moriarty. Peripeteia comes from a Greek word meaning to fall, and usually means "an unexpected reversal of circumstances." Nemesis is both a rival and one that inflicts retribution or vengeance. Catharsis is the spiritual renewal the sequence should result in.
I think it's pretty easy to map out Sherlock's adventures onto that structure, and it would be fun. But I'm more interested in that which Sherlock claims he has not: his heart. That's how I read the six episodes and that's what's most interesting to me. I am an unabashed romantic about Sherlock and John so of course their evolving relationship is the most interesting thing about them -- not their cases, not John's money problems (is he a gambler in the BBC incarnation?), and not ACD's poor Mary Morstan, who lives so briefly and dies so quickly. Not that we've yet seen Mary in the BBC version, but I bet we do in S3.
But let me take a time out to ask: Why can't a version of Sherlock and John be romantically and sexually a couple? Why is that such anathema in this day and age? Yes, I glanced at Moffat's interview in The Guardian -- even though I had already sworn off reading anything that man says -- and I was furious. Jesus Christ, his co-writer is gay and married. Why can't Sherlock and John be? WTF is wrong with that? Aren't there enough non-involved versions of them? Can't we have just one?
And do not, for the love of god, give me the "why can't friends just be frieeeeeeeeeeeends" argument because of course they can; it's just that every other version is "just friends." There are uncountable examples of "just friends" in television and the movies. If that's your argument you are in the wrong LJ, darlin'. I'm asking for an exception to the "just friends" rule.
ETA: This wonderful note just popped up on my Tumblr dashboard: "Everyone's been asking us if we're going any further with the relationship between John and Sherlock, and I'm thinking, why not?" OH MY FUCKING GOD. Do you think Freeman actually said that? Or is this just some fucker playing with our hearts?
OKAY back to, hmm, what? Oh yes, Sherlock's heart and his arc, which for me are the same. I cannot imagine the Holmes's Christmas dinners or little Sherlock's life. I read somewhere that Gatiss said he and Benedict Cumberbatch had decided that Mycroft and Sherlock had had a perfectly happy childhood, but I find that impossible to believe. The scene outside the morgue put the kibosh on that pretty firmly, I think, when Sherlock quietly asked his brother, "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" And Mycroft's beautiful answer: "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." Mycroft is probably speaking from painful experience, but you know what? He is only partially right. Yes, all lives end. Yes, all hearts are broken. But caring is an advantage because it's what makes us human and, more importantly, it's what makes us better humans. Moriarty doesn't care. He genuinely doesn't care for life, anyone's life, not even his own, otherwise he wouldn't have killed himself so effortlessly, so happily, let alone the dozens if not hundreds of people he killed and had killed. And Mycroft knows better; he cares desperately for his little brother, despite his manipulative games. Alas, he realizes that too late.
John helps Sherlock care. Not that Sherlock didn't care before. Despite his words, he does love Mycroft. I think it's safe to assume he loved his mother. He loves Mrs. Hudson. He loves Greg Lestrade, and he loves Molly Hooper, though not in the way she hoped. He might even have loved Irene Adler, at least a bit. But most of all, he loves John.
The difference, the before-and-after picture of Sherlock, is that he acknowledges, to himself and to others, that he cares, and that he becomes aware of how many people love him. That change was effected by John. That's the story that I read from the six episodes, and it's a story I love: Sherlock awakens to the love surrounding him.
At this point, if I had the energy I would start tracking the long game that Sherlock was playing with Moriarty. We know he became aware of Moriarty's existence in the first episode. When John asked who he was, Sherlock said, with relish, "I have no idea." I infer that from that moment he began investigating. He probably mentioned Moriarty to Lestrade, undoubtedly disguised in another question. He might even have mentioned him to Mycroft, though I doubt he would have this early. But we know Sherlock has a lot of resources beyond Google and he would begin making use of them -- right after his dinner with John.
If we go by John's blog, all the cases we saw took place within a seventeen month timeframe (they meet on January 29, and John's final post is on June 16 in the following year). Not a long time, but long enough for them to settle in not just as flatmates but as partners in Sherlock's Science of Deduction business. One of the many things I loved about S2 was the sense of time passing -- that things were happening all the time but we were privy to only some of them. The datestamps in John's blog indicate the time between The Great Game and the Geek Interpreter is only about two and a half months (not the eighteen excruciating months we had to wait). We see the differences those two and half months made in how John and Sherlock treat each other but, more importantly, in Sherlock's behavior. We see him eating, even during a case. He looks healthier, his face fuller. He laughs more, and he has a wonderful laugh -- or a giggle, really.
What I loved most was how he listens to John, and in fact turns to John for explanations, so much so that John knows when to interpret for him. That of course began during their first case together, A Study in Pink, when John murmured to him, "A bit not good," which seems to have become code between them. In TRF, John murmurs "Sarcasm" to Sherlock. "Just say [thank you]," he quietly tells him, and Sherlock does. This is a Sherlock who trusts his friend. (Here is a photoset from Tumblr perfectly illustrating their relationship.)
Sherlock still sulks spectacularly (and beautifully), deleting his 243 types of tobacco ash post from his website, he still snaps waspishly at John and rolls his eyes, but he also plays his violin for him instead of just sawing at it as punishment. I think it would be loads of fun to re-watch the six episodes just to list all the changes in Sherlock's behavior. I love watching their exchanges; I love watching them en famille: at Christmas; between cases; after a case when John writes them up; when they just share their sitting room while Sherlock plays his violin and John reads. We see that, no matter how ungracious Sherlock might appear, he listens to and obeys John.
And that, for me, is the voyage Sherlock makes between A Study in Pink and The Reichenbach Fall. Sherlock loves John, and he knows that about himself, that he does love. John knows it, too; you can tell by the smile on his face and how blithely he ignores almost any snappish behavior. And when Sherlock does snap too sharply (as in HoB), he apologizes to John, albeit in his own awkward way. We can argue till the cows come home what kind of love it is, but surely no one would disagree that by the opening of S2 (that is, by their first June together), they love each other.
Why is the very brilliant Sherlock Holmes so slow about these interpersonal relationship transactions? I've seen discussions of whether Sherlock is an Aspie or autistic -- I definitely think he is at one end of the autistic spectrum. He calls himself a "high functioning sociopath," but I think he more likely is a person with high functioning autism. He reminds me of Temple Grandin, another genius. Doesn't this sound like Sherlock? Grandin compares her memory to full-length movies in her head that can be replayed at will, allowing her to notice small details. She is also able to view her memories using slightly different contexts by changing the positions of the lighting and shadows. (That's from the Wikipedia article linked above.) And on Grandin's website about autism, she writes, "I have replaced emotional complexities with intellectual complexities." Again, I think that sounds a lot like Sherlock.
Honestly, I don't think we have enough data and Sherlock would warn us about theorizing ahead of the data, but I'm satisfied with my answer. Let me give you one more example, also from Grandin's website:
QUESTION: I would like to know what you think the top five most important things people should know when working with adults who have autism who may not have learned social rules growing up?
-- Shannon
ANSWER: I think it is important to start teaching social rules in the real world to the individual one specific explanation at a time. Actually, I think there are more than five important things. On page 119 in my book, "Unwritten Rules of Social Relationships", you will find a list of the rules society places upon us but never tells us about.
Jennifer McIlwee Myers gives excellent demonstrations of social rules in her book, "How To Teach Life Skills to a Person with Autism". You can order that through Future Horizons at www.fhautism.com She gives lots of specific examples for everyday "rules".
A good place to start is with ordering food at McDonald's. Have the individual place their order, remembering to say "please" and "thank you". When a mistake is made, give the correction and move on - do not dwell on it. An example would be "you forgot to say thank you" or "you forgot to say please".
-- Temple
Does John's behavior not exemplify what Grandin suggests?
ETA: Snarryfool reminded me in a comment below of the brief scene in HoB between John and Greg Lestrade, when John refers to Sherlock's Asperger's. I had meant to incorporate that into this essay, but there's just so much! The episodes are so dense with such moments. Anyway, I loved that comment for several reasons. First, it spoke again of time passing and life happening for the characters while we weren't present. John and Greg have no doubt shared many pints and spent some of that time together discussing Sherlock. Greg didn't look confused by John's comment; I'm sure it's something they've puzzled over. Second, John has given considerable thought to Sherlock's behavior. I don't actually agree that Sherlock is an Aspie, but as I said, we viewers really don't have enough information to make that call (and I'm not qualified to). John has a lot more information and, as a physician, is a little better positioned to make the judgment. Finally, I love how accepting both John and Greg are of Sherlock's difference. Maybe he's an Aspie, maybe he's autistic, maybe he's just a weird fucker, but they accept him completely. And I love them both for that.
John Watson. Oh, how I love John. I love John the way I love Samwise Gamgee and the way I love Alice of Alice in Wonderland. I think they are wise, kind, generous people full of common sense and good humor and nearly endless patience in a pretty crazy world. They are the kind of person I aspire to be. So right off the bat you know I've got only good things to say about John.
What is his arc? Most obviously it's a return from the structured chaos of his military career in Afghanistan (see Abundantlyqueer's Tumblr for lots of wonderful meditations on what his career could have been like, not to mention her utterly brilliant fan novel Two Two One Bravo Baker) to the quiet mundanity of his life in London. When we first see him, he has no job, lives in a beige flat, leads a beige life. Then he has the great good luck of being introduced to Sherlock Holmes.
That's his turning point, of course. His arc becomes entwined with Sherlock's and, for Sherlock, he becomes a kind of mentor to the ordinary world: say this, don't say that, eat this, drink that, put on the damn hat. But that's Sherlock's arc. John's is his re-integration into society as well as his integration into the more dangerous world of private investigation. He learns that he craves the excitement that Sherlock's profession brings, and by the second series, it isn't at all clear that John is still working as a doctor -- he appears to work full-time with Sherlock. In addition to assisting with the investigations, he writes up the cases which, as he tells Sherlock, brings in new cases. "This is your living, Sherlock," he says firmly as he types away, "not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash." Sherlock's feelings are a bit hurt, but he doesn't disagree.
To me, one of the most fascinating John moments in the entire six episodes is in TRF when John and Sherlock leave for court so Sherlock can give his testimony. They stand briefly in the darkened hallway, staring at each other. John says, "Ready?" and only when Sherlock answers does he open the door to the utter chaos of shouting, jostling reporters. Yet John remains calm and cool. He orders the reporters to let them through; he firmly instructs Sherlock to get in the cab, watches to be sure he's safely in, and then slips through the crowd to the other door. Yes, he's shorter than Sherlock, and older, and not a genius, but he is completely in control of a volatile situation.
But John's arc should better be described as a circle. When Sherlock tumbles from the top of St. Bart's, John loses not just his best friend but his livelihood. In March he writes up the Hounds of Baskerville and then nothing for two months until he posts his final and heart-breaking, He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him. When we last see him, standing at Sherlock's grave, he returns to military posture, nearly saluting the headstone. His left hand twitches, as it had in the first episode before he met Sherlock, and I could easily believe his psychosomatic limp will soon return, though he strides briskly enough away from the grave at that moment.
That John is grief stricken is undeniable. That he resolutely believes in Sherlock is equally undeniable. Sherlock desperately tried to make John believe he was a fraud in an attempt to give John a reason for his suicide, but he could not. Sherlock knew he would survive his apparent suicide -- or at least that he had a good chance of surviving -- so his tears while speaking to John were not for losing his life, but for losing his life with John. Even if he couldn't persuade John that he was a fraud, which after their earlier exchange ("Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time") he must have known, he knew that that part of his life was at an end.
And what a glorious life it had been. Seventeen months of being the center of John's attention. How they both had thrived. Sherlock was eating more and better, he was finding reasons to follow social conventions, and even understanding some of those conventions (in HoB: "Sentiment?" "Sentiment."). Through John's firm ministrations, Sherlock had improved in health and well-being, but -- and this is so important -- so had John.
John's job was another part of his life taken from him as well. "I was so alone," he whispered to the headstone, "and I owe you so much." Because it's John's story, too: how he came home to London and found a new life that was then wrenched from him in the most painful way.
The parallels between A Study in Pink and The Reichenbach Falls are many; I hope someone has gone minute by minute through the episodes to point them out: John using his RAMC coffee mug. John and Sherlock meeting in the same lab where they part. John sitting alone in his tidy beige flat and John sitting alone in 221B staring at Sherlock's empty chair. "Nothing happens to me." He has come full circle; his arc is concluded.
Of course, we viewers know better, but the point is John doesn't know. As far as he knows, that part of his life has ended as abruptly and as horrifically as his military career. He is once again alone in the universe. Whatever kind of love you wish to ascribe to John for Sherlock, that love has been shattered and his heart broken.
And then there's Mycroft. Man of mystery, who initially claims to occupy just a minor position in the British government but who controls every CCTV in London, all traffic, and, as John and we eventually learn, is a significant force in MI6 working with the CIA. We never learn a reason for the unhappy relationship between Mycroft and his brother, but we can guess some of it. Despite his obvious love for Sherlock, Mycroft is overbearing to the point of bullying, at one point even threatening to order Sherlock to do something. And he effectively destroys his brother's life, something John has no qualms calling him out on. "Moriarty wanted to destroy Sherlock, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition." Mycroft does not deny this accusation.
(Something I love about that scene -- in fact, all scenes between John and Mycroft -- is that John has no fear of Mycroft, and Mycroft accepts his scolding. Which he should, the big jerk. No matter how powerful Mycroft might be, he is meek before John, and that fact deserves its own essay.)
We know Sherlock learned about Moriarty in ASiP, but when did Mycroft? The episodes don't specify when, but it was obviously prior to TRF. Because Moriarty trafficked with terrorists (as we discover in TRF), it is not unreasonable to believe that Mycroft was aware of him significantly earlier, perhaps even earlier than ASiP. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Moriarty's interest in Sherlock was two-fold: most obviously, Sherlock was thwarting his plans by solving the crimes, but also because Sherlock offered a way to get to Mycroft. I could easily see him planning to use Sherlock as a weapon against Mycroft -- in fact, had Moriarty lived, I am sure he would have.
(Caroline has an excellent post about Mycroft in which she suggests Mycroft has known about Moriarty since before ASiP, and has been manipulating John Watson all along in the hopes he will help protect Sherlock from Moriarty. Although I'm not in complete agreement with all her theories, I do think she's right about Mycroft knowing about Moriarty long before Sherlock. Read her post; it's well worth the time.)
Mycroft, whether he successfully manipulated John or not, comes to trust him. He shares dangerous confidential information with John (the Bruce Partington plans were missing; that a member of the royal family was caught in a sex scandal). He and John certainly discuss Sherlock in Sherlock's absence; we know that from the phone call from Mycroft to John on Christmas. "Did he take the cigarette?" John asks rather desperately and when he learns that Sherlock did, mutters, "Shit." This is not the first time they've had this conversation about a possible "danger night." Mycroft warns him, "You have to stay with him," and John does, even though it means the end of yet another relationship.
But what is Mycroft's arc? He's a secretive man, and he is a liar, and we're not given much time with him. Sherlock refuses to go to him for help, which must mean something but what? What happened between them? How much, if anything, does Sherlock know about the interrogation of Moriarty by Mycroft? Sherlock is smart, smarter than we are and a lot faster at making connections, so he must realize sooner than John that the information Moriarty spilled to Kitty Riley had to have come from Mycroft. What does that tell him? That Mycroft is using his brother as just another chess piece in the great game he is playing.
A side note: I first learned the term The Great Game from Kipling's novel Kim; you can read more about The Great Game here, in Wikipedia, and its twenty-first century application here. It is not a coincidence that the final episode of S1, the episode in which we learn how dangerous Moriarty really is, was called "The Great Game." It is the Game that Mycroft has been playing all his professional life.
Thus Mycroft's sin is an even greater ego than Sherlock's -- in large part because Sherlock has had John Watson at his side for almost two years. While I do think S3 will reveal that Sherlock takes Mycroft into his confidence, I don't think that BBC Mycroft knew about Sherlock's suicide in advance. I think Sherlock trusted only Molly at that point. And why should Sherlock trust Mycroft? He commits a kind of fratricide.
Despite trading Sherlock's personal history, Mycroft's failed attempt to extract information from Moriarty results in freeing him, presumably in the hope he'd do something, go somewhere, that would result in a net gain for Mycroft -- more information and greater control are always the goal. And that's what I see as Mycroft's arc: his long-running attempt to accrue more information and power. Why? Ostensibly to protect Queen and Country, but I think to draw that power to himself. Sherlock told John as far back as ASiP that Mycroft was the British government, and it was clear even then that he didn't mean that in a good way.
So here's what I think: Myrcoft's arc is more a downwards spiral, growing out of his desire to accrue great power, something he desires so much that he eschews personal relationships, even familial, and so is willing to use his little brother as a pawn ("Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock"). His arrogance lets him believe he could control Moriarty to that end, but he fails quite spectacularly. His name is as ruined as Sherlock's; they are both Holmeses, and while I doubt Sherlock cares what people think of him, Mycroft is meant to work in the shadows. Tell me someone from the Daily Mail hasn't discovered their relationship and written about it; tell me that Kitty Riley won't capitalize on it as long as she can. He lost more than Sherlock. Only at the end, when his failure is undeniable even to himself, do we see, as my friend Pionie wrote me, his shell begin to peel back. What a painful metaphor!
And note that it's John to whom Mycroft confesses, and to whom he apologizes. What is it about John that both Holmes brothers trust so immediately and thoroughly? His differences from them, of course. Such a warm generous heart that time has made manifest on his kindly face. His transparent honesty. His refusal to play their games. His steadfastness in the face of adversity. His basic decency and, surely, his love for Sherlock. Mycroft knows he has failed Sherlock, but he also knows that John has not and will not fail him. Mycroft's arc concludes (at the end of S2) with him a defeated man, sitting in his silent club, reading trashy newspapers filled with lies about his beloved younger brother, utterly, utterly alone.
I also want to look at Molly Hooper, a character for whom I have at times writhed in vicarious humiliation but who has proven herself as steadfast as John Watson. I wrote in someone's Tumblr (they didn't like what I said, so I didn't keep track of whose) that Sherlock asked Molly to help him because she isn't in danger from Moriarty. He doesn't need to protect her the way he needs to protect John, Mrs. Hudson, and Greg Lestrade. He needs her specifically because Moriarty has -- as Sherlock did for so long -- overlooked her. As Molly told Sherlock, she didn't count. And thank god she didn't count in Moriarty's eyes. In addition -- for Sherlock is nothing if not practical -- she has special skills and access that makes Sherlock's "death" possible.
What delights me about Molly and Sherlock is that he finally, finally was able to see her. I believe it was John's influence (how he snapped "Shut up, Sherlock!" at him during the Christmas party) that made it possible not only for Sherlock to recognize Molly as a person in her own right, but as a person he respects and trusts. I think he is truly ashamed of his behavior at the Christmas party when she calls him out ("You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always") and when she tells him that she doesn't count. The look on his face is dawning realization that she is a person he has hurt. Thoughtlessly, it's true; I doubt he was intentionally cruel to her; remember what he asked John after he'd told Molly that Jim from IT was gay and she should break it off -- wasn't it better that she know? Oh, Molly.
(I think this is a lovely Tumblr photoset illustrating a key moment of change in Sherlock's perception of Molly.)
And Molly teaches Sherlock, too. In the lab when she offers to help him, he asks, "What could I need from you?" Molly says, "Nothing. I dunno." After a pause, she tells him firmly, "You could probably say 'thank you,' actually." To their surprise, Sherlock replies, "Thank you." That moment is precious to me. Molly was right; she didn't count to Sherlock -- until then. But nearly two years with John have opened his heart and his mind, and her blunt and awkward kindness touches him.
Of course, being the manipulative bastard he is, he also quickly sees how else Molly could help him. Sherlock will never be the nicest man in the room, he will never be John, but he is more complete and healthy than he has been in many years, perhaps since he was a little boy. For the first time, he has the ability to appreciate a person like Molly, the kind of person about whom he once asked, "What must it be like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring!" But he discovers it isn't just boring; it's also kind and thoughtful and loving.
Molly's arc is also one of discovery of self, of herself. From her adolescent crush on Sherlock in the first episodes, to her silliness about Jim from IT, to her never-failing assistance to Sherlock in her morgue, she keeps working -- she is a doctor, after all, a pathologist. She might not be able to tell you John's name during the first few times we meet her, but by the end, she has figured out exactly who John is to Sherlock ("You look sad when you think he can’t see you"), and she has figured out who she is. She puts away her crush but never her kindness or her skills. I think she sees Sherlock more clearly by the end than even John does, because John is so besotted with him and Molly -- she no longer is. She is now Sherlock's friend.
There is an excellent essay about Molly that goes into more depth about her outstanding character and explains why I love her so much; it's Molly Hooper: Why Molly is the one who counts, by Misstransmission. Please take the time to read it. Molly is worth it.
[ETA: Tumblr just popped up with a link to Heartwarming moments in Sherlock. That link takes you to The Reichenbach Fall entry. *melts*]
All four of these characters -- Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Molly -- change in course of the six episodes, and I suggest that what changes them is love. Through love they become more self-aware, though none of them entirely like what they discover about themselves. But certainly Sherlock's and John's love for each other makes them stronger, just as it makes it impossible for Sherlock to convince John that he is a fraud.
It's harder to tell with Mycroft, but I believe that when he says to John, "I'm sorry. Tell him, would you?" he is sincerely sorry for having tried to manipulate Moriarty and putting Sherlock at risk. More than at risk; as far as Mycroft knows at the end of S2, his little brother is dead, a suicide, and his many accomplishments denigrated in the mire of tabloid headlines.
And Molly, dear Molly, brave and honest and kind even in the face of snotty superiority and the knowledge that her love will never be returned. Her experiences have freed her from her misplaced dreams. She is stronger and wiser as a result.
So the six episodes of BBC Sherlock aren't, for me, about the cases (though they are fun), or the chases (though they are even more fun), but about Sherlock growing up and the people who help him, and hinder him. He grows up somehwat belatedly, but many brilliant people are socially a bit developmentally slow and he is an especially brilliant one. He might also be an especially brilliant person with high functioning autism, an English Temple Grandin. His love story begins when he meets John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, now lost in London. As Mark Gatiss said, "And this man arrives, who essentially makes [Sherlock] human, and together they make a perfect unit."
Special thanks to tikiaceae and Pionie for their help and for sharing my love for all the Holmes and all the Watsons throughout time and space. All crazy opinions and errors found herein are mine, mine, mine.
In mid August 2009, I visited the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London, where I met old Sherlock and spent a happy half hour wandering through their rooms. I found it a homey place, full of books about bees and Dr. Watson's medical bag and a handsome fireplace.
I didn't know at the time there was a new Sherlock being filmed, and when I did learn, I pooh-poohed the idea. How could anyone think of modernizing ACD? What was the world coming to? But dear Lady of Asheru wore me down and I finally downloaded the first episode. Within five minutes I was grinning like a loon and utterly, utterly in love with their texting, their verbal sparring, and the thrill of racing through the London night.
Now we've had six episodes ending with The Fall and I've had a little time to think about them as an entity, rather than individual episodes -- an exercise I think is well worth the time. But I'm still overwhelmed! Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat have said they spent many, many happy hours discussing Sherlock Holmes while traveling to and from Cardiff by train and the two series show the time and love they invested in it. Based on that history, yes, I do believe it's a good strategy to look at all six episodes as one long episode broken by chapters.
Not that ACD wrote his stories this way -- it's well known how carelessly he dashed them off, that he didn't care for Holmes, that he hoped to be remembered for other work, and that he really did try to kill off his hero.
But that doesn't mean we readers don't have the right to think of the stories and novels as all of a piece and try to extrapolate from them a more cohesive whole. Mary calls John "James"? Well, his middle initial is H. so his middle name must be Hamish which is a Scottish variant of the name James. Because 1) why not? and 2) how fun!
So what follows should, I beg you, be read in the light of 1) why not? and 2) how fun! This isn't an essay (it isn't coherent enough) and it isn't a polemic (because, not to be rude, I honestly don't care what others think -- and your opinion is more than valid so I would never, ever try to change it). It's just a stream of conscious thingy I felt compelled to write over a period of some weeks. And in some ways this will never be finished. I've loved Sherlock and John for many years and have shipped them almost as long and no argument or poor adaptation will make me love them less. I loved Basil Rathbone as a child -- he was one of my first crushes and the reason I started reading the stories; I adored The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes; Granada Holmes is a jewel in the crown of ITV Granada Television, and to this day Jeremy Brett's performance fucking breaks my heart; the RDJ-Jude Law-Guy Ritchie version is a hoot and a half; I fell instantly in love with BBC Sherlock and John; thanks to them I discovered the Russian Holmes and Watson, Vasily Livanov and Vitaly Solomin, and to be honest, I like them just as much as I do BBC Sherlock and John.
In short, I love Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. I have for a long time and I expect to for the rest of my life. So this is written out of enormous love for the characters. I can't be very critical about them, nor do I want to be very critical of the show.
Before I start, let me put my philosophy -- ha! such as it is -- out there. No, first let me situate myself: I'm a white, middle-aged, middle-class, college-educated female USian Anglophile living in northern California. That tells you a helluva lot about me.
Second, I think it's okay to like problematic things. For me, all of Sherlock Holmes is problematic. In spite of the good work ACD did in real life, his stories are riddled with racism, anti-Semitism, and sexism. Some passages are really awful, I mean, my-eyes-are-squinching-up-in-distaste-with-the-memory awful. I know we're supposed to give stuff like that a pass because of the time and place in which it was written, but I really can't because of the time and place in which I'm reading. But I still think it's okay for me to like Sherlock and John, in any incarnation.
Third, I think the author is dead. No, not ACD, though yes he is pretty dead, but all authors, including me. Once something is published/posted on the web, I don't care what the author says about it. Monanotlisa recently linked to an excellent post discussing this in more detail: Sexuality, Canon, and Reading the Text, especially the first part: a message, once released, is beyond the control of the author. Very true. So true, in fact, I have stopped reading anything Moffat says because I think he's an idiot. A brilliant idiot to whom I'm very grateful, but still an idiot. Okay, not an idiot, but I don't think anyone has access to his or her subconscious.
Thus, I don't care what ACD said or thought; I don't care what Moffat or Gatiss say or think. The characters and stories have been released to the wild and now they are mine. And they're yours, too! If you want to read them as penguins in Antarctica or ducks in Regent Park (I mean, really as that, not just a fun AU), then bring the textual evidence for it to the table and you might have me believing it, too. And bless you for doing so.
OKAY THAT'S ENOUGH OF THAT. On to what I really care about. A while ago Snarryfool and I had a brief conversation about the BBC Sherlock characters. Alas, her post is locked, but I think it's okay to paraphrase what I wrote her:
For me, the six episodes have added up to a kind of Taming of Sherlock, only "taming" isn't the right word -- the humanizing, or maybe a kind of waking up to the world. And John is the person who wakes him. John's rare combination of compassion and power, his moral authority, essential kindness, and open heartedness, seems to touch something in Sherlock. Watching Sherlock and Mycroft together, I can only assume that Sherlock had never experienced anything quite like John's amused acceptance and even delight (which makes me quite sad for him).
ANYWAY, that's what I see the two seasons to have done: brought Sherlock to a place where he will throw away all he holds dear -- will throw away his life -- to save John, Mrs. Hudson, and Greg Lestrade. It's absolutely heart-wrenching, and Moriarty is evil incarnate to have arranged it.
But what does that mean, the humanization of Sherlock? The dictionary says "To make humane: marked by compassion, sympathy, or consideration." Some socialization -- not teaching Sherlock how to behave but rather persuading him that such behaviors are relevant and worth the effort. Why John can do this is worth another essay. How John does this is through love.
In short, I read the six episodes as a love story.
But first I want to talk about Sherlock's arc. Actually, I think all the characters have arcs: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, James Moriarty, and Molly Hooper, and to a lesser extent, Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. But "lesser" only in the amount of time given to them in the scripts; their arcs aren't any less important. But for now, I want to discuss Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Molly.
Sherlock as the titular character has the most time spent on him in terms of dialog and screen time, but John is a close second. Their arcs are intimately related; as I told Snarryfool, I think that John is the mechanism by which Sherlock awakes to the world, but John has his own arc of re-awakening to the world, but a different world than he knew. In that sense, he and Sherlock trigger each other's awakening.
In classical terms (which I am sadly not qualified to discuss), John's arc is more a descent to the underworld, I think, while Sherlock's is, as my friend Lady of Asheru said to me, hamartia, hubris, anagnorisis, peripeteia, nemesis, and catharsis.
VERY briefly, very inexpertly, and drawing heavily on my Merriam-Webster, hamartia is a character's tragic flaw and Sherlock's is, of course, his belief that he can do everything by himself. That's his hubris, his overweening pride in himself. Anagnorisis is the point at which he realizes his true self, which he wouldn't have done without John -- and to a certain extent, James Moriarty. Peripeteia comes from a Greek word meaning to fall, and usually means "an unexpected reversal of circumstances." Nemesis is both a rival and one that inflicts retribution or vengeance. Catharsis is the spiritual renewal the sequence should result in.
I think it's pretty easy to map out Sherlock's adventures onto that structure, and it would be fun. But I'm more interested in that which Sherlock claims he has not: his heart. That's how I read the six episodes and that's what's most interesting to me. I am an unabashed romantic about Sherlock and John so of course their evolving relationship is the most interesting thing about them -- not their cases, not John's money problems (is he a gambler in the BBC incarnation?), and not ACD's poor Mary Morstan, who lives so briefly and dies so quickly. Not that we've yet seen Mary in the BBC version, but I bet we do in S3.
But let me take a time out to ask: Why can't a version of Sherlock and John be romantically and sexually a couple? Why is that such anathema in this day and age? Yes, I glanced at Moffat's interview in The Guardian -- even though I had already sworn off reading anything that man says -- and I was furious. Jesus Christ, his co-writer is gay and married. Why can't Sherlock and John be? WTF is wrong with that? Aren't there enough non-involved versions of them? Can't we have just one?
And do not, for the love of god, give me the "why can't friends just be frieeeeeeeeeeeends" argument because of course they can; it's just that every other version is "just friends." There are uncountable examples of "just friends" in television and the movies. If that's your argument you are in the wrong LJ, darlin'. I'm asking for an exception to the "just friends" rule.
ETA: This wonderful note just popped up on my Tumblr dashboard: "Everyone's been asking us if we're going any further with the relationship between John and Sherlock, and I'm thinking, why not?" OH MY FUCKING GOD. Do you think Freeman actually said that? Or is this just some fucker playing with our hearts?
OKAY back to, hmm, what? Oh yes, Sherlock's heart and his arc, which for me are the same. I cannot imagine the Holmes's Christmas dinners or little Sherlock's life. I read somewhere that Gatiss said he and Benedict Cumberbatch had decided that Mycroft and Sherlock had had a perfectly happy childhood, but I find that impossible to believe. The scene outside the morgue put the kibosh on that pretty firmly, I think, when Sherlock quietly asked his brother, "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" And Mycroft's beautiful answer: "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." Mycroft is probably speaking from painful experience, but you know what? He is only partially right. Yes, all lives end. Yes, all hearts are broken. But caring is an advantage because it's what makes us human and, more importantly, it's what makes us better humans. Moriarty doesn't care. He genuinely doesn't care for life, anyone's life, not even his own, otherwise he wouldn't have killed himself so effortlessly, so happily, let alone the dozens if not hundreds of people he killed and had killed. And Mycroft knows better; he cares desperately for his little brother, despite his manipulative games. Alas, he realizes that too late.
John helps Sherlock care. Not that Sherlock didn't care before. Despite his words, he does love Mycroft. I think it's safe to assume he loved his mother. He loves Mrs. Hudson. He loves Greg Lestrade, and he loves Molly Hooper, though not in the way she hoped. He might even have loved Irene Adler, at least a bit. But most of all, he loves John.
The difference, the before-and-after picture of Sherlock, is that he acknowledges, to himself and to others, that he cares, and that he becomes aware of how many people love him. That change was effected by John. That's the story that I read from the six episodes, and it's a story I love: Sherlock awakens to the love surrounding him.
At this point, if I had the energy I would start tracking the long game that Sherlock was playing with Moriarty. We know he became aware of Moriarty's existence in the first episode. When John asked who he was, Sherlock said, with relish, "I have no idea." I infer that from that moment he began investigating. He probably mentioned Moriarty to Lestrade, undoubtedly disguised in another question. He might even have mentioned him to Mycroft, though I doubt he would have this early. But we know Sherlock has a lot of resources beyond Google and he would begin making use of them -- right after his dinner with John.
If we go by John's blog, all the cases we saw took place within a seventeen month timeframe (they meet on January 29, and John's final post is on June 16 in the following year). Not a long time, but long enough for them to settle in not just as flatmates but as partners in Sherlock's Science of Deduction business. One of the many things I loved about S2 was the sense of time passing -- that things were happening all the time but we were privy to only some of them. The datestamps in John's blog indicate the time between The Great Game and the Geek Interpreter is only about two and a half months (not the eighteen excruciating months we had to wait). We see the differences those two and half months made in how John and Sherlock treat each other but, more importantly, in Sherlock's behavior. We see him eating, even during a case. He looks healthier, his face fuller. He laughs more, and he has a wonderful laugh -- or a giggle, really.
What I loved most was how he listens to John, and in fact turns to John for explanations, so much so that John knows when to interpret for him. That of course began during their first case together, A Study in Pink, when John murmured to him, "A bit not good," which seems to have become code between them. In TRF, John murmurs "Sarcasm" to Sherlock. "Just say [thank you]," he quietly tells him, and Sherlock does. This is a Sherlock who trusts his friend. (Here is a photoset from Tumblr perfectly illustrating their relationship.)
Sherlock still sulks spectacularly (and beautifully), deleting his 243 types of tobacco ash post from his website, he still snaps waspishly at John and rolls his eyes, but he also plays his violin for him instead of just sawing at it as punishment. I think it would be loads of fun to re-watch the six episodes just to list all the changes in Sherlock's behavior. I love watching their exchanges; I love watching them en famille: at Christmas; between cases; after a case when John writes them up; when they just share their sitting room while Sherlock plays his violin and John reads. We see that, no matter how ungracious Sherlock might appear, he listens to and obeys John.
And that, for me, is the voyage Sherlock makes between A Study in Pink and The Reichenbach Fall. Sherlock loves John, and he knows that about himself, that he does love. John knows it, too; you can tell by the smile on his face and how blithely he ignores almost any snappish behavior. And when Sherlock does snap too sharply (as in HoB), he apologizes to John, albeit in his own awkward way. We can argue till the cows come home what kind of love it is, but surely no one would disagree that by the opening of S2 (that is, by their first June together), they love each other.
Why is the very brilliant Sherlock Holmes so slow about these interpersonal relationship transactions? I've seen discussions of whether Sherlock is an Aspie or autistic -- I definitely think he is at one end of the autistic spectrum. He calls himself a "high functioning sociopath," but I think he more likely is a person with high functioning autism. He reminds me of Temple Grandin, another genius. Doesn't this sound like Sherlock? Grandin compares her memory to full-length movies in her head that can be replayed at will, allowing her to notice small details. She is also able to view her memories using slightly different contexts by changing the positions of the lighting and shadows. (That's from the Wikipedia article linked above.) And on Grandin's website about autism, she writes, "I have replaced emotional complexities with intellectual complexities." Again, I think that sounds a lot like Sherlock.
Honestly, I don't think we have enough data and Sherlock would warn us about theorizing ahead of the data, but I'm satisfied with my answer. Let me give you one more example, also from Grandin's website:
QUESTION: I would like to know what you think the top five most important things people should know when working with adults who have autism who may not have learned social rules growing up?
-- Shannon
ANSWER: I think it is important to start teaching social rules in the real world to the individual one specific explanation at a time. Actually, I think there are more than five important things. On page 119 in my book, "Unwritten Rules of Social Relationships", you will find a list of the rules society places upon us but never tells us about.
Jennifer McIlwee Myers gives excellent demonstrations of social rules in her book, "How To Teach Life Skills to a Person with Autism". You can order that through Future Horizons at www.fhautism.com She gives lots of specific examples for everyday "rules".
A good place to start is with ordering food at McDonald's. Have the individual place their order, remembering to say "please" and "thank you". When a mistake is made, give the correction and move on - do not dwell on it. An example would be "you forgot to say thank you" or "you forgot to say please".
-- Temple
Does John's behavior not exemplify what Grandin suggests?
ETA: Snarryfool reminded me in a comment below of the brief scene in HoB between John and Greg Lestrade, when John refers to Sherlock's Asperger's. I had meant to incorporate that into this essay, but there's just so much! The episodes are so dense with such moments. Anyway, I loved that comment for several reasons. First, it spoke again of time passing and life happening for the characters while we weren't present. John and Greg have no doubt shared many pints and spent some of that time together discussing Sherlock. Greg didn't look confused by John's comment; I'm sure it's something they've puzzled over. Second, John has given considerable thought to Sherlock's behavior. I don't actually agree that Sherlock is an Aspie, but as I said, we viewers really don't have enough information to make that call (and I'm not qualified to). John has a lot more information and, as a physician, is a little better positioned to make the judgment. Finally, I love how accepting both John and Greg are of Sherlock's difference. Maybe he's an Aspie, maybe he's autistic, maybe he's just a weird fucker, but they accept him completely. And I love them both for that.
John Watson. Oh, how I love John. I love John the way I love Samwise Gamgee and the way I love Alice of Alice in Wonderland. I think they are wise, kind, generous people full of common sense and good humor and nearly endless patience in a pretty crazy world. They are the kind of person I aspire to be. So right off the bat you know I've got only good things to say about John.
What is his arc? Most obviously it's a return from the structured chaos of his military career in Afghanistan (see Abundantlyqueer's Tumblr for lots of wonderful meditations on what his career could have been like, not to mention her utterly brilliant fan novel Two Two One Bravo Baker) to the quiet mundanity of his life in London. When we first see him, he has no job, lives in a beige flat, leads a beige life. Then he has the great good luck of being introduced to Sherlock Holmes.
That's his turning point, of course. His arc becomes entwined with Sherlock's and, for Sherlock, he becomes a kind of mentor to the ordinary world: say this, don't say that, eat this, drink that, put on the damn hat. But that's Sherlock's arc. John's is his re-integration into society as well as his integration into the more dangerous world of private investigation. He learns that he craves the excitement that Sherlock's profession brings, and by the second series, it isn't at all clear that John is still working as a doctor -- he appears to work full-time with Sherlock. In addition to assisting with the investigations, he writes up the cases which, as he tells Sherlock, brings in new cases. "This is your living, Sherlock," he says firmly as he types away, "not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash." Sherlock's feelings are a bit hurt, but he doesn't disagree.
To me, one of the most fascinating John moments in the entire six episodes is in TRF when John and Sherlock leave for court so Sherlock can give his testimony. They stand briefly in the darkened hallway, staring at each other. John says, "Ready?" and only when Sherlock answers does he open the door to the utter chaos of shouting, jostling reporters. Yet John remains calm and cool. He orders the reporters to let them through; he firmly instructs Sherlock to get in the cab, watches to be sure he's safely in, and then slips through the crowd to the other door. Yes, he's shorter than Sherlock, and older, and not a genius, but he is completely in control of a volatile situation.
But John's arc should better be described as a circle. When Sherlock tumbles from the top of St. Bart's, John loses not just his best friend but his livelihood. In March he writes up the Hounds of Baskerville and then nothing for two months until he posts his final and heart-breaking, He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him. When we last see him, standing at Sherlock's grave, he returns to military posture, nearly saluting the headstone. His left hand twitches, as it had in the first episode before he met Sherlock, and I could easily believe his psychosomatic limp will soon return, though he strides briskly enough away from the grave at that moment.
That John is grief stricken is undeniable. That he resolutely believes in Sherlock is equally undeniable. Sherlock desperately tried to make John believe he was a fraud in an attempt to give John a reason for his suicide, but he could not. Sherlock knew he would survive his apparent suicide -- or at least that he had a good chance of surviving -- so his tears while speaking to John were not for losing his life, but for losing his life with John. Even if he couldn't persuade John that he was a fraud, which after their earlier exchange ("Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time") he must have known, he knew that that part of his life was at an end.
And what a glorious life it had been. Seventeen months of being the center of John's attention. How they both had thrived. Sherlock was eating more and better, he was finding reasons to follow social conventions, and even understanding some of those conventions (in HoB: "Sentiment?" "Sentiment."). Through John's firm ministrations, Sherlock had improved in health and well-being, but -- and this is so important -- so had John.
John's job was another part of his life taken from him as well. "I was so alone," he whispered to the headstone, "and I owe you so much." Because it's John's story, too: how he came home to London and found a new life that was then wrenched from him in the most painful way.
The parallels between A Study in Pink and The Reichenbach Falls are many; I hope someone has gone minute by minute through the episodes to point them out: John using his RAMC coffee mug. John and Sherlock meeting in the same lab where they part. John sitting alone in his tidy beige flat and John sitting alone in 221B staring at Sherlock's empty chair. "Nothing happens to me." He has come full circle; his arc is concluded.
Of course, we viewers know better, but the point is John doesn't know. As far as he knows, that part of his life has ended as abruptly and as horrifically as his military career. He is once again alone in the universe. Whatever kind of love you wish to ascribe to John for Sherlock, that love has been shattered and his heart broken.
And then there's Mycroft. Man of mystery, who initially claims to occupy just a minor position in the British government but who controls every CCTV in London, all traffic, and, as John and we eventually learn, is a significant force in MI6 working with the CIA. We never learn a reason for the unhappy relationship between Mycroft and his brother, but we can guess some of it. Despite his obvious love for Sherlock, Mycroft is overbearing to the point of bullying, at one point even threatening to order Sherlock to do something. And he effectively destroys his brother's life, something John has no qualms calling him out on. "Moriarty wanted to destroy Sherlock, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition." Mycroft does not deny this accusation.
(Something I love about that scene -- in fact, all scenes between John and Mycroft -- is that John has no fear of Mycroft, and Mycroft accepts his scolding. Which he should, the big jerk. No matter how powerful Mycroft might be, he is meek before John, and that fact deserves its own essay.)
We know Sherlock learned about Moriarty in ASiP, but when did Mycroft? The episodes don't specify when, but it was obviously prior to TRF. Because Moriarty trafficked with terrorists (as we discover in TRF), it is not unreasonable to believe that Mycroft was aware of him significantly earlier, perhaps even earlier than ASiP. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Moriarty's interest in Sherlock was two-fold: most obviously, Sherlock was thwarting his plans by solving the crimes, but also because Sherlock offered a way to get to Mycroft. I could easily see him planning to use Sherlock as a weapon against Mycroft -- in fact, had Moriarty lived, I am sure he would have.
(Caroline has an excellent post about Mycroft in which she suggests Mycroft has known about Moriarty since before ASiP, and has been manipulating John Watson all along in the hopes he will help protect Sherlock from Moriarty. Although I'm not in complete agreement with all her theories, I do think she's right about Mycroft knowing about Moriarty long before Sherlock. Read her post; it's well worth the time.)
Mycroft, whether he successfully manipulated John or not, comes to trust him. He shares dangerous confidential information with John (the Bruce Partington plans were missing; that a member of the royal family was caught in a sex scandal). He and John certainly discuss Sherlock in Sherlock's absence; we know that from the phone call from Mycroft to John on Christmas. "Did he take the cigarette?" John asks rather desperately and when he learns that Sherlock did, mutters, "Shit." This is not the first time they've had this conversation about a possible "danger night." Mycroft warns him, "You have to stay with him," and John does, even though it means the end of yet another relationship.
But what is Mycroft's arc? He's a secretive man, and he is a liar, and we're not given much time with him. Sherlock refuses to go to him for help, which must mean something but what? What happened between them? How much, if anything, does Sherlock know about the interrogation of Moriarty by Mycroft? Sherlock is smart, smarter than we are and a lot faster at making connections, so he must realize sooner than John that the information Moriarty spilled to Kitty Riley had to have come from Mycroft. What does that tell him? That Mycroft is using his brother as just another chess piece in the great game he is playing.
A side note: I first learned the term The Great Game from Kipling's novel Kim; you can read more about The Great Game here, in Wikipedia, and its twenty-first century application here. It is not a coincidence that the final episode of S1, the episode in which we learn how dangerous Moriarty really is, was called "The Great Game." It is the Game that Mycroft has been playing all his professional life.
Thus Mycroft's sin is an even greater ego than Sherlock's -- in large part because Sherlock has had John Watson at his side for almost two years. While I do think S3 will reveal that Sherlock takes Mycroft into his confidence, I don't think that BBC Mycroft knew about Sherlock's suicide in advance. I think Sherlock trusted only Molly at that point. And why should Sherlock trust Mycroft? He commits a kind of fratricide.
Despite trading Sherlock's personal history, Mycroft's failed attempt to extract information from Moriarty results in freeing him, presumably in the hope he'd do something, go somewhere, that would result in a net gain for Mycroft -- more information and greater control are always the goal. And that's what I see as Mycroft's arc: his long-running attempt to accrue more information and power. Why? Ostensibly to protect Queen and Country, but I think to draw that power to himself. Sherlock told John as far back as ASiP that Mycroft was the British government, and it was clear even then that he didn't mean that in a good way.
So here's what I think: Myrcoft's arc is more a downwards spiral, growing out of his desire to accrue great power, something he desires so much that he eschews personal relationships, even familial, and so is willing to use his little brother as a pawn ("Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock"). His arrogance lets him believe he could control Moriarty to that end, but he fails quite spectacularly. His name is as ruined as Sherlock's; they are both Holmeses, and while I doubt Sherlock cares what people think of him, Mycroft is meant to work in the shadows. Tell me someone from the Daily Mail hasn't discovered their relationship and written about it; tell me that Kitty Riley won't capitalize on it as long as she can. He lost more than Sherlock. Only at the end, when his failure is undeniable even to himself, do we see, as my friend Pionie wrote me, his shell begin to peel back. What a painful metaphor!
And note that it's John to whom Mycroft confesses, and to whom he apologizes. What is it about John that both Holmes brothers trust so immediately and thoroughly? His differences from them, of course. Such a warm generous heart that time has made manifest on his kindly face. His transparent honesty. His refusal to play their games. His steadfastness in the face of adversity. His basic decency and, surely, his love for Sherlock. Mycroft knows he has failed Sherlock, but he also knows that John has not and will not fail him. Mycroft's arc concludes (at the end of S2) with him a defeated man, sitting in his silent club, reading trashy newspapers filled with lies about his beloved younger brother, utterly, utterly alone.
I also want to look at Molly Hooper, a character for whom I have at times writhed in vicarious humiliation but who has proven herself as steadfast as John Watson. I wrote in someone's Tumblr (they didn't like what I said, so I didn't keep track of whose) that Sherlock asked Molly to help him because she isn't in danger from Moriarty. He doesn't need to protect her the way he needs to protect John, Mrs. Hudson, and Greg Lestrade. He needs her specifically because Moriarty has -- as Sherlock did for so long -- overlooked her. As Molly told Sherlock, she didn't count. And thank god she didn't count in Moriarty's eyes. In addition -- for Sherlock is nothing if not practical -- she has special skills and access that makes Sherlock's "death" possible.
What delights me about Molly and Sherlock is that he finally, finally was able to see her. I believe it was John's influence (how he snapped "Shut up, Sherlock!" at him during the Christmas party) that made it possible not only for Sherlock to recognize Molly as a person in her own right, but as a person he respects and trusts. I think he is truly ashamed of his behavior at the Christmas party when she calls him out ("You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always") and when she tells him that she doesn't count. The look on his face is dawning realization that she is a person he has hurt. Thoughtlessly, it's true; I doubt he was intentionally cruel to her; remember what he asked John after he'd told Molly that Jim from IT was gay and she should break it off -- wasn't it better that she know? Oh, Molly.
(I think this is a lovely Tumblr photoset illustrating a key moment of change in Sherlock's perception of Molly.)
And Molly teaches Sherlock, too. In the lab when she offers to help him, he asks, "What could I need from you?" Molly says, "Nothing. I dunno." After a pause, she tells him firmly, "You could probably say 'thank you,' actually." To their surprise, Sherlock replies, "Thank you." That moment is precious to me. Molly was right; she didn't count to Sherlock -- until then. But nearly two years with John have opened his heart and his mind, and her blunt and awkward kindness touches him.
Of course, being the manipulative bastard he is, he also quickly sees how else Molly could help him. Sherlock will never be the nicest man in the room, he will never be John, but he is more complete and healthy than he has been in many years, perhaps since he was a little boy. For the first time, he has the ability to appreciate a person like Molly, the kind of person about whom he once asked, "What must it be like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring!" But he discovers it isn't just boring; it's also kind and thoughtful and loving.
Molly's arc is also one of discovery of self, of herself. From her adolescent crush on Sherlock in the first episodes, to her silliness about Jim from IT, to her never-failing assistance to Sherlock in her morgue, she keeps working -- she is a doctor, after all, a pathologist. She might not be able to tell you John's name during the first few times we meet her, but by the end, she has figured out exactly who John is to Sherlock ("You look sad when you think he can’t see you"), and she has figured out who she is. She puts away her crush but never her kindness or her skills. I think she sees Sherlock more clearly by the end than even John does, because John is so besotted with him and Molly -- she no longer is. She is now Sherlock's friend.
There is an excellent essay about Molly that goes into more depth about her outstanding character and explains why I love her so much; it's Molly Hooper: Why Molly is the one who counts, by Misstransmission. Please take the time to read it. Molly is worth it.
[ETA: Tumblr just popped up with a link to Heartwarming moments in Sherlock. That link takes you to The Reichenbach Fall entry. *melts*]
All four of these characters -- Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Molly -- change in course of the six episodes, and I suggest that what changes them is love. Through love they become more self-aware, though none of them entirely like what they discover about themselves. But certainly Sherlock's and John's love for each other makes them stronger, just as it makes it impossible for Sherlock to convince John that he is a fraud.
It's harder to tell with Mycroft, but I believe that when he says to John, "I'm sorry. Tell him, would you?" he is sincerely sorry for having tried to manipulate Moriarty and putting Sherlock at risk. More than at risk; as far as Mycroft knows at the end of S2, his little brother is dead, a suicide, and his many accomplishments denigrated in the mire of tabloid headlines.
And Molly, dear Molly, brave and honest and kind even in the face of snotty superiority and the knowledge that her love will never be returned. Her experiences have freed her from her misplaced dreams. She is stronger and wiser as a result.
So the six episodes of BBC Sherlock aren't, for me, about the cases (though they are fun), or the chases (though they are even more fun), but about Sherlock growing up and the people who help him, and hinder him. He grows up somehwat belatedly, but many brilliant people are socially a bit developmentally slow and he is an especially brilliant one. He might also be an especially brilliant person with high functioning autism, an English Temple Grandin. His love story begins when he meets John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, now lost in London. As Mark Gatiss said, "And this man arrives, who essentially makes [Sherlock] human, and together they make a perfect unit."