I've come to the conclusion that I must be the weirdest person on the planet.
Because the third series of Sherlock currently has a rating of 97% fresh from Rotten Tomatoes, and I find myself out in the cold with the missing 3%.
—Warning. Spoilers for Series Three.—
Now, I liked the Empty Hearse. The Fall theories were brilliantly funny (I did catch on in the first run: I can accept bungee cords, if the writers are desperate, and even masks, but Sherlock did not kiss Molly. That will never happen and if it does I'm tuning in to a different channel.) The reunion was everything it needed to be and more. (Special praise goes to Martin Freeman, who was absolutely riveting in his reactions, and to Amanda Abbington, who was charming and lovable.) I also loved the scene with Mycroft and Sherlock, in which we get a brief, subtle, poignant look into what sets Sherlock apart from the rest of his family. The mystery wasn't terrific, but it wasn't bad, either; and I it set my teeth on edge that Sherlock's ending apology proved a feint, but all in all it was great to see Sherlock come back. It felt like old times . . .
. . . Except it wasn't.
Some people, I understand, enjoyed The Sign of Three. And some of us did not. I enjoyed parts of it, but I was still aching for a good case. Not only were the mysteries in the episode below average, Sherlock's detective skills were sorely lacking. I might have been able to forgive him for being an eccentric idiot throughout the wedding reception if it weren't for the fact that he got even worse when a potential murder presented itself. You'd think he'd suddenly become cool, confident, and awesome—the Holmes we all remember from A Study in Pink and A Scandal in Belgravia—but no, he scampers around like a bonehead making goofy freudian slips and generally making a fool of himself. The ending felt contrived and Major Sholto's presence totally out of place. It was the first time I ever watched an episode of Sherlock and wanted to walk out early. It wasn't a good feeling.
Then there was His Last Vow. It was . . . gosh, I dunno. It kept me engaged, I guess. CAM was definitely a good villain. He added a lot of dimension. . . . And then Sherlock shot him. So I guess we'll never get to find out what sort of character development he could have provoked.
Okay, my real problem with the last two episodes is that they feel like they're just there to appease fans. We keep getting reminded of past jokes, like Sherlock not knowing Lestrade's first name, just because they turned out to be funny once. I wish the writers would go back to making things good for their own sake instead of pandering to what has become popular.
Moffat, Gatiss, let me fill you in on a little secret: Fans are idiots. We spend months and months pining after fictional characters and waste hours writing ridiculous fan fiction and pointless reviews like this just to feel a connection to something cooler than ourselves. So stop feeding the fans and go back to making ART.
Series One and Two were so gorgeously intelligent and original. They were insightful and passionate and made you think. Sherlock Holmes was a genius who gloried in the mechanics of logic and reason and made you want to be just like him—or, you know, to marry him. Now he's an emotional retard with some observational skills. It sickens me.
Remember A Study in Pink? Remember, when Sherlock and John first met, how he knew all about his sister? I watched Sherlock tell John all about himself and thought, "The writers are bluffing. Nobody could be that clever." And then it turned out that he could. Tan lines, some casual conversation, and one look at a man's phone. That was all it took. It quickly became very clear: This isn't some american CSI, identifying that one unique speck of that one unique substance conveniently dotting your collar and testing it in a lab to find one isolated clue. This is Sherlock Freaking Holmes. The man who can see the mundane minutiae, put it all together, and piece together your life's story without batting an eye.
But now, apparently, it's just funny to watch Sherlock be stupid. "Oh, look, he still can't figure out Lestrade's first name even though he would've made a point of remembering it ages ago to save face after his first mistake! Haha!" "Oh, look, Sherlock thinks he's helping John and doesn't even realize Mary's manipulating both of them to get them on a case, isn't it cute." "Haha, Sherlock didn't even know Mrs. Hudson was the one who brought him tea every morning." It's a miracle this guy has managed to solve anything. What's next, a fez? All my life I've been searching for distractions! And Sherlock was the best distraction and now I don't even have it! Because it's gone commercial!
In short, the writers have broken my heart and left me wondering why everything has to be dumbed down for the lowest common denominator. What, was A Scandal in Belgravia too subtle for everyone? Were there some people in the back row going, "Uhhhhh, why's his phone make that noise?" Was The Hounds of Baskerville too original? The Reichenbach Fall too involved? I'm starting to think they're just complete sell-outs. Especially with their joke, "You should put that on a T-shirt"—you know, the moment they say it, fans will be out to buy/create said T-shirt. It's cheap and disgusting.
Hopefully someone will be able to stimulate some brainpower in our hero next series. . .
