Apparently I forgot to post a picture of this one. Clues include a bloody fingerprint, a wax fingerprint, a masonic symbol on a chain, two burnt hay bales, two buckets of water, a bloody walking stick, a safe, and charred rubble that includes trouser buttons and bones. (They are actually coyote toe bones that I got off of eBay for $5, and they smelled fucking terrible when I burnt them. The odor could have knocked a buzzard off a corpse wagon. I’m sure my neighbors loved that almost as much as they love me practicing my violin out in the carport at 8 am.)
For this box I recreated the murder scene out in the captain’s outbuilding. This one was SUPER fun to make, and it now has a forever home with my bestie back in Boston. (Hi, Steve!)
This isn’t one of my favorite Sherlock Holmes stories, but whatever. Clues include a bowl of peas, a track shoe, a torn piece of leather, a pencil stub and shavings, and black pyramidal chunks embedded with sawdust. And a lot of paper clues that I never talk about – shit like calling cards and the fake diploma shown above.
I’m back! Fuck you, depression, I’m gonna finish this damn project in spite of you!
Fuck you, bipolar disorder, for causing me to be put on lithium for a year and leaving me with a residual intention tremor that has been a real fucking nightmare for so many of these miniature things I’m making. Having to put these tiny pieces of toothpick on this doll shoe to approximate track spikes was almost impossible – I had to use tweezers and hold my wrist with my left hand, and it still looks like shit.
Also, fuck you, bipolar and lithium, for halfway killing Jeremy Brett and making it so that I can’t watch the last two seasons of his Sherlock Holmes because I over-relate way too much and have damn near spiralled into a depression about it, and I never even fucking knew the man.
I’m back for part two. Spoiler alert: Sherlock Holmes solves the case. Some of the following may reveal even more details about how he accomplished this than I revealed in part one.
So at this point in the story Holmes, incidental to committing a felony in order to take down a blackmailer he believes to be “the worst man in London,” has led Watson by the hand through a flower-strewn love tunnel into a repressed Victorian gay fantasy, where he vanquished a gigantic green metaphorical penis and thereby won Watson’s virtue.
Some pertinent quotes from the rest of the story:
“I don’t like it,” [Holmes] whispered, putting his lips to my very ear.
I felt Holmes’s hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers, and that he was easy in his mind.
The next morning, having literally stood by and watched a woman do their dirty work for them, Holmes and Watson are back at Baker Street in time for breakfast. Lestrade shows up to report that there has been a “most dramatic and remarkable murder:”
“No article of value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of good position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure.” “Criminals?” said Holmes. “Plural?” “Yes, there were two of them. They were nearly as possible captured red-handed. We have their footmarks, we have their description, it’s ten to one that we trace them. The first fellow was a bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-gardener, and only got away after a struggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly built man – square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes.” “That’s rather vague,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Why, it might be a description of Watson!” “It’s true,” said the inspector, with amusement. “It might be a description of Watson.”
One could argue that Holmes has become the blackmailer in the end by dangling the dirt he has on Watson right in Lestrade’s face. Holmes always had to have Watson in his orbit, and maybe he wasn’t above a super manipulative, wink-wink nudge-nudge threat to keep him there. Idk.
The story ends with Holmes leading Watson to a framing shop in whose window sits a photo of the woman who saved their bacon, and Watson ends the story thus: “My eyes met those of Holmes, and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window.” (1)
By the time I finished this story I was a “Johnlock” convert. I finally got it. Here is my personal theory about the “real” relationship between Sherlock Holmes and his Boswell, Dr. John Watson: I think that Holmes was asexual, much like Nikolai Tesla, except that rather than being in romantic love with a pigeon, Holmes was romantically in love with Watson. And I mean hard core romantically in love with him. I think that Watson was basically straight, but he would have been Holmes’s lover had Holmes ever made a move because he was so enamored with the detective. (And, for a time, financially invested in him, too.)
Maybe I’ll get around to making a post about all the other evidence to support my theory, because it’s a fun one to play with.
Notes: (1) I can’t help but picture Jeremy Brett making this gesture, because he would have made it perfectly gay.
Because I’m that kind of tiresome Sherlock Holmes fan who can’t abide by anything Holmes-related which I deem to have deviated too far from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories, I got super annoyed with the deluge of (*chokes back vomit*) “Johnlock” memes that started going around after the 2010 debut of the BBC’s “Sherlock.” While I thought Holmes and Watson would have made an absolutely adorable couple and that the “Johnlock” concept would make for some pretty hot fantasies, I also despise the stunted and dehumanizing rigidity that we force on men by insisting they conform to some set idea of “masculinity.” /rant about reductive ideas of masculinity that fail to take into account a) the differences between contemporary masculinity and that of the Victorian era; b) Holmes’s privileged class status, which required him to adhere to the tedious and frankly ridiculous tenets of “being a gentlemen” when women were present – I probably wouldn’t have wanted them around much, either; and c) how insane it is that our society can’t read about two single men living together and sharing a close, intimate friendship without dragging in SOME degree of subtle or not-so-subtle queer shaming. /rant
But I’m also that kind of tiresome hypocrite who was only ever extremely familiar with The Adventures and The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. Oh – and Hound of the Baskervilles. My reading of the other 2/3 of the Holmes canon was patchy at best, and I’m willing to bet that I read a lot of it when I was drunk and didn’t appreciate or absorb it anyway. So I should probably fuck right off for being up on my high horse for so long when I wasn’t really all that knowledgeable about Sherlock Holmes in the first place. In my defense, I have now read the entire canon in great detail, more than once, and it completely changed my mind about the whole “Johnlock” thing. The final nail in the coffin was “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton,” a story which now appears in The Return of Sherlock Holmes and about which I have alllllll kinds of thoughts and theories. (1)
The story begins with Watson listening to Holmes describe his most recent opponent, a nefarious blackmailer named Charles Augustus Milverton. The only other foe Holmes despised as much as he despises Milverton was his archrival, Moriarty. The hatred Holmes has for Milverton is visceral:
Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation, Watson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo, and see the slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces? Well, that’s how Milverton impresses me. I’ve had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of them never gave me the repulsion which I have for this fellow.
Holmes provides a perfectly just and reasonable reason for his unusually strong sentiments:
I have said that [Milverton] is the worst man in London, and I would ask you how could one compare the ruffian, who in hot blood bludgeons his mate, with this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?” I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.
But what if one playfully applied to Holmes’s intense feelings the psychological principle that hatred results primarily from the fear of a perceived threat? One could theorize that the depth of Holmes’s hatred for Milverton indicates that Holmes perceived him as a personal threat. Asking oneself why Holmes might feel personally threatened by a nefarious and highly successful blackmailer leads to all manner of speculation, especially, of course, when one remembers that homosexuality was still a criminal offense in late 19th century England. So there’s that.
After this backstory, Milverton himself enters the cozy shared room at 221-B, Baker Street. Holmes attempts to negotiate with the blackmailer on behalf of his client, but is so unusually out-maneuvered that he and Watson resort to a rather ham-fisted and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to mug Milverton for the incriminating letters.
Next comes the second of Holmes’s symbolic engagements (the first of which took place with Irene Adler in “A Scandal in Bohemia” and that Holmes commemorated by wearing her sovereign on his watch chain), this time to one of Milverton’s housekeepers named Agnes. Posing as an up-and-coming plumber named Escott, Holmes spent long evenings walking and wooing Agnes – even to the point of asking her to marry him – in order to pick her brains for information about Milverton’s household and habits.
…Okay, so much going on here: a) the only thing that makes Holmes angrier than the concepts of love and marriage (*insert Holmes’s ranty, suspiciously defensive opinions about women, matrimony, and feelings in general*) is Watson falling in love and getting married:
The good Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our association. I was alone. (2)
– “The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier,” The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes
b) One could theorize that Holmes was deliberately baiting Watson with the story of his “engagement” to Agatha in an attempt to make Watson feel as jealous as he feels when Watson has romantic interest in a woman; and c) the real story that I want to read is what Holmes managed to talk to this young woman about for hours at a time on multiple occasions. Yes, he does have an ingratiating way with women when he wants or needs to, but dude has zero sex appeal whatsoever. I don’t see Sherlock Holmes being able to thrust his way out of a wet paper bag, to be honest. (3) So ya, I would be intensely curious to read a transcript of these conversations.
Holmes follows the announcement of his engagement by announcing that he is going to burgle Milverton’s house later that night, which is answered by a bunch of pearl-clutching from the eternally good and upright Watson – who is fresh off of finger-wagging Holmes about leading on poor Agatha. But Holmes insists that he doesn’t have a choice, and reminds Watson that he wasn’t such a paladin when they had both attempted to rob Milverton of his wallet. (4)
“I must, therefore, abandon my client to her fate or I must play this last card. Between ourselves, Watson, it’s a sporting duel between this fellow Milverton and me. He had, as you saw, the best of the first exchanges, but my self-respect and my reputation are concerned to fight it to a finish.” “Well, I don’t like it, but I suppose it must be,” said I. “When do we start?” “You are not coming.” “Then you are not going,” said I. “I give you my word of honor – and I never broke it in my life – that I will take a cab straight to the police-station and give you away, unless you let me share this adventure with you.” “You can’t help me.” “How do you know that? You can’t tell what may happen. Anyway, my resolution is taken. Other people besides you have self-respect, and even reputations.” Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped me on the shoulder. “Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared this same room for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the same cell.”
I love this whole exchange. It’s one of the few times that Watson ever tells Holmes to go fuck himself, and it gives Holmes such a Carrera marble-hard boner that he mayyyybe starts over-sharing and things begin to go off the rails:
“You know, Watson, I don’t mind confessing to you that I have always had an idea that I would have made a highly efficient criminal. This is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. See here!” He took a neat little leather case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibited a number of shining instruments. “This is a first-class, up-to-date burgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter, adaptable keys, and every modern improvement which the march of civilization demands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything is in order. Have you a pair of silent shoes?” “I have rubber-soled tennis shoes.” “Excellent! And a mask?” “I can make a couple out of black silk.” “I can see that you have a strong, natural turn for this sort of thing. Very good…”
Look, I’m not trying to suggest that this was “true,” but I could totally see Sherlock Holmes committing hot prowls (burglarizing a place when you know the residents are home) as a secret hobby and justifying it as professional research. And, while I don’t believe Holmes’s character would have committed any kind of violent crime, I could even see him enjoying burglary in a creepy “I’m basically god right now” kind of way. And really, Watson – black silk?
Their foray into the other side of the law commences later that same night:
The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass and turned the key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. The thick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance of exotic plants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the darkness and led me swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed against our faces.
I mean…flowers. It doesn’t get much more obviously erotic than that in the world of literary symbology, particularly when we’re talking exotic flowers like orchids. (Think Georgia O’Keeffe.) So Holmes leads Watson by the hand (so much hand-holding in this story, holy moly) along a vaguely tunnel-shaped path through one of the world’s oldest and most well-known erotic symbols. If one wanted to slap on their leather elbow patches, one might suggest that this story is essentially about Holmes leading Watson into various forms of transgression (criminal, moral, sexual, etc.) One might also find Doyle’s choice of words interesting in the above passage.
Anyway, Watson is totally there for Holmes’s trangressing. Watson is 100% down to clown:
My first feeling of fear had passed away, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed when we were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. The high object of our mission, the consciouness that it was unselfish and chivalrous, the villainous character of our opponent, all added to the sporting interest of the adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and exulted in our dangers. With a glow of admiration I watched Holmes unrolling his case of instruments and choosing his tool with the calm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. I knew that the opening of safes was a particular hobby with him, and I understood the joy which it gave him to be confronted with this green and gold monster, the dragon which held in its maw the reputation of many fair ladies.
Again we have Holmes breaking the law to thwart another incredibly old and well-known erotic symbol (the lock and key), while Watson turns it into the 19th century nerd version of a peep show. And again with the choice of words – such a variety of double entendre to be gleaned from the past two quotes!! A veritable embarrassment of sophomoric riches. One possible interpretation is to view the last quote as a sexual metaphor in which Holmes is preparing to do battle with a big green monster penis and Watson is super turned on by watching Holmes fight for his virtue.
I am going to end my analysis here for the time being, because I need a break and nobody is going to read this anyway so I can finish it whenever I want.
Notes: (1) Although I’m definitely a big nerd, I’m not the kind of big nerd that reads other people’s literary criticism of Sherlock Holmes, so it’s highly probable that all of this has been said before elsewhere. (2) Omg, dude – are you serious? Somebody steer this guy to the nearest fainting couch and loosen his stays, he’s got some of the Victorian hysteria. (3) If some bizarre monomaniac held a gun to my head and forced me to criticize something about Jeremy Brett’s portrayal of Sherlock Holmes, it would be that Brett played him too sexy sometimes. Like, Brett’s Sherlock Holmes most likely wouldn’t even consider sleeping with you, but he could if he wanted to, and it would completely explode and reconstruct your entire erotic paradigm. To be fair, I don’t think that was something Brett could help; most of the times I’ve seen him outside of Sherlock Holmes he either looked like someone’s nice, cardigan-wearing dad, or else the best kind of super-dirty sexpot he-whore. (4) Holmes is such a manipulative asshole with Watson.
alecto cubed 
