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If his deductions are a result of a condition rather than hard training, what makes him so special as to have endured for so long as one of the most famous literary figures, never mind crime fighters! I tend to agree with ShadowDweller, VanBuren and Inge on this. Where would be the sheer grandeur and magnificence of his talent and ingenuity if they came through a mental condition?

I have always had a weak spot for Mr Gatiss, he's the true Sherlockian, the other is just along for the ride, the resulting fame and fortune. He's a successful screenwriter, but I have always got the feeling from his scripts that he could have done episodes in Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, Prison Break, in fact any good crime series, even Elementary, with the same flourish and never know the difference. He has never convinced me that he is a serious Sherlock Holmes fan with the kinds of thing he makes his principal character go through, never mind the two-year "hiatus".

In the GoTo quiz I got 6; Calm and in control 74% Sherlock: Boring, boring, boring, boring. She's OK John: I like her, she's OK, I think Sherlock's in a bit of a conflict about her... Lestrade: Fantastic Mrs Hudson: She's very nice Moriarty: Pfft Molly: She's nice. She reminds me of Greg. Irene: She's always so calm and collected. It gets old! Anderson: She's OK Sally: I like her! And now please excuse me while I find a very deep hole to bury myself in! I so wanted to be able to charm Jim out of his obsession with Sherlock, but he won't even consider turning me into shoes! *sniff* And the supreme insults of Anderson and Sally finding me nice and OK! I could throw a Sherlock sulk that would last a month at those two!

But will not their big screen engagements interfere with the planned series? Once, the Hobbit definitely clashed with one of the season's filming. Was it for S2?

Fine by me, as long as said lady has no speaking part in S4!

That little video is really funny! Glad he has seen the error of his fans' ways in the meantime! You lucky people! I have to travel to Jersey for the live screening on the 15th! Visiting another country about 300 kilometers away for a nice night out isn't exactly visiting the local multiplex!

Dear sitty, that included some lovely insights, with which I happen to agree only partly. This Dr Watson is a caricature, therefore not relatable in any positive way! His anger does run away with him, so do his past and his insecurity, traits that make him a loose cannon sometimes. Granted, he has had to put up with a lot from his flat ate, but the original choice was his: he could not have accepted either the flat share or Sherlock's original invitation in SiP. Having done so, his anger management leaves much to be desired, and his uncontrollable temper makes him a bit hypocritical when he tries to rein in Sherlock at a crime scene.

( I rather think Inge means driving to Edinburgh, so I shall continue after their arrival in London) After the chauffeur-driven car had deposited the two friends outside the flat, Sherlock opened the outer door with his keys, set the knocker askew and went upstairs. John was the one to have to deal with Mrs Hudson, who came out of her flat with a plateful of ginger buiscuits, patted him affectionately on the shoulder and handed the plate to him. "Thanks for your thoughtfulness Mrs Hudson, but I don't think Sherlick will be doing much eating in the foreseeable future. He has set his whole will towards re-arranging his Mind Palace, you see." "If he intends to spring-clean his brain. I wouldn't mind being given a chance to do some real cleaning upstairs. That young man has absolutely no sense of order outside that great brain of his." "Yes, Mrs Hudson, I apologise for the state of the living room!" came that particularly sharp-eared man's voice from above them. John gave her an apologetic grin, as well, balanced the plate on one hand and started climbing the stairs to the flat. Blessedly, Sherlock had left the door unlocked. John could just see him as he disappeared into his bedroom. With most of Sheralyn's things gone, the place seemed unbearably empty to John, despite containing the usual Sherlockian clutter minus the experimental stuff, which had all been removed in the interests of the baby's safety. John noticed that Sherlock had turned both the hot water boiler and the bathroom heater on despite its being summer. He practically ran to the toilet, afterwards washed his hands, splashed some water on his face and managed to get out just before Sherlock appeared from his bedroom practically naked except for a pair of boxer shorts, carrying one of his gowns, what appeared a set of pyjamas and a loofa sponge. It was going to be an hour-long soak at least, since in his other hand he carried his headphones and his iPod. "So, what's it tonight? Paganini, Mozart, Rossini?" "Wagner, Tristan und Isolde, I need to re-focus my thoughts." "Right, then I shall put the kettle on in about three-quarters of an hour, and if your fingertips have not pruned by then, you can have some of Mrs Hudson's Ginger buiscuits to go with yours." "Perfectly acceptable, thank you, John. If you could find the organic honey to go with them, that would be a good start to my meditation sequences," and he closed the bathroom door behind him. Dr Watson fiddled around in his blog, tweaking a phrase here, adding an interesting detail there, until it was time to put on the kettle. No tea bags this time: buiscuits steeped in honey meant loose-leaf Darjeling tea, so he took the tin from the shelf, found a strainer and set to boil the water to make a perfectly aromatic infusion. Just as the kettle stopped whistling, Sherlock came out of the bathroom in a set of pale blue Egyptian cotton Derek Rose pyjamas and his favourite blue silk dressing gown, the pocket of which he had shot through that time so long ago when he had shot at the wall. He reached John's side just as the tea had steeped for five minutes. He helped himself to a mugful, adding his customary two lumps of sugar, then carried the honey jar and the buiscuits over to the coffee table. He plumped up a cushion, set it against one of the sofa armrests, sighed contentedly and sprawled down on it. Dr Watson swiped a handful of biscuits before Sherlock set the whole plate on his stomach and opened the honey jar, then went to sit at his laptop with his own mug of tea, his favourite, the one he had had since his Army days. "So, what now?" he asked. Between munching on biscuits and sipping at his tea, Sherlock explained that he would use meditation techniques to access his inner self and therefore defragment his Mind Palace, especially some intricate Tibetan practices he had picked up during his two-year absence. "And apart from the fact that I shall need to bring you out of them without you harming me or me harming you, for basic necessities, like hydrating and using the loo, how am I to know that you have not actually gone catatonic on me?" "Well, really, John, we shall set up a time schedule. Create an excel page, set up the times you want for all the basic necessities and then show it to me: eidetic memory, remember?" So Dr Watson set up specific times for taking liquids, approximated their discharge to the best of his ability, then brought the laptop to the reclining detective. Sherlock held up his sticky hands, so John removed and capped the honey jar and placed the computer on the consulting detective's lap. Sherlock took a good look, even squinted at the screen a little, then nodded his thanks and his agreement. After Dr Watson saved the page, Sherlock got up to wash his hands in the sink, then returned to the sofa and seemed to fall into a trance, eyes open.

Very interesting that we all seem to be what Arcadia has endearingly termed "oddballs"! I have kept two friends from college and four from work, so I socialize better with the second group. Still, if they go into fashion, gossip or boyfriends, I tend to block their noise making, because otherwise I would be obliged to get up and leave abruptly, since such things are unutterably boring to me. Easily bored? Possibly. I love reading and listening to music, will try anything once (but no drugs, thank you very much) and because I work odd hours or have double shifts, I have accustomed myself to living with very little sleep and doing without food if necessary. Completely inept in playing any kind of instrument, though!

Wow! What's all the excitement about? So far Benedict has proven a normal male of the species. At the beginning he tried to deflect her line of questioning, then he simply got back into Sherlock mode ( which must come easy with the thousands of lines he has had to learn for that one part) and launched into an extremely funny Sherlock-as-a lover explanation. Hopefully some Molly- or Irene- writing fan fiction author will incorporate it into their story. It would make a change! And he rather put paid to all the fanciful Molly speculation in another thread here with his last sentence!

In a way, it's our fault for voting for him in the Glamour magazine contest! But what an inane question to ask, especially for someone working for CNN! "Where" it comes from? Honestly!

Sherlock was getting quite concerned by the sheer volume of information and paperwork. He made a mental note to himself that once they had installed Sheralyn properly in Major Sholto's eyerie, he would return home and burn all this highly sensitive material in their grate. Mrs Hudson might be a bit surprised to notice a fire going in the middle of the summer, but their flat had never served as an adjunct to his brother's nefarious activities, nor as a branch of MI6. Above all, he wanted to keep his god daughter as safe as possible and then deal with the problems arising from the disappearance of Mary ( she would always be Mary to him, no matter what her real name turned out to be. He also desperately needed to de-clutter his brain, which, he now estimated, was running about 70 per cent of its capacity, surely an all-time low, even including his dabbling in drugs! Next to him, Major Sholto fidgeted as he straightened the crease in his trousers. "Watson...John, my sources are available to you, too, if you cared to bother. Ex-colonel Moran was seen in the company of she who calls herself your wife, and as to how he became involved with Colonel Moriarty's gang, surely, that is no stretch of the imagination. Two ex-army never'do'wells becoming best buddies...it's been known to happen." Sherlock jerked out of his reverie, since all trips where he wasn't himself the driver tended to overload his sensory input with too much information, simply by gazing out of the vehicle's windows: "Major, could you explain your last remark? John may know all about Army old boys' networks, but I need more data, if you would be so kind." Dr Watson, seated in the co-driver's seat, nearly caused himself a whiplash injury, so quickly did he turn his head in order not to miss anything of this exchange, surprised to hear Sherlock use such language to his former commanding officer. "Mr Holmes, I owe you and that woman my life, so I should tell you that not all of us are privileged to have had private means, like myself, so, like John, cannot afford to survive on their Army pension and thus seek alternative employment." "You mean mercenaries, Major, guns for hire. Is that what Sebastian Moran had become? Why? His cousin was a life peer, the late Lord Moran, who died in prison a few days before his preliminary hearing. He comes from a good and even rich family, considering all the riches his cousin must have amassed working for North Korea for almost twenty years?" "I cannot give you a satisfactory answer, Mr Holmes. Whoever has seen battle, can never really settle down to what people are pleased to call 'normal life'. Even John here..." "Yes, thank you, Major, I know most of John's issues emanating from his stint in Afghanistan. My point is, how exactly did you find out about the Colonel and his dubious activities." By the time Major Sholto had finished explaining his connections to old Army buddies and even the pubs and clubs they preferred, the journey was over, and they had arrived at their destination. Time to get Sheralyn settled and then return to London, where the problems of the safe deposit box and of Mary's current location remained as acute as the first day Dr Watson had stepped onto the pavement outside 221b with Sheralyn in her car seat.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but freedom of speech is a very hard-fought right, inalienable and all-encompassing! People have died in France and Denmark because they exercised this right against zealous jihadists. It's a universal imperative: the problem lies with how each one of us who enjoys it in a non-totalitarian state, like China and North Korea and several African countries, chooses to exercise it!

Oh, the six stages of Ancient Greek expression of feelings for another person of the same gender! Concerning their complicated relationship, there's one thing I cannot fathom: why wasn't DI Lestrade invited to the stag night in the first place? He is seen in a pub enjoying a drink at the end of HLV, and he certainly enjoys a drink in SIB Christmas and in SoT. Did Sherlock, who pasted John's face on Da Vinci's Vitruvian man, have an elaborate plan to lure John into something before the wedding finalized things, and hence his precise calculations and his comment after the fact : "What a wasted opportunity", only to save face by talking about Tessa to cover up his slip of the tongue?

It is never right to lose one's livelihood because of another's fandom! Here I have to take a very strict stance of a fellow countryman, M. Arouet, known as Voltaire: I disagree with everything you say, but shall defend to the death your right to say it! Cumber collective had better remember that dictum!

Speaking for myself, I would like a return to the ACD stories transferred to a modern setting, like some TOBY mentioned above, including The Speckled Band, The Abbey Grange, The Second Stain ( imagine Mycroft losing a state document and having to rely on baby brother's help ) The Blue Carbuncle, The Dying Detective for example. I would definitely want to see the end of Mary, preferably before a child is born, a worthy adversary but NOT Moriarty again, and a calmer, more effective Dr Watson. Learning goes both ways: Sherlock learns how to be better at socialising, it's time Dr Watson learned how to curb his temper and be a better friend, if not flatmate!

Once they reached Baker Str. their first action was to retrieve Sheralyn, and John was actually surprised to hear his friend thank Mrs Turner for her help in looking after the baby. And it was Sherlock's turn to be surprised, when, having reached to take the baby girl out of her makeshift playpen, he was forestalled by Dr Watson, who picked her up and carried her upstairs to their own flat. Seeing as his friend started for the bathroom, obviously nappy-changing time, he shed his jacket in his bedroom and then called out: "I shall make tea, then!" "No sugar for me, thanks." came the muffled reply. If Sherlock were in the habit of rolling his eyes, now would have been a good moment! That had been one of his minor deductions when they had first met, but apparently the good doctor would never let him forget the incident at Baskerville! When Dr Watson emerged from the bathroom, he had changed into casual clothes as well as the baby's outfit. He put her down in her own playpen next to the living room desk and gratefully accepted the mug his friend held out to him. This gave Sherlock time to use the bathroom himself, whence he emerged to flop back down on the couch and reach for his own mug (milk, two sugars) which he had conveniently left on the coffee table. He inserted the valuable pamphlet in the file Mycroft had given them and was preparing to launch into a detailed description of their latest case, seeing as Dr Watson had wandered over to *his* laptop, when the latter broke into his train of thought: "Sherlock, what about Mrs Robinson's nephew? Why should a lad from an extremely privileged background seek work as an assistant in a lowly firm such as that?" "Really, John, you should spend fewer Saturday afternoons watching football and guzzling cheap ale in the company of Lestrade and Dimmock, their combined observational skills, by which I mean lack thereof, are beginning to rub off on you!" "And what's a bloke to do when his autocratic idiot of a flat mate cannot abide football because he cannot be bothered to learn the rules while he can follow the finer points of a cricket match just fine?" "Cricket was obligatory at school, and I have always thought it's not sporting to hit a sitting ball. But I digress. Mr Robinson Smith had become aware of his aunt's interest in the book and it's even more valuable contents by surreptitiously reading her correspondence with the late Mr Prowse, so he thought it would be an excellent plan to appropriate it for himself and then press his aunt for some form of monetary reward to fuel his habit of betting heavily at horse races as well as dog races. He just about breaks even, but a nice lump sum from his aunt might have gone much further." "And you deduced all that over the reconstruction? That's amazing, Sherlock!" "I am sorry to burst the bubble of your admiration, John, but I simply told him I knew about his gambling, which I deduced from the various betting slips in his pockets, and he then told me everything as we were setting up the home cinema equipment. Now, let's prepare Sheralyn's bottle for the evening and decide on our own meal. What would you like?" "Indian, I think, order that red curry of theirs with the duck slices in it. Are you eating?" Not in the mood." "Right, then order a double portion of rice, because you always steal from my plate when you think I'm not looking!" "I practically never do that! How dare you suggest such a thing?" "You practically always do. Order a double portion of rice!" With an exaggerated sound between a snort and a huff, Sherlock picked up the phone to place the order.

Seriously? No text can be examined without putting it into its proper historical and societal aspects! Sometimes I wonder what future generations will think about our social media and forums, and input like ours, but when doing research I should think context is vital. Our own Cardinal Richelieu had a very long-drawn out fight with the Grands ( the high noblemen of his time) but none as bad as with the Duc d'Epernon, governor of Guyenne. Should you read their letters to each other out of context, they would seem friendliness itself, while they heartily detested each other. Talk about drama queens: those two had Sherlock and John beaten without even trying! The Cardinal was entitled to be addressed as "Your Eminence" , the Duke thought they were equals as peers of France, so he never did him that favour, always addressing him as Your Excellency". Every time the former received a letter from the latter, the secretaries knew there would be an instant dramatic reaction. Take it out of context, it seems petty and unimportant, but it caused all manners of havoc.

Not new but comparative history: tempora mutantur nos et mutamur in illis: times change and we change with them.

This was really fun! A governor deciding to increase the value of his land by transferring the capital to his preferred location! Looks like Tammanay Hall in Minnesota! You should try having to memorize 96 départements and five overseas territories and their capitals, like we had to, and see if you give too much thought to world geography after that! Although I know that Juneau is in Alaska.

I got 27 out of 36. "So close to perfection, Shakespeare studies are your strong suit", and that is not even true! I like Marlowe better than the Bard, but I shall have to lump it and like it, I suppose, although I still think Racine, Corneille and later on Moliere could have given him a run for his money when it came to adapting ancient drama to the then modern stage! Marlowe, the Renaissance man pesonified, writer, poet, spy in Her Majesty's service, inspiration to Goethe for Faust, a genius like Sherlock, whose untimely death our favourite detective might have cleared up!

And don't forget the Oresteia by Aeschylus, of which Hamlet is a direct rip-off: the son sworn to slay his mother Clytaemnystra for plotting the death of his father, Agammemon and then going on to marry the uncle, Aegisthus. Of course, there hubris intervenes, and Orestes is plagued by the vengeful Erinyes for committing matricide, much like Hamlet having to die in the end!

I quite like Caesar and Anthony and Cleopatra myself! What BC cannot afford at this juncture is disparaging, lukewarm reception of his performance, it will have deleterious effects on many aspects of his career if he is considered a lightweight, after having been hailed as the Laurence Olivier of his generation. That is the gamble and the risk, not the reviews!

I shall keep my fingers crossed and hope to watch it when it is released for the cinema in November, but the press is a very unstable thing , especially the old tabloids.

I turned out to be Mycroft, like you Shadow Dweller! We could link forces with Inge and Carol and then Moriarty would never have a chance!