Sherlock Holmes and the Dial of Mediocrity
When I was a teenager in high school, I would daydream — I wanted a hero to rescue me from my boring, humdrum existence. And not just anybody would do — it had to be Sherlock Holmes. I knew he would not fail me. He would ride up on a horse, grab me, swing me behind him onto that steed, and off we’d go together. These were not romantic thoughts. These were just thoughts of escape and adventure — doing amazing things and helping others in need. We’d go to solve mysteries, since Dr. Watson (conveniently so for me) was off doing good deeds with his wife, probably in Africa or Afghanistan.
I never doubted that Holmes would need me to keep his records, to learn his methods, to back him up as needed, to his bidding, to be his partner (lesser, more silent, of course) but be there for him, with him, by him. And I would learn his ways. It never entered my mind that Holmes would not actually want me to work along side him. I never considered that he might just think who is this generic person, and what can she actually do to help? Where he was a genius — a non-linear thinker putting together random tidbits of information. I am full-speed ahead with what’s right in front of me — a few notches above the mere average mind (this is me flattering myself). During these years, it never occurred to me that it would be him who would not want to spend his precious time with me.
