Well, at least the weekend was well encumbered. As in a wet Saturday and a
Sherlock marathon on the telly. Sod the housework, this called for tea and biscuits and the comfy cushions.
A bit of a waste of the only day this week I've not felt completely ghastly, but ogling young
Mr Cumberbatch could never be considered a waste. That series is a constant delight, I mean, that chase on foot after the taxi in the first episode, how cool is that? It's just so layered, I keep seeing new things, it's never the same episode, ever, and that just makes it such a classic. And I still squee every time they dip the lid to something from the books (I won't say canon because Mr Doyle wasn't even on nodding terms with canon and continuity). It goes to the deep love and irreverant reverance and breadth of knowledge those wicked boys have for their chosen subject.
They know what they're doing, they love what they're doing, and it shows (see also many Whedon projects).
( more: and now for the opposing side )
