A Waltz for Sherlock: On Things Gained and Lost in The Sign of Three

 (Sherlock Meta by stephisanerd)

(This is the second in a series of pieces on the humanization of Sherlock in Series 3. The first is here. Additionally, it’s also the first of a couple pieces on ‘dancing’ in Sherlock.  All of my meta is linked here when it’s finished.)

 "I love dancing. I’ve always loved it… Never really comes up in crime work but, you know, I live in hope of the right case.”

Waltz: n. a smooth, progressive ballroom and folk dance in triple time, performed primarily in closed position.
Triple Time: n. musical time with three beats to the bar.

* * *

(Consider this a piece of music that is progressing and always building upon itself, but with three distinct beats.  It is a waltz.)

The  music starts.  The dancing begins.

Beat 1:  What you are  (what you always believed yourself to be)

Sherlock, as we meet him, is a lot of things. He’s clever and intelligent,  but also aloof, abrasive, clueless, and occasionally downright cruel and mean. He considers himself above it all, as if the whole of the human experience is something completely other.  Other people have connections, and sentiment, but he plays no part in that. His closest connection appears to be the one he has to the skull he keeps on his mantelpiece.

He doesn’t have friends or brothers or anything else anyone might have in their real lives.

John: People don’t have arch-enemies.
Sherlock: I’m sorry?
John: In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.
Sherlock: Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull.
John: So who did I meet?
Sherlock: What do real people have, then, in their ‘real lives’?
John: Friends, people they know, people they like, people they don’t like… Girlfriends, boyfriends...
Sherlock: Yes, well, as I was saying – dull.

He is distant and prone to flighty behavior; he rarely explains what he’s doing, where he’s going, or why.  When he takes off with the cabbie in A Study in Pink, it becomes clear that even those who’ve known him for years don’t know him any better than John, who has known him all of two days.

Lestrade: Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?
John: You know him better than I do.
Lestrade: I’ve known him for five years and no, I don’t.

His life consists of his work—his place to show off the cleverness that he so clearly values, and nothing more. Everything is a puzzle, and the more bizarre, the more clever it is, the better. Nothing else matters.

Sherlock: Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?
John: But it’s the solar system!
Sherlock: Oh, hell! What does that matter?!
Sherlock: So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn’t make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.

He categorically lowers people’s expectations of him. Expect him to be smart, expect him to be clever, but don’t expect anything more than that. Don’t expect him to care—he’s not a good person—he’s not a hero.

John: There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives… Just - just so I know, do you care about that at all?
Sherlock: Will caring about them help save them?
John: Nope.
Sherlock: Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake.
John: And you find that easy, do you?
Sherlock: Yes, very. Is that news to you?
John: No. No.
Sherlock: I’ve disappointed you.
John: That’s good – that’s a good deduction, yeah.
Sherlock: Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.

It is the face that he presents to the world and he seems to accept it.

“Everybody wants to believe it – that’s what makes it so clever. A lie that’s preferable to the truth. All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man”

But Moriarty isn’t the only one telling lies that are preferable to the truth about Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock has also been telling lies that he believes to be preferable to the truth of himself so that he doesn’t feeling inadequate.

Sherlock has always valued his cleverness and his intelligence, but seemingly nothing more. He considers other people to be beneath him.

It’s a lie. He's got it the wrong way around.

It’s not just that Sherlock doesn’t believe that other people matter; it’s that Sherlock doesn’t believe that he matters to other people beyond his intellectual abilities. He values those because he believes them to be the only reason he matters. His not caring, above-it-all attitude is not the cause; it is the result. If he holds the world at arm’s length, he does not have to face that, beyond his cleverness, he believes himself to be irredeemable and worthless. He lowers people’s expectations not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. If people expect more of him, than he believes he will only disappoint them.

It’s been there all along.

In The Hounds of Baskerville, Sherlock ends up under the influence of what we later discover to be a fear-inducing drug. He is visibly distraught—shaking, and hyperventilating. He lashes out at John and tells him “I don’t have friends.” John takes it as an insult and walks away. He thinks that Sherlock is implying, as he so often does, that he is above friendship, that he doesn’t need human contact. He misses the truth of it.

Sherlock: No, wait. What happened last night … Something happened to me; something I’ve not really experienced before …
John: Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said.
Sherlock: No-no-no, it was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.

It was more than fear; it was doubt. As we later find out, the drug acts on fear and stimulus. John, under the influence of it, sees the hound as he expects to see it. It doesn’t create fear—it acts on the things you already fear. The drug acted on Sherlock’s fear and made him doubt his abilities, his cleverness, and his ability to trust his senses. Consider what that really means. Sherlock believes that he has no worth beyond his cleverness and intelligence and so, in that moment of fear and doubt, he believes that there is nothing left. “I don’t have friends.”

Consider Sherlock’s actions at the end of The Reichenbach Fall. If Sherlock believes that all John cares about is his cleverness—he has to believe that if John no longer values it, that he will leave, that he will no longer care about Sherlock. “I’m a fake.” he says.  Sherlock’s not just saying goodbye—he’s trying to convince John that everything (that Sherlock thinks) he values about him is a lie. Sherlock is trying to break John’s faith in him because he hopes that it will lessen the loss. “Nobody could be that clever,” he tells him.  John, again, doesn’t see the truth of what Sherlock is really saying,  or what it really means, and he simply tells Sherlock “You could.” They’re not having the same conversation, so Sherlock goes to his ‘death’ believing that John still values him for his cleverness, but nothing more. He spends the next two years, on his own and lonely, believing that he does not matter to anyone beyond that. He comes back to find John furious and can’t make sense of his anger, because he doesn’t see the real source of it. He does not understand how John views him, and he never has.

It is a tragedy, but that doesn’t occur to Sherlock, because it's all he has ever expected from his life.  It is how Sherlock has always viewed himself.  He never expected to be anything other than a clever party-trick. He never expected to matter.

But then it all changes.

One day John comes into 221B with a question. The Best Man. Sherlock assumes that John is simply asking his opinion (He’s intelligent and clever, and that’s what John values) and starts cluelessly offering suggestions.

John: Look, Sherlock, this is the biggest and most important day of my life.
Sherlock: Well …
John: No, it is! It is, and I want to be up there with the two people that I love and care about most in the world.
Sherlock: Yes.
John: Mary Morstan …
Sherlock: Yes.
John: … and … you.

Beat 2:  What you gain  (what you realize you actually are)

Sherlock: So, in fact …you-you mean …
John: Yes.
Sherlock: I’m your …best …
John: … man.
Sherlock: … friend?
John: Yeah, ’course you are. ’Course you’re my best friend.

It’s not until John spells it out that Sherlock sees the truth of it—John cares about him as a person. Sherlock is worth something to someone. Over the course of the show, we have watched both John grow to care for Sherlock and Sherlock grow as a person. It was a gradual development and a gradual change, but it was one that Sherlock never perceived in his fear. It is only in this moment that Sherlock begins to see it. He is John’s best friend.

And so Sherlock, with that realization, allows himself to be the sort of person that he was already becoming with deliberate intention. In his realization of his worth, he realizes that he can also care about those around him. He allows himself to be the sort of person that people would rely on. (But especially John.) He, for the first time, participates in the normal, everyday, mundane human existence.

He plans John and Mary’s wedding—possibly with a little too much intensity, but he has always been a little intense, and he hasn’t had much practice at normal life. He plans the rehearsal and the reception. He Youtubes serviettes. He helps with the seating chart. He has to be forced to take a case, which once upon a time he believed to be the only thing that mattered.

He instructs other members of the wedding party on their duties, and is shown to have quite the way with children, or at least children that take an interest in gruesome photos of his crime scenes.

Sherlock: Basically it’s a cute smile to the bride’s side, cute smile to the groom’s side and then the rings.
Archie: No.
Sherlock: And you have to wear the outfit.
Archie: No.
Sherlock: You really do have to wear the outfit.
Archie: What for?
Sherlock: Grown-ups like that sort of thing.
Archie: Why?
Sherlock: … I don’t know. I’ll ask one.

He carefully plans a stag night—something that he clearly has no experience with, and he does it to the very last detail.   It’s a touch bizarre, and doesn’t go according to plan, but it really is, in it’s own way, the sort of thing that a stag night should be.  It’s at the very least what one would expect from these two men.

He uses his considerable skills to eliminate what he views as potential threats to John and Mary’s relationship. He’s blunt, and probably more involved and threatening than is necessary, but his heart is clearly in the right place. (And notice, he uses Twitter and Facebook. Talk about being part of the everyday, mundane human experience.)

Sherlock: Let’s talk about Mary, first.
David: Sorry, what?
Sherlock: Oh, I think you know what. You went out with her for two years.
David: A-ages ago. We’re j… we’re just good friends now.
Sherlock: Is that a fact?
Sherlock: Whenever she tweets, you respond within five minutes regardless of time or current location, suggesting you have her on text alert. In all your Facebook photographs of the happy couple, Mary takes center frame whereas John is always partly or entirely excluded.
David: You can’t assume from that I’ve still got some kind of interest in Mary.
Sherlock: You volunteered to be a shoulder to cry on on no less than three separate occasions. Do you have anything to say in your defense? I think from now on we’ll downgrade you to ‘casual acquaintance’. No more than three planned social encounters a year, and always in John’s presence.

He writes and delivers a Best Man speech even though he is clearly far outside of his comfort zone. There are a few worrisome moments, and a couple of missteps, but in the end, his touching words don’t leave a dry eye in the room. He speaks honestly and vulnerably and his speech is a testament to the ways that John has made Sherlock a better person, that he’s both redeemed and saved him. He vows that he will always be there for John, that he will never let him down—a startling departure for someone who once implied that any expectation that he care about another human being was too high. It is a love letter.

“The point I’m trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful , and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend. Certainly not the best friend of the bravest, and kindest, and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man. Redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But as I’m apparently your best friend, I can not congratulate you on your choice of companion. Actually, now I can. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury and tragic loss. So sorry again about that last one. So know this, today you sit between the woman you have made your wife, and the man you have saved; In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that.”

Later, when he’s trying to  figure out who the murderer is at the wedding, he rejects everything he has ever believed about solving crimes. He rejects the cold, logical process of trying to narrow down the suspects, because it no longer works for him.  He chooses to focus instead on finding the would-be victim—on saving the life.

It’s more than that, though, because he doesn’t just reject that cold, logical thought process, he rejects everything he was and everything he believed himself to be.  It no longer works for him.

Sherlock: Not you.  NOT YOU.  You.  It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.
John:  What do I do?
Sherlock:  Well, you’ve already done it.

It is the culmination of everything that Sherlock has gained.  He finally sees what he has always missed.  He realizes that it is the thing that most matters to him.  He finally lets it touch him.  He loves John and John loves him return.  

 But that’s not the whole of the story either. Every piece of it has brought him closer to something else.

Beat 3:  What You Lose  (the cost of it all)

Sherlock: Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?
Mycroft: All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.

Sherlock has never handled loss or change well—he honestly believed he could come back after two years and find that his world was the same, as if it had frozen in time the moment he left.  He uses the same above-it-all attitude that he used to mask his feelings about his worth to mask that too. If you do not get attached—if you are not involved, if you do not care, the loss can’t ever touch you.

Mycroft: Well, it’s the end of an era, isn’t it? John and Mary – domestic bliss.
Sherlock: No, no, no – I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new chapter. What?
Mycroft: Nothing!
Sherlock: I know that silence. What?
Mycroft: Well, I’d better let you get back to it. You have a big speech, or something, don’t you?
Sherlock: What?
Mycroft: Cake, karaoke … mingling.
Sherlock: Mycroft!
Mycroft: This is what people do, Sherlock – they get married. I warned you: don’t get involved.
Sherlock: Involved? I’m not involved.
Mycroft: No.
Sherlock: John asked me to be his best man. How could I say no?
Mycroft: Absolutely!
Sherlock: I’m not involved!

He is involved, for all that he denies it, and has been since John asked him. He doesn’t allow himself to see the change even as those around him recognize that it is coming.  He walks away from any mention of the subject—from anything that might force him to face the reality of it.

John: Changing the subject completely … you know it won’t alter anything, right, me and Mary, getting married? We’ll still be doing all this.
Sherlock: Oh, good.
John: If you were worrying.
Sherlock: Wasn’t worried.
John: See, the thing about Mary – she has completely turned my life around; changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years there are two people who have done that… and the other one is… (He looks around. Sherlock is no longer sitting at his side.)… a complete dickhead.
—
Ms. Hudson: My best friend, Margaret – she was my chief bridesmaid. We were going to be best friends forever, we always said that; but I hardly saw her after that.
Sherlock: Aren’t there usually biscuits?
Ms. Hudson: I’ve run out.
Sherlock: Have the shops?
Ms. Hudson: She cried the whole day, saying, “Ooh, it’s the end of an era.”
Sherlock: I’m sure the shop on the corner is open.
Ms. Hudson: She was probably right, really.
Ms. Hudson: I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad.
Sherlock: Mmm. Anyway, you’ve got things to do.

But his feelings about the impending loss, like his feelings about himself, are right there just beneath the surface.  He finds himself emotional over the loss of a client’s love interest, though he doesn’t understand why.

"To be honest, I’d love to have gone further, but I thought, ‘No, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers.’ He said he’d get in touch and then, maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was, but I – I just thought at least he’d call to say that we were finished.”

Sherlock also finds himself jealous of John’s connection to his old commanding officer who is very much like Sherlock.  The jealousy isn’t particularly surprising because he’s always been jealous of John’s connections with other people.  But he says to Mary “I’ve never even heard [John] say his name.” One can’t help but wonder if, underneath it all, Sherlock is afraid that that will be his fate as well.  Once John is married, once he has a new “commanding officer,” will his past with Sherlock just become one more thing that once mattered to him and one more thing he never talks about?

Of course, the truth of it is that the loss has been staring Sherlock in the face the entire time. John was not only telling him that he was his best friend, but asking him to be his Best Man, which meant that the loss, if he let the former matter, was always inevitable. Everything he gains and everything he does only moves him closer to it in every sense of the word. And at the moment where he is most human, where he is most involved, the inevitable loss comes crashing in.

“I’ve never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you.”

There it is.

Mary: I’m pregnant – I’m panicking.
Sherlock: Don’t panic. None of you panic. Absolutely no reason to panic.
John: Oh, and you’d know, of course?
Sherlock: Yes, I would. You’re already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you’ve had!
John: What practice?
Sherlock: Well, you’re hardly gonna need me around now that you’ve got a real baby on the way.

There’s the loss.

The song ends. It’s time to change partners.  Mary cuts in and Sherlock steps aside.  A new song starts.

Sherlock: Both of you, now, go dance. We can’t just stand here. People will wonder what we’re talking about.
John: Right.
Mary: And what about you?
John: Well, we can’t all three dance. There are limits!
Sherlock: Yes, there are.
Mary: Come on, husband. Let’s go.
John: This isn’t a waltz, is it?
Sherlock: Don’t worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him.

Sherlock is left standing there, alone, unable to find a new partner. The music plays on.

As I recall it ended much too soon
Why’d it take so long to see the light?
Seemed so wrong but now it seems so right…

It didn’t have to be this way. If Sherlock had figured it out earlier, it might have changed things. If he had realized how much he mattered, would he have gone off that roof and disappeared without a trace? Would he have done it differently? The painful truth of it is that there could have been so much more.  It could have been different.  But Sherlock accepts that John is happy with Mary, that he loves her too, and that’s what’s important now. He steps away willingly now, without any prompting.

Just as he allows all that he had gained, all that he had become to touch him, he begins to let the loss touch him too.  He could have avoided it—if he hadn’t let the rest of it in, he wouldn’t have had to face the loss— but is beginning to see now that it is just as much a part of the human experience as the rest of it. We all lose people and pieces of our lives in so many different ways. But it’s a small miracle even as it is a tragedy. To lose something you have to have had it in the first place, and it was a thing you never expected to have. The loss isn’t total and it’s paltry stacked up against what you have gained.

But it’s as hard to learn to live with as it is to let the people into your world in the first place. It piles up and it hits you in ways and places that you don’t expect.  Sometimes you can’t find the words, so you simply walk away and count the cost of it all.

* * *

Next (on His Last Vow)

Notes:

A few further thoughts here.

On the structure of this piece: This is the hardest meta that I’ve ever had to put together. It felt like a heartwrenching jigsaw puzzle, because for all that Sherlock came to sudden realizations about both what he means and his loss, they were always there—building without him noticing. It kept ending up a jumbled up mess of points on his loss and gains with no structure. It wasn’t until I broke it up into the three parts you see here that it finally occurred to me that his character development here is a waltz—-it’s a progressive piece with 3 beats to the measure. While I’m focusing on the humanization of Sherlock within the self-contained narrative of this episode, it’s also true of both John’s Sherlock’s development over the course of the show and Sherlock and John’s relationship as a whole.  They’ve been dancing all along. (I deliberately haven’t included the A Scandal in Belgravia quote here, and I haven’t used quite the same ‘beats’ because that’s the whole of it (I’m working on that piece), and this is just part. )This is why I love this show, even as it rips my heart out. (Also, many thanks to reshmarambles for allowing me to ramble at her until I figured it out.  My apologizes to anyone who put up with my incoherent raving once I finally figured out where I was going.)

*All transcript excerpts from here.

*Opening definitions from Wikipedia and Oxford Dicitionaries.

*I have many additional thoughts on how Sherlock perceives himself, and how he believes others perceive him—a couple of them made it into this, where I thought they fit, but as a whole, that’s going to be a topic for another day.