Dear Moffat and Gatiss: An Open Letter Regarding Sherlock: Episode 3

Dear Mr Moffat and Mr Gatiss:

This is a difficult letter for me to write, it really is. Partially because I spilt rather a large amount of Caprisun on my keyboard yesterday, so the letter 'L' is sticky, and a couple of the key vowels have gone rogue. But mostly it's difficult because I have nothing but admiration for what you've achieved over the past couple of weeks. Really I do. (Technically that's not strictly true, but it's the opening paragraph, so let's work our way across the swimming pool slowly, eh?)

Sherlock: Episode One. Even just typing those words brings a blissful, hazy fog into my fingers, almost causing them to forget the 5 attempts it took not to not spell it "Sherock". The entire viewing experience was utter joy. Being an expert in fairly crap detective dramas (and by this I mean I've watched 2 episodes of Jonathan Creek and 1 of Midsomer Murders) watching Sherlock I felt like I finally got what this whole "mystery crimey solvey solvey" thing was about. It was like after months of travelling in a country where my only means of communication were year 8 vocab sheets, someone had plonked a babel fish in my ear. A whole new world opened unto me. It was funny, it was clever, it was slick, fast and starred a man whose face looked like the upper half of a bicycle. I was sold. That was one sexy bicycle.

And, best of all, though the dialogue was fiendishly, weepingly clever the actual plot was fairly simple, leaving you with the ever-pleasant feeling that actually, maybe, just maybe, this whole "consulting detective" thing might look rather jaunty on your own CV:

Sherlock: "But what could it BE, John?
*shot of taxi*
Watson: "I just don't know Sherlock, I just don't."
*more taxis swing by, narrowly avoiding taking up entire shot*
Sherlock: "Something that people get in. Some sort of vehicle. On the street, every day."
*three taxis mount pavement*
Sherlock: "Something that can take people from the airport to their homes, without being a bus, or a train. A mode of transportation that's a car, that you don't drive yourself, that's available in London, or indeed in any large cities"
Watson: *adjusts tie bearing taxi motif* "Shall we get something to eat? My fake limp is causing that taxi driver over there to shake some pills in a menacing manner."

me: *long, long pause* "...bet you its a taxi driver or something." (feels immense pride)

Everyone was a winner guys. Everyone was a winner. Martin Freeman was sort of Tim from the Office, but in a excusably different, ANGRY about the war way and instead of doing the "look to the camera" he did "look at anyone else in the room", and it was perfect. He was perfect. I fell in love with him, I fell in love with handlebar-face, I even loved the murdery driver even though he had that cream on his neck and I didn't quite believe in him. When the credits rolled I screamed "WHO IS MORIATY?!" and some juice fell on my laptop (unrelated), that's how excited I was. Oh and Mark, your cameo as Sherlock's brother was glorious, in the way that only you could have made it glorious. You brought all of your League of Gentleman brilliance - ('is it meant to be funny? Yes. But... he's.... acting really well. That's some really good tension acting. So... is it funny? Well my mind and this really well constructed dialogue says no but my mouth and the laughter coming out of it says yes. HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS MARK GATISS YOU DEMON)

So, bearing all of this in mind, you can only imagine my excitement last night, when I settled down for my second hit of what I was pretty sure was BBC heroin. But that's the problem with heroin, isn't it? It's never as good the second time round. (I'm available for more searing dialogue along these lines if you require it.)

My problems - yes, I'm afraid there were more than one - with last night's Sherlock are painful for me to relate now. But I feel like it's important to get it out, so that the air of awkwardness between us (I could tell from the way you clicked) is out of the way, done with, and we can work together to fill the room of your collective creative genius with furniture worthy of your initial , wonderful architecture.

So. Here we go.

1. What happened to the deduction? We really, really, really liked the whole deduction thing guys. Not being funny, but that was kind of what got the nation spilling in the first place. Remember episode one? "Cardiff - how could he possibly... oh!" "Alcoholic brother? This is madness... oh I see!" "PINK? How can he POSSIBLY... gasp!" This time around, you had one piffly bit with a round the world trip to china and some faff with hand cream. It's not good enough.

2. So, suddenly Sherlock Holmes is fighting some sort of turbaned ninja for no reason, and then its never mentioned again. Now, I get that this is all based on the original Sherlock - I really do - and I get that he is, in fact, a man of combat, and having not read any of them I can safely say that though on some level I respect that, on another, more significant level, I don't care. You can't just have this modern day sociopath who lives above a chicken shop and sticks nicotine patches on his arm fighting a ninja for no reason. If you're update the pipe, surely you have to update your negotiation techniques.

3. Chinese underworld ninja theatre exploding stick death wall climber museum smuggler grafitti artists - what? If this is an actual Sherlock, I apologise, I really do. But there were about seventeen different central "fiendish mysteries", going on there, and I wasn't satisfied by the answer to any of them. There were too many, it hurt my small brain, and I felt I'd paid for a small but delicious prawn cocktail and I'd instead been given 7 loaves of bread. Let's just check how many "puzzles" needed unravelling by the end, and how many were actually really great, clever answers:

- Question: How does a man enter a locked room without getting a key?
- Answer: Turns out he's a circus ninja. And a murderer. And also a smuggler and can shut off all the lights in a museum at a moment's notice, so he might be an electrician as well. (Even my newly glossy "consulting detective" CV pales in comparison)

- Question: Why did two men die after seeing the same symbols?
- Answers: Cos Ninjas and Circus Co woud rather kill two men than get the nine million squid they apparently want more than anything in the world. Rather than forcing journo/banker to tell them where it was - presumably the banker would have preferred actually GIVING them the 9 mil claire's accessory rather than DIE and Ninja co would rather get it back than just KILLING FOR NO REASON and then wandering around aimlessly wearing spangly costumes - they kill BOTH of them, confirming that no-one would ever, ever find it ever unless Sherlock Holmes works it out somehow. Yes. That makes sense.

- Question: Where do you find the magic code for the symbols?
Answer: London A-Z. For reasons that apparently do not deserve explaining, even though this is the point OF THE WHOLE HOUR AND A HALF'S VIEWING.

(on a less "central mystery" note:
Question: Why didn't Watson's bit of totty tip her chair over, and save herself some potential - relatively serious - death by Big Spear.
Answer: She is stupid. Girls are a bit stupid. )

4. Why didn't you use a Yellow Pages instead of the A-Z, considering it was sat outside beautiful Chinese girl's house the whole time, and when totty asked for a good number for a take away it would have been a perfect time for the SUDDEN REALISATION that EVERY HOUSE HAS ONE. (This I include purely because I was shouting it at the screen for about the last 20 minutes of the programme, with growing anger at their failure to comply with my instructions. You robbed me of my self-satisfaction, Moffat and Gatiss. You robbed me of my very smug.)

Ahhhh. God I feel better now. Also the graffiti message-suddenly-covered-up thing was a bit weird. Sorry, sorry, I'm done. I promise. The whole "I took a photo" thing was funny enough to let it slide.

You have to understand, boys, that I am on your side. All I want is for you to succeed. But now I feel a bit like the teacher who's promised the headmaster that the misbehaving kid will get star grades after that meaningful chat I had with him, only to later find out that he took a shit on the next test. You are better than this. We are better than this. I await Sunday with baited breath.
Please, ride that bicycle face to victory.

Yours, with deep fondness,

Natasha Yak

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