#sherlock writes

- Sherlock Holmes, Argonautica, bk. 3 (x)

Day 3: First Kiss

Mrs. Hudson introduced Watson and I to this viral video. She insisted that it was the sweetest thing she had ever laid eyes on and that the beautiful new romance had "practically killed her" 

Watson cried. Obviously some pent up tension there. 

Regardless, I didn't quite understand the film. Perhaps it was the unbelievably boring first minute and a half where all the participants oddly cheat around the true purpose. "Lets just look at each other for a second" or "This here is the awkward moment" they prolong the unnecessary beginning fumbling. So wonderfully human but abhorrently boring. And when the kisses do happen, these strangers decided to stick their tongues down each other's throats without any hesitation, as if they didn't just spend the first minute of the film being hesitant. 

Watson explained to me that it had an emotional impact because of the way in which these people were so innocently, all of a sudden in love even though they had never before met. 

After a quick google search I found that there were many qualms about the film being an advertisement for a clothing company. But looking farther in depth one can find that the filmmaker is in fact part of an art production team who also happens to produce clothing. Their website is located here. 

The "magic" of true love captured in a moment when two strangers kiss. This is the all encompassing motif of this film. 

I had many deductions about why these relationships would not work, specific to the people in the film. But Watson wouldn't let me post them. They were too harsh. I've been forced to work on censoring myself. 

Regardless, the film was beautifully shot and edited and the documentary style back and forth was rather endearing. 

Watson says I am too hard. That I need to open up my heart a little to understand the meaning behind the film. 

In all honesty, I'm not sure how important it is to me. I'm not sure how I can take this as seriously as many other things in the world. When things are happening all over the world that are brutally brutally awful, we distract ourselves with first love and other emotional cotton insulation. 

Perhaps this is the reason people continue to be passive, spectators when many horrendous violations of human rights continue to be projected across the world on live television. When disaster after disaster strikes. Perhaps it is an illness of first love like this. 

But maybe this is a small step to understanding one another and breaching this gap? 

Quite plausible. 

For Sherlock Holmes, a "routine case," was always far from routine by Scotland Yard's perspective. His most recent was an interesting one. People had gone missing. At least eight by now. They were all similar: dark hair, dark eyes, light skin, female, office workers. They all disappeared around the same time at night, over the course of two weeks. They all lived in the same area of London.

Sherlock had been following the case from the second missing person. The appearance and occupation were too coincidental. He'd pieced them together after that, mapping them out on a large print of London above his fireplace. It was only a matter of time before phone rang. So predictable was Lestrade that Sherlock already had his phone in hand when it buzzed.

"What's different about this one?" Sherlock asked, instead of the polite hello anyone else might have answered with.

"We found them."

Sherlock's face lit up. He grabbed his coat and scarf as Lestrade rattled off an address. Perfect. Marvelous. Exciting! He trotted down the stairs and hailed a cab. In a matter of minutes from the end of the phone call, Sherlock was off, fingers tapping away a quick text to tell John to meet him at the scene.

The scene was like any other from the outside. The familiar yellow tape. Sally Donovan muttering insults to him as he crossed under said yellow tape. Anderson standing at the door, waiting just inside the door for Sherlock's barrage. It never came.

Sherlock stood in the door, for once, baffled by the scene before him. All eight missing women were placed perfectly. They all were turned away from the door, face on the carpet, hands behind their head, knees tucked under their torso, and posteriors in the air. Sherlock furrowed his brow, scanning over the scene in attempts to discern what need the killer would have to place them in such a position. His concentration was broken when a familiar, questioning voice sounded behind his right ear.

"Butts?" John asked, looking bewildered and taken aback.