Who knew the Sherlock Holmes stories were a victorian Midsomer Murders? That’s not totally true – last night’s show wasn’t actually an adaptation of a Conan Doyle story – but it was so disappointing! If you’ve recorded it or something, you’d best not read any further…
Sherlock dressed up as a big fat man for no reason whatsoever. With amazing rubber face attachments that I’m sure were around back then. That was Just Dumb. Did it also never occur to the great detective that the murderer could perhaps…just maybe…have an accomplice? No? Did that not happen in those days? Lets see…the victim recognises the (in this case attempted) murderer and tells everyone so. But because his fingerprints don’t match those found on a bottle outside a window he is released. What? Victim vs random bottle = bottle! The fantasic explanation for this particular feat was that the murderer had an identical twin. With a foot fetish. Then, when the murderer was captured in the act, the fingerprint still didn’t match. Because it was the other twin, you see. Despite the fact that every other time it was the first twin that…
Oh, never mind.
Seriously, identical twins. And the obsession with drugs. Yeah, Holmes was an opium addict in the original stories, but that was always just by-the-by. It’s not clever to blow this up into a big thing for no good reason. And what was with the fog? It was like London was stuck in a cloud! You couldn’t see past the end of the street! And people could happily carry bodies down said streets without anyone caring.
Oh, and while it’s true that identical twins don’t have matching fingerprints, they are similar enough to be recognisable. That was known back then, when fingerprints were in fact used to see whether twins were fraternal or identical.
I thought it was pants. Pants, I tell you.
EDIT: I changed the title to something a touch wittier. Lemsip dulls my humour buds.