FINAL UPDATE FOR THIS! See HERE for anything else on my journey through this ordeal…
So, I finally watched The Last Episode Of The Second Season Of BBC Sherlock.
Which means I have to wait until around Christmas (approximately, maybe January) for the next part season.
I should have waited….
I have been re-watching the series with a couple of friends, one of whom hadn’t seen the series before. I kind of maybe sort of forced her to watch it, but since her computer hates Sherlock, we have been watching it, one episode a night, with my laptop set on top of a juice box packaging container on op of a chair with the screen as bright as can be and the volume as high as it can go.
Today (Wednesday) is a small break for her because she has to review some things she doesn’t get in class, as well as catching up on sleep.
But my other friend (of the two who watched the series with me) hadn’t finished watching the second episode of season 2, and she wouldn’t be able to watch it tomorrow night, so I watched it with her tonight.
It was awesome, as all episodes of BBC Sherlock are.
But, at the end of it, and I knew it was coming, she tuned to me with a smile and said “Let’s watch the next episode”
It was only 9.
It would be over soon enough if we did watch it, 10:30, 10:40 if there was bathroom breaks.
It felt like something inside of me was shrivelling up when I set up the next episode…
Five minutes into the episode and I wanted to turn it off, wait until the next season came out.
Ten minutes later that same part of me that shrivelled up was screaming at me to turn it off! Black out the screen, mute it! TURN IT OFF! YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE EPISODE!
That shrivelled prune squirmed inside me and threw a massive hissy fit for another five minutes before it got distracted enough by the episode that it only remembered to start screaming again a little less than an hour and a half later. Or, as I’m realizing now, It could have been Insanity having tied it up. Possibly with the help of Sanity. I mean, Sherlock is amusing and interesting and the end of the first season nearly drove me mad, so that must have been amusing for Insanity… But also, being afraid of watching the last episode of the second season isn’t terribly rational, so shutting up that fear of WHY-MUST-I-WAIT-FOR-THE-NEXT-SEASON!!?!?! makes sense. It’s like ripping off a band-aid, best get it over with quickly, Sanity might say. But it can also be like ripping it off in a pool, so that you’re grossed out every time you see it floating there in the water, because you’re never quite sure if that one’s yours, Insanity might add. Probably with a smile…
But then again, Insanity would be that gross kid in the pool who would pick up the band-aid and whip it at you to gross you out.
In any case, by the end of the episode, that Shrivelled Thing was back to screaming.
You’re going to regret this! WHY DID YOU WATCH IT! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE! What the hell??? TURN IT OFF BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!
The ending was already spoiled for me, so I knew what was going to happen…. so I watched the episode through the screams of that shrivelled part of me, watched as what was spoiled unfolded (nice mental image, that), watched all the way through, and now it is with a heavy heart that I await the next season to come out. Why didn’t I wait? I
probably could have waited for the next season to be out before watching it…
Perhaps the band-aid was not ready to come off.
But it’s off, and if I’m going by Dad’s philosophy of band-aids, it’s better to not put back on another band-aid. It’s best to air the wound, put on some Polysporin, and besides, it’s not even bleeding…
Watching the episode was probably less like taking off a band-aid, and likely more like putting Polysporin on a scrape.
*sigh* Fun times.
I seriously can’t wait until the next season comes out…
For all those who want to watch the show, go to THIS LINK HERE and watch, and become a fan, and love it.
Also, for those who Read my post HERE about how much I miss my dog, and are curious about what I named my stuffed dog, my friends and I figured out its name.
Benedict Scott. As in Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock) and Andrew Scott (Moriarty).
AND because I have two middle names (Elizabeth Rose), my manly stuffed dog also has two middle names. They weren’t really my choice, but I think it works.
Benedict Simba Rafiki Scott. Scott-Cumberbatch if you don’t want the last name to end so abruptly.
According to the internet, if you look up the meanings of each name, my dog’s name means (in full):
Blessed Lion Friend Of Scottish Origin
Which is funny because he’s a dog.
But my Benny Scott confused dog-lion friend is mine and may be species confused but will never be confused for anyone else’s 😀
Thank’s all 😀