I WANT A WATSON

Edward Hardwicke and Jeremy Brett, "The Six Napoleons"

         Not that I could in the least pretend to be Dr. John H. Watson’s flatmate, but from the outset, I’ve wanted a man like Watson in my life: a warm-hearted, creative, and intelligent gentleman who quietly carries a service revolver in his coat pocket and can fell an evildoer on the run at fifty yards. Who, after I have designated his writing as degrading to my art and very lifestyle, will immediately turn around and offer me support when I express chagrin over the lack of good cases or decry the low IQ of London criminals.

         I want a Watson who is patient and understanding. When I keep all the facts of the case under my hat, he waits, knowing eventually they will be shared with him. When I speak down to him or treat him like a lower form of human, he understands that genius is sometimes impatient with societal forms and function, nor do I suffer fools easily.

         He is willing to sometimes act as an assistant, to greet friends and clients and escort them into our sitting room or down our seventeen steps to Baker Street. He will tell them not to worry even if their death is imminent. He will assert that I was not implying anything untoward with my questioning into finances. When they ask, “Will he really help?” he will impart with pride that I was already doing so.

         I want a Watson who is able to leap into action at a moment’s notice, even from a sound sleep, and after only two hours rest. A compassionate and wise physician, he can diagnose not only the manner but the time of death, and in every situation imaginable. He is consistently able to speculate on how the murder weapon was employed. He is open to alternative and gentle methods of healing (especially brandy!) I want a Watson who is able to accept my tantrums when I am ill and even when I refuse his ministrations.

         I want a Watson who will acquiesce to my last-minute changes, without question, and travel wherever I require with whatever person or member of the animal kingdom, in whatever mode of transportation I designate. And if he mistakenly returns from a crime scene with no new information, or infers that I had guessed at a solution, he will accept my harsh judgment as fact.

         I want a Watson who will read all my correspondence and news aloud to me and accept as usual when I grab it out of his hand. Nevertheless, he will fearlessly take on any challenge I assign, comparable to running in front of a galloping horse to single-handedly stop a wayward cart. And he will accept the gun I hand him and instantly keep watch on the criminals in our care. He will improvise exactly as I expect him to in every unique situation we find ourselves.

         I would invite him to put up with my little peccadillos, even the ones he strongly disagrees with, such as self-starvation, not sleeping for days while on a case, or shooting cocaine. I want a Watson who will join in on my case even if he’s tired, soaked to the bone, and hasn’t eaten all day and I have sent dinner away for the night; who is delighted to break the law when necessary and will chance arrest in a good cause.

         I want a Watson who will share the humorous instances when occasional silly or foolish clients present their problems to us. He will enjoy meeting the lovely young ladies who flock to our door and defend me against any and all violence. Indeed, he must have his own sense of justice to consistently set the record straight when Scotland Yard takes the credit.

         I want a Watson who will enjoy sharing a king’s ransom: the pleasure of a problem solved, traveling the continent, meeting the Prime Minister, rescuing those in trouble; in concert with the unveiling and capturing a plethora of murderers, thieves, and other nefarious transgressors.

         I want a Watson who will share the excitement of steamer racing on the River Thames, tripping on "Devil's foot root" powder, and the rather likely chance of winning on the horses. And after the buzz of the commotion and the case is solved, to participate in those quiet evenings that end in brandy and cigars by the fire.

         Who wouldn’t want a man like this in their lives, whether as a friend and colleague or as a love interest?

Watson is my Superman!


Published in The Watsonian, June 2018, Literary Magazine of the John H. Watson Society with some slight changes. I WANT A WATSON©2018