That wasn't Lisa McAllister. So, not Anthea.

Good, then, that makes things simpler.

Had the author actually watched any of the other three episodes?

Or, you know, paid much attention to that one? Because reducing the window toss moment to this

As bad as the female gender is, Americans drive Sherlock absolutely bonkers. If a British person offends him, the ensuing Oscar Wilde-like dance constitutes an elaborate game he's going to win anyway. When Holmes encounters an American, he pepper sprays the poor guy and throws him out a window like some kind of reverse Captain America.

Completely misses the point. (Also, Mrs Hudson is not a servant, she's his landlady, though she clearly acts in loco parentis de facto for him.)

There are legit critiques to be made. Those... lacked context.

(I also feel the pedantic need to point out that the parts of the plot directly lifted from ASiB ended with Sherlock drugged, defeated, and in bed. For the record.)

(The rest of the plot, which suffered from some of Moffat's habit of Plot Souping things, was not part of the ACD story.)

(Yes, I have three different pedantry tags for my Tumblr entries.)

Personally, Ple I like to imagine you in a glowering fury of pedantry, scowling bitterly for hours with occasional irate gesticulations.

Yeah, that sounds like someone who came to the table looking to grind that particular axe.

Personally, Ple I like to imagine you in a glowering fury of pedantry, scowling bitterly for hours with occasional irate gesticulations.

Occasional? As you know, when I get into a pedantic rage black out, my hands fly all around and my eyebrows are all over the map. I'm very animated in my irritation.

I should work it into an exercise routine...

(I also feel the pedantic need to point out that the parts of the plot directly lifted from ASiB ended with Sherlock drugged, defeated, and in bed. For the record.)

Obviously. Wait...are people not getting this?

One of my favorite games to play with Sherlock is "canon". It's a simple game: you say, "canon" when something is lifted directly (or near enough) from the Doyle. This is one of those "other people aren't like us" things, isn't it?

Occasional? As you know, when I get into a pedantic rage black out, my hands fly all around and my eyebrows are all over the map. I'm very animated in my irritation.

I was savoring the image of you in a slow burn - perhaps in a SH fanfic involving Irene Adler at a horse race. You'd get to a passage that tangled poor Victorian research, a complete absence of any knowledge of horse anatomy, wrong-headed reading of the original text, and white-het privilege into a ghastly knot of spelling errors. Then you reach the section on Scottish history that conflated Scotch with Bourbon and your eyebrows would knit together so fiercely that your brain would lock up as sputtering noises started to erupt from you as it became impossible to prioritize what needed yelling at first.

This is what I do for fun.