Consider the Sherlockian world. How odd that a culture like ours could exist based on a man like Sherlock Holmes. Watson tells us in the beginning of "A Scandal in Bohemia" that Holmes "loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul." And yet we Sherlockians form societies at the drop of a hat (some would say beer mat or wine cork). We eagerly look forward to our gatherings. Many of us attend several meetings a month, often traveling great distances. (Perhaps there should be an AA equivalent for Sherlockians: "Hi, my name is Sebastian and I'm a Sherlockian." "Hi, Sebastian!" "It's been forty-eight hours since my last Sherlockian meeting." Perhaps not.)
At these gatherings, the Canon is spoken of, of course, papers are read, and interrogators often quiz the assembled, but just as much energy is spent in catching up with friends, and in eating and drinking. Indeed, were one to look round the crowded halls where the Irregulars and other Sherlockians gather in January, the view would be of a vast, whirling mass of humanity, smiling, gesticulating, and talking, talking, talking. The din of intense, happy conversation would overwhelm as much as the wonder of just how the talkers could ever hope to navigate even a meter from their spot. Were one to poll the room, the consensus would be that the group was largely made up of solitaries who, Mycroft-like, rarely left their rooms and who were deeply uncomfortable in their current situation. Some Sherlockians know that their discomfort is as feigned as that of Holmes. We love to share our fellowship and our awe of the phenomenon that is Sherlock Holmes.
The Editor's Gas-Lamp, Summer 2017, Vol. 67, No. 2.