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?Ms. Homes stood last and brought up the subject of Holmes’ intellect working at its best when combined with his intuition.
?Hands sprang up and Ms. Cunningham recognized a young man in the first row.
?“My question is to Ms. Homes. Is stressing the importance of Holmes’ intuition an attempt to ‘feminize’ the great detective?”
?“Not at all,” Sheryl said. “Although there is a lot of talk about ‘woman’s intuition’ even in this day and age, I think men are as capable of listening to their inner voice as well. Holmes was a man who did this without the fear of it making him weaker or less manly. I, for one, have heard the suggestion that Holmes and Watson were gay and I disregard it.”
?“Yet Holmes never married,” another person spoke out.
?“That depends which biography you read,” Ms. Cunningham said.
?“And be that as it may, Watson married—and more than once,” Sheryl explained.
?“Most biographers agree that Watson married three times,” Ms. Cunningham put in. “And historically, women often died young during the Victorian Age. Especially in childbirth.”
? “Although Holmes eschewed emotionalism,” Sheryl went on, “it doesn’t mean he was less aware of things on an emotional level.”
?“That’s a contradiction, isn’t it?” I chimed in.
?Sheryl gave me a withering look, which pleased me. I finally had my chance to interrupt her.
?“I think,” Allen pontificated from the far end of the table, “that Mr. Holmes is the epitome of contradictions, which is part of the concept.”
?“True, that is what makes his character so interesting,” Sheryl said. “On one hand he suggests that he is nothing but a mind, and yet he wallows in depressions, plays the violin with great passion, and loves his friend Watson to the point where he was willing to lay down his own life for him.”
?“What does that have to do with intuition?” I shot back.
?With a cursory glance to me, Sheryl continued, “It‘s interconnected. Holmes feels and is aware so deeply, yet he hides it behind the facade of his intellect.”
?I had to admit she made some good points, but I hardly felt charitable, so I pressed her further.
?To say it went downhill from here, yet again, would be an understatement. Without going into details, we each argued with the other’s opinion, and soon it escalated until no voices could be heard but Ms. Homes’ and my own.
?On the one hand, it did keep Allen quiet, though I kept seeing him smirking, which annoyed me even more and made me press my points harder.
?Finally, Ms. Cunningham, who was pretty spry for an older woman, got between the two of us and told us both to shut up and let someone else speak.
?We did, and fumed at each other all the while.
?The time passed and more questions were asked, mostly focused on Sheryl and me. I think the audience enjoyed our interplay, and they offered questions aimed to get us going again. Then I would make a point and Sheryl would attack it, or she took a position and I would dismiss it.
?Finally, after a few more arguments and snide comments aimed at one another, the session came to an end.
?The fellow who wrote the Christian stories all but leaped out of his chair and ran out of the room in his haste to get away from us. Ms. Cunningham made polite noises and left in a huff. Only the editor took a moment to shake both our hands and thank us for “the liveliest panel I’ve been to in years.”
?Allen stepped to the doorway and said, “Thanks, Ms. Homes. It was a pleasure to see someone who is a real writer tell our overblown comrade a thing or two!”
?And he left.
?The room was empty and Homes and I remained in our seats, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
?“Well,” Sheryl broke the silence. “I suppose you have that tramp waiting for you.”
?“Candy is a lovely girl,” I defended, though it was halfhearted. I couldn’t shake the odd feeling about what had occurred the previous night.
?“So you think,” Sheryl fumed, still not looking at me. “But I’ve known her longer.”
?“Afraid of an attractive woman?” I taunted.
