Queering Sherlock Holmes
By: Kate Aaron
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, LGBT, LGBTQ, Gay, Queer

How about this for starters. It’s the description Watson gives of his reaction to Holmes’ return from the dead:

I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.

Seems innocuous, right? The poor man suffers a shock and faints. But let’s consider that “tingling after-taste of brandy” on his lips. Why his lips?

Brandy has long been used medicinally, and was noted for the speed with which it revives people who have fainted. So not necessarily significant from a queer context, until we consider how that brandy would be administered.

Either it would be used in a similar fashion to smelling salts, in which case we’d expect Holmes to have opened the flask and held it under Watson’s nose until he revived. No lip contact necessary. Or alternatively, he could have administered it orally (behave at the back!). Watson has collapsed into his chair in a dead faint, therefore we have to imagine him lying with his head lolling back. To get any liquid in his mouth Holmes is going to have to hold his face steady and his mouth open — the most obvious way to do that is to grasp the face by the sides of the mouth with one hand, squeezing slightly on the cheeks. Then he can tip the brandy straight into Watson’s mouth. Again, no lip contact necessary, or even likely. Watson’s mouth will be held wider than the opening of the flask and the contents likely poured in from a little way above.

Had the brandy been used like smelling salts Watson wouldn’t taste it at all, but only smell it. Had it been administered orally, in quantity sufficient to wake him from his faint, isn’t it more likely he’d note either the taste in his mouth, or a burning sensation of the alcohol in his throat? It’s also more likely he’d awake coughing and spluttering, which he does not.

So what the hell happened? Well here’s my theory. Holmes returns, no doubt apprehensive about Watson’s reaction to his reappearance. That’s just plain natural however platonic their relationship, and his possession of the flask of brandy rather than a bottle, which could have come from Watson’s room (the flask indicates Holmes was carrying it on his person and brought it with him) confirms that.

Holmes was not noted for carry alcohol with him when he went out in the normal course of things, so this is clearly an exceptional circumstance. He reveals himself to Watson, who faints — “for the first and last time in [his] life.” That’s bound to be a shock. Watson isn’t a fainter, Holmes wouldn’t — couldn’t — have predicted that reaction. He rushes over to his friend and loosens his collar (as Watson notes when he comes round), which is again common sense. But where would he be positioned when he did that?

Watson is in his chair behind his desk. Holmes is in front of the desk. Watson faints. Holmes must move closer in order to loosen Watson’s collar and must have leant over his prone body. Watson notes that Holmes is still bending over his chair when he revives. That’s going to put their faces naturally close. Isn’t it likely that Holmes himself has taken the drink of brandy — either to steady his nerves before entering Watson’s room, or upon seeing Watson faint, or even both — and kissed his friend?

On the lips?

I think so.

Not only is it a perfectly logical sequence of events, but, given Watson’s description of the scene, it is the only logical sequence of events.

One kiss does not, however, a romance make. So how’s this little snippet:

Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ. [My emphasis.]

That’s taken from the beginning of The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet. Their client has arrived, exhausted and much distressed. Holmes is trying to calm him in order to get his story. We might understand the soothing tone, but what does Watson mean by that last little hint of familiarity?

Up to this point, Holmes has not once in the entire canon been described as speaking “soothingly” to any client, yet Watson clearly infers that it’s something he’s familiar with. This is not, therefore, a description of Holmes’ usual professional manner, but rather an insight into his personal interaction with Watson. Watson is familiar with the tone, and well aware of its effectiveness, because Holmes has used it in the past with him.

Here’s another little excerpt, from the very close of The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor. Lord St. Simon has just learnt that his wife was in fact married to someone else first, that she believed her husband dead but that he reappeared on the day of her second marriage to claim her. After the Lord leaves and Holmes and Watson are alone once again, Watson remarks:

“His conduct was certainly not very gracious.” “Ah, Watson,” said Holmes, smiling, “perhaps you would not be very gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.” [My emphasis.]

This scene takes place “some weeks” before Watson’s own wedding, and it is not clear from the narrative if Watson has met Mary at this point. So how do we take Holmes’ words?

Firstly, “we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position.” What position, exactly, is that? Holmes lists two positions — wooing and wedding; and then deprived. To which is he referring? He could be saying that he and Watson have no fear of being deprived of their wives. Well no unmarried man can claim that, for as St. Simon’s case proved, a marriage can be entered into honestly and willingly by both parties and still be rendered invalid by circumstances beyond their control.

So it is not of losing a wife he is speaking, he’s neither that arrogant nor that dense. So is it the wooing and the wedding itself to which he is referring? And why the “we”?

Getting married is, to most people, aspirational. We all like to think we’ll meet someone special and settle down in blissful monogamy. Tell an unmarried friend that you and they are unlikely ever to get married and the likely response is going to be “speak for yourself.” There’s an assumption behind Holmes’ words that is interesting, and that works best if marriage is not an option for either of them — if they can’t get married. And, as neither of them are married already at this point, the only reason they couldn’t marry is if the partner they would take is one recognised by neither church nor law: in short, another man.

Then there’s the final line, which is also the conclusion of the short story: “the only problem we still have to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.”

Do I really need to expand on that one? If your SO turns to you and, sighing, laments, “I don’t know what we’re going to do all through these long, dark nights where we can’t go out and have nothing to do….” Well, an arched eyebrow is probably going to be the least of your reactions.