Cumberbatch does a yeoman’s work, though the speech itself outstays its welcome, and unfortunately, once again, we’re offered Sherlock as an uneasy balance of arch superhuman and floundering man-child.
That opener of Lestrade abandoning the case of the year to rush to Sherlock’s call for aid is indicative of one of the show’s least endearing facets. Lestrade’s later visit to Molly to discuss the toast is even worse—not only does this universe forgive Sherlock everything, but what percentage of everybody’s day is spent talking about him? It’s entirely possible to make a Sherlock Holmes adaptation in which there are times Holmes is merely tolerated by those around him. This iteration continues to play for laughs what feel increasingly like low-level hostage situations.