When Sherlock receives a text from Irene at the Christmas party, John just says “Fifty-seven?” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, laid-back John Watson obsessively counted every single text message Irene sent to his flatmate. This is the same guy who can’t remember which one of his last girlfriends owns a dog only a couple of minutes later. Jealousy, much?
Incidentally, that one sonnet which tends to make people think Shakespeare was gay is number fifty-seven. Knowing what a fanboy Gatiss is, it probably isn’t even a coincidence."
No! You guys! Sonnet 57 could not be more appropriate for John’s relation to Sherlock! Seriously!
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time* at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
Dig that last couplet: “My love for you makes me such an idiot that whatever you want, whatever you do, it’s fine with me.” Mark Gatiss, you sly high-culture dog, you.