Just about everyone knows the story of Jesus of Nazareth, better known as Jesus Christ, or at least the basics.
He had a loving mother, Mary.
He was virtually unknown to the world until his cousin, John the Baptist, became the vehicle through which his message began to spread.
He had a small group of followers, the apostles, many of whom he chose, rescued from their previous lives, who stayed with him, no matter what.
He performed miracles.
He isolated himself in the wilderness, where he was tempted by the devil. He was offered bread to eat when he was starving. Satan told him to jump, to prove that he would be saved, that he was more important than the rest of humanity. Jesus refused.
Eventually, the people almost worshipped him, laying palm branches before his feet.
One of those trusted few betrayed him for a few pieces of silver.
Those who once loved him turned on him, until all he had left was his chosen few, with him from the start.
He was found guilty by the court, though Pontius Pilot, high in the criminal system, refused to truly believe in his guilt, only condemning him because he had no other choice.
Two criminals were crucified with him.
Finally, he died, sacrificing himself for the good of humanity. As the creed goes, he descended into Hell.
On the third day he rose again.
Now, if you are reading this story, you also know the story of Sherlock Holmes, most likely in far greater detail. At least you think you do. A warning: spoilers for Reichenbach Fall ahead.
Sherlock has Mrs. Hudson, a mother figure if there ever was one. But most people have mother figures, of course.
He was virtually unknown before John the Blogger spread his message to the world.
He did not depend on many, did not want to depend on anyone, but a few people found their way into his life. Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson. John. I was so alone, and I owe you so much.
He did things no one else could. Amazing things. Brilliant things. Miraculous things.
Every tail has its villain. Moriarty was happy to take that role.
He was betrayed by his own brother for a little information.
All of those people, the press, who once loved him, called him a hero, began to turn on him, call him a fraud. But a few stayed by his side.
Lestrade, Detective Inspector, does not really believe he is a fake. However, his hands are tied. He has no choice but to place Sherlock Holmes under arrest.
Two criminals are executed before his very eyes.
He drives everyone, even John, away, so that he can be alone. Alone is what I have. Alone protects me. A bit earlier, Moriarty leaves him breadcrumbs. Later, Moriarty tells him to jump. Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims.
Sherlock outstretches his arms and sacrifices himself.
One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be…dead. One day, Sherlock Holmes will return.
However, that is not the end of it. There is more. Sherlock, for all the similarities, is not the Messiah.
The higher power watching out for him, making sure no real harm comes to him, is an older brother with a "minor position in the British Government," not a divine deity.
His miracles are not magic tricks, but logical deductions using the organ that sets human beings apart from the rest of the animals. The mind.
Rather than denying the devil's tricks he follows the breadcrumbs, jumps from the building. Unlike Jesus, Sherlock will do anything. You want me to shake hands with you in Hell, I shall not disappoint you.
He does not selflessly sacrifice himself to save the unworthy masses. He couldn't care less about the general masses. Instead, he sacrifices himself for three people. His friends. He dies to protect his own heart, rather than the souls of the unnamed and ignorant many.
Sherlock is not divine. I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them. He is, flaws and all, a man. The most human….human being that I have ever known.
Sherlock Holmes is a man. A man who, just like all men, is capable of performing acts that can only be called miracles. A man who sacrifices himself for others, even if those others only really matter to him.
Sherlock Holmes is proof that men do not need divine help, powers, magic, to be great. Human beings are capable of miraculous acts all on their own. Sherlock teaches us to rely on ourselves, to strive for our on victories, to strive to be almost as great as Jesus himself, because we are capable of it. If one single man is capable of doing all that Sherlock has done, what can millions, billions, of us do if we set our minds to it and truly believe in ourselves, in our own power?
What do you think?