Even natural disasters, whether they be consulting detectives or consulting governments, must sleep sometimes.
During the day, Mycroft Holmes works with people on a macro level, changing the fates of thousands with a stroke of his pen.
During the day (and sometimes substantial portions of the night, and sometimes for days on end), Sherlock Holmes runs around London working with people on a micro level, changing the fates of those around him one at a time.
During the day, John Watson runs after Sherlock Holmes and tries to keep him from getting killed. Now and again, he also runs around after Mycroft Holmes – or, more precisely, is kidnapped, brought to him in a sleek black car to do his bidding, and does any legwork for which the usual minions are incompetent.
John Watson is not a natural disaster. He is a teddy bear.
Teddy bears are . . . small, cuddly, adorable. Teddy bears are what you hold when you are sad or frightened or depressed or simply want some company. Teddy bears are fuzzy and warm and comforting. Teddy bears are eminently huggable.
Teddy bears are . . . bears. Huge, terrifying creatures, some of the largest and most powerful animals on the planet. Some bears – grizzly bears, polar bears – are absolutely ferocious. Bears of any breed are impossible for a human to kill without substantial weaponry. There are very, very few creatures who might be able to take down a bear unaided. An elephant, maybe. Possibly one of the big cats. A venomous serpent.
Teddy bears are . . . for children. They are like fairy tales (which, when you actually read them, are about treachery and torture and murder). They are like babysitters (whose stories and lessons will never be forgotten, and who will continue to influence the children for the rest of their lives). They are like imaginary friends.
Like any good imaginary friend, teddy bears fight imaginary enemies. And what enemy could be more terrifying, more unbeatable, more impossibly powerful than the monsters under the bed and in the closet and behind the dresser? These monsters have tentacles and claws and venom and ten-inch fangs and scorpion tails and utterly no mercy. Their entire purpose in life is to devour children. No light can banish them; no parent can sense them; no logic can refute them. They are fueled by the most potent force in the universe: a child's imagination.
This is the monster that teddy bears fight. This is the monster that, night after night, year after year, teddy bears beat . . . until, one day, the child is no longer a child and can no longer sense the monster, and is safe. Then at last, the teddy bear can retract his claws and rest.
Some children never grow up, not entirely. Sherlock is one; that's obvious to anyone who's met him.
Mycroft is better at pretending.
Both, after long years huddling alone, can finally sleep safe at night. They knowing John Watson is crouched and prepared – teeth bared, claws extended - waiting for the monsters to come.