The first episode of the show, 'A Study in Pink' introduces a war hero hungry for adventure and couples him with the world's first consulting detective. It would be understandable if the pair needed a bit of time to gel, but Steven Moffat does no such thing, as Holmes and Watson hit the ground running, investigating serial suicides. The scenes where Sherlock analyses the crime scenes are fantastically novel and brilliantly directed; the bullet-train monologues also glitter in the script, and the dry, eccentric performance from Benedict Cumberbatch is a lovely opposition to Martin Freeman's everyman Watson. We see this world through John's eyes, through his meetings with the mysterious Mycroft, to his confusion over this otherworldly detective; it's a recipe that's perfectly judged with some brilliant lines - "You're right about thing: the police do not consult amateurs" - and topped off with the chemistry that the leading pair have. But perhaps most astoundingly, it really pushes the boundaries for what a lead character should be; it's not enough for him to find the murderer, the plan and be the only man to walk away from him. Sherlock Holmes still has to outwit him. He will outlive God having the last laugh, and he will prove himself cleverer than a dying man, and darker than your average detective. Only the somewhat unbelievable cabbie villain lets the episode down, but it's still a thrilling ride; I don't know about you, I still want to know which pill Sherlock would've gone for.
