For me, personally, the final evidence of the guilt of British criminal Hanratty, of anarchist Nicola Sacco. and of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg - however different the circumstances - have been a personal shock. They are the undeniable proof that people can lie even in the face of death and eternity, that claims of innocence from the scaffold are no more reliable than from any other point. The case of Sacco's fellow-accused Bartolomeo Vanzetti seems even darker: he was probably himself innocent, but he knew that Sacco was guilty as Hell, and he deliberately died with a lie on his lips, for the sake of his imagined revolution. (And to add a further taste of futility to his false sacrifice, the historical fact is that the only party who benefited from his and Sacco's executions were the Communists, who had organized all the protests against their executions, and who were sworn enemies of Vanzetti's Anarchists and would have murdered him a good deal more nastily if he had ever fallen into their hands.) But perhaps the most significant of these is the lie of Hanratty, because that had nothing of the ideological justifications of Vanzetti and the Rosenbergs. Hanratty was not fighting for any "cause", however bad: he was a rapist and murderer with no ulterior motives. And he declared his innocence right to the point of death with a passionate intensity that deceived generations of activists including myself.
But I'm liking Sherlock less and less. This is meant to be a goddamn mystery show, isn't it? And they have a blankitty-blank Secret Government Military Conspiracy at the centre of it from moment one, thus giving away the culprit (mad scientist/bureaucrat in government service), the purpose (making secret super-weapons that mess with minds), and the method (said super-weapon, and, oh yes, they also turns out to be unreliable - double points for cliches) to anyone who has ever watched a thriller since 1945? Could anything be more stale, predictable and plain dumb? - except, perhaps, for the various gay jokes which seem to delight my female fellow fans for some reason? Moffatt needs to seriously debug his imagination; this sort of thing stopped being interesting about 1973, if it ever was.