I was doing some house organizing today and uncovered a copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in the attic. As one who has read every single one of the 56 short stories and 4 novels I have to admit that I am sad to say it has been 99 years since the last story was published in 1914. Holmes once went over the Reichenbach Falls and made it back, but with the death of Arthur Conan Doyle there is no chance of him being brought back to life again.
Mrs. Hudson, brother Mycroft, Professor Moriarty “The Napoleon of Crime”, Inspector Lestrade, Irene Adler, and of course Dr. John H. Watson. The Adventure of the Red-Headed League, The Adventure of the Speckled Band and The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Master with his disguises, his pipe, his violin and his cocaine.
A world where it will always be Victorian England of 1895, the moon over the moors, the fog falling on London and the shadows cast by the gaslights. Oh well, as a poet once wrote of the residents of 221 Baker Street, two men who never lived and thus never will die. I sit down on the box storing the Christmas decorations, open up the book to the first story, the game’s afoot, and I begin the journey again. Elementary!