I admit I have hesitated in putting fountain pen to paper for this particular adventure of Holmes and myself. It is one of the hardest for my brain to comprehend. Spurious clues scattered, the leads mismatched, confusion at every turn—but I get ahead of myself. Continue reading
When I look back at my life thus far both that which preceded my acquaintance with Sherlock and that which has transpired since, I am acutely aware of how comparatively well traveled I have been. Some of the urchins that Holmes counts among his Irregulars have never been outside of London and may never make it as far as Dartford, Uxbridge, or even Stratford. Continue reading
It was evening on the first of October and I had organized a small celebration for Holmes and myself in the back room of our local brewpub, The Staggering Bullfrog. I often had stopped in for a pint after a particularly puzzling adventure with Sherlock, on my own of course as Holmes had many other commitments to attend to. I’d sit on a stool and scribble my notes onto napkins and matchbooks and check a few names of streets and neighborhood scoundrels with the tender of bar, Blind Alfred. Blind Alfred didn’t pour drinks well, but he’d pour you another one free if you told him you spilled it, so I found myself there many a night spilling several drinks. Continue reading
Sherlock will be back up and running at Under The Gun theater in January. In the meantime we’ll be transcribing Watson’t notes from the last few mysteries shortly. Why has it taken us so long to get these adventures up on the blog? In the words of Hugh Laurie – It’s a Mystery.
It was late September in 1883, the 24th I believe, and the fallen leaves swirled and crunched beneath my feet as I climbed the steps to 221B Baker Street. The morning mist was cool and dewy, and slapped my face like an unpaid strumpet, which coincidentally was where I had been returning from. Continue reading
“Love does strange things to a bloke” These words have been echoing in my mind of late. They were spoken to me by one of the Baker Street Irregulars, a man that may have been made entirely of dust by the look of him, though I am sure they have been spoken by others as well. The statement is more than true, it is inescapable. My love for my late wife did strange and wonderful things to me but this concept goes beyond that of man and wife. A man’s love of the bottle can change him. Love can turn something that we merely desire into something we crave or cannot live without. Likewise as we grow accustomed to a thing it can become a necessity and we can learn to love them. With Sherlock I will never know which came first, his need for mental stimulation becoming an addiction which, when not stimulated with a good case would lead to other means of cerebral exercise, or if somewhere in his youth he received his first small conundrum which, upon its resolution, caused such euphoria that this became a physiological need. It is easier for me to pinpoint my own frailties, though only in retrospect, and it is just that which I have set out to do.