An experiment to see if I can accurately portray two of the most famous characters in literature. Please leave a comment with your assessment.
~
The Unsolved Mystery
With pen in
hand, I reflected on past cases of Sherlock Holmes, which have to my fortune
reached the public in print over the many years. But it was today that held a singular
significance. The embers of his pipe had gone out as I saw my friend in a state
like none other. Outbursts of frustration or revelation had been an outlet in the
past, but it wasn’t in his nature to allow violence to pacify his anger. However,
the corner of his desk suffered the most when he struck it with the poker.
He shouted, “Watson! It is not this case. But it is the reasoning, or the lack thereof, that has forced me to trod along in such a precarious manner.” He turned toward me, “Good doctor, is my brain that far gone?” He paused, then forced an answer, “I think not!” He stepped toward the window.
“My dear Holmes.
Need I remind you, today you reached a significant birthday.”
“Please don’t,”
he brooded. “Death is a mystery never to be solved.” He lifted his finger
toward the heavens.
“I wasn’t
speaking of your end.” I tried to relay some comfort.
“But age
has a cruel way of reminding us of our pending exit. It is unavoidable.”
“Then tell
me, why do you try?”
His wry
smile flashed his answer before he spoke, “If not my mind, then the rare
superior intellect of the next generation may live on – if that is even
possible.”
I simply
replied, “But probable, Holmes.”
He lifted a
curious brow in my direction and then toward the window as he gazed up and down
Baker Street. And as if he could see through the flats across the street, he
peered over the London skyline as if the future would never provide a mind that
would contain his abilities. “Can it? Is
it possible to pass down what I hold?” He pointed at his head. “Perhaps, what I
have learned. But knowledge is not a gift with which we are born.” He paused as
his hand drifted to his chin. He then let out a loud guffaw and, in opposition
to his previous outburst, he quietly returned his attention toward the inner workings
of his flat, as he reignited his pipe and with a new illumination in his eyes
on the case presented before him.
I returned to my comprehensive writing for all posterity – to keep my friend alive.
~
Born this day in 1854. Happy birthday to the greatest consulting detective to have ever lived!
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