It all began when I was bored one day (as many of us nine year old selves would often find ourselves in) so I decided to hop over to the library near my house to see what sort of new releases they had in store in the children's section. Rather than take my pick on one of the Beatrix Potter stories, my overwhelming curiosity let me to the adult fiction section. The shelves were much taller and the books seem so grand, so thick, and so different compared to the stuff they had for us kids. I wanted to touch all of their spines, to open each one of them and just...read.
As I was absent-mindedly walking along the rows of shelves, one title stood out and I paused,
The spine read: "The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes" by Arthur Conan Doyle.
Right there and then, I had the overwhelming urge to take a few deep breaths ( I got easily excitable at the prospect of a great read. Times haven't changed.), pull the book out of its cozy place, bring it with me to the nearest armchair, open it, and be amazed by what was in store. Which is exactly what I did.
Since then, Sherlock Holmes has been my hero in every sense of the word. I'd like to think that this sort of admiration has blend into my lifestyle in some way or another. I have listened and loved all the scores made for Sherlock Holmes, not to mention watched everything that was adapted to television and film, read every story and read other books regarding Sherlock and/or the author. In short: have anything Sherlock? Will read/listen/watch/research. One might say that I am a Sherlockian in its truest extent.
Furthermore, I knew that one way or another, us Sherlockians would be in for quite a big surprise. And a big surprise it was, when on a trip to the mailbox early this morning, I was greeted by a mysterious black envelope sealed with a gold crest which I then immediately tore it open on the spot, read it, ran back home going: "Oh my god, oh my god, it's really happening, I KNEW it!!"- booked a ticket to London, and began to pack.
Of course, when it comes the wardrobe part, I will be tweaking it a bit according to my suitability. I look forward to owning a British Army Browning L9A1. Don't look surprised- us Sherlockians secretly want to own one.
I was thinking of bringing my hammerhead shark- his name is Gladstone- but I don't think he could fit into my suitcase, the poor chap. My second choice would be a fox. I imagine I would name it Watson.
So if I unexpectedly vanish from my usual haunts in Toronto- you know where I am.
(Note: This wonderful letter was inspired by disequilibrium- I took out the "Badassery" part because the Sherlockian School of Deduction is itself, already badass. It needs no further emphasis.)