“My mind,” he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.”
“The only unofficial detective?” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“The only unofficial consulting detective,” he answered. “I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are out of their depths — which, by the way, is their normal state — the matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist’s opinion. I claim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case.”
“Yes, indeed,” said I cordially. “I was never so struck by anything in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure, with the somewhat fantastic title of ‘A Study in Scarlet.’”
Some days, only a book with fog and stealthy mayhem will do. This morning I revisited the pleasures of a careful, watchful mind; a mind intent upon extracting intellectual excitement from dastardly deeds. Sherlock Holmes must be one of the most famous characters ever created.Only Dickens and Shakespeare offer up any rivals. Holmes is a man for all seasons of criminality yet remains fatally flawed himself and is always supported by the most intimate of friends- Dr Watson who in this novel falls in love with the orphaned heroine much to the sardonic amusement of Holmes.
My mind,” he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.”
Who would not applaud such mental defiance? Holmes rejects the banality of the daily. He is only alive when he is thinking, when he is challenged to decipher the variety of masked meanings behind the cases presented to him at Baker street. Thinking is a form of ecstasy, almost a form of worshipful exultation. The recognition of his own singularity seems both exclusive and tragic. Like a Shakesperean hero he seems doomed to be alone, doomed to remain an outsider to life’s warmer alliances. Watson writes his friend’s stories, recreating their adventures for posterity, testifying to his friend’s consummate mental detchment and observation.