October 20, 2017

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Sherlock Herms Master Detective – Part 5

Sherlock Herms Master Detective – Part 5

Previously on Sherlock Herms Master Detective…

 Part 1.   Part 2.   Part 3.   Part 4.

Satiated by the delicious sammiches served by Mrs. Gray for tea, Fergus and I lay side by side on his cushy bed in front of a blazing hearth fire. ‘Life’s darkest moment,’ one publication called Sherlock Holmes’ death,” the dog told me. “One of the letters my master received was from a woman who called him a Brute! Still another woman Doyle met on the street struck him with her handbag. Twenty thousand furious readers cancelled their subscriptions to The Strand that published Sherlock Holmes. That nearly bankrupted the magazine. Londoners wore black to express their mourning. The Prince of Wales is still upset. The day the story broke of Holmes’ death, the headlines read, “Tragic Death of Mr. Sherlock,” as if he were flesh and blood–not print and imagination.”

“So I’m not the only one who thought he was real.” My ears still warmed with embarrassment that I’d never suspected Sherlock Holmes to be a fictional character.

“I dare say, the World suffers for heroes to pin their hopes and dreams on,” Fergus replied. “Although I am bewildered as to why the World would choose to make a hero out of such a narrow-minded, self-centered, barely likeable hoomon with an addictive personality.” The dog glanced over at me. “What made you so infatuated with him that you chose to emulate him?”

I flicked through my recall of what my Word of the Day calendar said ‘emulate’ meant before I replied, “He knows almost everything about pawfessional detecting. That’s impressive.”

“Yet he’s indifferent about everything else,” Fergus countered. “Lit-tra-chure. Philosophy. Poly-ticks. Sex!”

“You’re his creator,” I told the dog. “Why did you make him like that?”

“I suppose that was my flaw as Doyle’s muse. I allowed him to focus too hard on Holmes using his eyes and brains to solve cases. It didn’t occur to me that he would become shallow in all other hoomon respects.”

“Well, you aren’t a hoomon,” I pointed out.

“This is true.”

“Thank Cod!” we said in unison…then laughed with newfound companionship. Read More

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