I know a story...

I know a story of a remarkable man whose deeds were legend. He constantly impressed his companions with his insights, and they often came to him for advice - as did complete strangers. He travelled, solving dilemmas, performing great deeds, advising both rich and poor and spreading his fame, far and wide.

 

His advice was always good, though often it seemed gnomic and mysterious when first bestowed. He possessed insight far beyond that of an ordinary man. The years of his youth are shrouded in mystery, but his adulthood is very well documented, in personal testimony, copies of which are found in many homes to this day. The four major volumes and numerous shorter texts testify to a man possessed of rare, some say miraculous, nay superhuman, skill.

 

Then one day, at the height of his fame, he died, a horrible death. His companions mourned, and all appeared lost.

 

But, Lo! Soon afterwards he returned, as though resurrected!

 

Although at first his closest friends failed to recognise him, they came to know that it was indeed he, come back among them, when he offered indisputable proof. He went on to perform more great deeds, and today he is a revered figure in certain circles. Much has been written about him in the years since. Even now people travel from all over the world to visit his home and wonder at this remarkable man.

 

And this is why, at intervals, I like to remember...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock Holmes.

 

He's not dead. He's keeping bees on the Sussex Downs.

 

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