Category Archives: SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE

“I address this letter of introduction to the following monograph, written by my own hand. I have undertaken to commit this autobiographical revelation of the factual events of my life to writing, at the suggestion and encouragement of my best friend in the world, my brother Mycroft Holmes. The written record of my adventures as conveyed by Dr. John Hamish Watson, rather than myself, as you will read herein, are a fallacious perversion of the reality of my own identity and activities. – Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes”

A biography of Sherlock Holmes.

...and other stuff, INSIDE THE BOOK, SHERLOCK HOLMES, SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE

MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES SPEAKS FOR HIMSELF

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“The written record of my adventures as conveyed by Dr. John Hamish Watson, rather than myself, as you will read herein, are a fallacious perversion of the reality of my own identity and activities.  None of the facts you will read herein have ever been surmised, supposed and imagined with respect to any of my adventures.  Indeed, the nature and identity of the dramatis personae on the stage of the intrigue I relate to you now have never before been revealed.  I invite you to join this escapade, if you will indulge me, into my ultimate adventure.  Moreover, I trust that posterity will inherit some small benefit from these observations upon the volatile process, distillation and residue of my life. “

Sherlock Holmes,  Sussex Downs, England”

— Excerpt from the book SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE, by Lawrence R. Spencer

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Here is some background information about the alleged creator of the “fictional character” of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.  In fact and reality, Mr. Holmes was a real-life person, as you will discover when you read the book SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE.

INSIDE THE BOOK, SHERLOCK HOLMES, SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE

SYNOPSIS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE

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Sherlock Holmes: My Life, is a memoir in which Sherlock Holmes discloses a conspiracy between Dr. Watson, who is proven to be a fraud, and his associate, Dr. Arthur Doyle, to publish his real life adventures as works of fiction. Sherlock solicits the very able assistance of his brother Mycroft Holmes, who is aided by the British Secret Information Services, to help him resolve the most infamous literary fraud in history!

Their investigation of the two Scottish doctors, together with several authors, publishers and politicians who collaborated with them, exposes the scam as well as the farcical claim to knighthood of “Sir” Arthur Doyle and his life as an opportunistic hoaxer.  The insidious plan of Watson and Doyle to erase the real person of Sherlock Holmes inadvertently unveils the true identity of Professor Moriarty.

The actual reasons for the disappearance of Mr. Holmes from public life, after his alleged “death” at the hands of Professor Moriarty in Switzerland, are disclosed for the first time.  While staying as a guest at The Diogenes Club, under the cover of a false identity, Mr. Holmes served for several years in the employment of the Office of The Chancellor of The Exchequer, of which Mycroft was the pre-eminent administrator.  During this singular period in his career Mr. Holmes encountered his most challenging cases.

Remarking retrospectively upon his diverse career during retirement, Mr. Holmes describes the most enigmatic, yet previously unrecorded, adventures of his life: encounters that influenced the literary creations of Charles Dodgson (author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland), J.M. Barrie (author of Peter Pan), the American writer Mark Twain, as well as Bram Stoker (author of Dracula) and Robert Louis Stevenson (author of Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde).

Finally, Mr. Holmes confides intimate personal details of his concoction and use of alchemical potions, his family, and sexual preference. Philosophical reflections upon his past and future are expressed in several poignant personal letters, including one received from his friend the 13th Dalai Lama, and in a reply to an inquiry from the American science fiction writer H.P. Lovecraft.

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— An excerpt from the book: SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE —

“As it pertains to the case before us, as viewed through the perfect lens of hindsight, it is plain to me now that Watson has always treated me, as regards his writing, in a circumspect and covert manner.  Moreover, his constant  supplications to me for permission to publish ‘just one more case’, have often bordered upon beggary!”, I cried.

“I am quite certain that your intuition in the matter is accurate, though highly disturbing to me”, said Mycroft. “Have you never examined any of the published volumes of the stories written about your cases by Dr. Watson?”, he asked.

“No, I must admit that I have never bothered to acquire a single copy, nor has Dr. Watson ever brought a single volume of a published work home with him to Baker Street, now that you mention it?”, I replied, realizing to my own astonishment, the singular improbability of it, especially after so many volumes had been published, and over such a protracted number of years, is remarkable!

“I believe that an examination of the published works of Dr. Watson will add more clarity to our discovery of the facts”, Mycroft said pointedly  with his fork. “Let me be specific, my dear fellow.  Did you, by any chance, read the manuscript of the last of his stories about your investigations?  It is the case regarding the lost letter upon which your assistance was solicited by no less than the Prime Minister.  Watson fictionalized his name as ‘Lord Bellinger’, and that of the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, under the name of Trelawney Hope”.

These were not their actual names of course, as you are keenly aware. Rather, the gentlemen in question were none other than Robert Gascoyne-Cecil who thrice served as Prime Minister, and twice as the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.  He was accompanied by the then reigning Prime Minister at the date of the incident, Arthur Balfour”.

I could not deny that the solution of this case was of singular gravity and import to the well-being of Britain.  Of course, Mycroft and his staff had been intimately associated, covertly, with attempts to recover the missing letter in that case.  However, I admitted that I had not seen that book, or any other for that matter, in published form.”

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THE ULTIMATE SHERLOCK HOLMES MYSTERY

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“My dear fellows! How delightful to see you both again. It has been several months since our most recent adventure together, so I surmise, Sherlock, that some new investigation in pressing upon you? Otherwise, I am sure that you would not bother yourself to venture to visit me personally at the club. Any matter of less urgency would certainly be addressed to me by letter, or telegram. Am I not correct?”, said Mycroft, grasping both of our hands in turn with cordiality.

“As always, your observation and supposition are accurate”, I said, confirming what was already obvious to my brother. “However, I assure you than the game that is afoot contains none of the gravity that others I have undertaken”. At this, Mycroft’s expression changed from one of concern to mild interest.

“Please take a seat and explain the particulars to me, if this room is suitable for discussion of details”, he said, waving his hand toward several richly upholstered leather chairs.

Mycroft is heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there is  perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind.

“I cannot think of a more suitable environment in which to discuss the nature of this case than that of a club founded on the philosophical principles of Cynicism”, I told him in a bland matter-of-fact tone.

“Let us fill our pipes”, I said reaching into my pocket for a tobacco poach and briar pipe, “as an explanation of the matter at hand will easily consume our meal time, as well as a portion of the evening.  Can a meal be served to us here, if it is not too great an imposition upon your generosity?”, I said as I sat down, ready to share as much information with my esteemed brother as would be necessary to facilitate his analysis of the matter.

“By all means, my dear Sherlock.  By all means!”, he said in eager anticipation of a mystery that might divert his attention from an otherwise unfulfilling evening of silent reading at the Club before retiring to his quarters for an equally uneventful night of dreamless sleep.

After recounting the details of my visit with Charles Dodgson and my subsequent invitation to him to dine with us at Baker Street, I summarized the nature of the matter.  Mycroft listened attentively while tamping and relighting his pipe several times in order to sustain a satisfactory stream of air through the stem.  When I had concluded my account, he raised his eyes to me.

“Well then, let us hear your suspicions, and I will look after the proofs”, said Mycroft.

“In short, my dear Mycroft, it appears that Mr. Dodgson, in league with Mr. Arthur Doyle, are accusing me and therefore all of my associates, of impersonating fictional characters! The assertion is that the stories published by Doyle as magazine serials, or in books, are merely works of his imagination. Moreover, this cad claims that the chronicles of my investigations, which are written by Dr. Watson, are innovations of his own. Can you conceive such a blatantly fraudulent accusation?”, I asked him.

Mycroft stared at me for a moment, and then with a glare turned in his chair and addressed Dr. Watson in an icy tone.

“Dr. Watson”, he said, “it is most obvious that the motivation for this absurd intrigue must begin with you. How is it that Mr. Doyle has come into the possession of your written accounts of the detective cases of Sherlock Holmes, and subsequently published them in his own name?”

— Excerpt from SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE  by Lawrence R. Spencer

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HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU’RE MAD?

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Cheshire CatExcerpt from the book SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

“”I do not ask you, or anyone, to believe anything whatsoever. Belief is a matter of personal opinion or conviction which cannot be shared by anyone else, accept to the degree that they share a similar opinion. Some men believe that the world was created by an omnipotent, invisible being in seven days. People in some aboriginal tribes believe that the world is supported on the back of an enormous elephant which stands upon the shell of a colossal tortoise”, I said, finally arriving at the pages I was looking for in the manuscript.

“As for myself, I believe that what is true for you is true for you, although no other person may agree upon your belief. Regardless, a truth for you, may not be true for others. Is that not a fundamentally sound assumption?”, I asked.

Sherlock-Holmes-My-Life_cover300“I suppose you are right Mr. Holmes. It is difficult, if not impossible, to stay apace of your ability to remain logical in the face of a situation which is so absurdly enigmatic. You are proposing that the philosophical paradigm of reality should be considered of equal importance with fiction. How can you ever solve a criminal case, your occupation, if every piece of hard evidence could be a contrivance of imagination on the part of the investigator or of the criminal?”, said Mr. Dodgson.

“Quite the contrary”, I said. “But rather than keeping to my methods alone, let me ask you what meaning you attribute to the following passage in your book”, I said, turning to the page which described in the encounter between Alice and the Cheshire Cat.

“Let me read your own words to you.”

“…she was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.

The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she

thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great many teeth, so she

felt that it ought to be treated with respect.

‘Cheshire Puss,’ she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know

whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.

‘Come, it’s pleased so far,’ thought Alice, and she went on. ‘Would you

tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’

were all mad‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.

‘I don’t much care where–‘ said Alice.

‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.

‘–so long as I get SOMEWHERE,’ Alice added as an explanation.

‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk long

enough.’

Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question.

‘What sort of people live about here?’

‘In THAT direction,’ the Cat said, waving its right paw round, ‘lives

a Hatter: and in THAT direction,’ waving the other paw, ‘lives a March

Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.’

‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.

‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad.

You’re mad.’

‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.

‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’

Alice didn’t think that proved it at all; however, she went on ‘And how

do you know that you’re mad?'”

“So, Mr. Dodgson, let me pose the same question to you that young Alice asked of the chimerical cat in your own story: how do you know whether you are mad or not mad? How would you satisfy yourself that I am not mad? How do we know that everyone is mad or not mad?”, I said, rising from my chair to place the manuscript upon the sideboard.

I refilled my pipe once again, in anticipation of the protracted debate that was sure to follow on the heels of these profoundly, absurd, yet existential queries and arguments.

lewis-carrollMr. Dodgson did not seem the least bit nonplused by my insinuation regarding his sanity, or the sanity of all. Rather, he thanked us very cordially for our hospitality, rose from his chair and reached the door to exit the apartment. As he reached the door he turned back to me.

“Mr. Holmes, I will leave the resolution of this mystery entirely in your very capable hands. If anyone were able to solve the questions you pose to me, I assure you that I am not that man. Neither are any of the mentors whom I have studied, including Sir Isaac himself. I trust that you will be kind enough to inform me of your eventual success, if such is possible. Good day to you, gentlemen”.

With that, he departed, clomped down the stairs. Through the window we saw him walk briskly away through a light drizzle of rain in the direction of the train station.”