This 60 year old, bald headed, eccentric, cold, drug using detective impressed me with his intelligence. As a teenager, how much did I wish he was a real person. How much did I wish to be infront of his house in Baker Steet, 221 B, London. How jealous I was of Irene Adler. How much did I envy Watson.
Watson: "It was worth a wound; it was worth many wounds; to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation."
About Adler: "To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. ... And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory."
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