I will readily admit that I am a
Sherlock Holmes fan. No, a fanatic.
Taken the Goodreads quiz on Holmes? Try
it—I got 100% (grinning). I thought it was (ahem) elementary.
But why do people love Holmes?
The character wasn’t initially
popular. According to Wikipedia, A Study in Scarlet and The
Sign of the Four (its first title) didn’t sell well. The short
stories, initially published by The Strand magazine, were the
works that ignited the public’s imagination. The first, A
Scandal in Bohemia, was published in 1891.
I know why I love Holmes—I’m a
sapiensexual. I’m turned on by brains. I’m literally repelled by
men who mix up well and good or who don’t hold their
cutlery correctly. (A great face, cute smile and buffed bod are also
important, along with a sweet soul).
These days, we love hot heroes with
brains as well as flaws. Sherlock is complex. He has a lightning-fast
wit but the emotional I.Q. of a boulder. He’s interesting. The
reigning Holmes, BBC’s Sherlock, describes himself as a
“high-functioning sociopath.” I’d add, with a touch of
Asperger’s.
Upon publication, however, Sherlock
appeared in a very different world.
In 1888, a serial killer started a
rampage in an area of London still called Whitechapel. We do not know
the number of murders committed by Jack the Ripper. Five brutal
killings are apparently linked, but as many as six more could have
been the work of the same slayer.
People cling to certainty in an
uncertain world. To a city gripped by dread, the cool, calm, logical
Holmes, a detective who unerringly solved every case, was an
inspirational hero bringing comfort in a frightening world.
My version of Holmes, from Sherlock’s
Scandal, isn’t so cool, calm, and logical. Here’s a snippet
to pique your interest:
After
the performance, I purchased a bouquet of red roses from one of
Covent Garden’s ever-present flower-sellers and posted myself at
the stage door to see if I could meet the lady. When she finally
emerged, she had cleaned her face of stage makeup and changed out of
her costume into a stunning gown of midnight velvet. I am no
connoisseur of women’s fashions, but I will never forget the sight.
Her décolletage was fetchingly displayed by a lace-trimmed bodice
cut so low it exposed her admirable bosom almost all the way down to
the nipples, which I promised myself I’d lick that night. She must
have bound her breasts for the role, I realized hazily, trying not to
stare.
I
cleared my throat. “Good evening, Miss Adler.” I offered her the
flowers.
She
took them and buried her face in the petals to inhale their scent. I
hoped her open enjoyment of the fragrance betokened a sensual nature.
She looked up, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”
I
lifted my brows, fixing on her full lips and large, sparkling eyes in
order to avoid crudely ogling her breasts.
“Of
course I know who you are.” Off-stage, her American accent was
pronounced but not unpleasant.
“I
am most flattered.” I offered her my arm. She took it, and we
strolled to the kerb, where a hansom waited.
In
the intimate interior of the cab, I could scent her perfume, a
flowery aroma that blended delightfully with the roses she still
clasped. “May I invite you to a late supper?”
“Thank
you.” She daintily arranged her skirts, favoring me with a glimpse
of one neat ankle.
My
member hardened, and I blessed my dinner suit’s loose, comfortable
trousers. I drew a deep breath, hoping to calm my hot blood and
racing pulse. “Uh, uhm, Sampson’s?”
“Beefsteaks?
A fortifying meal for so late in the evening. Will I be in need of
fortification, Mr. Holmes?” she asked. Her eyes were partially
shadowed by lowered lids.
“Yes,”
I said. “You will.”
She
raised her gaze, boldly meeting mine. I leaned closer and put a
finger beneath her chin. Her skin was soft over a strong jaw,
testimony of a determined character.
My
chest clenched in a most peculiar manner. Had I met my match?
It was
rude, and crude, and forward, but I could not resist. I had to taste
her mouth.
Here's the blurb, and what others thought of the story--reviews are from an earlier edition:
A
bored Sherlock is a dangerous Sherlock. His twin vices of cocaine and
sex could prove his undoing, until he meets his match in elusive,
enigmatic Irene Adler. Hiding her heart, Irene deserts Sherlock in
the midst of their affair. He schemes to win her back, but the lady
won’t come easily to hand. Instead, she forces him to compete for
honor, glory and love.
What
others have thought about this story:
Five
Stars! A heady and enjoyable romp
--JMyersBook,
Amazon reader
***
More
than spicy!
--Tammie,
Night Owl Reviews
***
Captivating!
--Brenda
Talley, Romance Studio
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