Dr. Watson, a military surgeon lately returned from the Afghan War,
needs a flat-mate and a diversion. Sherlock Holmes needs a foil.
And thus a great literary collaboration begins. Then murder. Facing
a deserted house, a twisted corpse with no wounds, a mysterious
phrase drawn in blood on the wall, and the buffoons of Scotland
Yard--Lestrade and Gregson--Holmes measures, observes, picks up a
pinch of this and a pinch of that, and generally baffles his
faithful Watson. Later, Holmes explains: "In solving a problem of
this sort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backward...There
are few people who, if you told them a result, would be able to
evolve from their own inner consciousness what the steps were which
led up to that result." Sherlock Holmes is one of those people.
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