Sherlock Holmes and the Written Annotation

Upon occasion when I have opportunity to partake of discourse with readers of my journals, appertaining to the works of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, one comment I often receive is upon the nature of my detailed and comprehensive accounts. How, I am often asked, can I be so assured of the events occurring in such a full and descriptive manner, as my tales portray?

For those readers who suffer from this curiosity, the answer is quite simple. The years of intensive study required to attain my medical qualifications have served to sharpen my faculties to the point that my powers of recall are almost comparable with those possessed by Holmes himself. That said, to aid my fine tuned retentive skills, I have developed the habit of making copious amounts of notes. This state of affairs hasn't always been the case, in the early days of my association with Holmes, I sufficed with a mere scattering of the briefest of notations, trusting on my powers of recollection to furnish me with the omitted facts needed. I have since come to realize that, when it comes the written word, there can be no substitute for full and concise notations.

This brings to mind the events that persuaded me to abandon my written abbreviations of events, and expand my note taking to the fullest in future cases. I hadn't resided at Baker Street for long, when we received a visitation from a singular gentleman. Holmes and I were relaxing in the sitting room, enjoying an after dinner pipe as was our wont to do, when my companion glanced out of the window.

"Brace yourself Watson." He declared, "For I believe we are about to receive a visitor, and I'll wager him to be a client with pressing problems in dire need of my assistance, to bring him rushing to our door in this inclement weather."

Sure enough, no sooner were these words spoken than we heard an urgent rapping at the door. This was followed by the faithful sound of Mrs. Hudson, bustling to answer the summons. Holmes and I listened to these sounds, and awaited the arrival of our visitor.

Afore long, the sitting room door opened and a gentleman entered. He wasn't advanced in years, but neither was he too young be one of life's novices, I approximated his age at being around 30, he was rather tall and lean and rather well dressed. His face sported a flushed complexion, though this, I reasoned, would be due to the excursions of his hurried trip to our door rather than being his natural hue. He shook his frame, to relieve himself of the dampness bestowed upon him by London's less than inviting weather conditions that day, seemingly unheeding of the potential offence that such an action might cause within the living room of a civilized host. Happily for our guest, both Holmes and I were rather slow to take offence at such instances as this.

"Pray Watson," Holmes ejaculated "Relieve this gentleman of his overcoat, and seat him close to the fire, for this weather makes it an unpleasant journey for an ex-employee of Scotland Yard to make, from Birkenhall Street."

Upon hearing this statement, our visitor turned and stared at Holmes, his countenance betraying the utmost surprise that Holmes's ejaculation had obviously elicited. "Mr. Holmes!" He declared, "I had no realization that you were furnished with such information about my person and my circumstances. Could it be that you have reason to spy upon myself, to learn of my whereabouts and practices?"

Holmes let out one of his hearty guffaws that is his way when he know that he has confounded someone with his deductive powers. "Not at all Mr......"

"Edwards sir, Anthony Edwards at your service."

"...Mr. Edwards." Holmes continued "I observed through the window that you journeyed here on foot, and in a somewhat hurried manner. Despite this days rather adverse conditions of constant, though not what one would call overly heavy rainfall I see that your overcoat, whilst damp, is yet to gather more than a mere smattering of precipitation so obviously your journey to my door hasn't been a long one. I also notice your brogues which are sporting residues of what I believe to be a builder's mortar, not commonly found in such a raw form on London's streets though I do recall witnessing some improvements being made to one of the shop frontages on Birkenhall street, during which the workmen show a propensity for spillage of their powdered mortar. The direction and the distance of Birkenhall Street from this very building therefore, makes it the obvious starting point of your journey.