1 Mr. Sherlock Holmes

A Study in Scarlet

Chapter 1 Mr.SherlockHolmes People often ask me how I first met Sherlock Holmes. In the year 1878, I became a surgeon in the army and joined a regiment stationed in India. In 1880, I was struck in the arm by a bullet in Afghanistan. Then, while recovering in hospital, I came down with a fever which left me so weak that the army medical board decided to send me back to England. I ended up in London where I took up residence in a hotel on the Strand. London is a vast, unfriendly place when you don't know anyone. It's also expensive, and I could barely make ends meet. One day, I was sitting in a bar by myself, thinking I should probably find somewhere

cheaper to live, when I felt a tap on the shoulder. To my delight, I saw it was Stamford, an old colleague from my days as a hospital doctor. "Where have you been, Dr. Watson?" he cried. "You're as thin as a rake." I told him briefly about my misadventures in the East. "Poor devil!" he said. "What are you up to now?" "Looking for lodgings." "By Jove!" he said. "You're the second person to say that to me today." "Who was the first?" I asked. "A fellow called Sherlock Holmes, who works in the chemical laboratory at the hospital. He was complaining this morning because he couldn't find anyone to go halves with him on some lovely rooms he'd found on Baker Street." "Well, if he's looking for a roommate, I'm the man for him," I said. "I'm fed up with living alone." "I warn you, he's a little strange," said Stamford. "Strange in what way?" "He's rather too scientific for my tastes—almost cold- blooded in his search for the truth." "Is he a medical student?" "No—I don't really know what he is. He's very knowledgeable on anatomy, and a first-class chemist, but his studies are very eccentric." Something about this man intrigued me. "I should like to meet him," I said.

So, after lunch, we drove over to the hospital, where we found Holmes in the chemical laboratory. At the sound of our steps, he glanced around and uttered a cry of pleasure. "I've found it!" he cried. "I've found the perfect test for identifying blood stains." "Sherlock Holmes, meet Dr. John Watson," said Stamford. "Pleased to meet you," said Holmes, shaking my hand. "You've been in Afghanistan, I see." "How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment.

"Never mind," he said. "Come and observe this test." He seized me by the coat sleeve and dragged me to the table where he'd been working. "I need fresh blood," he said, pricking his finger with a long needle and drawing a drop of blood into a jar full of water and stirring it. He added some crystals and a drop of transparent fluid, and the water turned a dull brown. "You see!" he said. "The presence of even the tiniest drop of blood can be revealed by this method." "And how is this useful?" I asked.

"Why, it could determine a person's guilt or innocence of a crime," he declared. "A suspect might have brownish stains on his clothing. Are they blood, mud, or fruit juice? The Sherlock Holmes test will determine the truth!" His eyes glittered as he spoke, and he gave a bow, as if to an applauding crowd. "Congratulations, Holmes," said Stamford, "but we're actually here on business. My friend here is, like you, looking for lodgings, so I thought I'd bring you two together." Holmes seemed delighted by the idea. "You don't mind me conducting chemical experiments in the flat?" he asked. "Or playing the violin?"