I Am A Brain, Watson.

Do You Know, Watson," Said He, "that It Is One Of The Curses Of A Mind With A Turn Like Mine That I Must Look At Everything With Reference To My Own Special Subject. You Look At These Scattered Houses, And You Are Impressed By Their Beauty. I Look At Them, And The Only Thought Which Comes To Me Is A Feeling Of Their Isolation And Of The Impunity With Which Crime May Be Committed There.

Desultory Readers Are Seldom Remarkable For The Exactness Of Their Learning.

As A Rule, Said Holmes, The More Bizarre A Thing Is The Less Mysterious It Proves To Be. It Is Your Commonplace, Featureless Crimes Which Are Really Puzzling, Just As A Commonplace Face Is The Most Difficult To Identify.

All Right, Watson. Don’t Look So Scared,” He Muttered In A Very Weak Voice. “it’s Not As Bad As It Seems.” “thank God For That!” “i’m A Bit Of A Single-stick Expert, As You Know. I Took Most Of Them On My Guard. It Was The Second Man That Was Too Much For Me.” “what Can I Do, Holmes? Of Course, It Was That Damned Fellow Who Set Them On. I’ll Go And Thrash The Hide Off Him If You Give The Word.” “good Old Watson!(...)

His Incredible Untidiness, His Addiction To Music At Strange Hours, His Occasional Revolver Practice Within Doors, His Weird And Often Malodorous Scientific Experiments, And The Atmosphere Of Violence And Danger Which Hung Around Him Made Him The Very Worst Tenant In London.