The

The The The year is 1887, Baker Street, London.

Amidst the bustle of a busy gaslit street at night,

a fresh-faced doctor quietly emerges from the carriage of a handsome cab,

deeply in thought.

To Sherlock Holmes, she was always the woman, the beautiful Irina Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.

At the time of our involvement in the Erena Adler case, Holmes and I had been sharing rooms in Baker Street for some years.

My practice had caused me to be absent in the country for several days.

As usual, after leaving homes for any length of time,

I returned filled with apprehension as to his moon.

With those words, we're introduced to the Honorable John H. Watson, M.D., late of the Army Medical Department.

Rain soaked and weary, the Victorian-era gentleman makes his way up the stairs at 221B Baker Street, and after a brief exchange with the keeper of the house, our narrator finds his friend and colleague huddled in a chair

before a blazing fireplace, alone with his thoughts. But Watson is dismayed to find an empty syringe protruding from an open desk drawer.

This all too familiar sight fills him with frustration.

What is it tonight? Morphine? Or cocaine?

Well, I can strongly recommend a 7% solution of cocaine.

Would you care to try it?

No, indeed.

I speak not only as your friend but as a medical man.

How can you risk such damage to the great powers with which you have been endowed?

I cannot tell you how it clarifies and stimulates the mind.

Yes, and destroys it in time.

...