Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax, put the stressful day behind you, and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, I will be reading from the memoirs of Sherlock Holmes,

the must grave ritual.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes

was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind,

and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was nonetheless in his personal habits

one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow lodger to distraction.

Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself.

The rough and tumble work in Afghanistan,

coming on the top of a natural bohemianism of disposition,

has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man.

But with me, there is a limit,

and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal scuttle,

his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed

by a jackknife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous

airs. I've always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime,

...