"Most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. But when you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already."—Mycroft Holmes, A Study in Pink

May all of your dreams come true

—May you be happy, too

May you lead your perfect life

—If that is all you'd really like

.

Never minding,

and ignoring,

Through the the heat and fuss and boring

What a splendor

What a wonder

All this world elects to be.

.

Undulating, neverending, sweet reticulations rising—

Tapestries of histories!—

The battleground of subtleties

Complexities unsleeping all but constantly outlining

Overlapping, intertwining, all-engrossing mysteries

.

The weave that is the world

—That is the fabric, and the makeup—

That is the whole of what you know

You do not see so thickly thread

—nor even so far vastly spread—

No matter where you go?

.

You do not mind? You cannot care? Or dare a fleeting thought to spare?

Would you but listen should I share,

Or is this cross all mine to bear?

I point and all you see is air;

Explain, yet you're no more aware.

I scream and still you do but stare

As though there's really nothing there.

.

. . .

Enigmatic is the world, and all its puzzles await.

You can find me—

If you need me—

Out of sight,

Out of mind,

Solving the next one.

.

Solving. And Solving. And Solving . . .

.

. . . Till there's nothing left to solve.

.

And say a prayer. Lest I despair.

Lest I forswear all human cares

And then some new pursuits prepare.

For what, when all is said and done

Could hope to sever such a one

From all that helps him overcome

The ties that bind to humankind?

.

Nothing.

.

And no one.

.

—Sherlock Holmes