Sherlock was my first love. As I child I had picked up a coverless, paperback copy of ” The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” missing the last three pages of “The Adventure of the Copper Beeches” (“Lady don’t fall backwards“)
For maximum reading pleasure I would need to draw a bath so hot it would still be warm when I emerged two hours later. I would have to stand for a bit, the fiery water giving me red socks. Then I’d kneel and lean forward on my hands, scarlet gauntlets, for a few deep breaths. Finally I’d lay down for the instant, exhausting, painful, pleasure, similar to having spent too long in a sauna.