– Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I’ll just say it: I’m not a huge fan of London. I’ve had a couple of adventures there (one that springs to mind is a fruitless two-mile hike through the rain on Christmas Day 2007, from Kings Cross to Trafalgar Square, for a Dickens walking tour that never happened, followed by a two-mile hike back the way we came); I’ve seen the requisite sights and made my obeisances at the usual shrines–the British Museum, Hyde Park, Westminster, etc. And I’m pretty much done with that.
221B Baker Street, though, was great fun. I first read the Holmes stories and novels when I was in high school, and I have loved them ever since. So, sitting in Holmes’ chair, wearing his deerstalker and holding his pipe (and yes, I know he’s not real, really; but he’s real in my head) was a thrill a minute.
After a week and a half of thesis research, it was nice to let down our hair and goof off a bit. There weren’t a whole lot of people around during our visit, so we romped with impunity, inserting ourselves into the tableaux with gleeful abandon:
I met Moriarty (or Arty Morty, depending on who you ask):
And Tammy took a Victorian bathroom break:
And, after a brief conversation with the Irregulars…
…and a warm-up in the lounge…
…we bid adieu to the man himself and left him to deduce of us what he would.
Happy travels, my dear Watsons!