Improbable Press Blog — Sherlock Holmes

A few years ago, I was bustling about the old homestead, being all domestic (making dinner I expect) while an old episode of Poirot played in the living room. And then I heard a voice speak. It was a warm voice. Kind, deep, caring. Whatever tension was in my body vanished in a rush of affection. I felt safe and infused with a sense of incredible wellbeing and the knowledge that whatever might be wrong in the world would be all right. Naturally, this also confused me. Who the hell was speaking that his voice should reach directly into my...