When I told my dear Watson that my duel with Professor Moriarty, if penned down, would have been the most brilliant contest of wits known to man, I fear I imparted a half-truth to him. In actuality, there exist numerous notes, written in a shorthand type known to my brother and I, made during these investigations and intellectual duels, some versions of which are stored in a government locker under "M" and other versions tucked safely away in a dusty warehouse near Chiswick (I believe) where they intend to remain untouched by human hands or unseen by mortal eye for fear of scandal.
I have taken pains to reconstruct my recollection of the final four problems that brought me in such a position to defeat the Napoleon of Crime, the last of which my biographer has faithfully related in the second volume of stories that feature my exploits, however embellished. As for the other three, now that my dear Watson is far removed from the hand of mortal vengeance from Moriarty or his ilk, I have sent my notes to the same literary agent who has published these small adventures of mine, to do what he will with them. Undoubtedly while the facts of the matter will be exaggerated beyond measure and the art of problem-solving thus lost through such sensationalism, perhaps it shall give some measure of this singular intellectual battle of our times. After all, I have little time or cause to dramatise them myself, for there are so many bee-hives in the county yet there remain so few hours in the day to cultivate or harvest them properly.
Sincerely,
S. H.