Disclaimer: I own neither Sherlock Holmes nor his faithful companion, John Watson. I do, however, greatly enjoy toying with them.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twinkle
The familiar and increasingly wearing rectangle emerged from its mysterious safe and positioned itself in front of the angular face of its previously cold and logical captor. Although the reason for his recently revived infatuation with this singular photograph eluded me, I knew that this odd action was quite preferable to Holmes' other, less savory, forms of stimulation; I was not, however, entirely sure that his recently cultivated habit was healthy.
To Holmes, she was always the woman. The great and beautiful Irene Adler was not, I was quite sure, of romantic interest to my seemingly heartless companion; the man was or imagined himself to be completely immune to the softer passions. They were hindrances to his perfectly ordered cranium and served only to distort his perfectly focused observational faculties. And yet, as I quietly and purposefully cast my eyes over an article concerning the current political affairs of Her Majesty and her nation, the corners of my eyes revealed an entirely different entity than that of a calculating machine completely opposed to all matters of the heart. I re-examined my conviction regarding my friend's interests.
Sherlock Holmes' eyes twinkled, not with the satisfaction of a justified ego or the prospect untangling another seemingly impossibly twisted web, but with a bittersweet distance mingled with with a not entirely unaffectionate lightness. I suddenly felt quite uncomfortable in my terribly cushioned leather armchair perfectly positioned next to the warm, roaring fireplace which seemed even more alight than it actually was in contrast to the cold, foggy atmosphere that London night. I tried as I could to pry my mind from Holmes but found it much to curious to focus on England's current relations with the grandiose kingdom of Bohemia, though the article's irony was of certain interest.
Why the distant twinkle of loneliness and longing in those formerly steel, gray, and searching eyes and why had their owner never allowed them to brilliantly shine before? Perhaps, like the piercing light of the fire dancing in our small, warm lodgings, love was something too dangerous, too uncontrollable, for even the greatest of detectives to unravel. Sherlock Holmes preferred to find a source of light in the fog, even if it was nothing more than a twinkle.
An Aside Regarding the Short-Story, "Twinkle"
It is worth noting that Watson misinterprets Holmes' feelings in the short-story titled "Twinkle." What more can we expect of our favorite romanticist writer? Holmes is actually contemplating a number of subjects spawned from the consideration of Irene Adler's photograph and the circumstances surrounding her. We can only speculate as to the true thoughts of the great detective; we can assume, however, that they are not of a romantic nature.
Holmes is most probably thinking about human nature and about his odd relationship with it. He is very much separate from humanity in that he does not allow himself to indulge in the innate behaviors and actions with which humans are endowed. Irene Adler is nothing but "the woman," the epitome of her sex, and a person he greatly admires; she is not of romantic interest to him despite all of the reasons that he should be attracted to her. Holmes is aware that Watson wants Holmes' feelings to be more than that of admiration; the fellow was never very good at deception, as is evident by his exaggerated concentration on his newspaper. Irene Adler makes Holmes reflect on love and why he cannot experience it... both emotionally and actually. She represents what should be desire and he is fully aware that the photograph is nothing more than a piece of paper.
Perhaps Holmes reflects on the concept of loneliness. He quietly wonders if he is, in fact, missing out on something substantial. Is something beyond the the reaches of the mind of importance? After all, it is love that drives men behind bars and it is this very same emotion that brings them back into honest standing.
Watson is, however, not entirely wrong about Holmes. He states that Holmes prefers to be out in the proverbial fog and to warm himself by a "twinkle" rather than by a "fire." Holmes fears the fireplace that is love, for it is too uncontrollable, spontaneous, and dangerous; he is a man whose life revolves around problems with solutions and situations with changeable outcomes. The detective knows that even he could succumb to its flames if he allows himself to get too close and, thus, keeps out in the fog of unfeeling and warms himself by the "twinkle." The twinkle is his profession. Detection emerges him into the secret desires of man... almost making him a partaker of these desires. But, he is safely separate from humankind and has the ability to control it in a small way. Holmes loves humans but has yet to submerge himself in their greatest common factor: love.