I usually read fantasy and paranormal books with the occasional foray into historical romance. These have always been my go to genres at the library and bookstores. So much so that I have memorized their location and can find what I’m looking for in a heartbeat. My favorite books are The Shadowhunter Chronicles and I have read The Once and Future King so much that my copy is worn at the binding. Not exactly realistic books.

A few years ago I decided to try expanding my literary horizons by reading mystery books. I dived in head first, reading murder mysteries, heists, spy thrillers, even hacker novels. But nothing quite captured me the way Sir Arthur Conan Doyle managed to. Sherlock Holmes quickly became one of my favorite literary characters, ranked among Catherine Linton and Sydney Carton (a coveted spot). Something about the eccentric genius detective captivated me and it wasn’t until I was halfway through my second Holmes novel that I realized what it was.

Sherlock wasn’t a typical hero. He wasn’t the dashing, handsome gentlemen who won the fair lady’s heart. He wasn’t a daring prince, sweeping a damsel off her feet. He was Sherlock Holmes and that’s all he ever had to be. Even in his own novels, Sherlock was very different from the other characters. He acted differently, thought differently, saw the world differently. But everything that made him strange to others, he accepted about himself. He never tried to fit in, never tried to change. He used his uniqueness to his advantage.

Sherlock quickly became my hero. He never tried to fit in a mold or be someone he wasn’t. He was unapologetically himself. I admired that. I admired his confidence, his intelligence, and I wanted to emulate that in my own life. I wanted to be unafraid of judgement and be confident in my own skin. I wanted to be one hundred percent confident in who I am. I’m still working on it, but I have come so far from the shy bookish girl afraid to speak up to the opinionated and ambitious woman I am today.

Sherlock Holmes was not a typical storybook hero. He wasn’t even normal by his own society’s standards. But he was brilliant and captivating, commanding attention from his world of paper and ink. Even now as I read fantasies, romances, classics, contemporaries, wherever I stray, I always find myself drawn back to 221B Baker Street.