Everyone thinks he's a detective, a brilliant mind capable of solving any mystery. His name, his sharp mind, his penchant for observing the seemingly insignificant all point to a mistaken identity. He's constantly bombarded with requests for help, with people expecting him to solve their petty squabbles and deduce their entire lives. But Sherlock Holmes, the real Sherlock Holmes, has no desire to be a detective. He'd rather spend his days lost in the millions of unsolved math problems and the mysteries of the universe. However, fate, it seems, has other plans.
Back with another book. This one is extremely personal as it deals with the subject of grief. Taken from my dedication, it is rather noticeable that I have lost many people in my still relatively young years. Friends, pets, family, everyone. And grief never left, it's a constant ache that stays with you, that you learn to live with, not move on from. That's why I decided to write this book, to put all the ugly emotions, the screams of grief onto paper. I miss all of them, and I always will. But at least it is a way for them to be remembered. Memento Mortuorum.
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