The original intention of this statement was clearly to clarify the facts, uphold Scotland Yard's professional image, and pour cold water on the surging "Holmes fever."
However, the effect was quite the opposite.
Far from dampening public curiosity, it only added fuel to the fire.
Initially, readers who saw the statement were all taken aback — Scotland Yard responding so formally to a novel?
Immediately afterwards, a strange chemical reaction occurred.
If Scotland Yard had remained silent, readers would naturally assume the novel was fictional and wouldn't consider its "authenticity" at all.
But this statement emphasized "purely fictional," which many perceived as an attempt to cover up something, clearly eager to distance themselves.
In the "Cheshire Cheese" pub on Fleet Street, several reporters burst into laughter as they surrounded that day's The Times.
"Haha! Scotland Yard couldn't sit still! They're afraid! Afraid readers will really believe they need a private detective to help!"
"Look at this tone, 'never have, and never will'? Don't they know the more they emphasize it, the more suspicious it seems?"
"Perhaps there's no 'Holmes' in reality, but who can guarantee there aren't similar talented individuals!"
"Oh, come on, Scotland Yard just doesn't want to admit their incompetence!"
"The names Gregson and Lestrade are brilliantly chosen! They sound exactly like those typical, arrogant, and foolish detectives."
…
Similar interpretations quickly spread among the public.
Scotland Yard's statement, in a comical way, added an unprecedented sense of realism and topicality to A Study in Scarlet.
"Even Scotland Yard is debunking rumors, this story must be extraordinary!" became a new reason for many to flock to buy Good Words magazine.
Even readers who were originally uninterested in detective novels developed strong curiosity due to this "official decree."
When Dr. Norman Macleod read this statement, he was first stunned, then couldn't help but burst into laughter.
He immediately instructed his assistant:
"Quick! Frame this statement! This is the best advertisement for us!
Also, tell the printing factory to add a line to the back cover when reprinting:
'This story is purely fictional. If there are any resemblances, please refer to Scotland Yard's latest statement!'"
——————
The frenzy sparked by A Study in Scarlet continued to ferment in the scorching London summer,
Soon, it found a specific outlet — Baker Street.
Initially, readers who were deeply captivated by the novel and itching with curiosity came to Baker Street with a pilgrimage-like mood, searching for the legendary starting point — Baker Street 221B.
But as they walked along the cobblestone street, carefully identifying each house number, from the bustling intersection to the quieter northern section…
Reality hit them hard: the highest house number on Baker Street was 85, and 221B simply did not exist on a real map.
A young lawyer who had come all the way from Kensington closed his notebook in disappointment:
"As expected, it's fictional…"
He had originally planned to sketch 221B, but now he could only return empty-handed.
Similar sighs rose one after another on Baker Street, the initial excitement quickly replaced by disappointment.
"Literature is just literature, after all."
Readers prepared to disperse, disheartened.
However, just as this wave of disappointment began to spread, a turning point appeared.
A sharp-eyed intern reporter from The Daily Chronicle, before leaving, reluctantly surveyed the entire street once more.
His gaze inadvertently fell on the residence numbered "21B."
It was a respectable but unremarkable Georgian-style townhouse.
Just as his eyes lingered, the curtain on a second-floor window moved slightly, and then, a figure flashed past very quickly!
Though it was only for an instant, the outline of that figure was clearly imprinted in the reporter's mind:
Wearing a deerstalker hat, draped in a dark cape, and with a long pipe clenched in his mouth!
It was precisely that iconic silhouette from the cover of Good Words magazine!
The reporter excitedly grabbed his companion's arm, his voice trembling with excitement:
"God! Look! 21B!"
Those around him looked in the direction he pointed, but the window was already empty.
But after his thrilling description, the curiosity that had just subsided was instantly reignited.
"21B! 221B! This is no coincidence!"
"The author slightly altered the address to protect the privacy of this Mr. Detective!"
"Exactly! It must be! Holmes really exists!"
This discovery spread like wildfire.
Some people began to stake out opposite 21B or at the street corner, staring intently at that mysterious window.
Their patience paid off — in the evening, as dusk fell, the figure in the deerstalker hat and cape briefly reappeared at the window.
He seemed to be gazing at the London twilight, then quietly vanished indoors again.
This time, more people saw it.
Even more excitingly, someone managed to knock on the door of 21B, and a widowed old woman who introduced herself as "Mrs. Anderson" appeared at the doorway.
When questioned, her words were evasive; she was unwilling to say much about the tenant but seemed to tacitly acknowledge that the tenant was indeed "special."
This hesitant attitude, in the eyes of the fervent public, was undoubtedly a confirmation of a cover-up.
"Baker Street 21B is the real 221B!"
"Sherlock Holmes really exists!"
These two pieces of news spread across London overnight.
The rumors and Scotland Yard's statement formed a brilliant interplay.
In the public's imagination, the connection couldn't be more obvious:
Precisely because Holmes was a real person and his abilities overshadowed official detectives, they had to seek his help privately, and that's why Scotland Yard would so angrily jump out to deny it, trying to cover up their incompetence and ignorance.
The more the officials debunked the rumors, the more it proved the truth.
Readers and citizens were completely frantic.
Outside Baker Street 21B, hundreds of people gathered from morning till night, craning their necks in anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of the legendary detective's true appearance, even if just a silhouette.
In a short time, Baker Street's traffic became jammed, and the neighbors were thoroughly annoyed.
Some exasperated neighbors tried to clarify, shouting to the onlookers:
"Only an ordinary young man lives in that house!"
"Mrs. Anderson was Mary Jenkins last month!"
"There's no detective at all!"
However, their voices were immediately drowned out by the clamor and doubts of the crowd.
"Hmph, they must be under pressure from the police to spread rumors!"
"Or they're jealous of Mr. Holmes's fame!"
"Protection! They're protecting Mr. Holmes from disturbance!"
People only believe what they want to believe.
Truth seemed so pale and powerless before the collective will of the public.
The media responded to the buzz, and tabloid reporters began staking out Baker Street for long hours, hoping to get first-hand news about this "real detective."
The Daily Chronicle even published an imaginative report titled The Ghost of Baker Street: Does Sherlock Holmes Really Exist?
The article vividly described the eyewitness accounts of readers, attributing the landlady's denial and the neighbors' explanations to "necessary smokescreens to protect the brilliant detective."
The article concluded meaningfully:
[Perhaps, in this rational age, we still need a mysterious detective living deep within London, using his extraordinary wisdom to illuminate the dark corners that we ordinary people cannot perceive.]
The climax of this farce occurred on a drizzly morning.
Arthur Conan Doyle, needing to consult reference materials at the British Museum, tried to slip out the back door of his house.
However, as soon as he turned out of the alley, he was caught squarely by several cunning reporters who had been patiently lying in wait for a long time.
(End of Chapter)