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In the late summer of 1887, I became increasingly worried about the physical condition of my friend Sherlock Holmes. He is always in a state of deep thought, endlessly consuming the energy in his body. His body is like a taut string, almost never relaxing, and it is difficult to recover. Although he was born with strong bones and muscles, he was still deteriorating. At the beginning of the year, he was overwhelmed and fell ill. The best way to recover is to leave Becker Street and stay away from those who call for help. One day, I was reading the popular Boswell work-"The Biography of Johnson", a description of Dr. Johnson's travels to the Hebrides in the Scottish Highlands. The scene of looking up at the vast sky and the primitive and desolate feeling fascinated me. So I tried my best to encourage Holmes to imitate the literati and poets of the 18th century and get drunk among the mountains and rivers. Holmes replied calmly that if he wanted to travel, he had to go to dry land.