Bohemia out of the lady’s possession. The story makes little sense when closely examined. The king wants the return of a photograph from Irene Adler that he thinks will compromise his forthcoming marriage, while Ms. Adler, who is about to get married herself, would only compromise herself if she showed it to anyone. Had Holmes not been called into the case, the outcome would have been exactly as it transpired anyway.
One wonders what was the point of the story? Could it have been to put aside any suspicions that Holmes is homosexual? We’re told he always refers to Irene Adler as “ the woman,” with the implication that he couldn’t be satisfied with any other woman after his encounter with her. But if we look closely at what attracted him to her, we note some surprising things. First, though Holmes, like all the men around Irene, can’t be immune to her beauty, he is far more taken by the qualities of mind and spirit she displays during his attempt to trick her. She has managed to keep this photograph hidden so well that the king’s agents couldn’t find it when they twice searched her lodgings nor when they waylaid her while she was traveling. So in hiding it she obviously showed considerable imagination. Next, when Holmes tries to frighten her with false fire, she realizes immediately that it must be a trick and that the only person who could have pulled off such a scheme was Mr. Sherlock Holmes, about whom she had been warned. So she also has a large capacity for quick, logical reasoning. Then she disguises herself so that she may follow Holmes and be assured that the wounded parson in her apartment was indeed the dangerous detective. Her remark to him as he enters his building, “Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” is both flirtatious and challenging. None of her plans called for her to take this chance. In fact it’s against her self-interest to give him any inkling that she’s discovered his identity. Holmes might have recognized her, realized she knew of his involvement, and escalated his efforts to retrieve this photo. But sometimes a person’s need for self-expression overrides a narrowly conceived self-interest. Irene’s act announces to Holmes, once he discovers later that it was her voice, that she is just as good at disguises as he is, and just as capable of dramatic gestures.
When we put all these qualities together—imagination, logical thinking, a penchant for disguises and self-revealing dramatic gestures—who do they remind us of? Holmes himself, of course. The woman who for him becomes “ the woman” is, in fact, a female version of himself. While most people are attracted by someone who has the qualities they themselves are missing, making a kind of wholeness through their union, Holmes is moved only by a reflection of his own image. This shows an egotism of no mean scope. But, after all, isn’t that larger-than-life quality what we admire in heroes in the first place?
While we’re noticing deeper self-revealing aspects of “A Scandal in Bohemia,” we might note another instance, on page 187: “All emotions, and that one [love] particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position.” Whatever one may think is the purpose of human life, to be a calculating machine, unmoved by love, is surely not it. This avowal therefore cuts two ways: While it is no doubt intended to Holmes’s credit, at the same time it reduces him. Of course, it isn’t strictly true. Holmes shows emotion in many stories. His judgment about people is tempered by a knowledge of human passions and desires that can only come from introspection. You can’t recognize how these feelings work in other people unless you have understood how they work in you. And in one of the late stories, “The Adventure of the Three Garridebs,” when