I have always wanted to believe that Holmes came by his knowledge through experience and experimentation rather than simply sitting in his study by the fire, wrapped in a smoking jacket, puffing on his pipe.
Downs’ Holmes is rumpled and frequently in desperate need of a shower and a shave. His rooms are clearly losing the entropy battle, although I am sure that there should be no doubt that their inhabitant knows where everything is. The dressing gown in which he shrouds himself is a thing of beauty – almost a character unto itself. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that it is being held together by duct tape.