Sherlock Holmes rises slowly, unfolding to his great height like some strangely jointed scarecrow.

"My dear Giles, magic is, quite simply, a nonentity. There is nothing within that book that does not conform to modern science in some manner, whether currently known or as of yet undiscovered. I can assure you that this is, and will remain, the case."

"Of course, should I be proven wrong..."

He laughs lightly--a small chuckle, nothing more.

"...you will, I ask, instruct me as to my error."