Kid detectives are cool. The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Encyclopedia Brown. Cool. Cool. Cool. What I love about them is that their cases tend to have a more fantastic or mystical air about them. It fits their M.O. that they tend to solve mysteries overlooked by adults. They play (and work) in a worldview we rationalize, normalize and often fail to realize.
Above is Sherlock Jones (great, great grand-nephew of the infamous Robert Holmes, Sherlock Holmes’ second cousin) and his pal, Burt. I imagine that in the scene above, Sherly (his unfortunate nickname) is proclaiming that he just found a clue. “A hair, possibly Native American in origin by the texture and color,” he’d be proclaiming. “Perhaps it belongs to the person imitating the ghost of the legendary Tomahawk Greatwind, who’s treasure is rumored to be buried in these caverns.” Meanwhile Burt would be speechless in terror. “Hey, Burt,” he’d continue. “Shine your flashlight over here so I can get a closer look. Perfect. Thanks.”