Sherlock in Verse - Study in Pink pt.2
( Part 1)
He sits up that night armed with Google
And his head’s telling him: run a mile
Sherlock Holmes has a very odd website
John updates his blog with a smile
The next day they meet on the doorstep
Of the house that might become their home
And John shakes the hand of the madman
And steps in and into the unknown
The landlady’s batty but harmless
(Mrs Hudson) and all of a-flutter
The flat itself’s really quite pleasant
At least, underneath all of the clutter
There’s mess on every single surface
And - Christ, is that really a skull?!
John’s not quite sure yet who this man is
But he’s sure things aren’t going to be dull
He tells him he looked at his website
Sherlock smirks down at him, quite amused
“Well, what did you think?” he inquires
John just shrugs and Sherlock looks confused
He starts rattling off facts about him
Almost as though he’s offering up proof
When John asks him “How?” he just raises a brow
And then turns away, looking aloof
“Ooh, so what about all of these suicides?”
Mrs Hudson quavers from the door
“It’s just your cup of tea - there’s already been three!”
Sherlock glances outside: “Make that four.”
There’s footfalls outside on the stairway
A man rushes in, looking worried
“Will you come?” he requests; Sherlock’s nodding
Though he seems absolutely unhurried
His nonchalance lasts til the moment
That the man’s disappeared out the door
Wher’pon Sherlock lets out a most jubilant shout
And then jumps up and down on the floor
“Four serial deaths, it’s like Christmas!
And on top of it all, now a note!
Mrs Hudson, I’m heading on over -
Now, has anybody seen my coat?”
He’s gone in a whirling of coat-tails -
You can’t deny that he’s got flair -
John’s left with his leg and his landlady
In a forlorn and decrepit armchair
He finds himself suddenly jealous
Though he’s normally not one to gripe
Mrs Hudson bears brunt of his disgruntlement
When she says he’s the “sitting down type”
It’s out before he can quite check it
A yell of frustration and shame
“Damn my leg!” he retorts, choked with self-loathing thoughts
And sick-tired of being bloody lame
On top of it all, there’s the knowledge
That he’s lucky to just not be dead
Not have been killed- oh, it’s survivor’s guilt
But that won’t stop the thoughts in his head
Sherlock appears back in the doorway
Moving quieter than anyone should
“You’re a doctor”, he says, more a statement
than question. And then, “Are you any good?”
“Very,” John says with conviction
(If there’s one thing he’s sure of it’s this.
He’s earnt that distinction with screaming
and with blood sweat and vomit and piss.)
“So you’ve seen lots of injuries then?
Violent deaths, I mean, that sort of thing?”
Sherlock’s voice is tainted with darkness
His expression, at best, worrying
“Some trouble too, then, I’d imagine?”
John only wishes it’d been less
Oh, that damnable war! - “Want to see some more?”
And John opens his mouth: “Oh God, yes.”
He sits up that night armed with Google
And his head’s telling him: run a mile
Sherlock Holmes has a very odd website
John updates his blog with a smile
The next day they meet on the doorstep
Of the house that might become their home
And John shakes the hand of the madman
And steps in and into the unknown
The landlady’s batty but harmless
(Mrs Hudson) and all of a-flutter
The flat itself’s really quite pleasant
At least, underneath all of the clutter
There’s mess on every single surface
And - Christ, is that really a skull?!
John’s not quite sure yet who this man is
But he’s sure things aren’t going to be dull
He tells him he looked at his website
Sherlock smirks down at him, quite amused
“Well, what did you think?” he inquires
John just shrugs and Sherlock looks confused
He starts rattling off facts about him
Almost as though he’s offering up proof
When John asks him “How?” he just raises a brow
And then turns away, looking aloof
“Ooh, so what about all of these suicides?”
Mrs Hudson quavers from the door
“It’s just your cup of tea - there’s already been three!”
Sherlock glances outside: “Make that four.”
There’s footfalls outside on the stairway
A man rushes in, looking worried
“Will you come?” he requests; Sherlock’s nodding
Though he seems absolutely unhurried
His nonchalance lasts til the moment
That the man’s disappeared out the door
Wher’pon Sherlock lets out a most jubilant shout
And then jumps up and down on the floor
“Four serial deaths, it’s like Christmas!
And on top of it all, now a note!
Mrs Hudson, I’m heading on over -
Now, has anybody seen my coat?”
He’s gone in a whirling of coat-tails -
You can’t deny that he’s got flair -
John’s left with his leg and his landlady
In a forlorn and decrepit armchair
He finds himself suddenly jealous
Though he’s normally not one to gripe
Mrs Hudson bears brunt of his disgruntlement
When she says he’s the “sitting down type”
It’s out before he can quite check it
A yell of frustration and shame
“Damn my leg!” he retorts, choked with self-loathing thoughts
And sick-tired of being bloody lame
On top of it all, there’s the knowledge
That he’s lucky to just not be dead
Not have been killed- oh, it’s survivor’s guilt
But that won’t stop the thoughts in his head
Sherlock appears back in the doorway
Moving quieter than anyone should
“You’re a doctor”, he says, more a statement
than question. And then, “Are you any good?”
“Very,” John says with conviction
(If there’s one thing he’s sure of it’s this.
He’s earnt that distinction with screaming
and with blood sweat and vomit and piss.)
“So you’ve seen lots of injuries then?
Violent deaths, I mean, that sort of thing?”
Sherlock’s voice is tainted with darkness
His expression, at best, worrying
“Some trouble too, then, I’d imagine?”
John only wishes it’d been less
Oh, that damnable war! - “Want to see some more?”
And John opens his mouth: “Oh God, yes.”