In these realms where your gaze lingers, they lie still,
like moss upon ancient seats—what minds dare to welcome
the defeat of a heart, or a soul that invents sweetness?

As her gown unfurls, caressed by the winds of passion,
oh, the trance of a lover newly discovered! Their skins meld
into one, basking in the bliss of a honeymoon beneath the
tender glow of their first moons after their wedding night.

Does time not twist and turn, restless only for those
who toss and turn each night- restless; stranded on the wrong
side of rest? Yet, a new day must grace our faces with its luscious
cherry lips, refusing to relent in casting a foolish brightness
upon our kind, igniting our eyes with its relentless glow.

Oh, would you not yearn to be the lover of the sun; to reflect
its anguish through a pure, innocent light? Your form shrouded
by the gown of clouds, oh sweet beloved—what joy it is to behold
you as you truly are, unadorned this night!

~~~~~Spoilers Ahead~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Didn’t know SH was so amazing,
A second degree mind palace,
He was keeping.
What we watched in an hour,
And were perplexed by, for days,
Had taken place in his mind,
In mere 300 seconds!

Baffled with the news of return of Moriarty,
He decides to solve a similar case,
That had occurred 120 years ago.
He recreates his whole life,
Complete,
With *Irene’s photograph,
In his pocket watch.
Fits all the pieces in 1895,
All,
Including John’s witty wife,

Then enters the ‘cleverer one’,
And fatter this time,
Having already made a theory,
He asks Sherlock to do the leg-work,
Because Mycroft himself is busy,
Trying to beat his little brother.
The game is afoot again,
All in Sherlock’s complex brain,
He exposes the truth,
Of Mrs. Ricoletti’s death,
Just as he was about to know about Moriarty’s,
He’s is woken by his friend.

But he goes back again,
To complete the story.
To solve the mystery,
He goes to the Falls,
To again finish the problem,
The final problem.
But this time John interrupts,
In 1895,
And kicks Moriarty off the cliff,
To let Mr. Holmes happily, alone,
Complete the fall.
Now he returns to the present,
With a smile conveying I-know-it-all,
And he does know all about the villain,
His death, his plans,
*And the rest.

The angels must have smiled
When your little fingers fluttered
Open like delighted sunflower petals
Upon your mother's tears and
Your father's joy in the curve of
His mouth. They must have.
For I surely would have.

You are the umbrella to rain
You are the soft wind in a summer day
You are the relief to my pain
You are the blanket to the cold
You are the hand to hold when
everything slips
You are the book that stays open
for those who would want to dream more.

Fate is beyond us but friendship
is truly magical right?
I'd let the threads of time weave
some more, some more.
Until the day it fulfills a beautiful story
of friendship fated, friendship kept.