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Daisy Marrow Dec 2013
Someday your pain
will be beneath you.
Someday you'll see
that all that crying
bloomed flowers
under your feet.

When the sun rises,
I'll see you across the room.
It's been years since I've disappeared
but I did it all to protect you.
Keep you safe from the dark
that follows you and
tries to hurt you.

I ran into the darkness for you,
this was my plan
and now I've returned from the black for anew,
and I owe you a thousand apologies
In the morning,
I'll approach you.
It's been three years.
The story has ended
and I have shed my own tears.

"Don't apologize to me."
Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Sherlock BBC
Daisy Marrow Jan 2014
You were once the greatest thing that ever happened to me
and now you are just thrown in the back of my mind.
Now you're just scattered memories.
I was always afraid of changing.
I was never made to do this because
my life revolved around you.
But life does keep going.

As you decide to jump off this runaway train,
leaving me in the dust left to rust.
Leaving these grounds to become a beautiful flaming light in the darkness.
Every night I would look into the sky and talk to you,
telling you that life does keep going on
but it's making me sick, love.

But in the morning I will awake and rise from the ground
not knowing how to walk properly again.
But I'll find enough strength to walk to your resting place
and find peace in it and slow down in this race.

But I gave you all I had
and now I have nothing left to hold
I took all my love and spread it across your wild footprints
and grave, like ashes, to let it sink down into you once again.

We all get older.
We all lose things.
Life doesn't stop
and I have never
felt more alone,
but time continues
and the days go on.
But not a day goes by that I forget you
because I never dreamed of meeting someone like you,
but now you're just a memory
in the back of my mind.

Oh, the tragedy I have seen,
leaving my eyes burnt out.
"Please don't be dead."
I repeat countless times to your stone,
to the sky, to the heavenly stars that shine so bright
leaving the darkness in the pity shadows.
"Do this for me please."
"Just one more miracle."
Sherlock & John Watson
Sherlock BBC
Daisy Marrow Aug 2013
Once I was a king loathed by my kingdom.
I was a machine built from the toughest iron nothing could break through.
I left my emotions to rust in the rain and murdered them in the cold night.
But I let my ego hold my strings and now I can't even treat a human right.
I meet a manic on the south side of town.
With a cane in hand and his mind locked in a birdcage since the war.
He was a maniac for trusting me and loving me and all my iron core.
I don't believe his tales for,
he is dead on the inside.
Departed from his heart,
He says he feels more alive this way.
With a cigarette in my hand, I hope for his life to never feel alone again.
Sherlock BBC
Sherlock/John
2013
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
Saying “Women of the Night”
Might be alright
As a description for some girls,
They stream eastward
Along the bank,
Checking for marauders and adjusting curls.

Yet courtesans are different;
They came as swiftly as they went,
Called on by important men.
From house and hotel they are borne,
In carriages, and in finery worn,
For those who have a yen.

Yet others still elude one name,
Of condemnation or fame.
They do not wander at men’s whims.
They deliver terms to him or him.
And live in dwellings finer still,
Until the payer has had his fill.

But with the latter does he ever
Tire of the source of pleasure?

For some the need outlasts his want,
And he becomes the supplicant!
Then woman’s wit becomes the master,
While her body wields a whip.
The sinner’s desire speeds still faster,
As she the body’s scales does tip.
This was an attempt to fuse Galsworthy's view of Victorian "women of the night" versus the updated version of Irene Adler as a ******* in the BBC's "Sherlock".
Vale Luna Aug 2017
Maintain a distance
Of at least three feet
Cuz a close encounter
Is more bitter than sweet

Just one step too close
And she's inside your head
Just one step too close
And soon you'll be dead

She'll make you believe
That she can help you
That whatever you want
Is what she wants too

But once she's inside
Her wicked voice rings
By then, you're enslaved
To do her bidding

Her thoughts are inhuman
She doesn't feel pain
She's clearly unmatched
When it comes to the brain

But please don't be tricked
By her dark mind games
What she's trying to do
Is drive you insane

Who is she, you ask?
She's the east wind that blows
Well haven't you guessed?
Her name is Eurus.
For all the BBC Sherlock fans!
Emily Austin Aug 2017
To watch or not to watch.
That is the question;whether it is nobler in my mind to suffer the feels and emotions of addicting shows and yet be so in love with them.
To watch, to cry.
One more episode and only sleep will help me to end.
The heartache and the thousand cinematic shocks the writers are obsessed with.
‘tis a consuming world with everything I wish.
To watch, to cry. To cry-- perhaps too much. Ay, but it's worth it.
For, when watching these shows and knowing what feels may come, when we have shuffled off this depressing factor, we must not forget the humor that makes happiness last oh so long.
To watch characters travel the depths of space and time.
The detectives prove wrong the proud men and even the relationships and love ‘tween the main protagonists.
The insolence of the hiatus that even patient fangirls cannot take. When we go on great adventures with a hobbit and a ring. Who could bear the long wait? To punt a sweat is a weary life. To discover world's unknown from books or shows. We travellers never want to return.
Our fangirl hearts burn and even still
We would rather bear the tears we have Than live in a world where there are none.  Thus Fangirls are not cowards, not at all
Thus we are heroes so very proud
So we proudly say take flight on the enterprise with Captain Jean Luc
We bare our lights sabers alight
And lose ourselves in the action
Go we now happy as could be-- off to fangirl forever 
To be normal? Ha! Never.
I forgot I had written this, so enjoy!
Anshula Nema Dec 2016
Remember the time,
When you stood right behind me,
Watching me enjoy the limelight.
The time when I acted ******,
But you brought the right words to my sight.
The time when I refused to work,
But you kept pushing me to do so.
The time when I had given up on myself,
But with those harsh and emotionless lines you made me believe in who I was.
The time when everyone left,
But you stayed.
The time when I kept arguing over wrong statements,
And when you knew how to counter me with the right one.
All this time long,
You stayed and believed.
Maybe we never realised,
Maybe we never knew.
But this world had these two kinds,
Sherlock and Watson.
Each one searching for the other,
Sherlock's searching for Watson,
Watson's searching for Sherlock,
Maybe they are fine alone,
But maybe they are best when together.
Maybe a Sherlock would have never enjoyed the limelight,
Maybe he would have given up on himself way earlier,
Maybe he would have not been he.
But then Watson made it all happen.
Maybe that is how it works.
*Maybe one day we'll find our Sherlock,
Or maybe one day a Watson would find us.
Roopali Arora Feb 2016
Too thrilled by the case,
Sherlock just disappears,
To begin with a chase,
John is let alone,
To get a cab, and go to Baker St. .
But wait- wherever he goes,
The telephone booth starts ringing!
He waits for somebody to pick up,
And continues to walk;
The third booth starts ringing,
The caller must be desperate to talk.
A black, shiny car,
Pulls over for John to ride,
The destination seemed far,
In this conversation-less hour.
"Anthea", answered the accompanying secretary,
When asked her name,
Fake it was,
Absolutely.

The anxiety was over,
John was confronted by a well-dressed man,
Who offered him money, to spy,
The guy, who deduced Watson's army background,
By his tan.
The "arch-enemy" of Sherlock,
As he introduced himself,
Told John about his psychosomatic disorder,
"You are back in the game,
You don't fear danger,
You've missed this lifestyle."
True it was,
Pretty much,
"Could be dangerous", wrote Sherlock,
And there he was dashing into 221B.


Sherlock was quite disappointed,
When he got to know about the declination,
Of that tempting offer,
"Pity, we could've split the fee",
He suggested John for the next time.
Isn't Mr. Holmes quite irksome,
Calling John from the other end of London,
Just to send a text?
No, this was not an ordinary text,
An SMS was just sent,
By Mr. Watson's phone,
To the murderer.

The murderer?
But why?!
Elementary for SH.
Found the case within an hour,
Which was now in front him.
His mind, is truly above par!
One thing missing from the suitcase:
Her organizer, her phone.
"Nah, she's is a clever woman,
A serial adulterer,
Would never leave her phone at hotel",
This Holmes said, backed by balance of probability.

They waited at a restaurant,
And the wait was long,
But worth it.
Had to chase a taxi,
which was done successfully,
Thanks to Sherlock's excellent memory.
Hence proved it was,
The psychosomatic limb of Doctor.

A drugs bust had occurred at their place,
Seriously, this man, a deduction ******, would have drugs?
"I'm not a psychopath Anderson,
I'm a high functioning sociopath,
Do your research!"
Snapped Mr. Punchline.
Just a couple of minutes later,
This brilliant sleuth realized-
"Rachel! Yes, Rachel!
This woman in pink, Jennifer,
Is clever,
And she's dead!",
much to Mr. Holmes's displeasure.
This is getting longer and longer...
Roopali Arora Jan 2016
Sherlock is indebted, forever;
To Mike,
For he made it possible for Holmes,
To meet the (only) friend of his life.
Oh look at John,
How baffled he was,
For he had just met a man,
About him, who knew all.
The army doctor thing, the Afghanistan war,
And that his sibling was alcoholic,
About this Sherlock was sure.

Without a word about himself,
Just the name and address,
Holmes went away,
Leaving John, with many questions,
And their answers for him to guess.

A ***** flat mate, he was, a bit rude
Sherlock, you know;
Mrs. Hudson was nicer,
But not their housekeeper!
Apparently, SH would play violin to think,
Knew it was DI Lestrade at the door,
And there was another ******,
Including this one, counting to four,
Without a hint.

The crime scene was sealed,
Under supervision of Donovan,
And according to Sherlock,
There was something going on,
Between her,
And Anderson.

A woman was dead,
Wore everything in pink,
Holmes deduced her marriage state,
Just by her ring!
He slammed the door at Anderson,
For he (SH) found him irritating.
Rache is not for revenge”, Holmes said,
“She was writing Rachel, obviously”.
Left-handed she was,
And was carrying a suitcase,
But as Lestrade said,
There was never a case.

Mr. Holmes was so excited then,
He teased others to be ******,
Watson helped him make a point,
In order to find the criminal,
But Holmes believed,
The pink case was the cupid.
SH means Sherlock Holmes; I used it because he signs off that way.
Ah, this one is going to be very long... You see, I have covered only one-third of the episode, and it has already become so long. So, I have decided to write it in parts. Nobody likes to read long poems, eh?
Writing this, I realized when you write a poem without a planned idea, it is much easier than what you write when you are given the idea. You have to steer it that way. And to rhyme- that becomes sort of a challenge...
Laterzz!
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