221B Baker Street

The game’s afoot, my dear Watson!’ he cried
Sprung from his chair and clapped his hands
Oh the joy on his face when someone died
He’s wasn’t wicked, just plain childish at times.

Of course, I was expected to join his ‘game’
I watched him retrieve his coat and deerstalker.
“Come with me Watson, the key to my fame,
So you can write it all down for the public!”

This friend was always cynical of my writing,
Cynical of everything as nothing parred
With his exceptional line of thinking.
I copped a lot of his ridiculous insults.

Oh but the things we used to say behind
The back of the sallow, rat-faced Lestrade!
He still doesn’t know, hope he doesn’t mind,
The way my friend and I mocked his profession.

How fond I was of my companion. 
My dear friend, I didn’t expect to be lead here by my feet.
The seventeen steps to my past adventures.
I am standing right here, right now.
I have come back, Sherlock, to 221B Baker Street,
For the last time.

A solo tear.

(c) WalnutProphecy.deviantart.com