The Game is Afoot

I

I wish I could be you for but a day.

Your way of seeing things that others miss.

How I envy your solitary way.

Your methods used to catch your nemesis.

Is that a false nose I see before me?

No, perhaps it is simply a disguise.

Elementary, my dear is the key,

Such hair-brain schemes which seem to make you wise.

Bricks cannot be made without holding clay,

Thus is the way with the clues of foul crimes.

The need is there for clues to find your way,

Like all others you are a slave to time.

There is but one thing further, a strange fact...

Sherlock Holmes, why on earth were you named that?

II

We see through your eyes in our novel dreams,

And yet this might be your goal to trick us.

Day in and day out dealing with his schemes,

Are you a saint to deal with such a fuss?

You say trust me, I am a physician,

But then you are knocking them unconscious.

Your ready wit and to see suspicion,

Are ways to deal with your troubled conscience.

A more steadfast cohort there never was,

So sure is the manor by which you live.

It must be so taxing to you because,

Witty remarks you so willingly give.

Though you are both in many a dense tryst,

It is the price you pay, novelist.

-Courtney