There he sits, John Watson in his chair,
The twisted lies of this world he can no longer bear.
He waits and waits and waits while time passes by,
But he remembers only now, his friend's
attempt
to
fly.
Still the world turns on, oblivious to his pain,
But still, John sits, for he has nothing more to gain.
Sherlock Holmes' spirit has passed through the veil,
And now in John's life, only darkness will prevail.