Eh... I dunno. Due to my friends recent limericks in my Creative Writing class and my steadily growing Holmes obsession (I fear it just may kill me soon) I produced this bit of drivel you see before you. I'm no poet, I'll say that outright, and I am not so nearly familiar with the Holmesian Universe as you veterans are, but I do try. And such. So I hope you like it, but if you find you're quite dissatisfied, then I offer you my apologies. :
I was bored and had Holmes and Watson on the mind. I blame my Literature of Mystery and Horror Class and too many hours oggling at Jeremy Brett and David Burke/Edward Harwicke...
Huh.
--You Float My Boat
REVISION: Fix'd that pesky first line. Thanks for the critique and welcome, all!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes of Doctor John Watson. They are the property of one Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And not mine. Blast.
There was a consulting detective
Whose moods could seem strangely subjective
But we readers know all's well
When he's with his Boswell
Instead of his favored elective