The Fall

by icearrows1200

A small poem describing the moments up to Sherlock's supposed death, and summarizing society's thoughts about the world's only Consulting Detective. My first shot at a poem. R&R, please!

The Fall

Hubris held his intellect,

A shadowed life he chose to erect.

Could it be the entirety was a sham,

Faked his career, and from the limelight away he swam?

Modesty a virtue never held,

To degrade the rest- of his ego should propel.

Manifest oblivion of the publics' secluded mind,

Onto nothing he held, willing to leave it behind.

Psychotic actions left them all to ponder,

"What else has he done? His actions make me wonder."

Reputation's soft neck slit in a simple lash,

No resistance- in the water he drowned without a regarded thrash.

On a titanic building now he stood,

Looking down to where his doom's rest should.

In a step and flash it all would be gone,

His last words being, "Goodbye, John."

A/N: My first attempt at Sherlock, and poetry. Review :)