This is for the lack of a better phrase, forma-crack. But I wondered what if Lestrade had an unrequited love for our favourite detective and happened to write poetry. The result is below.
Maybe
Maybe it's because all I offer you is death.
Dark, macabre and dangerous,
All that only you could call beautiful,
My black knight,
My coincidental avenging angel.
Maybe it's because I offer you
Blood and decay, puzzles and
the tragedies of humanity-
That which you know so well,
That you find it easy to turn away
Into the arms of a man who offers
such light.
A man brilliant and simple
For all his murky depths.
A man who I envy and yet attracts even me,
Who can quell your savagery
Even as he meets it
And give you honest love.
It breaks my heart but I know
The reason you won't choose me
Is because my name is not John.