SH: Not So Elementary

Alone's what he has, alone keeps him safe,

Though many would try to intrude.

He enjoys simply lying around in a sheet.

He is quiet; when spoken to, rude.

A psychopath? Please! Do you even research?

High functioning sociopath's better.

Clad in Irish wool coat and a dark cashmere scarf,

Travels London no matter the weather.

Mind travels at warp speed, deductions are made,

Truly brilliant! And he's not even taxed.

What must it be like, not being him?

You all must be very relaxed.

Their vacant eyes stare while his icy ones gleam,

They sleep while his blazing mind's roaring.

What is it like in their funny little brains?

Really, it must be quite boring.

Deriving such pleasure in good, hearty murders.

A serial killer? How fun!

He may be engaged on the side of the angels,

But don't think for a moment he's one.

Boredom is torture, his hungry mind craves

A riddle, a puzzle to solve.

He sulks in his Derek Rose silk dressing gown,

Wait; what? Round the sun Earth revolves?

Consulting detective—invented the job—

Having friends is a crutch for the weak.

Tall, dark, and foreboding, he strides in his suit,

Emanating detective mystique.

His eyes scan for clues, his collar upturned,

He sees how the murders are linked.

And yet his whole life centers 'round one great question:

Why cannot people just think?

A/N: Dear readers,

First of all, thank you so very much for reading my little poem! I do hope you enjoyed it. I certainly enjoyed writing it. This is, as you have likely guessed, centered around BBC's Sherlock, with the priceless Benedict Cumberbatch. Please review; I appreciate any thoughts you might have on the poem, or Sherlock itself!

I remain your faithful,

Ponygirl7