John is a conductor of light,
Sherlock a brightly focused beam,
too bright for some who live in darkness.
Most people are blocks of glass,
dull, translucent people who Sherlock can see right through.
They only slightly alter his path to the truth, the beam set back on course after passing through without incident,
or in Anderson's case, reflect him right off with opaque stupidity.
But John, oh John,
he is a prism.
Seemingly just as simple as the rest of the boring population,
but the war had chipped his sides,
the dead and the dying and his wounds on the battlefield wearing him away, shaping him into the obtuse triangular form that he is,
not quite fitting in with society but certainly of similar stock,
far more normal than Sherlock's ilk.
Oh, but shine that bright light through that battered block, and you get a kaleidoscopic rainbow of shattered light and colour
allowing the beam to truly shine in a way that everybody can appreciate.
So was the case with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.