Okay, so I don't really think John Watson is a poet. But if he was, he might have written something like this...
Spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall
(BBC Sherlock is not mine, haha.)
Every Morning I Wake Up And Expect You To Still Be Here
But you aren't
You won't ever be
Not ever again
They told me you were dead
Told me lies to my face like I wouldn't understand
Like a child
Like they thought
I would ever believe
Yeah right
You could never be dead
I hate them
Their lying eyes
Their lying smiles
Painted on tears
I can still see the grin underneath
No amount of makeup will hide
They're happy
Happy because they think
you are dead
You aren't dead
You can't be dead
You're too real
to be dead
Real people don't die
Other people die
So I walk in
Expecting you at dinner
At tea
At all
I went to the grave
Because I knew you weren't dead
couldn't be dead
They had carved your name into stone
Like they do for those gone
And for a moment
I almost believed
You were dead
But you can't be dead
Because you're too real
Too real to be dead
So please
please
don't
be
dead
