Consultants at Odds

by alice indigo opal

Ah! At long last, our hero has returned, John has found happiness, and a new villain has come and gone. And oh! Mr. Jim Moriarty begs to be remembered. A small poem chronicling several events occurring everywhere from the ending of TRF and all the way up to the very end of HLV. An absolute pleasure to write, but be warned of slight despair within. Standalone, complete.

Ah! Here we are again. Well. This is something of a favourite of mine. This picks up where The Riechenbach Fall left off and skims season three. So be warned of spoilers. Sorry.

---

So feverishly alive,
With London far below,
Our hero carefully dawned
His angelic, barbed halo.

A rooftop made of nightmares
And comprehension and dust,
The hospital was made a weapon
From actions less than just.

"John, I'm a lie.
"John, it's all true!
"John, here's a note
"Of goodbye for you."

His friends were at stake;
He had not a choice.
A gun at each brain,
Lies lit in his voice.

While one looked up,
And the other looked down,
One was tossed aside,
Stripped of his crown.

They were blind to his sacrifice,
And knew only the lies.
They were barely aware
Of the dreary, grey skies.

And John was so patient,
Just sitting right there.
He stared at the grin
From his favourite arm chair.

The smile with holes
In the wall for its eyes.
Its yellow smirk eclipsed
Dozens of lies.

He met Mary Morstan,
Whom he wishes to wed.
She's a liar by trade,
And caught in her web.

But now the hero is back!
And John let him have it.
(Mustaches included,
Let's not make it a habit.)

But following return and festivity
Is a thickening plot and the King.
The absent archivist is dwarfed
When compared to this charming thing:

He's returned to his throne,
Somehow alive,
And wants to get Sherlock;
They both must contrive.

Consultants at odds,
With threats over tea.
Both brilliant sociopaths.
Did you miss me?

---

Thank you.