Sometimes I hear your violin,

echo through the flat.

It makes me smile for a bit,

as I wonder where you're at.

I see the deerstalker on the floor,

laugh at how much you hated the hat.

Sitting in my chair, I look over

picture you still across, us having a chat.

I wouldn't mind if we fought,

I miss our daily spats.

I just miss you so much,

ever since you fell and went splat.

But now you're just an echo in my head,

helps me with the cases, as Lestrade calls me your copycat.

All I want is for you to not be dead,

but now you're just an echo, and that's that.