Prompt from Michael JG Meathook: Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler, Wiggins, or/and other characters become obsessed with a new type of game Watson invented; a "role-playing game."

Role Play

Christmas Day in Baker Street, Watson's turn to choose a game;

They've found the thimble, played charades, Holmes pinned the donkey's tail...poor aim.

He thinks a moment, finds some paper, grins and writes a little list,

Then turns to each invited guest, he has a plan they can't resist.

A hat, the paper torn in strips, each person picks a fragment blind;

Then has to act in every way just like whichever name they find.

The winner is whoever stays in character the longest time;

From Doctor through Irregular, to dark Napoleon of crime.

~0~

Excitement and amusement as they unfold paper, check their choice;

Wiggins is the first to speak, in high and somewhat screeching voice;

He's Irene Adler, opera singer; match for Holmes; adventuress.

Lestrade is Mrs Hudson, mimics tone and stance with some success.

Holmes becomes a streetwise urchin, loses years before their eyes;

Mrs Hudson makes a scary Moriarty, no surprise.

Irene Adler channels Holmes, with hawklike gaze and smoking pipe

And Watson's now a Scotland Yarder, ferret like, the quiet type.

~0~

Arthur is a proud physician, borrows props from Gladstone bag;

Game continues on through dinner, Watson is the first to flag;

He sits to watch the rest performing; Irene wreathed in clouds of smoke;

Holmes now barefoot, clothes in tatters, doffing cap at decent folk.

Wiggins sings in shrill soprano, Mrs Hudson scowls, aloof;

Outside on a glittering nest, a magpie watches from the roof.

Lestrade is tasked to clear the table, set the service out for tea;

Calls for help from "Moriarty", loses game, immediately...

~0~

Mrs Hudson tries reacting like a criminal mastermind,

But alas, her kitchen needs her, role is done, she shrugs, resigned.

Holmes picks Irene Adler's pocket, Wiggins sings a solo song;

Irene Adler burns the curtains, Arthur gets prescriptions wrong,

He's lost , but Watson smiles at him, then at Lestrade, they tiptoe out;

Settle in the cosy kitchen, fresh baked goods lie all about.

A wine glass each, a warm mince pie, a toast to those, so sadly gone;

While upstairs in the parlour, three performers carry on and on...

~0~