I wrote this poem in reply to a poem written by prismplay.

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Holmes, Watson, or any other character originally created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Goodbye, Mr. Holmes

As you pack up your bags

and gather up your belongings

As you hang up your hat

and retire to the life of beekeepings

We want to thank you, Mr. Holmes,

for those good old glorious days

So with a sadden heart we watch

you and Watson go your seperate ways

Flashing in your minds the pictures

of how you and Watson firs met

a day, we are all sure,

neither of you will ever regret.

Oh, here's the old watch that Watson

challenged you with that Fall

and led to that thrilling case

of Mary Morstan and Johnny Small

Here are those letters

written by Watson from Baskerville

Here's a picture of Ms. Adler

wonder if she remember you still?

Sitting down for the last time

on the old familiar arm chair

wishing Watson's on the other side, like

old times, you and him, the infamous pair

The room's now empty and bare

no more bullet holes or chemical stall

gone with those crime volumes on the shelves

also the persian slipper hanging on the wall

Even outside the old window

Old Baker Street isn't the same

We can't utter the embarrasments

and can only cry in shame

Rubber tires now cover the dirt

instead of galloping hoofs on the road

Aren't you glad, Mr. Holmes,

to shed this weary load?

Is it a hassel, is it a burden

to help fight against crime?

Though no one remebers, you are

forever immortalized in Time.

Remember to thank Mrs Hudson

before you bid your farewell

She played an important role, too,

,Mr. Holmes, can't you tell?

Remeber how she tolerate

your every perk and whim

Also, Mr. Holmes, don't forget Stamford

don't forget to thank him

Though he played a little part

but when all is said and done

It was little old he who

introduce you to Watson.

This and other poems that I write, wrote, or will ever be written are inspired by this beautiful poem written by Molly Hillick in the book "The New Adventure of Sherlock Holmes"

221B

Coins of ours can never ransom

Years now, Prisoner to Time

Roar the bus, where once the hansom

Trotted on the trial of Crime

No more now a Stravadarius

Played by fingers long and fleet

Sound the dirge of plan nefarious

Foiled by him of Baker Street

Could we with an eye clairvoyant

See the dear remembered door

Which, with trembling, many a client

Fair or famous, stood before

Here it was that Roylott forced an

Entry like some savage bear

Here bright eyes of Mary Morstan

Fell to Watson ardent stare

It was a time restoring charter

Granted by the grace of Heaven

Who would not this tired age barter

For a night of 'eighty seven

When as fog through pane and curtain

Softly grays come creeping in

Wise-immortal-Strange and certain

Sherlock plays his violin.