Lestrade Solves the Case…

Lestrade Solves the Case

 

I’m Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street; I like my cases clear and neat.

My friend Lestrade of Scotland Yard, by contrast, makes his casework hard.

Just why this is seems to perplex; for we both witness self-same facts.

The difference is that I observe, all that I view… and so the curve

Away from quick Lestrade, whose statements bold, are without benefit of cold

Hard evidence…which he then retracts, to start again to puzzle facts.

 

I, you see, have cautioned nerve, employed my wits until I’ve heard

Or seen, or smelled, or touched the crime; the answer comes in its due time.

I deduce what I have seen, for then complexity comes clean.

Lestrade confounded, yet with verve, asserts my methods nothing serve.

He says I’m acting magical, with answers from a wishing well.

Yet I dispute such claims of aid, from other worlds, which some have made.

 

Consider if you will now then, a case I worked for Robert Glenn.

Once Glenn did on a channel crossing, fall prey to a card sharp’s fleecing.

Thus robbed he’d ne’er hope to wed fair Laurie from The Hall, Hampstead.

A marked card cost Glenn all his wealth, and worry afterward for his health.

I’d face the card sharp in his lair; disguise myself as dimwit rare.

I’d chance a game and ask Lestrade, to watch the shameless thief and cad.

With but a single painted dot, I deduced the scoundrel’s plot.

Caught, he confessed a scheme most base, and so Lestrade did end the case.

Glenn received each penny back, and thanked us for our ruse and tact.

Clues occur in trifles which can never be discounted,

For ounces lost in detection, return as problems weighed as mountains.

Why did the bell cord hang unused, when deadly danger had ensued?

What meant the red-haired man who penned encyclopedic clues on end?

Perhaps a wizard might prevail to explain the werewolf tale?

Who cares for ashes, silk, or combs? I do, for I’m Sherlock Holmes.

 

All clues are there for all to see; they’re obvious to you and me.

Yet I alone deduce their truth, thus modestly prefer to sleuth

Without the help of hide-bound rules, whose errands are but made for fools.

 

For though all see, not all observe; and with my skills, I touch a nerve

‘Gainst well-wrought crimes which were so planned, to flummox and confuse each man

Dispatched to solve the crimes and twists. Example: Moriarity.

Now he’s a scoundrel, most agree, who confounds all legality.

They catch him not, so come to me, the highest court of detection.

 

Nay, not for nothing have I labored, ceaseless in my own endeavors

Science, testing, lists and proofs, must come first…I seem aloof.

But better to be thought a fool, who keeps his counsel, wise and cool

Than add more to crime’s consternation, with false or witless accusation.

 

There’s no such thing as clue too small, or plot so thick, or rumors tall

Which cause a case to stymie me, for I have mastered crime, you see.

My secret is for all to view, for you, with patience, can solve, too.

As I have counseled my friend Watson, no case has facts that are but flotsam.

 

London is a city grand, to which we proudly lend our hand

To our colleagues at The Yard, most notably our good Lestrade,

Who solves the case, and thus will be, one who observes and not just sees.

 

Watson, quickly, Baker Street, we’ve a client we must meet,

Whose woes I cannot fathom yet, but will in time most clearly set

Through patient logic, careful thought, another victory for The Yard.

Posted in Blog Article, Fiction.

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