A few poems about my obsession! I'm not a very good poet, so I apologise if these are rubbish!


4. The Escape

What is an escape?

Ask anyone, and they'll give you a different answer.

It's unique to an individual;

A footprint from the soul.


For Sherlock, he has many such sanctuaries.

Drugs, his weapon of choice in the war against his own mind.

Then, necessary;

Now, a comfort.

Most often, his mind palace -

Shelter for his spirit.

A place to be by himself,

To think,




Then, there is John.

Putting on a brave face, through the hard times in life.

Until there came a time when pretending wasn't enough

An event so horrific in his memory,

Twisting shadows in his minds eye.

Blood running in rivulets down the pavement.

Empty, staring eyes;

Gone was that spark of life,

That intelligence wiped out in the blink of an eye.

Then, John couldn't keep out the heartbreak.

He took to drinking away his sorrows;

A way of forgetting, until morning.



Mycroft, an unknown deity in this world.

How does he gain freedom in his far-reaching sphere?

Even the British Government needs a haven.

After The Fall, Mycroft fell, further than he had fallen before,

Drowning in guilt, wallowing in pain.

But only inside.



Showing anything on the outside.

For that is his way;

The Ice-Man is only an



What about the others?

The other people in this story.

Overshadowed by the foreboding presence of

The Holmes brothers.

They also need an escape.

Nobody is above basic human dignity.


Molly Hooper,

Greg Lestrade,

Mrs Hudson,

Or even

Phil Anderson,

And Sally Donovan.

Each has their own story, sanctuary,


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