Poetic Sherlockian Wit by Afganistan Perceivers

The Detective: Six Sentences
by Stephanie Colburn

A visitor arrives
at Baker Street desperate
and terrified.
 
Sherlock offers a chair
by the fireside, closes his eyes
and listens.
 
His expression gives
nothing away as he unwinds
fact from fiction.
 
A sudden wince
and he sends his visitor away
with instructions.
 
Smoking a clay pipe
he sits with the problem until
it becomes clear.
 
Watson then
joins him on a new adventure 
into the heart of crime.

Three Limericks: Doyle, Queen Vic and Mycrap
by Brian Wilson

Moriarty was by far his best foil.
Irene Adler was maybe his best goil.
He gave us Sherlock and Watson,
As English as a hot-cross bun.
Happy Birthday to A. Conan Doyle.

One title was Empress of India.
A visit might've caused dysphoria.
She slept with her butler.
An age was named for her.
Happy Birthday to Queen Victoria.

Sherlock dutifully holds him aloft,
But Paget's drawing shows he's quite soft.
In a club chair sits his lard ass.
Is he smart or just full o' gas?
Meh, here's to the overrated Mycroft.