Deepest Afflictions to Random Speculations

The Science of Deduction

"Quickly, Mr. Watson—the game is afoot!"
Said the sociopath with lips covered in soot.
You can blame it on the pipe that's glued firm where it's put.

But I assure you, regardless of his unspoken high,
his mind, oddly, is still sharper than a knife.
Just pray Mr. Watson can maintain his life.

"I cannot live without brainwork," he once had remarked,
"What else is there to live for?" He asked with a bark.
So you see, he'll learn, teach, and call to bystanders, "hark!"

"Look at the letter, you see how it's bent?
It's been firmly pressed in a book, and the print?
It's the work of a woman, for it's fair and well-spent.

"And, would you wonder? It does smell of fire!
This bookshelf's on a mantle, and it's owner, a liar.
Why, you might ask? Well he kept a note, oh dire!

"It makes little sense? Well I suppose it would not,
But this letter's from a woman, and hidden, a lot!
It's clearly a mistress, see his ring, he's a sot!

"So he's cheating on his wife, so was it revenge?
No the wife's not a suspect, she's a widow with edge.
Perhaps the murder is simply on a killing binge.

"Oh! There's only one killer who kills at random,
It's serial killings! John write to our fandom!
They'll be thrilled to know through your latest memorandum!"

And so went the story of Sherlock and John,
Partners in (catching) crime, who stumbled upon,
Each other one day when looking for Avalon.