By the pricking of my thumbs-
Something wicked this way comes
Something wicked this way comes
On the card on the case was a site and a name
With an email address and a private domain
That could access the phone from remote were it lost
(Or placed on a killer, if that bridge were crossed).
When the phone was turned on they could track where it went
From the phone’s GPS, which was not efficient,
For they waited and waited and waited some more,
With the policemen becoming increasingly bored.
“A good plan,” said one, with his face in a sneer,
“Except that it’s broken – it says the phone’s here.”
“Oh yes,” said the sleuth, with a curious stare,
“Broken… I think I’ll just step out for some air,
Just a minute, don’t worry, be back in a dash,”
And the sleuth disappeared down the stairs in a flash.
He smiled at the cabbie that was parked on the curb,
The cab that he had seen but had never observed,
That had been at the place they had promised to meet
And that now sat right here, at Two Two One Bee.
“It’s you,” he said simply, though he already knew,
But the cabbie still nodded – “Might I have a word with you?
Just say the word and we’ll go back inside
But if you arrest me, you’ll never know why.”
“I don’t need to know why,” the sleuth said instead.
“I was hired to find who, not why they were dead.”
But that wasn’t true, no not for the sleuth,
Who needed to know nothing less than the truth
Of the how and the why and the games people play –
So he got in the cab and it whisked him away.
They returned to the flat at the top of the stairs
And were met through the door with a roomful of glares
From Lestrade the policemen, and the rest of his team
Who were following clues and just come from the scene
Where the phone and the luggage weren’t there anymore –
For the sleuth had retrieved it some hours before.
“A break-in?” he asked, oh the sleuth in a snit,
“Or ‘detecting,’ if that’s what we’re calling it?”
“It’s a drugs bust!” Lestrade said, a smile on his face.
Waving his people through the room and the case
On the table, the one from the woman in pink,
Though he was eyeing them, not quite sure what to think.
“It’s there on your table, you can’t think I’m that dim,
And you told me the killer would have it with him.
Sherlock, work with me, I need you, you know…
Please just work with us and give me the phone.”
“The phone? Haven’t got it,” and that was the truth.
Now this was a puzzle for the doctor, the sleuth
(And the policemen, though they would be no help at all)
The clues were the case and the house and the scrawl
Of a name on the floor of a person long passed
That had been so important it was thought at the last
And “OH!” from the sleuth, “Oh brilliant, how smart!
She knew she’d be murdered just right from the start!
She planted the phone on the killer, you see,
For someone to find him, all you need is the key
And the key is a word that she holds near her heart,
Something short she could write right before she departs.”
The sleuth was on fire, at the top of his game –
“The word on the floor, it was Rachel, a name!”
Lestrade and the doctor shared a curious glance,
But the sleuth hardly stopped to give them a chance
To follow his logic, his lightning fast brain –
“The key is a word, and that word is a name.”
The place was called Angelo’s, right down the street
Near the address where they’d made plans to meet
With the killer – the one who just couldn’t be found,
Who could hunt in a crowd without making a sound.
The owner, of course, was a friend of the sleuth’s
So he got them a candle and he got them a booth
By the window, perfect for watching outside,
And the door, quick to leave once the man had been spied.
They sat and they talked and they watched and they thought
And they waited for the killer who couldn’t be caught
But they saw only people, not killers, and cabs:
One that slowed to a stop – in the back was a man! –
And it sat and it waited across from Two Two.
The sleuth and the doctor knew just what to do.
With a crash and a yell they dashed into the night
But the cab saw them coming and drove out of sight!
But they chased it as best as they could on their feet
Down alleys, from rooftops, and all through the streets
‘Til they caught it and stopped it, but the man in the back
Wasn’t a killer – he was a tourist, in fact,
So they welcomed him warmly to the land ‘cross the pond
Before the cops came and they had to abscond.
“That,” said the doctor, when they stopped for a laugh,
And the sleuth, with a chuckle, bent nearly in half,
“Was ridiculous, crazy, just the most that I’ve done!”
(Though he couldn’t deny that it all had been fun.)
“Mrs. Hudson!” called the sleuth through their landlady’s door,
“He will take the room on the second up floor!”
John smiled at the joke and looked out to the street
And was met with his cane and a glance at his feet
And a laugh from the man where they had just dined,
“Not that you need it, but you left this behind.”
John smiled at the man and he smiled at his cane.
He smiled at the leg that was barely in pain.
He smiled at the sleuth and the things he could see.
Then he smiled his way home into Two Two One Bee.
He ran and he dashed just as fast as he could
Away from the man who was up to no good
To the flat and the sleuth with his curious text –
He wasn’t expecting what he saw next:
The sleuth on the couch looking calm as can be
With a patch on his arm – no – “This problem needs three.
There’s a phone on the counter, now John, if you might
Dictate a message – meet here on this night:
Two Two Northumberland, right about twelve;
Policemen are useless – we’ll catch him ourselves!”
“And you couldn’t do it? You have got a phone.”
“Come now, John really, my number’s well known.
We’re texting a killer – he’d only respond
For sure if he thought that he hadn’t been conned.
“We’re texting a killer,” John said with a grin.
“Don’t tell me you’re ruing your choice to move in?”
“Just slightly,” said John as he rose to his feet.
“Good then!” cried the sleuth, “Let’s grab something to eat.”