doctorsleuth:

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.”