My carriage rolls up
To his apartment
On 221B Baker Street.
Why I bother
To keep coming here
I know not
It just a
Foolish dream I suppose to
Think that he
May ever have
Any intimate or romantic feelings
For me.
In my long blue dress
With a hot pink petticoat
It softly rustles as
The driver helps me get out
Standing on the cobblestone street
My fingertips brush
A treasure he gave me
That I wear
Around my neck
And for a moment
My heartbeats wildly and
Perhaps it was the light
Playing tricks with my eyes
Or a dream but I swear
Sherlock was watching me
With anticipation as if
Waiting to confess that
His life that is
Incomplete without me
But I'll have to wait forever
Before he'll combine
His heart, life
Or his affairs with any woman.
He treats the opposite sex
As creatures who
Weave nothing but
Distrust and dislike among men
Remaining nonetheless a chivalrous opponent
Even if that women is
Among the best of them
Like I, Irene Adler, am.