Holmes was a pioneer of what's
Now called forensic chemistry.
Had Sherlock Holmes's test for stains
Of blood on clothes been known, you see,
In scores of cases where there's doubt,
The stains of blood on clothes would shout.
Von Bischoff surely would have hung
And Samson of New Orleans!
Holmes was a walking calendar
Of crime, and through his chemistry,
Von Bischoff surely would have hung
And Samson of New Orleans!

Before the state of Utah chose
The sego lily for its flower,
'Twas told the flower of Utah was
A fairer girl than Mormon power
Had seen on all the Pacific slope.
But she loved a Gentile man named Hope.

In vales beyond a nation's laws
A sacerdotal rule enthralls.
The priestcraft reach with grasping paws
Confined the girl in harem walls
Until she pined away and died.
Revenge replaced the tears Hope cried:

"Let's see if justice dwells on earth
"Or if we all are ruled by chance."
Death comes to all of human birth.
Beside the salt lake satyrs dance
In darkness, while in the light of day
The sego lilies gently sway.

Who were these arabs of the street
Who ran through hall and stairs
In ragged clothes and dirty feet
So heedless of our cares?

Our landlady was quite upset.
She wailed disgust and rage.
The motleyest crew I'd ever met,
Bypassing cards and page,

Invaded us like giant rats,
But at Holmes' sharp " 'Tention!"
In haste lined up like statuettes
That had been sloppily done.

"In future you must stay outdoors.
"Send Wiggins up alone.
"Here are the wages for your chores."
At shillings faces shone.

"Now off you go! Next time you'll tell
"The information sought!"
He waved his hand. They left pellmell.
Their purpose Holmes then taught:

"The sight of officers can scare,
"Seal lips because of dread.
"These urchins can go everywhere,
"Hear everything that's said.

"They're sharp as needles. All they want
"Is to be organized.
"Now that I've got them on the hunt
"I'm sure they'll find what's prized."

The Baker Street Irregulars,
What are they up to now?
I'd love to see them, after years,
Called up to take a bow!

"You look so worn out, Watson,
"Sleep on the sofa there."
Holmes' violin was playing
Some soothing dreamy air.
I seemed to float serenely
Over that sounding sea.
Miss Mary Morstan's sweet face I looked at
There looking back at me.

White handkerchief was waved that night
To signal the Aurora's flight,
"Full speed ahead! Pursue the launch,
"That launch with yellow light!
"I never shall forgive my mind
"If she can leave us far behind!"
Dashing away with his chest of iron,
Jonathan Small in the swift Aurora,
With Scotland Yard in pursuit,
Scotland Yard in pursuit!

Athelney Jones had doubts indeed
That we could match Aurora's speed.
"We must catch her!" cried Sherlock Holmes.
"The boiler fires now feed!
"Yes, make her do all that she can!
"We'll burn our boat to close the span!"
Dashing away with his chest of iron,
Jonathan Small in the swift Aurora,
With Scotland Yard in pursuit,
Scotland Yard in pursuit!

A tug with barges, three in tow,
Had blocked the way that we would go.
We lost two hundred yards because
Our dodging them was slow.
But with those passed we still could see
The launch we chased relentlessly.
Dashing away with his chest of iron,
Jonathan Small in the swift Aurora,
With Scotland Yard in pursuit,
Scotland Yard in pursuit!

Both boats moved at tremendous pace,
But yard by yard we closed the space,
Jones turned the searchlight on at them.
We saw each form and face.
Small stood to shake his fists at us.
In high-pitched voice we heard him cuss.
Dashing away with his chest of iron,
Jonathan Small in the swift Aurora,
With Scotland Yard in pursuit,
Scotland Yard in pursuit!

At danger seen our bullets struck.
Small rammed his launch into the muck
Along the bank. He jumped the ship.
His wooden leg got stuck.
The more he struggled to get out
The stronger grew the case for doubt.
Still on the deck was his chest of iron,
Helpless was Small by the swift Aurora,
Till Scotland Yard pulled him out,
Scotland Yard pulled him out!

When she said, "The treasure is gone,"
I then realized that I now could gain one.
With the gems and gold
Sunken through the cold
Nothing could prevent my heart from saying, "Thank God!"
When she asked me, "Why so say you?"
I confessed my love for her now shown as true.
Drawn against my side without slightest resistance,
Mary whispered, "Thank God," too!

I'm a singer from New Jersey,
A prima donna in Warsaw,
Though wronged by the King of Bohemia,
Married a Brit skilled in law.
Retiring from contralto singing,
I'm now famous near and far.
Irene Adler went to London,
There outwitting Sherlock.
I'm now a worldwide mystery star!

A humbled Holmes would read her laugh,
Surprised by such a mind,
Admiring through her photograph
The finest of her kind.

The pocket Petrarch that he reads
While traveling afar,
Reminds him, as his fancy leads,
Of an operatic star.

Imagined Irene Adler sings
In realms that fancy owns,
Accompanied by vibrating strings
In sympathetic tones.

Newspapers cannot guarantee
Ads they print will be scam-free.
Sometimes ads may get results
Public consciousness insults.
Behind the claimed Red-Headed League
Lurked a plan of deep intrigue.
Thanks to Holmes, the plan was read.
Gold was saved before they fled.

From north, south, east, and west
Into Fleet Street they pressed,
All men with red hair blessed,
How many can't be guessed,
In answer to an ad.
Four pounds a week ain't bad.
Who'll be the lucky cad?
All others go home sad.

Dig our way to the French gold!
Dig for four hours a day!
Pile up the dirt in the cellar here!
Ain't it neat that the bank is so near!
We will move the gold through our tunnel
In bags we'll load on our dray!
When the bank vault's opened again,
We'll be far away!

from "The Red-Headed League" (1891):

"... it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only
object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement
of the League, and the copying of the Encyclopedia, must
be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way
for a number of hours every day."

To see in print for all to read
That I'm not over-bright
At first did anger me indeed.
But now it's lost its bite.

I'm followed to the barbershop,
Where I'm paid for snips of my hair.
My window has an admired prop,
Bringing many a smiling stare.

That card-board sign is quite a lure:
"The Red-Headed League is Dissolved."
My status as a widower,
Which I thought was quite resolved,

Is threatened by a redhead, who,
With convincing argumentation,
Insists that my hair with its fiery hue
Should be granted another generation.

Stealing her wealth
Requires methods of stealth,
Mr. Windibank.
But with her weak eyes
She'll not see your disguise,
Mr. Windibank.
You will take her sweet hoping
And turn it to moping,
Thus making her marriage plans blank,
Unless she might roam
To consult Sherlock Holmes,
Mr. Windibank.

from "A Case of Indentity" (1891):

... the lady herself loomed behind his small black figure
like a full-sailed merchant-man ...

"And Miss Sutherland?"
"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember
the old Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who
taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches
a delusion from a woman.' There is as much sense in
Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world."

Her maiden voyage was viewed with scorn
By one with strange insistence.
Although her fate I deeply mourn,
I must maintain some distance.

Who takes the wind from full-sailed hope
Stays back from where she looms.
A change in course means hanging rope
And sudden swinging booms.

The pirate crew who steered her wrong
Had best leave in a hurry,
Or they may hear the cannon song
That Hell hath not her fury.

"I was in a gang of six that murdered to get gold.
"I spared the driver, McCarthy his name.
"I was one of the three surviving to be wealthy men.
"Free from suspicion to England we came.
"I would soon marry, and though my wife died,
"She left me Alice, whose wee hands held fast,
"Which inspired me to turn o'er new leaf in my guilty life.
"I did my best to make up for my past.

"All was going well. I met McCarthy in the street.
" 'Here we are, Jack, we'll be family to you.'
"Anything that he wanted I would have to give to him
"Or he would tell the police what he knew.
"Twenty years later, he urged his son to
"Marry my Alice to gain all my wealth,
"For he knew that my time in this world's almost over now
"Due to disease that has blasted my health.

"I will sign confession that McCarthy have I killed
"That my dear girl won't be caught in his mesh."
Bidding farewell, John Turner slowly stumbled from the room,
Tott'ring and shaking from ills of the flesh.
After long silence, Holmes said, "God help us!
"Why are such tricks played on souls who repent?
"In all cases like this I always think of Baxter's words,
" 'There, but for grace, goes myself likewise bent.' "

from "The Five Orange Pips" (1891):

... of the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa ...

We angered the Patersons of Grice
By calling them names that weren't nice.
They'd fight us in Uffa
To see who was tougha,
For calling them "tadpoles" and "lice".

We accepted their challenge with slaps,
Were anxious to bloody their yaps,
But our pride took a blow
For failing to show
When we couldn't find Uffa on maps.

from "The Five Orange Pips" (1891):

All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten
against the windows, so that even here in the heart of
great, hand-made London we were forced to raise our
minds for the instant from the routine of life, and to
recognize the presence of those great elemental forces
which shriek at mankind through the bars of his
civilization, like untamed beasts in a cage. As evening
drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the
wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney.
Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the
fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I
at the other was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine
sea-stories until the howl of the gale from without
seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the
rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves.

Though it might be some spoiled brat,
We sympathize with sobbing child,
Whose parents we might grumble at.
Strong winds breed offspring screaming wild
In chimneys of this hand-made place.
But here no faults we care to trace.

We let their cries and sobs still chime
Without concern for who's in charge.
We sit to index notes on crime
Or read of deeds on ocean's surge
On either side of fireplace moans
That howl in children's range of tones.

from "The Five Orange Pips" (1891):

He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it
to pieces he squeezed out the pips upon the table. Of
these he took five and thrust them into an envelope.
On the inside of the flap he wrote "S. H. for J. O."
Then he sealed it and addressed it to "Captain James
Calhoun, Bark Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia."

An envelope for James Calhoun
Was sadly placed in his widow's grasp.
On her opening it, we heard her gasp,
Then stagger back and fall in a swoon.

In the envelope were seeds. That was it!
Did we know what it meant? Nope!
On the inside flap of the envelope
The initials "S. H. for J. O." were writ.

When she'd recovered from falling down,
We were shocked to hear Mrs. Calhoun say
That her husband had been in the K. K. K.
In his closet she showed us his long white gown.

"Someone had these five pips sent
"To strike my husband's heart with fear,
"Perhaps this S. H. written here,
"But I've no idea what J. O. meant."

Just home from a long day of work,
John Watson was asked to bring back
The wreck of a once noble man
From depths of an opium shack.
He soon found some steps leading down
'Tween shops in a gap looming black.

By light from a flickering lamp
He found the door latch to the room.
'Twas filled with brown opium smoke.
In terraced berths seen through the gloom
Were souls in fantastic repose,
Resigned to their stupefied doom.

The glimmering red circles of light
And muttering voices were strange.
At last he found Whitney, unkempt,
His mind quite reduced in its range.
Two days of the week had gone by
With him unaware of the change.

Before he could lead Whitney out,
John Watson found Holmes in disguise.
When Whitney was sent on his way,
The two shared their mutual surprise.
While one had been helping a friend,
The other on enemies spies.

And so that chance meeting would lead
To what Dr. Watson has told
Of Neville St. Clair and Hugh Boone,
Deception that truly was bold.
That opium den was well-named.
The tale's worth a bar of pure gold!

Well, my name's John Watson,
But my wife she calls me James.
Yeah, my name's John Watson,
But my wife she calls me James.
She's a dear little woman,
But she ain't much good at names.

Well, her friend Kate came.
Should she send her James to bed?
Yeah, her friend Kate came.
Should she send her James to bed?
No, would I bring back her husband
From an opium den instead?

Well, I found Kate's husband
And I sent him back with a note.
Yeah, I found Kate's husband
And I sent him back with a note.
"Since I found Holmes there,
"For your James the game's afoot!"

When Neville's deception had all been revealed,
And he feared that his kids would feel shame,
Bradstreet agreed that the facts should be sealed,
If there's no more of Hugh Boone the lame.

"Whatever job's taken that's good by the law,
"At the end of a hardworking day
"The sight of your wife in mousseline de soie
"Should stop any gripes about pay."

from "The Man with the Twisted Lip" (1891):

"I am sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much
indebted to you for having cleared the matter up.
I wish I knew how you reach your results."
"I reached this one," said my friend, "by sitting
upon five pillows and consuming an ounce of shag."

"How did you happen to pounce
"On Neville's deception? Announce!"
"The solution arrived
"On pillows, fived,
"While consuming some shag, an ounce."

"What brought on your sickness, Bradstreet?"
"I tried out your shag on a seat,
"But after consuming
"My bowels have been fuming!"
"The shag is to smoke, not to eat!"

based on:

1887-1891 stories

1892-1893 stories

1901-1917 stories

1921-1927 stories and misc.

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