The Trio

Sherlock listened intently - the friar was spent

From his unrested travels - Holmes had to prevent

Him from falling into a great stupor so deep

He’d collapse and, for days, all his data he’d keep.

Holmes needed that data - he wished that his friend

Dr Watson would come back and then recommend,

From his medical knowledge, a draught to revive

The poor friar and keep all his data alive.

“I can help you, Good Friar, but not for a while.”

Declared Sherlock Holmes, quite resisting a smile

Of contented excitement on being involved

In the greatest of mysteries yet to solved.

“My friend and my colleague is now at the Yard

For I have, for some reason, found it very hard

To be given access to the facts of the case -

With luck, very soon I’ll be out on the chase.”

“He’s a medical man - Dr Watson, he’s called,

And, together with me, he has found himself stalled

From a great lack of data, in files, locked tight.

I cannot get a look but John Watson just might.”

“I suggest, while we wait, you take food and then sleep

Until Watson returns. Take my bed, I will keep

Up a vigil expecting to hear in the street

John Watson, his voice and his galloping feet.”

“Take some whiskey, as well, it will settle your mind

And I’d say, in one minute, you’ll readily find

That you’re falling away to that slumber you need.

When you wake, there’ll be work to attend to, indeed.”

The friar said, “Thank you, I haven’t touched food

For some time, I admit. I’ve been in such a mood

Of despair and frustration these last many days.

But whiskey - I’m not really used to its ways.”

“Strong liquor, Good Friend, this old man has not tasted

For many a year. Many lives have been wasted

When it’s taken hold. Do I dare risk a nip?

We swallow a demon with every sip.”

“Or perhaps it’s an angel to bring you some rest.”

Replied Holmes, “And you’ll need some to be at your best.

Everything on this Earth, it should be understood,

Has two sides to it nature - for evil or good.”

“So, here, take a sip, and then two and then three,

And the angels within will be able to free

You and settle your mind and then lead you sleep.

The rest they will give you will be long and deep.”

“We don’t call the drink spirits for nothing, My Friend,

So drink up and then eat is what I recommend.”

As directed, the friar took Sherlock’s advice

As he prayed that the Devil was not playing dice.

Holmes pointed the way to his bedroom and stated,

“I find excess sleep can be quite over-rated

But do, when exhausted, to slumber descend

So my mind can put all its wild thoughts at an end.”

The friar just nodded and went off to bed

Rather hopeful, relaxed and, above all things, fed

And content that, with Sherlock, he now had a chance

To entrap his ex-brothers who’d spoken askance.

Sherlock picked up his pipe for he needed to think.

His supply of tobacco would help the Sleuth shrink

Well away from the mundane and into his mind

Where the hint of a clue he would hope he could find.

It was Watson, however, he needed the most

If he was to have even the hint of a ghost

Of a chance to go chasing the Whitechapel beast

Though his pipe gave him some sort of comfort, at least.

In the meantime, John Watson, ensconced at The Yard

Had been patiently waiting all day on a hard

Quite uncomfortable bench and saw many a sight

Of which some, just a few, almost led to fight.

He observed people coming to make a complaint.

One man, rather portly, proceeded to faint

Dead away - Dr Watson adroitly stepped in

And declared he was filled to the gunwales with gin.

This had gone on and on until Gregson arrived

And explained that, too many times, Watson contrived

To depict the Police as insipid and bland

While Sherlock and he shone out bright in The Strand.

“Dr Watson, your stories show us as inept

And as useless, completely, although we have kept,

Off the streets, many murderous felons who’d kill

Anyone for a sixpence or, worse still, a thrill.”

“You’ve ignored our advice and earned many a Pound

Saying how you and Holmes ran a felon to ground

While Policemen did nothing or got things quite wrong -

What you sang, Dr Watson, is quite an old song.”

“You make cheap entertainment from poor victims’ woes

While you tell everyone we know less than the foes

We go chasing within the constraints of the Law -

When you make us look stupid, it is the last straw.”

“Do you not understand what it is to be mocked

Everyday by the Public who seem to be shocked

That we cannot find proof for those we might suspect,

That proof which we need but, as yet, can’t detect.”

“Do you not think we’d like you on board in this case?

Likewise, Mr Holmes who seems eager to chase

Down Old Jack. Though, to him, it is just a great game

While, to you, it’s a story for cash and for fame?”

“Well ... that is ... Mr Gregson ... I’m forced to admit,

Just a little unfair.” Watson said just a bit

On the back foot, and seeing Gregson was irate,

“We can find common ground - let us investigate.”

“We have orders, explicit, from those upon high

Who’d have our guts for garters to hear you were nigh

And requesting access to the Scotland Yard files.”

Said Gregson, “They want you, from here, many miles.”

“I’ll pass onto Lestrade your request but do not

Think that he will be happy being put on the spot

When, the pressure he’s under, you cannot conceive.

Here he is - and he’s stressed, you’d astutely perceive.”

Then, as Lestrade entered, seeing what was in play,

He informed Dr Watson that, early that day,

Yet another horrific offence had occurred

And the wrath of superiors he had incurred.

And the Press and the Public had been on his back

For his lack of success apprehending Old Jack

But he said he’d relent just a little and show

Sherlock Holmes just as much as he needed to know.

Lestrade said they would meet at a time he would say

In the very near future, “It won’t be today

And perhaps not tomorrow - I have things I must

Now attend to - you will show discretion, I trust.”

“Yes, indeed, though I may have to give Holmes a clue

Of what might be on offer to help him subdue

Any urge to go off on his own on a quest.”

Watson said to Lestrade, “I think that would be best.”

“Well, perhaps,” said Lestrade, “just a little to whet

The man’s mad appetite. But I say, don’t forget -

Keep that man on a leash, keep him muzzled, at heel,

Or the force of my boot he is likely to feel.”

“Now get out of my way, Dr Watson, please go

Before I change my mind and, to you both, say ‘No’.

There are things I must do, for my mind is awash

With a vision of evil I may never quash.”

With his mission accomplished, Watson hurried back

To the Baker Street digs to tell Holmes that Old Jack

Has been at it again and Lestrade condescends

To let him help a little unless he offends.

Watson opened the outer door, raced up the stairs

To find Sherlock intensely conducting affairs

Of a secretive nature, he chose to deduce,

But was eager for, all his good news, to produce.

“Holmes, My Good Fellow, Lestrade’s of a mind

To accept your assistance but you have to find

It within you to dance to The Yard’s standard tune -

To refuse, you must know, would be inopportune.”

“Well, I shall not refuse.” Sherlock said in reply,

“But when you hear my news you will realise why

I’m so often at odds with officialdom’s ways

And the great lack of sense it so often displays.”

“Your news?” Watson queried, “Now what could that be?

Have you gone off and broken your promise to me?

If you’ve taken a single step out on the street,

You’ve been reckless and careless and quite indiscreet.”

“I meant what I said, Sherlock - tell me no lies.

If you’ve gone off without me, our partnership dies

For if I cannot trust you for even one day

Then I’ll pack my belongings and move straight away.”

“I have told you I’ll back you, come sunshine or rain,

But in these troubled times I have made it quite plain

That I must have respect and, your word, you must keep.

There are dangers for you, and they’re deadly and deep.”

Sherlock, taken aback by this verbal assault,

Quickly took the advantage declaring, “No fault

In this matter was mine - from this room I’ve not moved.

This news sought me out - I knew you’d have approved.”

“Sought you out! I declare I can’t leave you alone

For a moment. You’re a man sitting up on a throne

You have made for yourself.” Watson quickly replied,

“This high self-esteem is quite undignified.”

“Watson!” Holmes countered, “You know that I hold

Self-esteem as emotional hum-bug while cold

And dispassionate thinking is my stock-in-trade.

I am rather surprised at this petty tirade.”

“In my room, in my bed, is the bringer of news;

A poor habited herald whose weary sinews

Were all stretched near to breaking - he did come to me

When The Yard sent him off. Just how daft can they be?”

“He has news to relate - he has given me hope.

While the forces, official, continue to grope

Their ways forward in darkness pursuing that Blight

Of Whitechapel, we may have stepped into the light.”

“Do you mean,” broke in Watson, “this person may hold,

Fast asleep in your bed, information untold

To Lestrade or his cohorts because someone sent

Him away from The Yard - this is just negligent.”

“It is criminal, Watson, a crime of neglect.

It’s no wonder the men at The Yard can’t detect

Any trace of this Ripper, the one called Old Jack.”

Declared Sherlock, agreeing, “They should get the sack.”

“Not only are they about running ‘round blind,

They are stupid as well, and it’s not too unkind

To say they should be locked in a cell to protect

Them from him they have failed, so far, to detect.”

“Well, who is this herald, exhausted, asleep?

What are all these secrets he’s been forced to keep

Till he’s found someone willing to listen and heed?”

Watson firmly demand, “Who is he, indeed?”

“He’s a man of religion, a man of a mind

To face all, as he sees it, the evils which bind

Us forever to action against Evil’s ways.”

Sherlock answered curtly, “In short, the man prays.”

“He prays! So do I but, if ever one delves

Into practical matters, those who help themselves

Will more likely be granted assistance, divine.”

John Watson insisted, “This credo is mine.”

“I resist the assertion that prayer on its own

Can persuade the Almighty that we should be shown

The correct way to act - we should know this by now

And, if we need to ask, then we’ll never know how.”

“Well, this man has prayed long and, also, very hard

But was given short shrift when he went to The Yard

Seeking action from those who have promised to serve.”

Ranted Sherlock, “Perhaps we get what we deserve.”

“Well, it’s not us who gets it.” John Watson replied,

“The unfortunate women are they who have died

At the hands of a monster who needs to be caught.

I, for one, pray a suitable lesson is taught.”

“But enough of this prattle. Just who is this man

Who has travelled to London to do what he can

To assist in the capture of Whitechapel Jack?

There’ll be many a cheer when that neck is made crack.”

“Well, we first have to catch him before he can strike

Once again in Whitechapel. I fancy you’d like

To be out on his trail.” Holmes said, knowing well

That his friend had an urge to send Jack down to Hell.

“Yes, indeed, Mr Holmes,” said the friar who’d come

From the bedroom upon overhearing just some

Of what Watson had said about prayer on its own

Being useless in getting Old Jack overthrown.

“I expect,” said the friar, “this man is your friend,

Dr Watson; a man you took time to commend

For his tact with policemen, an excellent trait

If, on their condescension, you’d ever to wait.”

Holmes and Watson stood up just a little surprised

At the words of the friar; they both had surmised

That he’d be rather humble, not worldly at all-

He wasn’t that friar Sherlock could recall.

He had gathered his strength and had rested his mind.

He’d regained that composure which would let him find,

Deep within him, the courage to speak and to act-

He found that his nerve was entirely intact.

“Did we wake you, Good Friar? I hope we did not

With our squabbles so petty - I trust that you got

Enough rest to revive you so that you may tell

Dr Watson and me of the evil you’d quell.”

“Mrs Hudson will bring us a breakfast, of sorts,

Though it is early evening. The simple comforts

Such as we enjoy here in our Baker Street lair

Keep us both from submitting to abject despair.”

“So sit down here and join us in what you will find

Will look after the body and nurture the mind.

We’ll first hear from Watson who has lots to tell

Then we’ll hear what you know of this agent from Hell.”

Sitting down at the table, the three heard a knock

At the door - Mrs Hudson - she said in some shock,

“Take hot coffee and food - do not let it go cold -

That man’s struck again in Whitechapel, I’m told.”

“In the streets, many mobs are about and adrift,

And a mob won’t ask questions, revenge will be swift.

Anyone just suspected will be kicked to death

Or be strung from a lamppost to struggle for breath.”

“I don’t know why you sit there - those gifts you possess

Must be able to help the Police, I confess.

Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, get out on the hunt

Or, forever, vacate Baker Street, to be blunt.”

“Well said, Mrs Hudson,” said Sherlock, alive

For the first time in weeks, “but we have to contrive

A new plan with Lestrade, given what we will learn

From this good friar here - for his knowledge, we yearn.”

“Just do something before Jack the Ripper can kill

Any more helpless women for some evil thrill

That he gets when they suffer.” a rather distraught

Mrs Hudson insisted, “Mercy, give him naught.”

With that said, Mrs Hudson turned ‘round on her heels

And descended the stairs as if she was on wheels.

As the friar and Watson and Holmes ate their meal,

This newly formed Trio had much to reveal.