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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A double sonnet in which the great detective and his faithful sidekick, Dr. Watson, alternately deduce the cause of Sherlock’s latest malady… Part the first Sherlock could not deduce his source of pain at first. “Try as I might, I cannot find the cause – is it contusion, or a sprain? Perchance a mere psychosis of the mind? “Yet by deduction, I’ve ruled out the plague, consumption, smallpox, cholera, and mumps. My symptoms, although serious, are vague – this lack of answers has me in the dumps! “Where’s Watson? He would have a quick prognosis – I’ve never seen him err in all our years”. Then! Churn of stomach yields its diagnosis just as his friend, the good doctor, appears: “What seems to be the problem, troubled one?” “It’s alimentary, my dear Watson!” Part the second But from the learnéd doctor’s point of view, there yet were tests and readings still to take. He’d learnt the ill effects of poor review and on his friend would not make that mistake. “Stick out your tongue! Now, turn your head and cough! Say ‘ah’. Hold this thermometer in place, and while you’re at it, take your trousers off - we’d better check your prostate, just in case!" But Sherlock dashes to the water closet in dire urgency and grave chagrin to make a loud and liquidy deposit. “It’s diarrhea!” Doc yells with a grin. “How did you know?”, shouts Holmes. “How in tarnation?” “Why, Holmes, mere process of elimination!” written 17 Jan 2020
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