“‘but if a living dance upon dead minds/ why,it is love;but at the earliest spear/ of sun perfectly should disappear’.”
“Well, some of the imagery is rather… imaginative. But the overall syntax and structure is utterly ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t have to have structure, Sherlock. It’s a poem, not a chemistry journal.”
“I still think you could do better.”
“Yes. You’re not a total loss when it comes to metaphor and sentence composition. Occasionally you will—”
“I didn’t write that, Sherlock.”
“I found it in the platen of your old typewriter.”
“Yeah, I think that’s the last school assignment I didn’t finish before I went off to uni.”
“And you just left it there?”
“I got a computer when I went to King’s. I didn’t need it.”
“... I’m still not convinced you didn’t write it.”
“‘She walks in beauty, like the night/ Of cloudless climes and starry skies;/ And all that’s best of dark and bright/ Meet in her aspect and her eyes;/ Thus mellowed to that tender light/ Which heaven to gaudy day denies.’”
“Byron. You always guess Keats.”
“Most people go with Keats.”
“Most people underestimate the significance and complexity of Byron.”
“Fair. Why have you recited this for me? Is that a thing we’re doing now? Love poems?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If I wanted to recite poetry to you, i could surely come up with something more… male.”
“Love is love, Sherlock.”
“I know that, John. Certainly no one new that better than Byron. No — I was merely attempting to provide an example of good poetry.”
“As opposed to that grammatical monstrosity I found it on your typewriter yesterday.”
“You say ‘monstrosity’, I say ‘masterpiece’.”
“It was technically ridiculous, John!”
“Technical doesn’t have anything to do with it. I like it — I like E. E. Cummings — that’s all that matters.”
“But Byron is so much more…”
“Now who’s technically ridiculous?”
“‘i like my body when it is with your/ body. It is so quite new a thing.”
“‘Muscles better and nerves more./ i like your body. i like what it does…’”
“‘i like its hows. i like to feel the spine/ of your body and its bones,and the trembling/ -firm-smooth ness and which i will/ again and again and again/ kiss, i like kissing this and that of you—’”
“Unf… Sherlock, I’m working…”
“‘i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz/ of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes/ over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs—’”
“The surgery is hardly the place for this sort of thing!”
“‘and possibly i like the thrill/ of under me you so quite new’.”
“Mmm, that’s… excellent, actually, don’t stop doing that…”
“I’ve come to recognize the merits of E. E. Cummings as a poet.”
“‘The penis contains two chambers called the corpora cavernosa, which run the length of the organ, are filled with spongy tissue, and are surrounded by a membrane called the tunica albuginea.’”
“What on earth are you doing, John?”
“Reading. Reciting. Like you did for me.”
“From a medical textbook?”
“Yes. ‘The spongy tissue contains smooth muscles, fibrous tissues, spaces, veins, and arteries. The urethra, which is the channel for urine and ejaculate, runs along the underside of the corpora cavernosa.’”
“I’m not sure it will have the same effect…”
“‘Erection begins with sensory and mental stimulation.’”
“I— oh… That’s… unobjectionable…”
“‘Impulses from the brain and local nerves cause the muscles of the corpora cavernosa to relax, allowing blood to flow in and fill the open spaces…’”
“I think it might be your hand rather than the words, John.”
“Would you like me to stop?”
“It’s doing something for you, isn’t it?”
“Shut up and keep reading.”
I’ve decided to make a little series of conversations between John and Sherlock. They have so much to say. Random updates.