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A Strange Case of Identity

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Two words.
Not. Dead.
No, don’t flip me the bird.
I mean exactly what I said.

Once treated as an unfeeling specimen,
Other times, an ‘extra’ on the scene.
I was swept off by a certain gentleman
Who, I’m sure, you’re very familiar with.

I was his ex-best friend, his only friend.
The only one privy to his deductions.
We used to go out on cases, even on weekends.
Without me, he would make a big production.

While I sat there listening,
He would think aloud, pacing back and forth.
At times, he can get annoying.
But I always smile at him with warmth.

Because no other can appreciate a genius such as he!
His prudent exaction of evidence from the crime scene
Though ruthless, it hardly compromises accuracy.
A brilliant mind and soul, but some call him a machine.

His landlady never minded me much.
In fact she liked my quiet manners.
Probably because I never needed lunch
And my flatmate never drove me bananas.

Those were the good times we had
I love him more than anyone knows
Although he is indeed a bit mad.
But then… it was another he chose.

Relegated back to the background
Once again, as a silent witness.
I can’t help but pine like a hound
All I can feel is sadness.

I don’t suppose the man noticed
He never cared for sentiment.
Now that the doctor is his closest,
In his heart, I’m no longer a resident.

It’s sad to have the spotlight taken
By the Baker Street Boys.
In fact, I’m a tad shaken
But let’s get real, I’m just a toy.

Oh right. I see you’re confused.
No I’m not John. I have no sexuality.
Nay, I’m not the lover Sherlock refused.
Nice try, I’m not even Moriarty.

Who am I? And what’s my name?
Why, I don’t even know myself.
I’ve none that I can rightfully claim,
I’m just the skull sitting on the shelf.