So in physics I was bored as HELL so I began to write a poem for Sherlock. Post-Reichenbach. I am sorry that this is not that good but it is two poems in one. I assure you will figure it out, though the first line is interesting.

My heart is

no longer present.

It is but an organ,

pumping blood through my body.

But Moriarty opened my eyes.

My heart,

he lives with me

And I put him into danger.

The bomb,

Strapped securely to his chest,

the moment I saw it

I nearly died.

For once,

I was helpless.

And again I was helpless

as I stood onto of Barts,

Below me,

he stood there

Staring at me

for the last moments of my life

as it came to an end.

My heart,

he beats erratically

fear and loneliness

grips him.

I'm sorry,

there is nothing I can do.

Mycroft tries to help

but he fails.

My heart,

he still suffers.

I watch him silently

I try to help him.

I returned his cane,

his psychosomatic problem returns.

I join him once he falls asleep,

he yells for me in his nightmares.

My heart,

his life is in ruins.

My life is hunting,

I just want his safety.

But the world is not safe,

thus I cannot return.

I can watch him and kill

but not return till the web is burned.

My heart,

He drowns in his sorrows.

Alcohol is his life,

He is acting like his sister.

My heart,

he has failed.

Nothing remains

he is empty.

My heart,

he suffers too much

I have to return

And I return.

My heart,

it beats

safely and

alive.