The 221B Test, part two.

After putting Sherlock to my new "221B Test" earlier this week, I was very eager to try it out on yet another modern contender for the deerstalker of greatness. It's been a busy few days, so that didn't happen as quickly as I would have liked, and when I got around to it . . . well, the 221B Test completely failed.

I don't mean, the entertainment being tested failed the test. I mean that the test completely didn't even seem to apply to the subject at hand. I mean, I might as well have tried applying 221B to that wonderful CBS comedic triumph, 2 Broke Girls. And like many a crushed experimenter, I sank into dark despair, pulled out my papyrus and foofy feather quill pen and began to indulge in that art of the melancholy heart.

And so, a poem. I call it . . . .

Whatever The Hell That NYC Street Address Is

Here dwell together still, two men . . . oh. Nope!
One lived too hard, one had a patient die.
How so contrived they seem -- where's the remote?
This must be Starrett's world gone all awry.

What? The game seems done with funhouse mirrors . . .
We tuned too late to catch Criminal Minds! Boo!
England? Where's England? Maybe second year's
Will have it . . . oh, Baker Street stuff just blew.

A turtle creeps across Watson's duvet
As morning comes with one more creepy stare.
Ostrom swtiches to "Deduce, You Say."
The ghostly Alistair fades into thin air.

Here still, with no Reichenbach to survive
And their DVD will soon be $18.95.