DISCLAIMER: Right, so after several complaints I finally decided to edit this story and get rid of the swearing at the end (and therefore change the rating from M to K). This doesn't mean that I prefer this new version of the story, but I understand that I was probably addressing the wrong readers with the old version. Now if you would like to know how the original version was just replace the last line with something similar to Drogba's rant on Sky Sports after Chelsea were dismissed by Barcelona from the Champions League's semis.
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LINES ON THE FACE
I happened to find one morning an old book of mine, in which I kept the best memories from my time in the army. It featured funny stories, curious data, some drawings by a friend of mine, and no less than seventeen full-size photographs of some of my comrades back then.
Holmes seemed to be very interested in my book as he examined it sitting by the window. The strange happenings began when he took a look at the photographs.
"What a bad tempered fellow," he said with one of them in his hand.
Sergeant Murray appeared in the picture with the broadest smile I had ever seen in his face, and yet Holmes' comment on his temper had been accurate.
"How did you know that?" I asked intrigued.
"Well," he answered, "by the lines on his face."
"But he hasn't any; he was only about twenty something by then."
"Almost unlined, yes. But I fear you missed these ones," he explained pointing his finger right between Murray's nose and forehead. "These two parallel lines – which seem to continue the nose's outline – are developed by frowning. And if such a young man has them so notoriously drawn, he must be a regular frowner."
Of course he was making it all up and he had either known Murray or just taken a wild – and lucky – guess, so I couldn't help laughing a bit.
"Take this other man, for example," he continued, another photograph in his hand. "This man must be about fifty, his face is heavily lined, and yet, no trace of the lines we've been discussing. So I take it this man must be the heart of the fanfare."
I extended my hand to receive from Holmes the picture of 'dear old Bellamy', everyone's best friend, famous by his joyful lifestyle and extreme kindness. Never a dominoes night had begun without waiting for 'dear old Bellamy'. What a great man he was!
I continued to check the rest of the pictures, only to discover an unmistakable correlation between such lines and temper. Holmes chuckled at my baffling, and then, only for a second did my glance stopped in his face before my last comment.
"By the way, Holmes," I said, "you have those lines extremely developed…"
"Ahh!!!" he exclaimed. "You had to fix on that, you miserable rat!!" he yelled as he threw my book out the window, all the leaves breaking free about Baker Street.