Prompt 07: From Michael JG Meathook – Mugshot.

Familiar Faces

"You are certain you have not seen this man, Mr. Holmes?" Constable Burton held out the newspaper expectantly, as though a second glimpse would cause Holmes to reconsider his earlier perusal.

Watson saw Holmes's eyes flicker, the pale morning light slanting through the window to spill across his face.

"I assure you, Constable Burton, I have not seen him." The detective's tone sounded bored, and he stirred sugar into his tea with a slow, disinterested motion. "If you wish to continue doubting my sight, perhaps you should ask the good doctor here if he would kindly oblige."

The young constable flushed. "I meant no disrespect, sir. Inspector Lestrade said you were most particular with faces. He thought you may recognise this one."

Holmes snorted into his teacup, waved his hand towards Watson in a gesture that simply said, show him.

Evidently Burton was familiar enough with Holmes's manner to grasp his meaning, and he handed the paper over to Watson without question, coming to stand at the doctor's shoulder whilst Watson studied the image.

That it was a sketch was evident from the broad pencil strokes, smudged in places where shadows would naturally fall. The face that stared back at him was deeply lined, bushy whiskers covering a large proportion of the cheeks. Hair the colour of wet coal sprung out like overgrown weeds either side of a broad hat, the eyes too heavily shaded to make out any distinguished identification. The picture cut off neatly at the man's shoulders, a loosened collar and frock-coat the only other items of clothing Watson could make out.

Watson shook his head. "It is not someone I recognise," said he, returning the paper. "Do you have a name?"

"No," said Burton regretfully. "All we know is that he was seen on Sunday last, around the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Harrow, near Berkeley Square."

"Perhaps he knows the family," Holmes suggested.

"They say not, however Mrs. Harrow believes she has seen this man before, and has asked us to keep a close eye on the property, what with the recent burglaries in the area."

"Yes, well," said Holmes, rising from his chair, "whilst I am deeply flattered by Lestrade's faith in my capabilities to remember most of the men whom frequent London, I am afraid on this occasion I must disappoint."

Burton took this in his stride, a slight bow in his posture. "Of course. I apologise for disturbing you, sirs," said he, ever polite. "Good day to you both."

The young constable left, and no sooner had they heard the door shut downstairs did Holmes suddenly burst into laughter.

Watson looked at him in surprise, however it took him only a moment to grasp the meaning of Holmes's reaction, signs fitting together with a speed that would make the detective proud.

"It is you!"

Holmes had to decency to cease laughing enough to confirm this.

"What were you doing in Berkeley Square?" Watson asked, curiosity winning out over his compulsion to berate Holmes for leading the poor constable astray.

"Plying my trade, my dear fellow, what else?"

"Have the Harrows hired you for a case?"

Holmes smiled. "No. However, my services have been procured by their neighbours, the Greens. From what they have disclosed, the Harrows are not the candid people they portray themselves to be. Of course, I could not take their word solely as fact, thus I had to investigate myself. It has been a most curious turn of events, Watson."

"I'm very interested to hear about it," said Watson. "But first, you ought to tell Lestrade that you are the man in question, Holmes." He glanced out of the window to see Burton further down the street, talking to an elderly gentleman, the newspaper held between them. "And Constable Burton, for that matter."

End