Prompt: Who do you think you are?
From: Kitschgeist
A/N: Just a little tale on how I think Wiggins and Holmes meet (0_0)
...
I slipped my pocket watch back into my breast pocket, and gazed along Grosvenor Square with my ever-keen eyes.
It was becoming tedious that the he criminal classes had been most unengaging for over a month, and I long for a case; long to hear an interesting case from Lestrade; anything to distract me from my boredom!
Mrs Hudson chased me out of 221B some hour or two ago for some 'fresh air' as she phrased it; but I suspect I may have to come back to it as well, if I am unlucky.
...
I look at the trees growing in the square, and quietly recite their Latin names to myself, allowing myself to relax from an alert state ever so slightly.
Until someone screams from the opposite side of the square.
It sounds like a fifty year old extremely wealthy wife of a businessman who had lost her newly purchased diamond and pearl necklace and it had been stolen from her by a swift thief.
I yawn. It is rather tiresome dealing with such boring trivialities, and is why I must leave at once, lest she or her husband, whom has served in the Royal Navy judging by his limp and haircut, see me and recognise me.
But I had scarcely gone seven steps away from the couple's direction when I feel something; or someone, run right into my legs, sending me sprawling to the ground.
A boy who looks no younger than ten and no older than fifteen lies, dazed and dizzy, nearby- holding the necklace in one hand, his head in the other.
"Are you...alright?" I ask reluctantly.
"I think I am, gov," he answers in poor English, shaking his head before climbing up to his feet.
"Now, what do you think you're doing?" I ask him sternly, putting my hands on my hips and giving the street Arab a glare, at which he shuffles his feet awkwardly. "Why are you running?" I know the answer, of course. He clearly stole the necklace.
"What's it to ya, gov?" The boy asks me, boldly. Tempted as I am to box his ears for his impudence, I detain my fury and instead continue to glare at him. My eyes pick out the miniscule details that tell me everything I need to know about this boy.
"I know for a fact that you are nearly thirteen years of age, you are a pickpocket, have no employment or home and love animals." I tell him wryly.
The boy gapes at me for a long moment, unable to comprehend what I had said to him.
"Who do you think you are?" He asks me, full of anger. "You've been spying on me!"
"I assure you, my boy, I have never laid eyes on you until now." I reply calmly, inwardly smug I had caught him off guard. "The grubby, forlorn state of your clothes suggested to me a lack of a home, and the fact that your clothes are too small show you cannot afford new clothes. These clothes were designed for someone about ten years of age. You also have hairs around your ankles, which indicate a love of animals- small dogs or cats, most likely. Correct?"
The boy nods, too gobsmacked to speak for a moment or two.
"How...how did you know?" he asks at last, once he finds the breath to talk again.
"I did not. I merely observed, and deduced." I tell him. "Now, what might your name be, my lad?"
"Wiggins, sir." He answers. "William Wiggins. But I just go by Wiggins."
"Well, Wiggins," I continue. "I am looking for a small group of children to be part of an unofficial force to help me seek information otherwise unobtainable to myself or my acquaintances at Scotland Yard. I think, with the right training and some food, you would make an excellent member. How does that sound to you?"
He shrugs. "I dunno, sir. Sounds real temptin', but I ain't got the time for that. Not when I'm trying to survive on what little I got, sir."
Hum- that did not occur to me. I come up with an idea, however, to resolve both our problems.
"Well, then, suppose I pay you and your fellow Irregulars a shilling a day in service? Would that persuade you to give up pickpocketing and work for me?" I offer.
Wiggins perks up at the idea. "So, I get money working for ya?" he asks in disbelief.
"For food, yes. And I will also cover other expenses. And if any of you boys provide me with a vital clue for a case, I will throw in an extra guinea." I promise. It seems like a little motivational 'perk' if you will.
His eyes widen at this promise, making me realise that that was likely more money than he had ever seen in his years. "Well, it does sound more ideal than not knowing when money for my next meal will come from," He says.
"So, we have a bargain?"
"Sure, Mr... oh, but I don't know your name, sir."
I hold out my hand to him as a gesture of conciliation. "My name is Sherlock Holmes." I say with a smile.