A/N: Prompt at the end of this one. Short and sweet for you :-) Happy Christmas Eve, guys! My apologies in advance for the slow posting … this month has been a very busy one, as I can imagine it has for a lot of you. I'll be playing catch-up over the holidays, but wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a healthy and happy new year. Be sure to take some time for yourselves and enjoy the festivities.

Face Value

"I do not know what else you wish me to say, Mr. Holmes. Those are the facts. Take them as you see fit."

Their visitor, Mr. Hemswell, finishes his account with a sniff, looking around the living room with a distasteful sneer across his features. His jowls ripple like a disturbed pond and his collar seems a tad too tight, the folds of his neck spilling over the stiff fabric. The chair he is sat on quivers beneath his bulk, the legs at near breaking point.

Holmes regards him through a haze of smoke, his body a long subtle curve on the sofa and his wrist tilted at an angle, cigarette held between loose fingers. Watson is sat at his writing desk, pen still and poised. A draft of events two days' prior is in front of him, the ink not yet dried. He has only stopped to hear of Mr. Hemswell's story.

"Those are your facts, Mr. Hemswell," says Holmes, breaking the silence, "and I do not have to 'take them' at all. Facts also imply that they are given with the assertion of truth."

A red flush rises up the man's neck as he splutters. "Are you calling me a liar, sir?"

"Did I say such? I am sure the good doctor here will attest that such words did not leave my mouth." Holmes quirks a smile at Watson before he returns his gaze to Mr. Hemswell. "Although I must make it clear to you, sir, that I know when someone is lying to me."

"I have not lied to you, Mr. Holmes," the man protests. "There is a conspiracy here! My wife and daughter seek to send me into financial ruin."

Holmes plucks at a thread on arm of the sofa, his demeanour almost bored.

"Ah, yes, that part is true. However, you failed to mention that you have played a cruel trick on your wife and daughter."

Mr. Hemswell starts, the chair protesting the sudden movement. "You. You cannot possibly know that."

"Perhaps I would have not on your tale alone," Holmes concedes. "But the truth has a way of revealing itself and, were I to take your case, I would have found out eventually. As it happens, I already know of this, as your wife and daughter came to me not two days' ago, asking me to investigate the disappearance of their inheritances. Whilst I may not have adopted their methods in their acts of revenge against you, I must say they have some merit." He paused to fix Mr. Hemswell with a piercing gaze. "Don't you think so, Mr. Hemswell?"

The man gapes at them, recovers himself with an angry scowl. "Now see here, how do you know that is it not I who has been wronged? If you have taken my family's word as–"

Holmes laughs, swipes a hand through the air to cut him off. "I suppose it could be said that it is one word against another, however your wife produced evidence that was most enlightening. In fact, Watson is writing up the very notes of our investigation. I think you'll find them rather useful, Mr. Hemswell, particularly around a tea box you keep beneath a loose floorboard in your drawing room. Doctor, would you care to read an excerpt to our guest?"

Watson obliges, though the only person to listen is Holmes, as the retreating footsteps of Mr. Hemswell flee down the stairs and into the street below.

End

Prompt 11: From goodpenmanship – conspiracy.