John Watson is many good things: faithful and loyal and courageous as the day is long. More than that, he is my friend, and I have never allowed anyone to look down on him. I am a realistic man, however, and I am aware of my own shortcomings as well as Watson's. It is a necessity of my job, for underestimating oneself is as dangerous as overestimating ones abilities. Therefore, I am well aware that, sometimes, my dear friend Watson is far too naive for his own good. Perhaps naive is the wrong word, but he's certainly far too trusting. I've spoken with him seemingly a hundred times about how to keep himself safe and avoid being scammed, but here he was falling for another scam. It was a good thing I was the one who was scamming him.

'"C'mon, guv," I drawled in my best Cockney. I wasn't naturally good at it, but had practiced enough to pass when I wasn't around anyone from Newcastle. "Give us a minute and we'll 'ave ya good as new, just you trust 'ol Harry with it."

"Please, no thank you, I have to be on my way," Watson said, but despite his words he'd stopped when I'd called out to him and that was what I'd warned him against. He should have ignored me and kept walking. Any seasoned con artist would pin him as an easy target the moment he responded.

I twirled my shoe shining brush in my fingers, knowing I was about to have him in the palm of my hand. Figuratively, of course, but his coins literally. I was in disguise as a shoeblack and had posted myself on a corner in between two streets so I could watch the comings and goings in relation to a case I was investigating. I had not been surprised to see my dear friend Watson coming along with his medical bag in hand, for these streets are ones he frequents. I had endured a slow morning of shining shoes, and I couldn't resist having a bit of fun by testing him. I wondered if he would see through my disguise; he'd seen through a few in the past, but this one was particularly good and I had hunched over to disguise my true height. Watson is used to literally looking up to me, and the sight of a man well above six feet is a tell I have a hard time disguising. I had hoped he would have heeded my advice and ignore my calls, but now I was about to rope him in with a lie.

"Please, sir, just a donation for an old soldier," I drawled. "I know it's a child's work, but I ain't got nothin' else to do with his bum leg o' mine."

That hooked him thoroughly, just like I knew it would. Soldiers were his people, a group he was overly proud and protective of. He asked which unit I had served with, obviously curious if 'my unit' had ever met his. I was very tempted to mention one he would have known just to see how angry he'd get when he realized I was lying to him, but I was still on a case and didn't want to raise a scene.

"Here," Watson said, dropping some coins into the cup I had on the ground for payment. "I was in the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers myself. God be with you, sir."

He started to leave, but I grabbed him. "Come now," I argued, "I'm naw a beggar. Honest work, that's me motto. I never took a haypenny what wasn't earned fair. Lemme shine yer shoes, sir."

Watson hesitated.

"Please, sir. Jus' a few minutes under my brush and all the ladies will be followin' after you like you're a rake, jus' you wait an see. It's all quick and painless, you just trust Harry with it."

"Very well," Watson acquiesced, placing his boot on my box as I sat on a stool and opened my jars. I was as good as my word, whistling an organ grinder's tune as made quick work of each of his boots. I kept one of my legs held stiffly so that he couldn't tell my story was a fake one, and kept my head hunched over so that he couldn't see the profile of my face. I'd used putty to change the shape of my nose and was wearing a fake beard and fake eyebrows, but Watson's mind was a formidable one. Were he to get a good, up close look at me I was sure he would figure out I was his old friend Sherlock Holmes. Watson certainly isn't a master of the science of deduction, but I learned long ago to never underestimate him. Before I let him go, I palmed all the change I'd been given that day, including his, and slipped it in his own pocket as I thanked him.

I expected him to go quickly in the direction he'd been headed, but instead he lingered with me for a moment, his expression open and honest.

"My name is Doctor John Watson," he said, handing me his card. "Next time your leg needs to be looked after, come to me, and tell the nurse you're my guest. I need to go look after another patient, but believe me, sir, I know exactly what it's like." He held his cane up and gave me a small, sad smile before turning away from me.

I pocketed the card, mumbling "God bless you sir," as he was walking away. I meant it, for Watson's gesture was a generous one even though, had I been someone else, Watson might have been lied to and scammed. He was far too good a man and far too trusting, but I decided I wouldn't bring it up when I saw him tonight. I would let him find the coins in his pocket, wonder about his strange interaction today, and draw conclusions on his own. Perhaps he would bring it up on his own and perhaps he wouldn't. And maybe, if he drew a conclusion other than the truth, then 'ol Harry would show up to his waiting room as a guest.