Sherlock Holmes' London Through the Eyes of Scotland Yard

Lestrade panted, getting to his feet as the gang of Cheathams fell back. “Right now I can think of worse things than rescue by an amateur detective.” “My dear Lestrade, we're simply ensuring the fight is fair.” Sherlock Holmes somehow dissuaded the truth of that by the way his lips were coiling up at the edges (without letting go of the pipe in his teeth). Perhaps it was because he was clearly in disguise as a seedy deckhand in Dutchman's sailing clothes.

Lestrade felt his heart fall through his rib-slats and hit the floor. “Bradstreet, please tell me you did not bring Mr. Holmes in while I was stark staring mad.” “What do you take me for? He came himself. Needed a clip of your hair.” “What in God's Teeth did he want with a clip of my hair?” Lestrade shouted.