PD London: Holmes & Watson on the (other's) case.
[Sherlock Holmes didn't wait for the news. He was not long in town, but he hardly needed to wait for the morning delivery for such things. He had a network, after all, and it certainly hadn't fallen apart in his absence.
For an excuse, Mr. Holmes granted his not inconsiderable services to the Coroner local to the neighbourhood, a man of advanced age, overfond of drink, and unfortunately ill that morning when he accidentally ingested a bit of bad fish (or so he thought). Said Coroner was not precisely aware that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was doing him such a great service as to appear ex officio, when sending for him was something of a formality to begin with.
Mr. Holmes, in this capacity, named himself as that great man's nearest subordinate, wearing only a bare nod to disguise in the form of a dull black hat, shoe polish on his hair, and one of his better coats, padded at the shoulders and around the belt so as to hang and hide the detective's considerable height and over-thin body. Some mouth cotton to alter the length of his jaw and set of his head, and it was enough to be going on with.
He knew Vauxhall well, and successfully avoided the crowd to investigate the body and surrounding while a few policemen herded away the gawkers. Sherlock was avoiding his old comrades in the police force handily, choosing his timing well and enjoying relative silence while he worked the ground on one knee.]