Sherlock didn't acknowledge Mitch at first. If he had any reservations about this really being Sherlock Holmes, the subtly forlorn creases in his face as he gazed at the coats might have partially addressed them. More than once, Sherlock had made plans to steal them back, but it would raise too much suspicion. Not even the best tailor could have patched those holes, anyway.

He turned to face Mitch, cocking his brow at him. The former mayor didn't need the facade anymore. Still, Sherlock understood the desire to hold onto a cover that kept him safe for so long. It was a feat among their kind, really.

"Well, that's lucky. If anyone tried to buy this, I'd probably snap all of their fingers." Sherlock's tone was pleasant, but just cutting enough to mean it. It was extremely lucky for whoever had sold the coats to the shop that he didn't have time to hunt them down.

"If you're worried about Douglas, don't be. He lost his hearing years ago. He can read lips, but poorly." Sherlock stamped his foot on the hardwood floor, using the vibration to catch the shopkeep's attention. He snapped up from reading a catalog at the counter and bustled over to the two men.

"Ah, thinking of finally dropping a dime on those, huh?" he asked, his voice a bit too loud, though not on purpose.

"Afraid not, old man. Just have a new member of the history club I want to show our fallback meeting place."

After a moment's contemplation to make sure he got the gist of what Sherlock said, Doug nodded emphatically.

"Right, right. I know the wife hates it when you spring meetings on her. I'll unlock it for ya." He headed for a staircase at the back of the shop that lead to an empty apartment on the floor above.

"No security cameras up there," he muttered to Mitch and made his way after the old man.