Sherlock Holmes was well known to the London Ambulance Service.
Even before he became a consulting detective, he was still occasionally picked up, although those incidents were of a more... delicate nature. (Honestly, legal affairs and government... best not to talk about it.)
Miranda Higgins had been with the LAS for eight years. She was still fairly new when Sherlock had come into the picture. (And that's who he was by now, first name basis, not Mr Holmes, he was Sherlock.)
She could still recall the first time her husband came home, baffled about a strange call he'd received that day. He worked as a dispatcher at Waterloo, but sometimes he'd also take shifts as an allocator. (She swore it was just so he could call her up and talk.)
"The woman said that he was licking things," he told her over dinner. "Licking!"
She smiled, and nodded. That really wasn't so strange. "Did you tell her we don't send ambulances for lickings?"
He shook his head. "He was also spectacularly high, from her description anyway."
"Might explain the licking," she retorted.
Ronald shook his head again. "No, he was licking things because apparently the suspect wore a certain type of perfume, and he had to lick her shoes to make sure."
"Mmm... being high could still explain that."
"No," he insisted, "Because he was right. I sent police along with the paramedics and they found a warrant out for her arrest, for the exact murder the guy was talking about."
She made a face. "Are you sure? That sounds a bit odd."
He shrugged. "I didn't believe it either. But when the police interviewed me about the call... Then I believed it."
"Well," she said, standing up and clearing her plate. "I wonder if we'll be hearing from him again soon."
Her husband snorted. "I dunno. Sounds like he needs to be in rehab for a good long while."