I discounted most of these tales at the time, but as I look at my notes, I'm starting to believe them.
Fascinated, I leaned against a lamp-post, just staring at him. Quite rudely, in fact. I wasn't close enough to actually hear the details of his conversation, but that Scottish burr was oddly unexpected. Decades of Basil Rathbone films had somehow transferred the voice of Nigel Bruce, the Watson figure, onto the great writer himself. I'm not usually taken off guard like that, especially by a basic detail, but this was the creator of the worlds greatest detective, so I'll give myself a pass, this one time.
I waited for his companions to walk away, and I took my chance. I quickly strode up to him and made eye contact.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement, “can you direct me to Baker street?” There was an amazingly long moment of silence, during which I almost cracked a grin.
Doyle looked at me with heavy-browed disgust, and without a word, walked away.
I could have died laughing.