A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
Holmes woke up choking. He couldn't take a deep breath. He spat fiercely to clear his mouth and then tried a slow, deliberate breath, but found he still couldn't get much air in. *That infernal corset,* Holmes realized as he concentrated on getting air in and out. He felt himself growing lightheaded because he wasn't getting in enough oxygen. Deliberately, he unbuttoned the dress he had been too far inebriated to remove when he'd arrived home and then found Madame's corset tool. In moments, he could fully expand his lungs again. Holmes then became aware of a positively vile taste pervading his mouth. *The brandy?* Holmes wondered as he went to the water closet to rinse his mouth. Holmes rinsed several times and found that the foul taste remained. Concerned, Holmes went to his mirror and opened his mouth. What he saw was as disgusting as the taste. His teeth had become so yellowed that Holmes was certain there was a greenish hue to them, and a veritable spider's web of minute cracks embossed the surface of each tooth. Holmes touched one tooth with the tip of his finger and found it even more loose than it had been earlier. Stiffening the slender finger, Holmes pushed at the tooth and felt it shatter beneath his touch. He steeled himself for the agonizing pain he understood such destruction entailed, but none came. Shocked, Holmes moved a lamp nearer the mirror and looked at the broken tooth more carefully. There, beneath what was left of the brittle green-yellow shell was a smaller, perfectly formed, white tooth. "Remarkable," Holmes breathed in wonder. Now caught up in the wonder of investigation and discovery, Holmes repeated the experiment on another tooth, and then another, and then yet another. In each case, the yellow-green shell shattered to reveal a small, perfectly formed white tooth, much more in proportion, if a little undersized, to his current dimensions. Thoroughly engrossed now, Holmes took up the small, soft bristled brush he'd taken to using for purposes of oral hygiene and began to brush vigorously at his teeth, brushing away all of the encapsulating material. Amazingly, at no time was there the slightest hint of pain from this cleansing, and much to his relief, the action finally cleared the foul taste from his mouth as well. Holmes spent several minutes examining his new dentition when he realized that, in his haste to clean his new teeth, he had missed something equally significant. Once, during a case, Holmes had been struck by one of the villains hard in the face and had lost one of his canines. Apparently, whatever else he could say against Moriarty's potion, its effects worked to correct health problems. He'd already noticed that numerous old scars were fading, but to have a tooth regenerate? *Remarkable,* Holmes thought again. The fiery pleasure of discovery began to fade as Holmes went into the main rooms and up at the clock. *Nearly four a.m,* he thought with a sigh. *Within the next two hours, I will again suffer from the attack of Moriarty's drug.* Sighing, Holmes settled in his favorite chair and began to ponder about what mechanism might have resulted in the transformation and regeneration of his teeth. "Most likely the same mechanism by which my bones are apparently shrinking. The excess calcium is somehow being removed and excreted from my body during those daily and violent trips to water closet. Only with my teeth, the calcium external to my gums could not be absorbed and somehow it became reactive and bonded with whatever that plaque-like material that seems to form on my teeth overnight. That further embrittled the old enamel. That doesn't explain how the teeth became smaller or how the canine regenerated, but I don't know if that will ever be understood fully." Holmes tried to pursue the problem more deeply, but whether it was the residual effects of the brandy or lack of sleep, he found he couldn't concentrate. He'd have to worry about it in the morning. "I suppose I will wait for the withdrawal attack and then go back to bed," he told himself before another thought struck him. "Why should I wait? I know the characteristics of the drug well enough by now and the symptoms will strike within the next forty five to ninety minutes in any event. Why should I wait when all I want is to go to sleep and forget this ever occurred?" The thought became deed, and within five minutes, Holmes was back in his bed, soundly asleep. ~-------------~ The hearth clock was tolling nine o'clock when the now familiar, urgent need to relieve himself roused Holmes. That matter seen too, Holmes began his normal morning cleansing rituals. Holmes couldn't resist taking another look and opened his mouth to the mirror. And promptly did a double take. His teeth were now fully restored, perfectly formed and fitted to his mouth. Even the missing canine was fully grown. *I must record this while it is still fresh in my mind,* Holmes nodded to himself as he replayed that thought back in his mind. *but first, sustenance. I am quite famished.* He then made his way to the kitchen to obtain his milk from the icebox before sitting down to write in his journal. Entry in the Journal of Mr. Sherlock Holmes Date: February 8, 1911. Time: 10:32 A.M. My Dear Watson, Another excessive delay in reporting, Watson, but it has been a most eventful period and I have learned a great deal - about myself if not about Moriarty. And the part about myself that I have learned about is the growing feminine aspect of my psyche. First, however, the measurements. Since the last report, I have lost another three pounds down to just under 124 pounds, and slightly less than three quarters of an inch in height and am down to five feet four and half inches tall. As for my waist, I have no idea. I forgot to remove the corset last night and I have discovered that there is apparently some residual effect from wearing it. My measurement today was nearly two inches less than yesterday down to nearly twenty four inches. As a result, putting the corset, that foul and abominable invention from the pits of the Hell, was much easier today than it was yesterday even with Jenny's device to help. What my waist would measure once my internal organs had the opportunity to return to their normal locations inside my body, I cannot say. As to my genitals, short of pressing a finger into the folds and finding that there really is not a fully developed vaginal opening, my pubic region is visually indistinguishable from that of a born woman. My scrotal sack now appears to be labia majora, and what is left of my male organ has withered into a small nubbin that will apparently soon be a clitoris - perhaps even by tomorrow. The most significant change is my teeth. Somehow, and by a mechanism that doesn't seem to bear much analysis, my old teeth have been replaced by a complete set of new teeth more in keeping with my current stature and size. This is another of the times, my dear Watson, that I truly wish you were here. At least I am not worrying about how to disguise myself as a toothless old crone. Now, on to the hard lessons I have learned in the past few days. I have discovered that strong spirits and my increasingly female body chemistry are a volatile combination. I visited an old friend yesterday, Watson. You will recall Madame Jeanne Marie from that unfortunate blackmail case? Well, I determined that she was still in business and concluded that she would be an ideal source for my feminine disguises. She evidently found my Joan Hanks persona to be somewhat, shall we say, inhibited and started dispensing a very fine, and I strongly suspect, illegally imported, French brandy to correct that deficiency. What is still amazing to me, Watson, is that with very little encouragement beyond the spirits, I managed to convince myself that it was in my best interests that I should learn to act as femininely as possible. It is becoming apparent that such a disguise is going to be my sole means of moving about with any degree of ease as my transformation continues. No, that is not quite true, Watson. I must be honest here if nowhere else. The honest truth of the matter is that I wasn't acting female, I WAS female. I was enjoying the frivolities and gaiety of dressing up in those outlandish dresses and women's undergarments. I positively reveled in the compliments, and was enchanted by the lessons on cosmetics and hair styling. I even consoled Jenny when she mentioned that she had lost a child during her only opportunity at pregnancy. My God, Watson, the only time I forgot and began thinking somewhat like a man again was when she told me I would want children of my own! Bloody hell, Watson, you know my views on parenting, and those highly negative views were formulated when all I thought I would have to do was sow the seed. I assure you that my issues are far less positive now that it appears that *I* would be the fertile field to be plowed and into which that seed would be sown. I am certain, Watson, that if there is a heaven and you are looking down at me from some cloud, that you are currently rolling about the skies in uncontrolled mirth. Well, let me give you something more to laugh at. I have decided, after much reflection and self analysis, that in vino veritas is applicable. For whatever reason, my thinking is that learning to be as feminine and womanly as possible is somehow necessary. I believe Moriarty when he says there is no known antidote to this gender change, Watson. Assuming, that after the drug runs out I somehow manage against all odds to survive the withdrawal, I will still be female. A female without an identity and without a place in this world of men. I will need to be able to function in that male-dominated world without drawing undue attention to myself - at least until I can locate and permanently neutralize Moriarty. Or to put it a different way, if I am to have any hope at all of success in my campaign against the Professor, I must be man enough to be a woman. Therefore, I have decided that I will accept Madame Jeanne Marie's kind invitation to attend her at lunch today and for the foreseeable future, and while I am there, I will be Joan - a woman - and I will learn to be a better woman each day. If that means learning to think of myself in the feminine tense, then, distasteful as that currently sounds, I must do so. I shall start slowly however, by assiduously working towards that mental shift when I am with Jenny and Maisie. Now, you must excuse me, I must go and dress for my lessons in womanliness. One distinct advantage is that the silk and satin undergarments do not irritate and abrade my skin as the coarser cottons used in my masculine under-things. Did you ever prescribe silk for skin rash, Watson? End of Journal Entry. ~---------------~ "All right, Joan, why did you loosen your stays when I taught you how to use the corset tool." Jenny Deavers chided as she helped Holmes out of her walking dress so that they could final fit one of the "woman of business" dresses Jenny had found for her. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" "But, Jenny," Holmes protested with a pained squeak as the corset suddenly began to tighten. "I didn't. Heavens, I fell asleep with it on last night thanks to you and Maisie conspiring to get me foxed on brandy." "Ladies don't get foxed, dears, they get nicely tipsy, and don't fib to me, girl. These laces are loose." Jenny growled as she efficiently tightened all the laces. She was just finishing knotting off the corset laces when Maisie walked in with the dress. "Goodness, Miss Jenny, but isn't taking her in a whole 'nother inch a little mean for someone who ain't. . .I mean, isn't used to stays?" "Another inch?" Jenny asked confused. "Yes'm," Maisie replied. "Why, yesterday, you could barely touch both sides of the corset by putting your hand up and down her spine. The sides are much closer together now." Jenny took another look and then slowly nodded. "Give me your measure tape, Maisie," she ordered. Maisie complied and moments later, Jenny was reading the tape. "Twenty and three quarters?" she said in disbelief. "Guess I'll have to alter this here dress again, Miss Jenny," Maisie offered. "Well, let's get it on her and see what we are dealing with," Jenny ordered. Ten minutes later, they knew precisely what they were facing but except for Holmes, they didn't understand any of it. Essentially every major measurement had changed, and become smaller except for the volume needed to contain Holmes' bosom. Her breasts had become obviously rounder and fuller since being corseted, even if the measure of her chest beneath her bosom was over an inch smaller. "Maybe it's because I've never been corseted before," Holmes offered meekly, sensing the distress emanating from the other two women. "P'raps," Maisie said not sounding quite convinced. "But that don't explain why your hem is too long now." Finally, Jenny smiled. "Well, I must have measured her wrong yesterday, Maisie. You can fix that dress this afternoon and I'll have a boy deliver it to you at Mr. Holmes' rooms later today, Joan. Is that all right?" "OH, yes, Jenny," Holmes replied. "I don't need it until tomorrow morning, but I will need it then. Mr. Holmes wants me to go to his solicitor's office for him at ten a.m., and I want to look very. . .very. . " she struggled for the correct word. "Polished and in control, dear," Jenny offered. "Exactly," Holmes beamed. "Umm. . Miss Jenny?" Maisie interjected sheepishly, "There might be a problem getting this done this afternoon." Jenny turned to her helper, a frown on her face. "Why, dear? It's just a hem adjustment." "Miss Jenny, that's not lace on the hem of this dress. That is hand embroidered. I won't be able to do it with the machine. I'll have to do it by hand." Jenny saw the problem. "And even then you'll have to sew around all the embroidery stitches or it won't hang correctly." "You did say Miss Joan was to look special in it, Miss Jenny." the little seamstress offered. "I could work on it all night, but this isn't the kind of work to do when you're tired." "No, of course it isn't, Maisie." Maisie turned to Holmes. "If I start, Miss Joan, I can't stop until I am finished, and I can't promise to have it done in time for you to dress and get to that solicitor's office by ten." "Now, what do I do?" Holmes asked, feeling defeated by the vagaries of women's wear. She couldn't postpone the trip to the solicitor another day because in all likelihood, she'd be shorter still after another dose of the potion. The bloody dress still wouldn't fit! "Well, we do have another option, dear," Jenny offered with a wicked little smile. "Maisie? Go get those shoes with the Cuban heels, please? It is time our Miss Hanks learned the fine art of walking on her tip-toes, especially since she has such a well turned ankle to show off in any case." Holmes looked baffled. "Heels, Miss Jenny?" she asked. "Heels, dear. Trust me, you'll hate them until you see how lovely they look on you." Holmes, however, wasn't quite so sure about that. ~-------------~ Excerpt from the Experimental Journal of Professor Moriarty February 8, 1911 Dr. Fritz Haber is now fully briefed on the project and he understands the dangers of failure. I demonstrated the effects of one of my more esoteric poisons for him on a lab dog. I think seeing the animal literally vomit up it's stomach and then bleed to death was quite effective. As for the good doctor himself, he now believes that he has been injected with the same compound and will die a similarly agonizing death unless I give him the daily antidote which I supposedly make for him one at a time. It is actually an ineffectual placebo since the injection he received was a harmless saline solution, but of course, he doesn't know that. I have promised him the antidote the day that he succeeds in his two tasks of making the drug into an effective gaseous weapon and of eliminating the gender change side effect so that I may use it on myself. Sadly, the day he succeeds will end in tragedy for the good Dr. Haber since the "antidote" I will administer will instead kill him. But I will be merciful and ensure that his will be a painless death. If he does in fact succeed. End Journal Entry.
