A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
Eventually, Jenny decided she would spend the night at the Baker Street rooms. "A girl's first flow is always a challenge, Sherla, and more than just a little frightening. Most girls have their Mum to help them through it." An small grin flitted across the other woman's face. "I thought we decided you *were* my Mum, Jenny." Jenny went very still. "I believe we have already had this discussion," she said very softly, almost fearfully." "Oh, Jenny, I am sorry," Sherla said quickly, before she had a chance to be surprised at how much Jenny's sad reaction bothered her "I didn't mean to hurt you! I was just trying to let you know that I like the idea as well. If you don't want to be called Mother or Mum, then I won't." Jenny closed her eyes tightly, and then took a deep, slightly shuddering breath to calm herself. "I'd like it a great deal, Sherla," she said, her voice breaking audibly once, "I'm just not sure if it would be a very good idea. Given your current status and plans, that is," Jenny added hurriedly. Something inside Sherla felt and responded to the wistful hunger in Jenny's soul. "Well, I think that I am more than capable of handling such things," she said with an intentional arrogance that had Jenny gaping at her. "My suggestion is that I can call you Mother or Mum in private until I am in possession of papers identifying me as the daughter of Miss Jennifer Deavers by Mr. Sherlock Holmes." That had both pleased and concerned Jenny. She truly yearned to mother this girl with the brain of an old man, and yet, part of her worried that Sherla, still posing as Joan, might err in the presence of other people. Sighing softly, she said as much. "I have been disguising myself in one way or another, since I first escaped from my harpy of a governess - when I was not yet out of the nursery, Mum. I have always prided myself on my ability to stay in role. Many's the time that ability has saved my life. I won't make that type of error." "If you're sure then, yes, having you call me Mum would make me very happy." And so it had been agreed. Jenny was as good as her word, staying home with Sherla throughout that traumatic and messy first experience with a woman's cycle. Even the Holmes' mind was not inured to the humiliation of having its body's hygienic needs explained and then demonstrated upon its person. Sherla had blushed from hairline to toes, but Jenny had been gently firm, and they had managed to get through the day in a good humor. That evening, over the first decent dinner Sherla had eaten since the night Sherlock Holmes had concentrated a solution of what he'd thought to be cocaine, the two woman chatted about the next step in Miss Holmes plans. A small flicker of emotion had flared in Jenny's dark eyes. "What about your . . . what did you call it? Your mission? Won't that be dangerous?" Sherla frowned as she considered the implications of that and finally nodded. "You are correct, of course. I don't want you to become of a target for Moriarty's men. In fact, when I arrange for the surveillance on Carroll, I will also arrange for discreet security for you. As for me? That mission is something I must do if I at all can. In the past, I was the only one who was able to stop Moriarty, and by his own words, he believed I was the only one who might possibly stop him this time, as well. It would be false modesty on my part not to agree with him." Jenny became very still and then continued, "It is not just you and me, Sherla, involved in this situation. Should I send Maisie away? You have decided this course for yourself, and I have lived a full life, but she is just beginning to live. I do not want her harmed in any way." "I don't think that is a problem, Mother," Sherla said quietly. "I will see to both your safeties before I depart for the Continent. In truth, I believe the greatest danger we will face is during the period before I leave London, or in other words, during the days when the world still believes Sherlock Holmes to be alive." "You have decided how you are going to arrange the death?" "Some details remain to be worked out yet. It has to look like an accident, but at the same time, the incident must also be something that Moriarty can interpret as a suicide disguised to look like an accident." "You'll need a body, won't you? One that looks like you enough to fool the police? How will you do that?" "Haven't decided yet, Jenny. Suicide at sea, perhaps? Or in a fiery conflagration. For enough money, it is fairly common for medical students to purchase cadavers unclaimed by any family members for surgical and anatomical studies. One of those would do nicely if it comes to that. That might be more acceptable for Moriarty. I could arrange an explosion that would cause the fire. The body would be all but cremated if I do it correctly. If I do it in a fairly rural area, the local constabulary will have neither the tools nor the interest to explore the case further. In fact, the most difficult part of the scheme may be getting Holmes' name in the paper." "I see," Jenny said very quietly. "I could simply disappear - Sherlock Holmes has done that in the past - and leave a suicide note. Eventually, given my . .. or rather, his age, they'd have to accept that and probate the will, but it might take a while. I don't trust Carroll not to try and. . . benefit unduly from my supposed demise." "When?" was all Jenny could ask. "Soon," Sherla said quietly. "I am running out of the drug and therefore out of time. I have to go to the Continent as soon as possible. I prepared the way for Holmes to go to the country when Carroll called on me here. The accident should occur en route." "How will Holmes be seen leaving Baker Street?" "I have an idea on that score, too, Jenny, but it may involve some risk to you. And I still need the identification papers." *She calls me Mother or Mum when we are just chatting,* Jenny thought with fond amusement, *but when she is worried about my well being or concerned for me, she calls me Jenny. A holdover from Holmes-the-man? Should I call her on it? No, better to just let her be as natural as possible.* "All right then," Jenny said. "Tonight I shall send personal notes to certain women who owe me favors asking if I might call upon them tomorrow. That will start the process of your new papers as Sherla Joan Holmes." "How long?" Sherla asked. "Not long," Jenny said assuredly. "I have done similar things before to get one or two of my girls into or out of England. Day after tomorrow - the day after that at the very latest." "I have some things I wish to check on tomorrow around Whitehall. I think the day dress still fits well enough, doesn't it?" Jenny grinned. "I will adjust some of the seams and raise the hem so that you can go back to the Cuban heels tonight, dear. You have grown sufficiently short that I can turn the embroidery completely under the hem this time." Miss Holmes sighed gratefully. "Well, that was a wonderful dinner, Mum, but I have this strong urgent compulsion to offer you port and cigars." "I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Sherla," Jenny said with an impish grin, "although I will admit that during my younger, wilder days, I rather delighted upon intruding upon that male bastion and demanding my own glass and smoke. Of course, that only made me more of an original and more highly in demand. Very desirable in my former profession." "I unconsciously tried to smoke my pipe that first night and found that Sherla is incapable of ingesting tobacco in any form. My formerly beloved shag rough-cut very nearly caused me to become violently ill and I did not even fill, let alone light the cursed pipe. And then *you* taught me about my recently acquired, very low tolerance for alcohol. You got me quite foxed that first day, Mother." "Did you good!" Jenny affirmed. "Now, why don't you get ready for bed and I will see to cleaning up from dinner. I am sure you are fatigued. I know that I am and I only watched as you went through your first Penance of Eve." Sherla rose from her chair and then, very deliberately, pressed a kiss to Jenny's cheek. "You did much more than simply watch, Mum. I like to think I would have survived on my own, but you made it much less difficult for me. Thank you." "You're very welcome, dear," Jenny said just above a whisper before firming her voice. "Now, to bed with you and don't forget to cleanse yourself as I taught you. Call if you need help with the padding." Another fiery flush blazed across Sherla's face. "Thank you, but I believe that won't be necessary. Good night, Mother." "Good night, dear," Jenny said, turning her head toward the remnants of their meal in order to hide the small grin that she could not seem to stop. ~------------~ A stumbling sound awoke Jenny from a sound sleep. She was momentarily disoriented, and then recalled she was sleeping in Watson's room at Baker Street. A glance at the moonlit clock told her it was almost four o'clock in the morning. *What could that be?* she wondered before the answer came to her. *Sherla? Having trouble with her flux?* Jenny drew on a robe and hurried out of the room. She discovered she was better than half right - it was Sherla and she was in trouble, but it had nothing to do with her menstruation - at least not directly. Sherla was struggling to fill a hypodermic needle from a small amber bottle, but with very little success. For a few moments, Jenny simply observed, unsure what to do. Clearly, the withdrawal Sherla had told Jenny about had struck and struck hard. Sherla's breaths were coming in rapid, shallow pants, leaving her lips too dry for her tongue to moisten. She was seated at her desk, her bosom straining against her nightgown as she wedged her breasts onto the table top in an evidently vain attempt to help control the shaking of the hypodermic long enough for her to fill it. *Those symptoms she told me about, and by the look of her, they are very harsh today. Why can't she sit still?* Jenny asked herself. *She is shifting about in that chair as if her bottom hurts. Why didn't she tell me about that symptom? Likely she has always been too busy trying to treat herself with the drug to notice something that doesn't directly affect her ability to inject herself. Well, she can't hold her hands steady either. She needs help.* Her decision made, Jenny stepped into the room and gently put her hands over Sherla's. "I'll do this," she said softly. "You just tell me how." Slowly, Sherla relaxed her knuckle-whitening grip on the bottle and the needle. Her voice shook with the force of her effort to control herself as she slowly and deliberately explained how to fill the needle and administer the potion - which Jenny did with remarkable aplomb. As always, the effects of the drug were immediate; the fiery heat in her abdomen swiftly subsided, the cramping eased, and the almost painful sensitivity of her skin dulled. "Thank you," Sherla said in a rasping whisper. "What happened?" Jenny demanded. "I tried to extend my time between doses," Sherla replied. "I have so little of it left and I wasted a dose yesterday. I started shaking at about three o'clock. I was determined to overcome this. . . this abomination by sheer force of will, but finally just couldn't take it any more. I almost didn't get the dose this time. Thank you again, Mum." "So, now we can go back to bed?" "I will certainly have to," Sherla said with a hint of a smile. She quickly explained the immediate effects of the drug even as she made her way back to bed. *Sounds like I need to use the water closet for myself now, and make certain I am not in her way when she awakens,* Jenny thought with a smile. ~--------------~ Miss Sherla Holmes felt much better the next morning when she came into the small dining room, following the scent of Jenny's superb breakfast. As they ate, they discussed their plans for the day. Sherla was going to go farther afield and check out other known Moriarty hiding places for clues. Jenny, who had already received positive responses to her notes by return messenger, would make her calls before opening the shop. There, she would also collect several other outfits that would (or that would almost) fit the increasingly diminutive Sherla. The result of three doses in two days had been a measurable acceleration in Sherla's rate of reduction in both size and age. She was almost an inch shorter than before her menses began - nearly down to five feet, two and three quarters inches, and between the drugs and the elimination of fluid during her monthly, down to nearly 115 pounds in weight. Jenny had been disgusted with the corset since she hardly had to use any force at all to close it up during lacing. "You get a new one of these, my girl, today!" She had said, the words a promise and not a threat. When they left the room at Bakers Street, they did so by separate cab. They did not want to have to explain things to Maisie. Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes Date: February 13, 1911. Time: 6:02 P.M. My Dear Doctor Watson, A most interesting two days, John, but I must tell you that except for Jenny, I could have done quite well, thank you so very much, without the experience. Did you, in your professional capacity ever deal with a hysterical woman in the grip of her monthly? I know that you had Mary, but she was a fine example of Sturdy English Womanhood and I cannot imagine her doing anything such at that. I tell you, John, that had it not been for Jenny, I would have done something akin to that. Not to put too fine a point on it, John, Menses is Messy! It is also damned uncomfortable. If it were not for the alternatives, only one of which is becoming a man again and therefore the least likely, I should just as soon never go through that again. However, as the most likely alternative is death, I *think* I can tolerate menstruation . . . for a while, anyway. I am reaching the end of my rope, John. I have, at most, a week of the drug left - more likely six days, but I am experimenting with reducing the dose by two tenths of a cubic centimeter to see if that reduces the time between onsets of the withdrawal effect. Jenny sent a message earlier that I will have my papers tomorrow, so I am planning to leave for the south of England the very next day. En route, Holmes will "die". I believe I have that scheme all worked out. A medical student whose tuition is now paid for the remainder of his studies will meet us at a small rest stop I know of along the road to Dover. I have everything else I need. As for the financial issues, I drew another two thousand pounds from my accounts and arranged so that the consulting detective, the protection agency and the medical student will be paid even should Mr. Holmes die. They will be able to draw on the accounts based on the contract I signed using Mr. Holmes power of attorney. As to my investigations, those came up empty, much as I expected. All the known lairs of Moriarty were either deserted, destroyed or were being occupied for some other, more legal capacity. I was rather taken with the extreme irony of one such case, John. One of Moriarty's hideouts is now a factory that manufactures ladies foundations and other undergarments. Given my own situation, that seems somehow rather appropriate, don't you think? I imagine that Jenny will get a chuckle or two out of this. I won't go into the measurements tonight, John, except to say that they are still changing. I won't speculate what will happen to my waist, hips and bosom once Jenny arrives home with the new corset she's threatened to lock upon me, but my height and weight continue to drop - almost a full inch in stature and nearly five pounds in weight. I can give full blame for the loss of inches to taking three doses of the drug in less than two days, but the weight drop had several contributing factors. We will see where that ends up once my bodily humors are more normal again. Well, I suppose that is all for now. I must dress for the marvelous dinner that I am certain Mother Jenny will insist I eat. It is quite a pleasant change to have an appetite again, John, and to be able to enjoy the flavor of food as well. There are, I have discovered to my surprise, benefits to this transformation, and I believe that I am man enough. . .make that woman enough, to acknowledge those positive aspects. However few they may be. Astounding, isn't it? Or is that perhaps more correctly confounding? Earlier tonight, as I reread my last entry in this record, I discovered that one interpretation of what I have written there is that I have made a perfectly well thought out and rational decision to accept becoming a woman. Odd isn't it? Especially when I recall that I have always considered women to be naturally faulty in their thinking and irrational on top of that. Well, perhaps I am the vanguard of a new woman. Well, now I must be off. Oh, pardon me, John, you want to know about the change in address within this entry? Well, as the entry now states, this is the journal of 'Miss Sherla Joan Holmes.' As such, calling you simply 'Watson' is somewhat inappropriate coming from a woman of my apparent age and upbringing, and yet, calling you 'Doctor Watson' seems too formal in the extreme, except on formal occasions such as the opening of the entry. Still, I must start thinking like such a woman, particularly socially. Therefore, I will open the journal to 'Doctor Watson' and make my discussions, en famille, with John. Eh what? Hmmm. . .back to my age. . . perhaps I shall make you my honorary Uncle John, instead. I think I will discuss this with Jenny. Well, that is TRULY all for now, Uncle John. A bientot. I will talk to you again soon. End Journal Entry.
