A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
Moriarty sipped his morning coffee and barely stifled an undignified sigh of quiet satisfaction that had nothing to do with the current state of progress in the laboratory. It had everything to do with the scheme he had put into motion yesterday morning. *It is as if I were once again fully alive after years spent in a fugue. Exhilarating,* he mused, *MOST exhilarating.* A servant came in to clear away the dishes as Moriarty rose and left the table. He walked to a nearby window and gazed out over the pristine purity of the snow covered grounds. There, he permitted himself a small chuckle. *How appropriate that the first major public act of my return to the Continent should be such a finely-designed crime, forged in the heavenly solitude of such a peaceful setting. This is my destiny, to control the lesser beings of the world from a setting of tranquility, as far above their petty struggles as my own intellect is above their near imbecilities.* *Soon, very soon, assuming the trains are on schedule,* he exulted in excited anticipation. Moriarty's smile grew wider as the picture slowly formed and became vivid before his mind's eye. Dozens of people dead or dying painfully so that one man could disappear without his disappearance being noticed. *It has been far too long since I have wielded the heady power of life and death so fully, and yet, so delicately. Any ham-handed fool with a gun can end the lives of tens of people before he is finally stopped and killed himself,* Moriarty thought with happy self congratulation, *Just as any idiot can commit a kidnapping to no other purpose than mere and too often unrealized monetary gain, but only I could conceive of murder on such a scale as a diversion for a purposeful abduction, and make it all look accidental. And the first step in the scheme to flush the quarry was sweet, as well. The authorities on the Swiss side of the border will be far too busy with more pressing matters to assist the French in their investigations until it is far too late. The trail will be cold.* Thoroughly pleased with himself, Moriarty left the window for his laboratory to check up on Professor Haber. As he walked, one last thought occurred to him. "Wouldn't this have driven Holmes mad?" ~-------------~ Sherla, Irene and Katrina, dressed in warm day gowns and floor length woolen cloaks, waited in the cold mist of their own breath at the door to the university guest house. Thankfully, this would be their fourth and final call of the day and their next stop would be Irene's cozy cottage. They had, over the course of their day, refined their plan to a elegantly and precisely choreographed dance. Irene would charm the scientist while Sherla would listen carefully, and ask any pointed questions once Irene had him at ease and unguarded. While they were so occupied, Katrina would subtly interrogate the staff below stairs in her role as maid-companion to Mademoiselle Sherla. The door opened and a austerely dignified butler of mature years appeared from within. With grave courtesy, he accepted Irene's calling card, and bid then wait in the front parlor while he announced their arrival. Sherla had to consciously restrain herself from pacing as they awaited Dr. Buchner's arrival. This man was too well connected in the biological chemistry academic world of Europe not to have noticed if anything suddenly happened to any of his colleagues. They had learned a great deal of useful information from the other scientists, but none of what they had gleaned was conclusive. They had new avenues of inquiry, but those would require a great deal of time and effort to run to ground. While she had no firm evidence upon which to base the conviction, Sherla was becoming ever more certain that time was a commodity that was becoming increasingly short in supply. Some instinct to which she did not wish to give credence was screaming that something was about to happen, and that there was little, if anything, she would be able to do about it. It was a most disconcerting sensation. "Ah, Madame Irene, Mademoiselle Sherla," Frau Buchner greeted them brightly as she hurried into the room. "I am so glad to see you both, but I am afraid that your visit is in vain, Mademoiselle," she said turning her full attention to Sherla. "My husband will not be able to discuss your researches as he is no longer here in Paris." "Oh," Irene asked quickly to forestall Sherla who would have, Irene was sure, badgered the woman unmercifully in her disappointment. "And when will Monsieur le Docteur return?" The plump blond gave a small smile of apology. "Not anytime soon, I am afraid, Madame Irene. Just yesterday morning, he was received direction from the head of his university that Eduard was needed in Zurich. He has been working with a colleague there on some very special research. They like to pretend that it is all so very great a secret, and so I suppose it was - from me - but their friends on the faculties of their respective universities apparently know what they are about. "As to why my husband had to leave, evidently there was a serious accident involving the chemicals and other compounds he and his partner work with. The local officials wanted someone knowledgeable with the experiments as several persons, including my husband's partner, are gravely ill due to exposure to these chemicals. The other members of the faculty told the police about my husband's relationship with their fellow faculty member. He was called to come help them neutralize the chemicals before anyone else becomes ill. The chemicals must be very dangerous for my husband barely waited to pack his clothing and his research notes. He left by the late afternoon train yesterday. I do apologize, Madame, for I quite forgot his appointment with you. It was, I am afraid, a very confused situation as we tried to get him packed and on his way. He will meet me at home in Germany after he is finished in Switzerland." Irene saw the strange look on Sherla's face and knew something was bothering the girl. "Perhaps, Madame, we might still have our visit later. My niece and I will be visiting Germany later in the spring. Perhaps, we might call upon you then?" Frau Buchner looked uncertain. "My husband is particularly busy when he is home and in his laboratory. Perhaps you might contact us closer to the date of your visit? It might be simpler to arrange such a visit at that time." "I understand perfectly, Madame. We will send you a note and endeavor to have our visit later. If we might have your card, please, so that I can write you?" Irene's voice was off-handedly reasonable. "Certainly," Frau Buchner said with a relieved smile, and then hurried off to obtain one of her husband's calling cards. ~----------~ "He's avoiding speaking with us," Sherla fumed as she seated herself in Irene's carriage. "He has decided that we are naught but silly females and therefore not worth the waste of his so- very valuable time. I'll wager he was somewhere in the house laughing at our effrontery for wishing to discuss his special area of expertise with him as if we might be colleagues." Her frustrated anger earned her a merry laugh from Irene, "My dear Sherla, I would make a very large bet that the Professor is indeed gone away. No man who is not blind, deaf, and feeble-minded - OR who is not Mr. Sherlock Holmes - would turn down a chance to spend a bit of time with a young woman as lovely as you." "That is true, Madame," said Katrina, then blushed as she realized that in fact ALL of it was true. But she continued, "Non, Ma'amselle Cherie. I spoke with the housekeeper and she is still very put out over the unexpected and sudden manner in which Monsieur le Docteur departed. Very disruptive to her well ordered house." "Hmmmm, yes," Irene said quietly. "I do not think Madame la Docteur's Frau is a very skilled prevaricator. I think we can assume that Buchner did leave yesterday. Odd, though. My understanding is that this conference is a very important event for scientists such as Buchner and the others. The individual in Zurich must be very important indeed." "Buchner is reputed to be a very organized and meticulous individual," Sherla mused aloud. "A wild departure such as this would not have gone well with him," Sherla turned to Katrina. "Any mention of him appearing to be angry or upset at this sudden, and by all accounts, unanticipated summons?" "Non, Ma'amselle Cherie. Just that he was most anxious to be on his way." Sherla stamped her foot against the carriage floor. "Blast! I was so certain that his intimate knowledge of the international chemistry world would prove to be decisive in shattering the veil of secrecy Moriarty has spun about his current activities. Now, our investigations will be quite tedious and lengthy researches of special chemicals and experimental apparatus that may or may not prove fruitful." "I have contacts who are quite capable of following trails of such minutia, my dear. We can continue your education in the arts of being a modern social female," Irene said with a grin. "Well, since I am already excelling at those lessons, Madame," Sherla replied, "I know precisely what I wish done as soon as we are safely within the cottage." "Oh?" Irene asked lightly, "And what might that be, my dear?" "I want these thrice cursed stays loosened!" "Mais, non," Katrina interjected. "You are so lovely like that, Ma'amselle Cherie. And besides, you are only laced but a hair's breadth beneath nineteen of your English inches." "We will check, Miss Sly Boots, when we arrive, AND we will use *my* measuring tape. I am not so certain I trust you where my middle is concerned." ~-------------~ Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes Date: February 26, 1911 Location: Irene Adler's Home outside of Paris France. Time: 5:34 P.M. My Dear Doctor Watson: We met with three of the four scientists today. If I did not feel that our time to find and stop Moriarty grows dangerously shorter by the minute, I would have concluded that our excursion was highly successful. Given sufficient time, I am sure the clues provided by our unwitting informants will ultimately lead us to our quarry. Only I cannot shake this notion, this certitude that Moriarty is about to make some significant move. And we are ill prepared for to meet this thrust of his, John, whatever it is. On a more pleasant note, I am happy to report that I won a minor victory today, John. Katrina WAS using a somewhat shortened measure tape when lacing me down. The little minx. Her nineteen inches was nearly and inch and half less than that. Irene said she would speak to her. Hopefully, she will understand that I need I cannot afford to have any of my muscles intentionally weakened if I am to have any chance of success in my fast approaching face-to-face conflict with Professor Moriarty. Oh stuff! I nearly wrote "mano e mano", John. What is it now? "Femma e mano"? Lacks something of the dramatic, I think. Battle of the Sexes sounds too much like the title of one of those dreadful novels that Katrina is forever reading. And that is something else about being female that is taking a great deal of getting used to, John. Women are distinctly limited in their cursing, at least they are if they wish to remain "a socially acceptable female." I don't mind telling you, old friend, but I am beginning to think that "socially acceptable female" would make a perfectly worthy epithet all on its own merits. Might be rather satisfying to tell someone "May you devolve into a socially acceptable female." Oh well. As for Katrina, when she isn't attempting to cut me in half with a corset, she is actually a very good friend. More than a friend as she spent the night with me again last night, John. I can quite happily report that making love is even more exquisite when your senses are not dulled by drink. A discovery that has given me cause to reflect on my prior life. How many other such beautiful experiences have I denied myself, John? How many times, old friend, did I ignore your well- intentioned advice on matters of pleasures and joy in favor of intellectual purity? Had I met someone like Katrina in those days, someone who could and would teach me the joys I have since learned, would I have sought the mind-dulling kiss of hypodermic? I suppose we will never know, but given what I know now, I cannot see how even narrow-viewed and overly-focused Mr. Sherlock Holmes could be so dense. I know I told you that I have decided I want to live, old friend, and I must admit that such new experiences, many of them of the flesh, are a large part of my conversion to that desire. Once the issue of Moriarty is over and done with, I may consider becoming a rather dissolute lady of leisure. And would that be so bad? If I were to observe the person I have become objectively, I would look at these slender, soft hands and deduce that they had never felt a callus. I would note the cascading waves of sleek black hair that I just cannot seem to bear to braid and see the results of hours spent brushing it into shining perfection. I might well conclude that this body I now wear would seem to have been intended for the softer pastimes of a lady, not the coarse indignities of criminal investigation. In truth, John, I do not know if I am becoming vain or if I still cannot believe the evidence of my own eyes, but I cannot pass a mirror by without stopping to look at myself. Not only that, but what I see in those dark, silver-highlighted depths is always a surprise - particularly since Katrina has begun teaching me the finer nuances of women's cosmetics. Such a devious little creature, John. I think you would like her, as I now do myself. Well, perhaps not QUITE as I do right now. Have I just made a lewd jest? How interesting. Didn't know I had it in me, eh John? Back to my earlier point. Perhaps I have always been vain, but I have to admit that as Sherlock I took some solace in the belief that my admittedly-prominent nose was useful and aided me in discerning subtleties of scents at a crime scene. I now must confess that was the most foolish of vanities, because the pert button that now adorns Sherla's face is ever so much more sensitive than the so-much-larger one that had dominated Sherlock's appearance. What I know of optics implies that eyes must be of a certain size for clear vision, so it is no surprise that my eyes appear so large in my much smaller face. But they appear so expressive as well, despite the depth implied by their dark color. I fear that I will need to school those eyes most carefully or I shall never again be able to put forth a credible bluff. Irene has been working with me on developing that bit of feminine guile. Oh, there I go, giving away the jest. Of course I am not giving up detecting. T'would be easier to give up breathing, but I am going to enjoy being what I have become as well. Miss Sherla Holmes, Consulting Detective, is a far more joyful person than was Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Thank God. Forgive me that unladylike epithet, John. In any case, to continue my earlier discourse, I must conclude that I am indeed quite vain, for I find that I daily take greater pride in my feminine bounty. The tightness of my corset is foolish and a bother, but the swell of my bosom is quite noticeable on my small frame. I believe that I am more amply endowed than that minx Katrina, an effect made much more dramatic by the petite delicacy of my other features. All in all, I have come to realize that I am quite pretty, and surprisingly, I am quite pleased by that realization. I no longer consider the time spent enhancing my appearance to be time wasted. Indeed, since Katrina insists, even after being freed of her fear of Moriarty's long-dead henchman, on playing my maid, time spent in that endeavor is very pleasant indeed. Yes, old friend, I know what you are thinking, and you are correct. I am becoming a woman in all ways that matter. There are rewards in that, John, rewards that I would never have understood nor accepted in the old days at Baker Street. I only know that my having realized and accepted that very basic truth has everything to do with my daily increasing joy at having survived Moriarty's potion, and with my decision to continue living following his imminent demise. I find that contemplating such a life is a very pleasant thing, in and of itself. Good afternoon, old friend. End of Journal Entry. ~-----------~ Sherla set aside the diary and had just risen from her desk when her door burst open to reveal a surprisingly agitated Irene. "What is it, Irene?" She asked moving over to take the older woman's hand. Irene held out the newspaper she was holding in her hand. Sherla took it and immediately went pale. She scanned the article quickly, but the headline told the entire tale. "TRAIN DISASTER IN SWITZERLAND. ALL PASSENGERS DEAD IN DERAILMENT AND FIRE!" "The train Buchner was embarked upon?" "He is mentioned in the article by name, but thus far the dead have, for the most part, gone unidentified. The paper hints that a fire spread very rapidly, consuming most of the train and those aboard. The article also mentions that there a many wolves in the area who are typically near starvation at this time of the year." Sherla read the article more carefully and set it aside. "It may be precisely what they say it is, Irene, a tragic accident." "But you don't think so any more than I do," Irene retorted. "No, I don't think so, Irene, but I am without any evidence to support that conviction," Sherla admitted almost shyly, "But every fiber of my being is screaming that this is not a terrible accident caused by a mechanical failure at precisely the worst possible location." "Then we must assume that this. . . travesty may be a terrible act of murder designed to look like a terrible accident. Why kill Professor Buchner?" "A very good question, Irene, but one we don't dare concern ourselves with as yet. The article states that the dead are unidentified which means that the survivors may not be either, particularly if they are no longer in the vicinity of the train." "You are saying that he may not be dead," Irene said slowly. Sherla nodded. "*ONE* possible answer is that he is not dead. The press is not usually interested in pleasant news so they tell of the dead and not the living. He might be there waiting, or he might have wandered off. There is, however, a third option we must consider. I told you he was acknowledged as the best in Europe in a field in which Professor Moriarty has reason to be interested. However, Buchner's very visibility would seem to make him invulnerable to abduction." Sherla sat quietly on the stool in front of her vanity. Her fingers began stroking her midnight locks as her mind thought of the various possibilities. "Unless. . . . Irene, I need to see the scene." Irene nodded. "That was my own reaction, and I may have an idea as to how we can achieve that end." At that, Sherla's head came up, her eyebrows cocked upward in query. "Frau Buchner. She might wish some feminine support when she goes to the scene herself. You saw where the article said that a train with wives and next of kin would be taken to the site tomorrow?" "You believe we can manage to be with her on that train?" "Watch and learn, infant." Irene said, a dark, determined smile crossing her face. "I will tell Katrina to pack our warmest clothes. Winter in the Alps will be far colder than here in Paris."
