A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
The four women spent the next few days at the small inn while the authorities attempted to identify the human remains of the tragedy. Unfortunately, there were significantly fewer "remains" than there were passengers. "As Moriarty planned, Irene," Sherla had said when Irene had told her of that outcome. "The combination of a magnesium-based chemical accelerant, old wood and a great deal of paint made for an extremely hot, long burning fire. It truly was a funeral pyre." When it became clear that none of the remains could be identified as Dr. Buchner, his wife decided she would go back home to Germany instead of back to Paris. "I need to see my family, Madame Irene," she had cried quietly as she told Irene of her decision. "We understand perfectly. If you would like, I could arrange to have your things in Paris forwarded to your home." "You would not mind?" Frau Buchner had been almost pathetically grateful. "With that dragon of a housekeeper? It will be simplicity itself. You need only provide me with a letter directing your temporary staff to follow my instructions. You will be all right on your own?" "Yes, thank you. I am past the initial shock of it all. Now I wish to be home. I have made arrangements to leave tomorrow morning." "Excellent. Katrina, Joan and I will be off to home as well. You will hear from me shortly with the details of your personal things." ~-------------~ The trip back to Paris was passed in relative silence, each woman lost in thought. Irene, shifting uncomfortably in a corset she had let that smirking Katrina tighten just a bit too much that morning, tried to find a comfortable position on the rear-facing seat of their first class compartment. Perhaps it was that backward-looking orientation, but she found her mind traveling back over her life . . . She had been thirty when she had wed her beloved Godfrey. Up until that magical epiphany, she had all but given up on finding someone who could live with her admittedly unique personality - someone she would want to live with her. Frau Buchner's loss had touched Irene deeply, and she wished Godfrey was home waiting for her so she could show him how much she loved, and yes, needed him. She cursed, fluently and in four languages, the business that kept him an ocean away from her. Sherla seemed not to notice any problems with her own corset. She sat against the window, staring out at the gray landscape as though the horizon stretched a thousand miles into the distance instead of the scant hundred yards the misty day allowed. Her own thoughts fixated on the woman and child she'd seen on the remnants of the train. Where the old Sherlock had prided himself on never becoming emotionally involved with the players in his various investigations, Sherla realized she was strongly identifying with the woman who had died protecting her child. Could she, Sherla, ever feel that sense of self-sacrifice for another human being? A tiny voice deep in her heart whispered "Yes." That change in perception, that, dare she even think it, that almost maternal certainty that she WOULD sacrifice herself in a similar situation, bespoke a transition far deeper and more total than the more obvious physical changes she had undergone this past month. She was now a Woman. She could now conceive, carry and give birth to new life - a son, a daughter. Motherhood was such an alien concept. During his life, Sherlock had conducted not-infrequent liaisons with women, primarily to relieve those unfortunately demanding physical needs before they impacted his intellectual powers, but he had always taken great care to ensure the woman would not become pregnant. Now, she was the one who could become pregnant, and although it seemed inconceivable to the part of her that still was Sherlock, it was no longer physically impossible. Moreover, thanks to Moriarty's potion, she was rather easily aroused, as her times with Katrina had proven. Would she be as easily aroused by a man? As much as she would prefer to state, quite emphatically, that the answer was a resounding "NO!", that was emotion speaking, not rational analysis. The truth was that Sherla already KNEW she could be aroused by a man. If nothing else, that kiss beneath star-lit skies at the Paris ball had clearly proven her susceptibility to the male of the species. One too many kisses like that and her next rational thought could well be about her impending motherhood. It was a rather lowering possibility. Katrina spent the trip pondering two equally disturbing consequences of the past few days. Memories of Sherla at the disaster site still thrilled the little maid. If any doubt had lingered in Katrina's mind as to the truth of Sherla's claim to having been the famous English detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, her performance of the past few days had proven her case beyond question. Sherla had not only played the starry-eyed innocent, awed by the inspector, to perfection, she had also, in mere minutes, uncovered evidence that the foolish man's team of "trained" experts had not seen or had simply ignored. Ever since Sherla had dispensed with the threat that had kept Katrina in hiding as a maid, the young French girl had spent a great deal of her free time thinking about what she was going to do with the remainder of her life. Could her new life's challenge be to learn the methods of the great Sherlock Holmes and become a detective? Would Sherla even consent to teach her? There certainly could be no better teacher in the ways of deduction and observation. And yet, perhaps Sherla was angry with her for spanking her to be quiet - for what Katrina had been intended as a light-hearted bit of loving fun. Oh, Katrina so hoped that she had not ruined her relationship with Sherla, for as much as the thought of becoming a detective appealed to her, Katrina recognized within herself a much more pressing need - a much more personal and basic need. She was very much afraid that Ma'amselle Cherie had stolen Katrina's heart. What would she do if Sherla did not care to offer her own in return??!? ~-------------~ All three women were exhausted when the hired landau deposited them and their minimal luggage at Irene's doorstep. After a quick meal, they retired to their rooms and slept the clock round. After lunch the next day, Irene went seeking Sherla. She found her in the library, as she had expected she would given Katrina's tight lipped description of Sherla's mode of dress. Irene came to the open library door and stopped in her tracks. Wide-eyed, she could only stare at the scene being played out by her young ward/old rival in the center of her library. She *was* dressed rather outlandishly in trousers and some type of sleeveless bodice that appeared to be made of yard upon yard of linen wrapped tightly about her torso effectively compressing her lovely breasts. Her hair was tightly braided and wrapped around her head. Perspiration glistened on her exposed skin and soaked her makeshift costume. Sherla had moved the wooden step Irene used to reach books on the top shelves to the center of the library and she was vigorously stepping up and down from the step at a very rapid pace. In her right hand, she held an old cavalry saber that had been a wall decoration, her left hand wielded a knife. As she stepped up and down, she swung and thrust the two weapons vigorously. Irene moved silently into the room, all the while continuing to watch Sherla. The girl was concentrating on her breathing, taking in one deep breath on every second ascension, and exhaling on the next two. It occurred to Irene that Sherla's movements with the two weapons were not mere exercises for it became clear that she was actually fencing with some foe she saw only in her mind's eye. Quietly, so as to not disturb Sherla's focus, Irene moved over to the sideboard and poured herself a snifter of cognac before seating herself at her desk. The display continued at the same pace for another ten minutes before Sherla began to gradually slow her movements before finally stopping altogether after five more minutes. She simply stood there in the center of the library, her hands on her hips, inhaling deeply to clear her oxygen starved lungs. "Well, that was impressive. Did your opponent survive?" Irene asked as she filled a glass with water and walked over to offer it to Sherla. Her eyes not betraying any surprise or emotion, Sherla took the proffered glass and drank deeply before answering. "Of course not. Can't you see him there? Bleeding all over your Aubusson carpet?" Irene chuckled at that before becoming serious. "What was that all about?" "Becoming physically prepared," Sherla answered. "After what I saw in Switzerland, I know that I must face Moriarty. The last time I did that he played with me the way a cat does a mouse. He overpowered me so I must become as strong and fit as possible before he and I meet for the final time." "Darling," Irene said hesitantly, "Regardless of how much of this you do, how hard you work, you will still be a very petite woman when you finish. There is a limit to how strong you can make that body, no matter how much time you spend conditioning yourself." Nodding, Sherla gave Irene a half smile. "I am not going to challenge him to a physical contest again, Irene. But however I elect to deal with Professor Moriarty, I will require the stamina to see it through." Sherla gave a quick but awkward fencer's salute with the heavy saber, "And besides, using this strengthens my wrist for our next bout with the foils. Tonight?" "Of course," Irene said before moving back to her desk and the packet she'd been carrying. "You know that Katrina is very worried about you. You quite scandalized her when you insisted on wearing that mummy's wrapping and refused her entreaties to put on your stays." "Scandalized? Not hardly. She's just upset because she is determined to train my waist down to something less than sixteen inches and will try anything to keep me in those damnable corsets every minute of every day. She'd have me bathe in the things if she could find one that would survive being immersed in hot water. This morning she actually hinted that perhaps I did not need to bathe quite so often." "She is French, dear. She is also worried that she has angered you in some way." Sherla's dark eyes snapped to Irene's. "Angered me? How ever did she get that idea?" "Well, I am not certain I have all the particulars, but I believe it has something to do with the night you had those. . ummm. . bad dreams?" A vivid blush flamed across Sherla's creamy complexion and she took another swallow of her water. "Yes?" she finally asked in what she hoped was a non-committal tone. "Well, as I understand, she had to . . . well, swat you to. . errr. . wake you? And since you have not shared any more bad dreams with her since that night, she is afraid that the spanking offended you." "I see," Sherla said, almost to herself. "Did it?" Irene asked gently, "Offend you?" Sherla went very still. She had thought about that night many times over the past few days, but never had she felt offended by the experience. What she had felt, she was not certain she wanted to admit even to herself, but she knew that "offended" was not how she felt. "No, she didn't. Actually, I was afraid that we would get caught by Frau Buchner and that she might decide to make us leave before I had learned all there was to be learned up there. So I very carefully avoided doing or thinking anything that might have resulted in. .. . bad dreams." "Katrina is very fond of you, Sherla," Irene finally said. "Much more than fond. If you cannot . . . " "I am more than fond of her, as well, Irene," Sherla cut her off as the older woman tried to raise the issue diplomatically. "More than I have ever felt for another person, including John Watson for I never wanted to make lo. . .have bad dreams with Watson. What should I do? I do not have a great deal of experience with . . . such relationships." "Katrina tells me you offered to spank her the next time?" *In truth, I told her I would restrain her, but I won't tell Irene that.* "Close enough." "Then do so, playfully, and make sure she knows she is forgiven." "But she has done nothing to be forgiven for," Sherla protested. "Spoken like a man, Sherla. She FEELS she needs forgiveness, and if you two have some delightful bad dreams as a result, it will be all the better. One thing Sherlock probably never had the pleasure of was making up in bed. Trust me, sometimes I create a reason to fight with my husband just so that we can repair our differences in the matrimonial boudoir." "I see, and you believe that Katrina would enjoy this type of romp?" "Provided you are gentle, yes, the little minx will thoroughly enjoy herself." "Thank you, Irene, for your help. I find that she is very important to me," Irene bowed her head regally in response. "Was that the only reason you sought me out? I sense that I have the need for another of those baths that so distress Katrina." "Oh, yes," Irene said quickly. "I have received some reports from the agents I hired to look into those other avenues of inquiry and I wished to go over their findings with you. I also have a train map of Switzerland showing all the usable laid track," she said as she opened up the map. "That particular line has, unfortunately, many little spur lines off the main route between the accident and Zurich. We will have a difficult time finding whatever transport Moriarty's henchmen used." "We should never expect anything involved with stopping Moriarty to be simple, Irene. He is, in his own evil way, as brilliant as my brother Mycroft was. His weakness is that he believes that brilliance makes him infallible." "Yes, I understand," Irene said with a sigh, "but for such a small country, Switzerland truly has an excellent rail system. Lord, but there are just so many of those little villages that can be reached by branches off the main track to Zurich. Heimberg, Interlaken, Brienz, , Meiringen, Heavens, even Bern is on the route. . . " "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Sherla shouted as she whirled on the stunned Irene. "Just. . just that there were so many little villages where they could have taken Buchner. Why?" "No. . you said. . you said Meiringen, did you not?" Sherla's voice was intense, her eyes fierce. "Why, yes, I did. But why is that so important?" But Sherla acted as if she had not heard the question, turning away and walking to the window, her eyes distant. "He wouldn't, would he?" She asked, mostly to herself. "I never considered that, and yet, his old haunts were the first places I looked in London." Irene moved over to stand behind the rigidly erect Sherla. She reached out to squeeze her tight shoulders, as much reminding the girl she was not alone as offering comfort. "What is it, Sherla? What is Meiringen?" "A short walk from a place I hoped never to see again, Irene. A place where I thought I had killed Moriarty; a place where he thought to kill me," Sherla's voice was soft, almost ethereal as she answered. "My god, Irene, I think he's gone back to Reichenbach Falls." ~--------------~ Irene found Sherla in the music room, playing some somber piece on her violin. "I've never heard that before," she said as she took her seat at the piano. "I just created it," Sherla said with a half smile as she put down the violin. "I have to go to Reichenbach Falls," she said baldly. Irene met the challenge in Sherla's voice with a smile of her own. "I know. So, when do we leave?" Black eyes went wide, "I never said I expected you to accompany me." Sherla said, her voice cracking with unexpected emotion. "No," Irene said evenly, "I know you didn't say it, and I strongly suspect you never gave it any consideration." "Actually, I did, but I have already asked too much of you. There is every possibility that this could end in more than just Moriarty's death. I. . . I have care too much about you to put your life in mortal danger on this mission. No, it is better that I go alone." "IF you try to go without us," Irene retorted, waggling an admonitory finger at the younger woman, "Then we will be on the next train after you." "WE?!? No, not Katrina, Irene. She cannot be endangered like this. It would kill me if she was hurt or worse over this." A sardonic smile crossed Irene's lovely features. "I am glad you have realized that she is that important to you. Perhaps you are not so much the thick headed Sherlock as I had once thought anymore." "It has not been an easy thing to confront, but it is no less factual and unassailable. I do not have any great deal of personal experience with the emotion, but I suspect that I am in love with the minx." "She will follow us, too, dear. She will be safer for the benefit of your experience with this criminal and his methods than trying to investigate on her own. She is very intelligent and has learned much from me, but my inquiries rarely involve criminals. . .at least, violent criminals. She will, I am afraid, make herself too obvious." "And get her lovely person killed," Sherla said with disgust. "Very well. I would like to be on our way as soon as we can make arrangements and some suitable plans." "I have already sent a message to my man of affairs, Sherla. I asked him to arrange passage suitable for a family of three - well-to-do but not wealthy. I suspect we will be able to leave in two, three days at the most, and Sherla?" *Why am I surprised at her perceptions? This is THE Woman, and while her methods may differ from mine, the results of her inquiries easily equal my own accomplishments.* "Yes, Irene?" "I think one of us should go disguised as a male, for the freedom of movement that will afford." "You?" "No, not me. I am not as young as I once was and lack the stamina and quickness that might be required. Actually, my dear, I was thinking of you." "Me?" "You, Sherla. After all, you have a great deal of experience in the role." Sherla considered that and then shook her head. "No, I will not do that, for two reasons. First, I am not suited to the role. I will, at best, look like a very effeminate adolescent male and that will draw idle attention to us." "Trust me, darling, you won't. I know you are a master of disguise, but I have years of theatrical experience and have on occasion passed quite adequately as a male." "As I have cause to know, but that leaves the second reason, which is less reasoned, but far more important to me. When I defeat Moriarty, I want it to be as a woman. He did this to me - in part for revenge - but mainly as a means to neutralize me as a threat to him. A mere woman could never hope to defeat the great Moriarty. Well, I wish the last thought he has to be that a woman DID defeat him and that he himself created her." "That is a rather emotional reason, dear," Irene teased, "Not that I don't understand and agree with it, but what would the Great English Detective say about it?" "He would say that it was still the correct stratagem, though admittedly for a different reason. Moriarty will be on the lookout for an English man, or perhaps an English boy. Katrina, with her Gallic features, will clearly not be a feminized Sherlock Holmes in disguise." Irene nodded her understanding, "Truly excellent logic, my dear, and very difficult to argue against." "Quite true, but in a larger sense, that does not matter. I am Sherla, not Sherlock. All that Sherlock was, I am. But I am also different, and perhaps in that difference I am also more than he was. I know I must face Moriarty as Sherla, finding my solutions as the woman I am, not as the man I am no longer." *I think you are in the right of that, my dear,* Irene thought with a smile. "So, who tells Katrina that she is to be your younger brother for this adventure, you or I?" A wicked, mischievous smile bloomed on Sherla's lovely face at that idea. "Oh, I think I will reserve that pleasure for myself, Irene. AFTER, I have had our . . .what did you call it? Making up session?" Irene laughed merrily, and asked, "Have a plan, do you?" "Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. Would you mind assisting me in getting ready? I am afraid that I cannot dress properly for this without assistance and I would not want Katrina to be. . .forewarned?" "Oh, I would be honored to assist, if you promise to tell me every delightfully wicked detail afterwards." "I shall," Sherla agreed easily, "Unless I make Katrina tell you all about it as part of her penance." Sherla rose and offered her hand help Irene to stand. "PENANCE??" Irene asked still chuckling. "Well, you did say she felt guilty? Trust me, that is NOT what she will feel when I have finished with her this afternoon." Both women wore sinfully delighted grins as they walked arm in arm to the music room door.
