A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
"So he will arrive sometime tomorrow to pick up one wagon-load of the animals?" Sherla asked as the three of them lounged in their sitting room that evening. "So Erich believes, Sherla. Evidently, it is quite a distance to travel after picking them up. And it is a sleigh-load, not a wagon-load," Katrina replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes For the moment, Katrina's attempt at teasing was lost on Sherla as she was thinking deeply about the ramifications of this tidbit of information. Finally, she shook her head and sighed. "Somehow, we will have to come up with a way for me to get a fairly close look at this fellow." "Why must we do that?" Irene asked. "What benefit could we derive from taking such a risk? Clearly, he is not Moriarty. Not built as Erich describes him nor with a Cockney accent so noticeable that a native-German-speaker can recognize and repeat it." "True enough, but I might recognize him," Sherla replied. "I still don't see what benefit that has that justifies putting you at risk of being noticed by this man." ""If I recognize him, we will know whether he is a murderer, or at least if he is given to violence and with what weapon of choice. If we can follow him, we will stand a better chance of finding Moriarty. If he is too dangerous, we may need to take him out of the game immediately. I refuse to endanger young Loche or Katrina in this game." "You would know these things?" Katrina asked, dubiously. "Yes, dear, I would know, particularly if he was of the London underworld. It was my business to know such things, even though I was not given much opportunity to practice that business those last few years. I still kept myself well abreast of who was who within the criminal world of London, England and greater Europe." With a sigh, Irene conceded the point. "Well, since you are so much better physically, it might not prove all that hard to arrange. You could accompany me for a bit of shopping tomorrow morning. There is a very nice little cafe across from the train station where we could take some refreshment near the appointed hour so that we would be in the vicinity when our quarry arrives." "That would work," Sherla agreed. Then her face became quietly dreamy. "We're very close, ladies." "What I don't understand is if you think the Kreugers know where Moriarty is," Katrina asked, scratching her leg where the itch of her woolen trousers still tormented her, "why don't you just ask them to tell you? Why all this sneaking about, asking questions without seeming to ask questions? For goodness sake, we could be at this supposed hideaway tomorrow if we would simply ask them. I am sure," and here her tone became sly, "Hans-Peter would tell you." "Perhaps I could tease the information out of him, and it is certain that Irene could tease it from his sire, but I do not wish them to be endangered by our activities any more than I wish to endanger you and the family Loche. I don't want them implicated in whatever we, or rather I may have to do to that place, nor do I want them to be asked any difficult questions about whatever it is I finally have to do. If I fail, and Moriarty survives, I want them to appear innocent of any of my intrigues as they truly are. I have enough blood on my hands from the criminals I have sent to the gallows, Katrina. I do not wish them stained with the deaths of innocents." "Sherla, you are frightening me," Katrina said, her voice suddenly shaky. Standing, Sherla began to pace the room. "Curse it, Katrina, you SHOULD be frightened. This man is not simply dangerous, he is deadly. He kills, dearheart, and when he doesn't kill, he destroys lives so completely that killing might have been a mercy. Not for pleasure, not merely for purpose, but because it is expedient and simpler than the alternative courses of action before him. He defines ruthlessness. He is completely evil, yet completely rational. A sufficiently accurate description of him that truly imparts the danger he represents beggars my poor skill. It would be so much simpler to describe him and to stop him if he were merely, utterly mad and without any concept or understanding of good versus evil. Unfortunately, he is not mad." Sherla stopped in front of the window, her back to the room. "And you are going to fight such a person?" Katrina asked softly. "I have no choice," Sherla said tiredly, "for no one else would stand a chance, and he has to be stopped, once and forever." Sherla let the silence stand for a few more moments and then shrugged her shoulders. Turning back to face Irene and Katrina, she forced a smile to her lips. "I stopped him once, and I believe. . .know . . I can do so again. If you will excuse me, I think the day is catching up with me. I am still a bit under the weather from my monthly, I think. Good night." ~--------------~ . . . . . desire curled, hot, wet and demanding, in the core of Sherla's womanhood. The barest hint of a breeze across her body made her skin dimple and her nipples become somehow even harder. Hungrily, she writhed in her need, begging for a touch, begging for something. . Her arms reached out, offering an embrace, offering herself as her legs spread invitingly. And then, in answer, a body appeared. Out of the shadows of the darkened room, it approached her. The night hid is face as the body first covered her, and then, filled her to the hot center of her woman's flesh. Helpless in her aching need, Sherla arched to meet each thrust as her arms reached up to link her hands behind the neck of her lover. With all her strength, she tried to pull the lips of her lover to her own, but somehow she couldn't. Pulsing bursts of pleasure colored her world and she wanted to scream with the wonder of it, but somehow, she couldn't. Why wasn't there light? She wanted to SEE who was giving her such pleasure. Soundlessly, she begged to see the face. A face began to form - blond hair, strong features, blue eyes and. . .a mustache? "Hans-Peter?" she whispered. A soft chuckle answered her as yet another thrust brought her to the brink of completion, to the brink of. . what? Another chuckle vibrated through her body, and yet, this one was somehow softer, lighter in tone. She blinked hard and looked into the face again, but impossibly, the face had changed. Her lover, the person filling her, pleasuring her, LOVING her was. . . . ~--------------~ "KATRINA!??!" Sherla screamed, coming up straight in her bed. "What??" Katrina came out of a sound sleep. "Sherla, love, what is the matter?" Sherla found herself suddenly wrapped in a familiar, loving embrace. "Sherla?" Katrina's voice finally slipped through Sherla's sleep fogged thoughts. "Dream. . ." she managed to get out. "Just. . . a . . . dream." "Sounded worse than that, sweet. Do you want to talk about it?" *NO!* Sherla's mind yelled. "Not now. . .it. . it seems to be slipping away, somehow." "Dreams do that sometimes, darling. Just relax and let me hold you." ~------------~ Date: March 17, 1911 Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes Location: The Brienz Hotel, Brienz, Switzerland. Time: 10:23 A.M. My Dear Doctor Watson: Katrina is off running some errands for Irene, continuing the process of accustoming the village shopkeepers to her regular presence. All is going well in that regard. Irene is down in the common room meeting with Kreuger about the next set of properties that will in some way prove unacceptable. And I? I am sitting here at this little writing desk trying to make sense of the nonsensical - like feelings and dreams. Or at least, Sherlock would have said they were nonsensical. I am not so sure. Well, I must say that I believe the dream is a direct result of the feelings I experienced holding little Eva yesterday. There was something so. . . unexpectedly satisfying about holding her and basking in her innocent regard and trust. And yes, there was a feeling of. . .wanting about that. I certainly missed her when Helga reclaimed Eva after putting her other children to bed. Do I want to be a mother? I don't really know. I know I truly enjoyed holding that child in my arms, enjoyed it at a level that rivals the pleasure I get from Katrina's love, though in a way so unique that I know Katrina could never provide the same. That is the issue, though. I know I can be a mother physically, and I believe from this afternoon's revelation with little Eva that I can be one emotionally. But Sherlock's experience shows that a father is important as more than simply the supplier and sower of seed. Both parents must demonstrate and provide the love and commitment that makes the child feel loved and secure. All of that was missing from my life, and I would not bring a child into the world without being very sure I could meet that responsibility properly. Could I find a man to love? And what would be the implications of that for my feelings toward Katrina, and hers toward me? I do not believe love, true love, is a jealous thing. In my heart, I think I could love Katrina and still love another, just as a woman can love her husband and her children. But would Katrina feel the same? And the man who would be my husband? Could he accept that I needed Katrina in my life? That I needed time in her arms, and in her bed? Knowing the men of my age, I think it unlikely. And if I am offered the choice, as I appear to be, then I choose Katrina over being a wife, over being a mother. This choice is not all noble self-sacrifice. Even now the hunger for the chase burns bright within me, easily rivaling the desire sparked by holding that child. Could I ever be satisfied with a life of housewife and mother, caring for husband and children while the world marches by without my mark upon it? I must be honest and admit that I could not. I have learned to respect and honor womanhood, and I may one day envy, in some small fashion, those women who do choose the maternal path. But it is not my path. Though now Sherla, still I am *Holmes*. I am unique in the world, with unique gifts and powers. Thus, I have different responsibilities to this world than most - responsibilities that are mine by virtue of the mind that still drives this now-feminine body, just as surely as the body influences the mind. But oh, it was sweet to hold that child, to see her smile, to have her seek *my* bosom for warmth. I think, that in the future, I will seek out an orphanage somewhere, and help there as I may. Unlike Irene, I have no friends with children for me to spoil, but there are and will be children who need me, and I will find them for I think I need them as well. End of Journal Entry. ~-------------~ As Irene had predicted, the small cafe provided a superb view of the station house and the warehouse that contained the animal cages. "If he doesn't show up soon," Sherla complained, "I am going to be forced to find out how well maintained the necessary is in this place." "Oh, hush. It is only just one o'clock," Irene chided. "And if you left now, you would miss him by the time you got your clothing rearranged." Sherla was about to protest further when a large sleigh pulled by four heavy-bodied draft horses pulled into sight and stopped at the door of the warehouse. At that moment, her entire demeanor changed and her entire focus became the large man driving the team. Irene looked at him, too, but it was hard for her not to watch Sherla. *Something just turned on inside that head of hers, almost like an electric bulb. I wonder what she is seeing?* "Do you know him?" Irene asked after he'd gone inside to get the first of the cages. "No. At least, I don't think so. Let's time his movements. Erich told Katrina he was picking up six of them. Let's be outside when he should be bringing out the last animal so that I can get a closer look at him. I know what he is, I just want to know more if I can." ~-----------------~ They walked past the sleigh just as Herr Loche released Erich to go play with his new friend for the rest of the afternoon. Irene watched as Erich and 'Karl' scampered up a snow-covered hill toward a copse of trees, looking for all the world like two boys intent on avoiding any further work. *Well played, sweet,* she thought at Katrina's retreating form. "Well?" Irene asked as she and Sherla turned the corner. "Not here. Let's get to the hotel and our rooms first. I need to think and ensure I truly do NOT know who that man is." ~----------------~ "My friends have said you can join our club, Karl," Erich said once they'd disappeared into the thick stand of trees. "All you have to do is pass our little initiation, and since there is all this pure white snow here about, that won't be a problem." "What do we have to do? Make snow angels?" Erich gave her a disgusted look. "No, you have to make your initial in the snow." Confused, Katrina stared at her companion. Bending over, she quickly drew a "K" in the snow with her hand. "You mean like this?" "No," Erich said, laughing. "This is a boys only club, see? So you have to do it like this." With casual unconcern, Erich proceeded to unbutton his fly and draw a crude "E" with his urine. "See? Nothing to it. Now you do it, and you're a member." "Uhmmm. . .Erich. . ummm. . .I can't. . .uhh. . my Mother would. . ." "Awww. . who's going to tell your Mother? There's no one here but you and me and the only ones I will tell are the other members of our club." "I ummm. . .don't have to go. . .so let's go back to town and I'll buy us a sarsparilla at the confectioners and then maybe. . " "No. Can't do it. You know about the club so you have to stay here until you pass the initiation. It's the rule." *Can't win this one. I'll just have to leave and deal with it later. Hopefully, I can preserve my cover.* "Then, I don't want to join, Erich. I am leaving." Katrina turned and walked out of the copse. She was about a quarter of the way down the hill when Erich hit her from behind sending them both rolling into the snow drifts. "YOU HAVE TO JOIN! I VOUCHED FOR YOU!!" Erich yelled in her ear. Katrina struggled wildly, trying to free herself from his grip, but even though he was only twelve, he was a strong boy and she was a small female. He held her down fairly easily. And then he put his hand upon an unexpected soft swell where muscular boyish chest was expected, and went instantly still. "Karl! You're a GIRL!" "Quiet!" she growled at him. "I will explain, but you have to be quiet or my Mother will have a fit, all right? And please, move your hand away from there!" Erich released his hold, and in his stunned disbelief, only barely remembered the manners his Mother had drummed into him, and offered *her* a hand. "Let's go back to the copse, and I will explain everything to you, all right?" Neither of them realized that their confrontation, and Erich's discovery, had been observed by a suddenly very interested individual. ~------------~ "I think we are safe in assuming that he is not a killer for hire. At least, he is not a professional killer," Sherla told the two women as they gathered in their sitting room before the evening meal. "How can you know that?" Irene asked. "You said you did not recognize him." "Because if he were a successful member of that foul profession, I WOULD have known him, particularly as he has a London waterfront turn of phrase. He is obviously a British seaman, and a smuggler, so he is almost certainly in Moriarty's employ." "How can you be so sure he is a sailor, let alone a smuggler?" "It's quite simply, really. His face shows the ravages of wind and sun that come only to seamen or farmers, and the choice between those two is made obvious by his watch cap and rubber-soled boots, which are clearly seaman's attire." "And the smuggling?" Irene asked, amused to see the deductive mind of her old friend at work. "The scrimshaw blade he carried in his boot shows he was not primarily in the Royal Navy, since that could only be obtained by trading with those who crew foreign whaling vessels. An ordinary seaman would not have the money to buy such an artfully-worked blade, so it follows that he traded something for it, something of equivalent value. Smuggled contraband of one sort or another is the only reasonable value he could provide. I had already deduced this when he removed his gloves to sign for the shipment. The missing ring finger on his right hand is clearly the sign of a moment's carelessness with a line, all too common among seamen, and there was a tattoo on the back of his hand. That tattoo was used by a notorious smuggling ring with which Moriarty has dealt on several occasions. "Ah, of course," Irene nodded, fighting to hold in a grin. "It is so . . . elementary when you explain it so." "And smugglers are not dangerous?" Katrina wanted to know. "He bears watching and care when you approach him, but he is unlikely to be trusted with a covert murder. I would say that this man lacks subtlety." "So, now what?" "I think our safest course of action, at least for our friends here in Brienz, is to wait until the tracks are repaired and we, along with the remainder of his primate purchase, can repair to Meringen. We'll be closer to his hideout there, and can more safely follow him in that much hillier country. So for now, we keep our eyes and ears open, but do nothing overt." Katrina wondered if she should tell Sherla about Erich's discovery. When she had told him that story about how she'd wanted to be a boy, and how her father wanted her to be a boy, which was why they were moving here - so she could be a boy without anyone noticing - Erich had agreed to keep her secret. Even to the point of lying about her initiation to his friends. *What will happen if I tell her? She'd send me and Irene home is what she'd do, and proceed on her own. . . ALONE! THAT can't be permitted. So, should I tell Irene? Would she send me away? Dare I take the chance? Oh, I just don't KNOW!!*
