A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
"Fool! Idiot!" Moriarty's words might have been said without raising his voice, but they were no less frightening to the object of his ire. Carver had worked with the great Professor James Moriarty from the old days, and therefore knew the man was at his most deadly when his voice was at its softest. And just then, the old smuggler was having to strain very hard to hear Moriarty. "If I did not have a task for which you are the most immediately available and suitable person, you would be on your way to hell right now!" Moriarty said, his face bland and his words only slightly more audible. "This female is NOT Holmes. I met with Holmes when he was well into Stage Two, and he could not have changed so much as to be this . . . girl. Now, we have made an overt move which will necessitate a response by the local authorities to find her." "Wouldna they have done that even if the girl was . . who you was lookin' for. .. . sir?" Moriarty shrugged that away. "Perhaps, but now the action that may have them coming to my doorstep was all to no purpose." He turned away from Carver, making a mental note that Carver would die immediately upon his return from the Amazon, and that he would die painfully for this inconvenience. Then he sighed. He had been given this hand and he must needs play it out to his least detriment. Looking out of his study window, he saw the light burning in the lab structure. *Buchner and Haber,* he mused, preparing the selected chimpanzee for the post-regression experiments.* Suddenly, Moriarty went ramrod straight. "What an opportunity!" he crowed. "Perhaps I can, in my brilliance, turn this problem into a great success." He spun on his heel and faced the shaken seaman. "Carver, fetch Doctors Haber an Buchner. I have a little experiment I wish them to run. After I finish with them, I will deal with you." "Yes Sir," Carver said as he left the room as quickly as he could. ~--------------~ "But, Professor Moriarty, the treatment is largely unproven," Doctor Buchner argued, "Our only subject died before we could ascertain that the transition would complete, or was even the correct transition at all. We could have simply been changing the animals physical characteristics without changing its gender. And the fever was vicious - to try something so dangerous and not fully tested like that potion on a helpless child, sir. Surely there is another solution." Moriarty simply stared at the chemistry teacher, and slowly shook his head. "For all intents and purposes, Doctor, she is already dead. From the moment my man took her in Brienz, her continued life became a liability and a danger to me. If the manner of her death so distresses you, rest assured that I can and will devise a far more painful, far more harrowing end for her should you delay ANY further in following my orders. Are my orders and requirements sufficiently clear, gentlemen? Do I need worry that you will in any way FAIL to do as I have directed?" "No sir," both men finally replied. "Your wishes are perfectly clear, Professor Moriarty," Buchner replied, completely cowed, "We shall. . . we will do as you have directed." "Excellent. A part of this experiment is to see if you can control the fever long enough for you to fully study her transition. If she survives, I will arrange a painless death for her, or hopefully, for him." "You want us to try and break the fever, Professor?" "Precisely. Now go and prepare the potion. I will have the girl brought to you in the laboratory," The two men slowly turned to leave, but were called back to Moriarty one last time. "I shall be watching you as you prepare her and the treatment, gentlemen. Do not try anything that might invalidate this experiment. You would do well to recall that I have members of my organization watching your immediate family. Displease me, and their deaths will make that young woman's seem joyous in contrast. Now go." Moriarty stood in his study for several minutes, allowing himself to savor the anticipation of a possible end to his great work. To defeat death would be his greatest achievement, greater even than his final victory over Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It was hard, he mused, to decide which would give him greater satisfaction and pleasure. With that thought still ringing in his head, Moriarty left his study and dressed for his walk to the laboratory. ~------------~ Sherla's brave trot lasted only until she was actually around the corner and out of sight of Irene and Hans-Peter. There were two reasons for this decision - one necessary and one annoying. There was a bright half moon shining that night, and while Sherla herself was more than adequately camouflaged in her white outfit against the white snow, her shadow was not. The moon, low on the horizon cast long, dark shadows that danced and played on the white screen of the snow-covered landscape. Fortunately, a light wind blew as well, making the trees and branches move so that their shadows also flickered in the night. All the same, Sherla took to the snowier parts of the open ground, keeping low so that the snow hid both her and her shadow as she made her approach to the target. Her other reason, the very annoying one, was that she found she could not maintain such a pace - not through the heavy snow and the light air. Sherlock had always been an exceptionally fit man, one who had never suffered from a lack of endurance or strength, even during his many forays into more mountainous climes. Sherla, although she had worked very hard on her level of fitness, was not yet up to Sherlock's old standard, and she had soon become winded. Slowing her pace might have been the correct and tactically necessary decision to make under the moonlight conditions, but that it was physically necessary as well galled her mightily. *Soon,* she thought, *and I will handle such trials with ease once more.* It took her about forty five minutes to reach a small berm approximately one hundred and fifty yards from the large building that fit the description Hans-Peter had given her of the main house. Silently, she drew her seaman's glass from her harness and scanned the area. She took several minutes, locating the guards and searching for the best approach route. She needed to be within twenty yards for the blowgun to be effective, ten would be better. For a moment, she thought about the special hypodermic dart she'd brought - the one she intended for Moriarty. It contained a mixture that included a sizable dose of pure caffeine. The stimulant would be welcome now, her body cold and fatigued. *No, the stimulation would not be worth the other effects,* she reminded herself, and rested just a few more moments before beginning the arduous effort of crawling through the snow toward the compound. Her estimate of an hour would, she was afraid, turn out to be rather overly optimistic. ~------------------~ "It's been an hour," Hans-Peter said as he held up his pocket watch for Irene's inspection. "She said it would be an hour." *Do you think that I do not know that?* Irene's mind railed at the boy. However, she managed to control that when she replied, "That was only an estimate made in the absence of real knowledge of her objective. We've heard no gun shots and seen no sign of unrest over there. She is fine." *I hope.* "Don't you think we should climb that hill, and maybe take a look? Maybe she needs some help." "And not be here when she needs us AND the sleigh? No, Hans- Peter, we must serve by standing and waiting, difficult thought that most assuredly is. Sherla will succeed unless we make a mistake because she will not make any." "But she is so young!?!?" "There is young, my dear boy, and then there is young." "Which is she, then?" "Whichever one she needs to be. Now be quiet, so that we can listen." ~---------------~ Excerpt from the Experimental Journal of Professor Moriarty March 19, 1911 New Experiment. Description: Doctors Haber and Buchner have injected the captured girl with their experimental treatment. They are now watching her, waiting for the onset of transition symptoms. Background: This potion is the result of Dr. Buchner's work with the transitioned African monkey. The mammal was fully regressed from a mature male to a pre-estrus female, and then treated with Buchner's invention. Results of earlier test: The subject, in very short time compared to a regression subject, exhibited characteristics similar, but in reverse of, the original potion's transitional Phase 1. Certain secondary characteristics started to become masculine in nature. Unfortunately, at that point, the creature became fevered - running a very high temperature and suffering from convulsions. While the convulsions died soon enough, the fever did not. Haber and Buchner were not quick enough to take remedial action and, unfortunately, the patient died. Post mortem examination indicated that the creature was, in fact, still fully female from a reproductive standpoint. No transitional or vestigial male organs were found during the dissection, as there had been vestigial female organs in the male during the male-to-female transitional phase one. There were also anomalies in the large muscle tissue - some type of, as yet, unexplained swelling. Perhaps the muscles would have become larger and stronger - in other words, more masculine, but that is unproven. The muscles of the small African monkey are too small for more complete testing. Purpose of the current test: That is one of the primary reasons that I have decided to experiment upon this female that Carver, in his gross stupidity, captured. Her muscles will lend themselves to such post-mortem examination and we will be able to see if her muscle tissue and muscle groups are redistributing themselves into a more masculine physiology. Buchner and Haber are also ready for the onset of fever this time and will, if I may permit myself a small jest, work feverishly to combat the fever from its very onset. If they can keep the captive alive throughout the entire transition, however that ends up, then much can be learned both before and after she is killed. Speculation: I wonder if the girl will still be alive when I rise from my bed tomorrow morning? I wonder if she will still be a girl, or whether she will now be the boy she pretended to be? How very exciting to think that I could be young and vigorous in mere days if this experiment works out. Very exciting, indeed. End Journal entry. ~--------------~ Finally, Sherla reached her objective - a large mound of cleared- away snow at the side of the main house. Forty five minutes behind the schedule she'd given Irene and Hans-Peter. Sherla hoped that Irene would be able to keep the young, and therefore likely-to-be-audacious Swiss lad under control. The last thing she needed right now was an overly enthusiastic, but in all likelihood, fatal cavalry charge. For it would indeed be fatal until Sherla could neutralize Moriarty's guards. While tracks indicated that few, if any of the guards were making rounds through the areas with the still- very-deep snow (which was why Sherla had chosen to use them for her approach) the guards were rather vigilant. *A tribute to their fear of Moriarty, no doubt,* Sherla thought grimly. Unfortunately for them, however, the guards had evidently concluded that their only threat axis was down the main, cleared road, and that no one was likely to sneak up on them through the three to five foot deep snow drifts. *No one except a person trying to save their loved one's life. Silently, she drew out the dartgun and a half dozen of the deadly darts from her belt. She laid these down on a small shelf she had hand-carved out of her snow-bank fortress. Carefully, she blew on the long tube to ensure that it was clear of snow or other obstructions. She gave herself a few more moments to ensure that she had her full wind back, and then positioned herself for the attack. She selected one of the poison-tipped darts, loaded the gun and crawled up onto the top of the mound, laying herself flat upon it and becoming one with the snow. She watched, oh so very carefully, she watched, careful to keep her lungs always at least half full of air as she held the loaded gun to her lips. Then, both guards in the front of the house turned away from her and she launched sharp death at the furthest guard. The drug acted instantly and he was falling before he'd had a chance to rub at the stinging sensation in his neck. His partner moved towards him, saw his wide open eyes and rose back up to shout an alarm. Sherla's second dart had him going down before he'd managed to finish drawing in air to yell. Loading her gun once more and placing the three leftover darts back in her pouch with the others, Sherla moved out of her hiding place to the corner of the house. She peaked around the corner and saw the third guard just coming round the back of the house from his rounds back there. Instants later, he was down and dying. Sherla's reconnaissance from the hill top had indicated there was only one more guard - a big man who seemed to be stationed in front of the other large building in the compound. Stealthily, she slipped behind the house and made her way toward the other house, keeping to the small bushes and evergreens of the house's formal garden for cover. She wasn't ten yards from the entry door when the large guard reappeared from inside the building. He stamped and shook his hands in a futile effort to keep warm. *If you didn't go inside and get used to the warmth, you would become more able to deal with the cold,* Sherla silently advised him, and then she recognized him. *The English sailor. You are the bastard who took my Katrina!* Hot rage blazed in Sherla's gut, but only for a moment. She would be no good to her lover dead, and only controlled warriors came back to fight another day. Very slowly and very quietly, she unloaded and sheathed her dart gun before drawing her knife. Then she watched. *It be too bloody cold out here for a man,* Carver thought morosely, *just cause I snaffled the wrong little lightskirt, the Professor sticks me with the midwatch out here, so's I can't even move about to keep meself warm. Well, Jerry has missed his round. Must be he's found a warm place to stay, too, so I'll just slip meself back inside for a bit - leastwise until the time for 'is next round.* Sherla watched the man disappear into the building. Moving quickly, she used existing snow prints and danced to the door. She hid herself in the shadows and waited. Several minutes later, the kidnapper stepped back outside. He walked out into the yard and looked for signs of the head of the night guard, hoping he'd show up soon so that Carver could slip back inside. "Bloody foolish business if you asks me," he fumed when it had been two minutes and there was still no sign of good old Jerry. "What fool'd come way out here this time of night, I'd like to ." Carver never ended his statement because he suddenly found himself face down in the snow with a blade tickling his throat. "Don't say a word or make a sound," Sherla hissed, once again grateful for the Oriental wrestling skills that had so often saved Sherlock's life. "Who. . who are you." The knife bit his neck and he could feel liquid heat trickling down his neck. "I told you 'not a word'. I am here for the person you kidnapped today. If you want to live another ten seconds, you will tell me, very quietly and very persuasively, where to find her." Carver tried to move, tried to shake off the small weight on his back, but the knife cut again, this time closer to the arteries he himself had slit on other folks that had needed killing. Whoever this little one was, he knew how to use that knife. "She's. . .she's inside. The professor 'as them scientifical fellows using her in one of them expe. . exper. . " he tried to remember the unfamiliar word, but failed. "Experiments? Is that what you are trying to say?" A chill ran icy fingers of stark fear up and down Sherla's back. *Oh, God, Katrinaaaaaaa!* her mind screamed in rage mixed with hate and fear. "Yes sir. He wanted to see what the new stuff'd do, seein's how it killed one of the monks and seein's how he was goin' ta have me kill her anyways." The weight left his back. "Turn over, curse you!" the voice hissed. Carver spun, his arms reaching for what he was sure was a small person. He had to attack quickly if he hoped to survive. Something pricked at his neck. It burned for just a moment, and then he felt his entire body go lifeless and limp. He looked up and saw the face of his attacker. "Who. . .are. . you." he managed to get out . He did not live long enough to hear an answer, even had one been offered. Without a word, Sherla turned and walked towards the door that led to her beloved, the dart she'd stabbed him with still in her hand. She had wanted to rail at him for having dared to kidnap Katrina, for having DARED to put his HANDS upon her, for having DARED to FRIGHTEN her. Sherla had wanted to watch him die slowly, knowing who she was and why she'd done it, but that was an indulgence for which she did not have time. She had to find and save her lover, and then, she had to make certain that Moriarty would come to her for their final confrontation. ~--------------~ "Well, at least we gotten her past the convulsions still alive, Edward," Haber said, "And the snow seems to be keeping the fever in check." "At least for now. Damn Moriarty. I wish we dared give her the original potion to counter this one, but he'd make us and our families pay for it." "I know, and besides, we don't even know if that," and he pointed to a five hundred milliliter bottle filled with a clear liquid, "is a counter for what he made us inject into her. That would mean we had succeeded in finding his antidote and we simply cannot be sure that we have." "Ja ja, I know," Buchner sighed. "At least she is holding up better than poor little Adolf did when we tried it on her." "We let the fever get a hold on the monkey, my friend. It has not gotten away from us with her, yet." "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I would appreciate it if you would both step back from that girl and put your hands in the air." a firm voice said. "Who are you?!?": the first speaker demanded, at the same time the second speaker blurted out, "Fraulein Watson?? What are you doing here?" "Rescuing her, and now, I suppose, the two of you. Good evening, Professor Buchner. Can she be moved?" "We need to keep her cool, to fight the fever, " the first man replied, "but I should think that will not be a problem in the outside cold." "All right. You said that bottle was the original youth potion?" Sherla asked. At Haber's nod, she continued. "This is what we shall do. First, you will tell me where the rest of Moriarty's henchmen sleep. The guards outside are all dead or dying. While I deal with the rest, you two will prepare to leave. Bundle up and have a litter or something to carry Katrina upon. I have a sleigh, but we will have to get away from the fire I will set as a diversion for them to pick us up." "What about Moriarty's other herbs? His journals? They are all here in this lab as well. What about Moriarty? "I will deal with Moriarty. You may trust me on this. As for his foul journals and herbs, are there any in here that might help her?" Sherla asked pointing to where Katrina lay, wrapped in snow. "We don't know, but it is not likely," Buchner said. "If anything will, that bottle of original potion might have some benefit after she is over the worst of the fever - if this IS a female to male transition. Other than that, we can only nurse her through the fever and hope for the best. We really don't know what this drug will do to her." Deflated, Sherla allowed herself a single tear before forcing her mind back to the task at hand. "Then bring the bottle with you when we leave. As for the rest, I think I am uniquely qualified to state that they can all burn in hell and the world will be a safer and better place for doing of it. We will burn them with the rest of this place. Now, tell me where the other men are housed." A scant ten minutes later, Sherla was back. The half dozen remaining gang members would never awaken, thanks to the darts now sprouting from each criminal's neck. "Ready?" she asked. At their nod, she ordered them to take Katrina outside. Sherla found several jars of volatile chemicals and shattered them, saturating rags and wood with the flammable material. At the door, she tossed a lit match into the small stream of chemical she has poured to act as a fuse to the main bundle of saturated rags and wood. She was barely away with the explosion hit, shattering windows and turning the interior of the large laboratory building into a small scale vision of the depths of hell. Unable to resist, Sherla turned back to view the results of her handiwork one last time. The old dried timbers of the chalet's outbuilding quickly became fully involved. It would be only a few minutes before the entire structure burned down to the frozen earth. *And so, once again, I have destroyed everything Moriarty values in the world, leaving him less than nothing. Just as I destroyed his London criminal organization over twenty years ago. Now, we have but to meet once more, and for the final time. I suspect the little gift I left for him on the door to his guards' barracks will ensure his presence. If not, I will merely seek him out, but the end will be the same.* Satisfied, she ran to the two men struggling with the litter. "Let us take our leave now, gentlemen. Head down the main path to the gate. I will cover your backs in case I missed anyone. Our sleigh should be here momentarily. "HERE IT COMES!" Buchner shouted, nearly hysterical relief ringing in his voice while in the background, another voice called for guards who were beyond hearing the summons.
