A
Study In Satin
by Tigger
Moriarty sat next to the large window overlooking the snow covered mountainside. The snow was only to be expected, he reminded himself, if cursedly inconvenient. Buchner's experiments with the remaining African monkeys were progressing apace, but Moriarty did not trust the results. The animals were simply too small for him to believe the results would be predictive for humans. For him. He wanted larger primates, specifically chimpanzees. *Now I wish that I had not used the last pair as object lessons for Haber and Buchner. He could be replicating the experiment on that pair even now were they still alive.* Shrugging, Moriarty turned away from the window to regard the two men standing anxiously at his command. "Well, Carver, what is the report on the roads?" The bigger of the two men spasmodically tugged at the knit watchcap he held in his two large gnarled hands. "Well, Professor, the lads have been working straight through ever since the wind died down enough to make progress. We should be able to get the sleigh through to Rosenlaui by noon tomorrow. From there, we'll have to see if they've cleared the trails down to Meringen. If they have, we'll be able to get the sleigh the rest of the way to Brienz to wait for the train with your monkeys." "Chimpanzees, Mr. Carver, on your hope for a merciful death," Moriarty hissed in malevolent tones, "You had best pray that you mean chimpanzees." The man called Carver swallowed hard and hastened to reply, "Actually, Professor, sir, . . .ummm. . we ordered both. An even dozen of them chimps, half boys, half girls, and another half a hundred monkeys, half of them boys and girls, too." "Very well. See that I have chimpanzees, Mr. Carver, and SOON! When do you and Herr Friedrich leave?" "We leave tomorrow, sir, just as soon as the trails to Rosenlaui are passable." "Succeed and you will be well rewarded. Fail, and there is no place on earth that will protect you from me. Now get out and ensure the trail is ready for your departure per your schedule." Moriarty did not even notice the men's hurried departure. They would succeed, he knew. Carver had been with him in the old days and knew well the price of failure. The look of stark terror on Bad John Carver's face when Moriarty had found him in that dockside brothel had been priceless and most satisfying. Moriarty had ordered him here as his advanced element to set up this hideaway. Carver had escaped the Sherlock Holmes-spearheaded destruction of Moriarty's organization twenty years ago, primarily because he had never been associated with Moriarty or any of his underlings. Always on the fringes of Moriarty's organization, Carver was a competent seaman who could be relied upon to handle his job with little or no fuss, whether it was a smuggling job or a clandestine rescue of a gang member in whom the police were becoming much too interested. Yes, Carver knew better than to fail, particularly in such a simple task as this. Moriarty allowed himself a small, amused smile. The irony of this situation had a certain appeal to it, especially since success in the tasks he set Carver would ultimately mean the man's demise. It was only a matter of time before Buchner's rather promising lines of inquiry could be tested on subjects more suitable to their needs. And if those tests were successful then Carver, along with every other soul involved with this project would be suitably rewarded. Had not Moriarty promised them that? And was not freedom from pain a most excellent reward, particularly when one considered the alternatives. A look of utterly serene satisfaction stole across Moriarty's countenance - serenity that was completely at odds with the plans and schemes that were slowly taking shape behind those cold eyes. ~-----------------~ Contrary to what the staff at Herr Schmidt's hotel in Brienz believed, the lovely Fraulein Cheryl Huxley did not share the larger of the suite's two bed chambers with her "Mother". Rather, she shared the smaller of the two rooms with her younger "brother", Karl. A pale beam of moonlight woke Katrina and she rolled over to escape its annoying radiance. Sherla's soft, warm body spooned into Katrina's own as she pulled the covers up about them both against the night chill. *She is just so lovely,* Katrina thought as she snuggled closer to her beloved. Her afternoon's exertions had left Katrina too exhausted to make love that night. Sherla, observant as always, had ordered Katrina into a hot tub and had personally bathed her before tucking her into bed with a chaste kiss on the forehead. *And there I was, too cursed tired to be upset at being treated like a cranky child. Actually, it was rather sweet of her, except for that kiss. That is NOT where I want to be kissed by Sherla.* *Think boyish, she says. If I was truly "thinking boyish" and had a woman such as this one in my arms, I would not simply be laying here, would I?* Katrina thought. *I wonder if she packed that. . . * Carefully, so as not to awaken her lover, Katrina got out of the bed and padded over to the small closet where Sherla's small portmanteau was stored. Katrina dug about in it and found what she was looking for. With a sensuous grin, she stepped out of the bedchamber and lit a taper so that she could see. This was going to be FUN! ~-----------------~ It was the contrast between heat and chill that drew Sherla out of the arms of Morpheus. Not only that, but the places that were heated quickly chilled after the heat source moved on. Two soft arms slipped around Sherla's waist, pulling her tight against the warmth behind her. Knowing hands slipped up her body to cup her breasts and to tease at her suddenly rock hard nipples. Then something pinched daintily at her earlobe, making her arch hard in response. A soft, pleased giggle answered her body's sudden demand. "Katrina?" Sherla half moaned, half groaned. "Who were you expecting, petite? Herr Schmidt?" With a growl of need, Sherla spun about in her lover's arms and pulled them close together, her mouth too busy to reply to Katrina's little jest. Fiery need and desire consumed the pair as they rolled about the feather-ticked bed, Sherla's nightgown somehow ending up on the floor. Eager hands stroked and teased quivering flesh, agile tongues and lips caressed heated skin. Thoroughly aroused, Sherla reached downward, searching for her love's sex and was momentarily stunned by what her questing fingers found. "And what have we here?" she asked into Katrina's kissing mouth, recovering her wits. "What do you think it is, silly," Katrina giggled, arching her hips forward to let 'it' nudge Sherla gently. "I think it is the godemiche, but both your hands are . . .ummm, involved," the last words said in a gasp of sudden pleasure. "Your Katrina is a superb seamstress, my love. I made a special pair of drawers that hold the godemiche in its. . .appropriate place so that we can share it and have our hands free for. . .other things." "Oh, what a clever, loving little minx you are," Sherla purred, pulling Katrina into a deep, penetrating kiss. Pulling back, Katrina smiled down at Sherla. "Well, you did tell me to think boyish, my sweet," she said with a lascivious grin. Sherla's hips gave an impatient shimmy and her hand reached down to take the long hard toy in one hand. Pulling it toward her aching womanhood, she looked up at Katrina. "Well, I think it is time for YOU to stop thinking and start ACTING!" She kissed her again, "Like a boy, that is!" "Ohhhh yessssssssssss. . . " "Is THAT boyish enough for you, petite?" "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. . . . . " ~--------------~ The bright Alpine sun woke Sherla, a satiated smile still on her swollen lips. Nature's call made her waking up more urgent, and she hurried off to the small water closet down the hall. Actually, "hurried" was a relative term because she hurt in places she had never known she could hurt before, and that impeded her progress. Each step gave her a telling reminder of precisely how she had spent several hours the night before. Fortunately, the initial pain had receded quickly to a dull, almost pleasurable ache once she began moving around. She still stepped carefully, but it was no longer worrisome. Sherlock had felt more pain after one of his swimming sessions or after struggling with some felon who refused to surrender gracefully. "Ah, so you are finally awake, are you?" Katrina said entering the room, dressed as Karl. "Irene has had breakfast sent up and she wants to discuss the days activities. There are some roads now clear enough for the sleigh." "Capital! At last we can begin the ending of this little drama," Sherla crowed as she tried to jump to her feet, only to be brought up short by sore muscles. "Sherla!" Katrina yelled, leaping to help her friend. "You're hurt!" There was panic and then, sickening realization in Katrina's eyes. "Oh lord, I was too rough last night. I hurt you. Wait here, NO, Don't YOU move! I will get Tante Irene. She will know what to do. . .NO, I will have Herr Schmidt send for the physician." She was almost out the door, when the sound of laughter stopped her in mid stride. "I am uninjured, silly," Sherla said moving over to embrace her lover. "Just a bit. . .sore and sensitive when I try to move to quickly. It is, I strongly suspect, an expected side effect that occurs when a physically inexperienced girl spends a bit too much time gaining some very lovely experience. Trust me, every twinge makes me smile because then I remember how I came to be this way. Now, 'little brother', let us go break our fast. I find I am quite famished." "Oh, all right," Katrina said in her pesky brother voice, her eyes reflecting her relief. Sherla found that if she walked by moving only with her legs, the stress on her over-exerted feminine muscles was significantly reduced, and then grinned. "You know, darling, I think I have just discovered the solution to those active little hips of yours." Katrina frowned at Sherla, confusion evident in her look. "Don't worry, after tonight, you'll understand perfectly. Trust me." Sherla stretched out the last phrase and let it hang on the air, images of how it would feel to be the one wearing Katrina's special drawers dancing in her mind. Date: March 14, 1911 Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes Location: The Brienz Hotel, Brienz, Switzerland. Time: 11:37 A.M. My Dear Doctor Watson: I must say, dear friend, that things are beginning to look up in this devilishly frustrating action. Most importantly, the weather has become rather warm - the temperature did not even fall below the freezing mark last night so the snow removal efforts go apace. Irene and I have an appointment to call upon the local estate agent this afternoon after luncheon. The game may not yet be fully afoot, John, , but we are definitely beginning to hear the distant call of the huntsman's bugle. Thus far, our major successes have been achieved by Katrina, in her role as Karl. She has made the acquaintance of the youngest son of the train station master, and should therefore be able to maintain a most useful surveillance on that critical area. Yesterday, Karl was given thorough instruction on the fine art of throwing by 'his' new friend, the snow providing ample ready ammunition for this exercise. I offered to help in this adventure, but was told by the little minx, quite snippily I might add, that THIS was a boys-only expedition, and besides, _I_ would need more instruction in learning to throw like a girl than "Karl" needed in the art of throwing like a boy. I am not altogether certain whether that was a compliment or an insult. I did get some vicarious satisfaction for her jibe, however, for it seems that the young Herr Erich Loche is something of an animal lover . . . . ~------------~ "So," a very winded Katrina opened. They had been playing a wild game of snowball war that had included a great deal of running and yelling - things that both the thin Alpine air and her own more sedate feminine habits made difficult for the disguised girl. "What else do you do for fun up here?" "You sure do get tired quickly," Erich said with some disgust. "Didn't you play at all in Paris?" "Not. . like. . . this," 'Karl' managed to get out as the pair walked down the considerably wider cleared paths toward Erich's father's station house. "This .. is great, though." she managed to get out on only half a gasp, trying to show an enthusiasm she was far from feeling. "You'll get better, I guess," Erich allowed with the air of someone forgiving a great sin against nature. "Mostly, I play like this, I guess, when I am not doing chores or taking care of Schultz." "Who's Schultz?" 'Karl' asked, her wind almost restored. "Oh, he's my pet rat." "Pet RAT?!?!" Katrina barely contained a girlish squeal. "You have a pet rat? Why not a dog or a cat?" "You promise not to tell?" Erich demanded. At his new friend Karl's curt nod, he continued. "My Momma says that cats make her sneeze and that dogs shed on the furniture and rugs so I can't have either. I found Schultz one day in the warehouse. One of the barn cats - they won't let me pet them - had just killed his momma and the rest of his family. I barely saved him. Now, I keep him in a small cage in the back of the warehouse so the cats can't get him." "And you . . pet him? And everything?" Katrina felt slightly ill at the thought of actually touching a rodent. "Of course I do. He's my pet, and a darn good one, too. Better than any stupid old dog or cat. Nobody else I know has one, either. That means he's special. . .and un. .uni. . " "Unique?" 'Karl' offered. "That's the word. Unique. So, you want to go see Schultz?" Sensing another test of her "manhood", Katrina swallowed hard and tried to smile confidently. "Sounds like a wonderful idea. When?" Katrina's hopes for a long delay in their visit were immediately dashed. "Why not right now? We're here. Come with me, and I will show you how to get into the warehouse without the keys." Her femininely rounded hips, girded as they were in the bulky boy's trousers and greatcoat, nearly did not fit through the small hidden opening in the back of the large building. "You need the exercise, Karl," Erich had noted after showing his friend how to shimmy in. "Your bottom is getting kind of big, isn't it?" *Sherla hasn't complained,* Katrina mentally snorted, but managed a sheepish smile. "Too much hot chocolate. I will do better, Erich." "Aw, you're doing all right for a newcomer. My father says most newcomers have trouble getting used to the air up here. I never understood why because it is never smoky or dirty like some of the pictures I've seen of other places, but I guess it must be true. Come on, Schultz is over here in the back corner." "That little box over there was the whole thing," Erich said proudly as he dragged Katrina over toward a small, obviously hand built pen, "when I first got him. He was so small it seemed to give him lots of room. Now he just barely fits in it and I had to add all these other stray boards from broken shipping crate and build this whole pen. Now he just uses the old box as a sort of hidey-hole. Schultz was big. . . far larger than Katrina had anticipated . . almost as big as the fat old Persian cat one of Irene's friends from the theater was forever carting around with her. It took ever ounce of willpower she possessed not to flinch when Erich had hoisted several pounds of black rat into her arms. Even then, Erich had been forced to take one of her hands and force her to stroke the rodent. He had surprisingly soft fur, and the beast actually cuddled her. "He is much more friendly than Madame Orlie's pussycat," she'd said in some amazement, beginning to stroke more freely and confidently. "He's so soft." "I've had him for almost two years now," Erich said with some sadness. "According to the books at school, that is old for a rat. I won't have him for much longer." The sadness in the boy's tones caused tears to burn at the back of Katrina's eyelids, but she managed to keep them under control. "Perhaps you could convince your Poppa that you need a watchdog for the warehouse, and that you would take care of him. That way your Momma wouldn't have him shedding in the house." Erich's eyes went wide. "It might work, but we've never had anybody try to break in before so he might not agree," he finished, still sad. "Well, you have Schultz for now," 'Karl' offered, slipping the rat back into Erich's arms, "And time to figure out the best means to convince your Poppa. Now, I must get home to clean up for dinner. Do we have to go out the way we came in?" "No, the back door locks when you close it. Come, I will show you, Big-Bottom." *And if I fight him, I will prove there is yet another thing I "do like a girl",* Katrina thought. *Ah, I know.* "You shouldn't call people who know and promise to keep your secrets names, Erich." "What secrets?" He demanded. "Oh, secret entrances and secret pets - things like that. However, I promise you that I won't tell anyone about those," *except Sherla, of course,* "If you don't call me names." ~---------------~ I must say, John, that Katrina's discussion of her adventure with the rats was far braver than I might have been after that deluge of vermin at that old site of Moriarty's in London. I wonder if she was really as brave as she let on when she told the story? Oh, and this morning, Katrina's shapely little hips are most definitely NOT swinging with the minx steps out for a walk. My plan of having her on the receiving end last night worked perfectly and was a great deal of fun, as well. I wonder if my own pleasure last night is a residual aspect of Sherlock, the male? The sheer masculine satisfaction of being the impaler instead of the impaled, perhaps? Quite possible, for it is certainly a great deal more work than being recipient of such vigorous effort. And since the godemiche is not real, my own satisfaction was delayed until Katrina had recovered enough for a bit of reciprocity. Oh well, 'tis far too introspective a question to deal with in my current mood. Until next time, old friend. End Journal Entry
