Unable to defeat the addiction-withdrawal syndrome of Moriarty's youth potion,
Holmes is running out of the drug, and faces madness and a horrible death.
Unwilling to concede victory to the Professor, he leaves England
in search of the one person who might still best Holmes' archenemy -

"THE Woman."

 

---

 
Image Credit: Title picture Victorian Woman ~Sephrena.

The model(s) in this image is in / and are no way connected with this story nor supports nor conveys the issues and situations brought up within the story. The model(s) use is solely used for the representation of looks of the main character(s) of this particular story. ~Sephrena.

Free Antique Divider licensed for use from www.designsbyannmargaret.com ~Sephrena.

Legalities: Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted provided that: 1) You must have contacted the author, Tigger, and have asked permission first and received said permission to host this particular work. 2) No fee be charged, either directly or indirectly (this includes so-called "adult checks") or any form of barter or monetary transfers in order to access viewing this work *and* (3) PROVIDED that this disclaimer, all author notes, legalities and attribution to the original author are contained unchanged within the work. 4) The author of this work, Tigger, must be provided free account access at all times the work is hosted in order to modify or remove this work at his sole discretion.

The characters, situations, and places within this work are fictional. Any resemblance between actual people (living or dead), places, or situations is entirely coincidental.

The title picture is the work of its respective photographer. This work, everything other than the title picture, is the copyrighted material of the respective author. ~Tigger.

Caveate Emptor! This story is a work of fiction, intended for mature individuals who enjoy stories with transgender and erotic themes and who are legally permitted to read such stories under the laws of their location. If this does not describe you, then this story is not for you and you should check elsewhere.

In addition, this story drastically departs from what is commonly referred as "The Canon" among Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts. Should this offend you, please read no further. ~Tigger.

Characterizations: This story is based on situations and characterizations found in the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. However, the Irene Adler character is also based on the characterization presented in the Irene Adler novels by Carole Nelson Douglas.~Tigger.

Artwork: Original Artwork graciously donated by Brandy Dewinter.

Acknowledgements: A story of this magnitude (over 1 megabyte of text, 56 chapters in three parts) is not solely the effort of one person. My sincere thanks to:

Brandy Dewinter - Simply stated, without her help, support, guidance and every so often a well intentioned nag, this story would not have happened. I think that about 85% of the words are mine, and the rest are hers, but all of them (mine in particular) are better for her eagle-eye for detail, grammar, theme and plot.

DanielSan - who kept me (almost) honest insofar as my characterization of the main characters and who caught more than a few glaring typos and manglings of the English language (American or English).

Paul1954 - who read my words to ensure that, in my attempt to make my characters sound English-Victorian, I did not make too much a hash of it. I am sure that it was often a painful experience. ~Tigger.

---

 
 
Part III: Dum Vivimus Vivamus
 
 
Chapter 5. Interludes: Frustration and Satiation
 
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.
 
 
Chapter 6. House Hunting
 
The classic German cuckoo clock was announcing one thirty when Irene and Sherla were shown into the office of Herr Rudolph Kreuger, estate agent.

"Good afternoon, Frau Huxley," he said bowing over Irene's hand, "And to you, Fraulein," he repeated over Sherla's. "I understand from the introductory letter you sent me that you are looking for a mountain retreat? Would this be a warm-weather residence or might you wish to avail yourself of it year-round?"

Irene rewarded him with a brilliant smile as she slipped off her gloves.. "My husband and son are avid sportsmen, Herr Kreuger, and thoroughly enjoy skiing and hunting in the winter. I should think we must start with the idea of a year-round establishment."

The door behind them opened and a tall, well made young man entered. "Ah, my son joins us. Frau Huxley, Fraulein Huxley, may I present my first-born son, Hans-Peter Kreuger who has just finished at the university in Zurich and returns to join his proud papa in the family business."

Irene offered her hand and murmured a greeting. Sherla, however, recalling her role as the family flirt, made a show of slowly pulling her glove from the hand she languidly offered the suddenly flustered scion. Recovering, he all but snatched at the proffered hand to kiss it. "Ah, Herr Kreuger, it is easy to see why you are so proud to have such a fine . . . upstanding young man as your son," she purred, delighting in the crimson blush that vividly colored the young man's fair features.

"Yes, indeed," the older man replied, well pleased with the compliment. "Hans, help the ladies with their cloaks so that we may be about our business. Perhaps, Frau Huxley, after I am better aware of your requirements, I will be able to arrange to show you some suitable properties. I am sure we have precisely what you are looking for, but I may have to contact the current residents first. If we have nothing to show you today, Hans will take you and the Fraulein on a tour by sleigh of our locality, so that you better see what we have to offer you in the way of scenery and such."

"Excellent," Irene said grandly. "I am afraid we have all become quite frustrated, cooped up as we were in the hotel these past few days. A drive in the country would be quite lovely."

Hans helped Irene from her cloak first, but almost dropped both cloaks when he helped Sherla. She was dressed in a tight rose- colored daygown, but one with an entirely too boldly cut neckline. Poor Hans visibly gawked at the beautifully displayed mounds before managing to recall himself to his tasks. "May I.. may I offer you coffee, or tea? Perhaps some chocolate."

"Oh, some of your lovely, RICH Swiss chocolate for me, please. I just love the taste and texture of it," Sherla said in a husky voice,. "So thick and . . . hot."

"CHERYL!" Irene ordered.

With a teasing, lingering smile for the stunned Hans, Sherla slowly turned her attention to her "Mother". "But Momma, I was just telling Hans-Peter how I like my, um, chocolate," she protested innocently, an effect totally undermined when the tip of her pink tongue slid slowly over her shining lips.

"Indeed? I think you would have been better off to have chosen tea instead of chocolate. More calming to the soul," Irene said sternly, although her eyes glinted with amusement and approval that neither of the men could see or would have understood. "Perhaps you would prefer to go warm yourself by the fire and drink your chocolate while Herr Kreuger and I see to business?"

With an exaggerated sigh, Sherla agreed. She stood slowly, bending just a little too far as she rose so that both Kreugers were gifted with a glimpse of her bosom.

Shaking her head in evident dismay, Irene turned her attention to the elder Kreuger. She was pleased to note that even he had a somewhat dazed look on his face as he followed Sherla's floating gait. "She is going through a difficult time, learning to deal with the demands of her impending womanhood," Irene said apologetically. "I am sorry if she upset your son."

"Oh," the estate manager said, "Oh, don't worry about it. She is a lovely young woman. 'Do the lad good to learn how to do the pretty with such a .. . . vivacious young girl. Now, tell me what it is you are looking for in a house?"
 

 
The Irene's discussions with the estate agent took approximately an hour whereupon the two women found themselves in front of the office, waiting while Hans-Peter collected their conveyance.

"Sherla!" Irene hissed into the girl's ear. "You are laying it on a bit too thick. Do you want him to take you to bed? Because, as brazenly as you are teasing him, he may show up to do just that tonight - and think he's been invited!"

Shocked at Irene's words, Sherla felt heat flash to her cheeks. "But you TOLD me to flirt with him!?!?"

"Flirt," Irene said, "not SEDUCE. You might get away with behavior like that in a London or Paris ballroom, here in the country such things may not be interpreted as mere flirtation. My god, girl . . . hot and thick? If you were Hans-Peter, what sort of woman would YOU think would talk like that? Lord above, he must think I am the proprietrix of a bordello and that you are my latest virgin for sacrificial auction."

"DAMN," Sherla cursed. "So NOW what do I do?"

A teasing smirk lit Irene's face. "Depends on whether you want to seduce him or not, dear. He is rather good looking."

"IRENE!" Sherla squealed, stamping her tiny foot on the slush- covered pavement and barely missing spraying them both in the dirty, partially frozen water. "I don't care how much better looking he is than Lafayette's however-many times removed nephew. *I* am in love with Katrina, and you blasted well know it!"

"Do I?" the older woman asked, one finely arched brow raised beneath her bonnet's veil. *but you did notice that young Hans is an exceptionally handsome man. How very difficult this all must be for poor Sherlock.* "Perhaps I do, but I did wonder if you knew it. This is the first time I have heard you admit it - in quite those words, at any rate."

"Well, I do," Sherla grumbled, "and for YOUR information, I HAVE acknowledged it."

"Where, might I ask? And to whom?"

"In my diary," Sherla replied, her voice barely audible, "And to myself."

"I think that Katrina would very much like to hear those words, Sherla, for I know that she loves you as well."

"Is the saying so very important?"

"Only a man would ask that question and mean it. I think you are woman enough to know the answer," Irene said airily. "Ah, here comes the sleigh."

"Irene! What do I do about Hans-Peter."

Irene shrugged. "Behave like any other flighty young girl barely out of the school room. Go all sweet and shy on him. After your blunt offers of but an hour ago, you will thoroughly confuse and fluster him."

"Sweet and submissive?" Sherla's face had that "just bit into a lemon" look on her face. "To a young pup like him?"

"Well, if you aren't actress enough to manage it," Irene said, a look of extreme worry on her face, "Perhaps you ought to slap his face hard the first time he makes a tentative move on you. You'll soon be known throughout the area as a nasty tease, which in turn will make your work here more difficult, but. . "

"ACTRESS ENOUGH?" Sherla sputtered, "Just watch me!" she snarled as she spun to greet their guide with a sweet, if reticent smile.

*Of course I will, darling. And now that you are trying to show me how skilled you are, I won't have to worry about you or Katrina shooting this young man some dark night when he intrudes on your. . . loving.*
 

 
Fortunately, young Kreuger was a natural gentleman, and after the first few times Sherla gave him a nervous smile and retreated from his tentative overtures, his better instincts took hold. Shortly after they'd begun their tour, Hans-Peter was alternately teasing and flattering Sherla, and giving back as good as and sometimes better than he got.

*I wouldn't doubt that Hans has at least one younger sister at home, for he has read Sherla perfectly. His father does have much to be proud of in this one. If Sherla and Katrina were not already as close to soul-mates as makes no difference, I don't think I would mind having this one pay court to my little detective. Although I WOULD insist all visits began and ended by way of the front door, and not Sherla's bed chamber window,* Irene thought as she watched the two banter and flirt.

As for Sherla, she had been almost rocked by a couple of unexpected surprises as they whooshed through the purity and silence of the snow-covered alpine countryside. Hans-Peter's more courtly attentions were affecting her in a most unexpected manner. She found she rather liked the fellow, and he was, she had to admit, very easy on her eyes. She especially liked the more genial verbal sparring game they had fallen into once he took her rather inexperienced hints that she wasn't really offering him her favors. He had the most delightful smile, especially when he was about to tease her fiercely about some thing or another.

In the middle of Sherla's ruminations, the sleigh began to slow and finally skidded to a stop. "Come, Frau Huxley, Fraulein Cheryl. I will show you one of the properties that my father will take you to visit tomorrow."

With studied ease, Hans-Peter handed Irene down from her seat and then proffered his hand to Sherla. Smiling, Sherla took his hand and was rather surprised by the controlled strength she felt in his gentle grip. When she was on the ground, he let the grip linger just a heartbeat longer than was necessary before slipping his hand to the middle of her back to guide her through the snow toward a small overlook. Fortunately, the winds had blown most of the heavier snow off the promontory for they had no difficulty moving through what accumulation remained.

Sherla was all-too-aware of the strong hand in her back, and of a queer tightness in her belly, and was surprised to find that her nipples suddenly felt quite stiff and were chafing against the cotton of her chemise. *Confound it, this is the way I feel with Katrina before we. . .before we make love. But. . .but. . he's a man!*

"As you can see, Frau Huxley, this is a very nice setting. The house is well protected from the prevailing winds down there," Hans-Peter again broke in on Sherla's thoughts, "And with a good deal of open land for skiing and other such activities."

Irene scanned the location. "It is very nice, but we did so hope for a higher setting relative to the surroundings. . . . for the view, you know."

Hans-Peter nodded. "So my father told me, however most folks around here build against the elements, particularly the snow and the wind. Building houses on high ground is very expensive since they must be far more strongly built without trees and higher ground nearby to blunt nature's wrath. In fact, the only one we've had was the one Father told you about earlier - the one we leased a while before you arrived in town. Most locals avoid such arrangements because they know the weather and the expense of maintaining such an establishment."

Nodding, Irene turned back toward the sleigh with Sherla and Hans-Peter following. He gently urged a stray curl of Sherla's dark hair back under her bonnet just before helping her into the sleigh. Without a word, Hans-Peter bundled the sleigh-blanket about the ladies, took the reins and whistled for the horses to step out for the journey back to their hotel.

"Tell me, Hans-Peter," Irene asked once they were nearly back to the main town. "Some friends of ours indicated that they were also coming up here to find a Swiss residence. Have you dealt with any English folk?"

He gave it some thought before shaking his head. "No Frau Huxley," and then he reconsidered, "At least, no English persons that a lady like you would be acquainted with. In fact, the only English person to come here recently isn't anyone a lady like you would want to know."

"Oh really?" Irene replied, managing to affect an air of disinterest only by grace of her years of acting experience.

"Yes, Frau Huxley," Hans-Peter continued into the break Irene had purposely left in the conversation. "Big brute of a fellow. At least, I think he was English. Spoke no French or German, yet his English was, well, barely understandable. In fact, he is the one who bespoke the property I told you about earlier. . the one that would have met your stated requirements so admirably."

"Oh? Where was that property, if you will excuse my curiosity?"

"Oh, a few kilometers from a lovely village called Rosenlaui which is near Meringen. Beautiful country up there. Some of the most majestic falls you've ever seen. You should make time to go up there and see them once the weather breaks."

Irene spared a moment to look at Sherla who had gone very still, her eyes hard. *Well, darling, perhaps we now know where to look.* "Tell me, Hans-Peter," Irene said. "Is there any chance that property near. . .what was it you called the place? Oh, yes, Rosenlaui. . .Is there any chance that property may become available again?"

Hans-Peter considered that question as he turned onto the lane that led to Herr Schmidt's hotel. "Well, as I recall, the lease was a relatively short one - six months, I think. The tenant was unsure that he wished to take on such a large estate for any longer time and rented it as an experiment."

"An experiment??" Sherla chimed in. "Were those his exact words?"

Surprised by the sudden vehemence from the girl, Hans-Peter finally managed a smile. "You know," he mused, "Those WERE his words. Odd that I would remember them, but the word seemed so. . . out of character for such an otherwise not-well-spoken person. Ah. . here we are, ladies. Now, my father will send you a note to let you know when I will be coming to fetch you tomorrow for any scheduled house tours he has arranged for you."

Helping the women down, he escorted them to the door of the hotel where he bowed over each of their hands, tipped his hat, and then left.

"A most delightful young man," Irene said, once they were inside their rooms and had divested themselves of their coats, gloves and bonnets.

"Yes," Sherla murmured, somewhat distractedly. "He was, was he not?" She shook herself and scanned the room for signs of Katrina. *Drat it, where IS the girl?!?* she fumed before she spotted the envelope above the hearth. Snatching it up, she tore it open and read the enclosed letter. "Gone to play with Erich at the station house. Be home by supper. Love, K."

"Well, I for one, could use a bit of a lie-down," Irene said. "What are your plans for the remainder of the afternoon?"

"I think I shall go lie down as well, Maman-Irene," Sherla said, a contemplative look on her face. "Rest well, Maman."

"You, too, dear." *Although I suspect our handsome young Hansel has given you a great deal to think upon before you will be able to relax enough to rest.*
 

 
Katrina crept toward the room she shared with Sherla. Irene's note had indicated that they had gone to bed to take a nap after their sleigh tour of the area. Katrina could use a bit of rest herself. Keeping up with a real twelve year old boy - one who was used to this thin mountain air - when one was in truth a nearly twenty year old woman had exhausted her.

*At least tomorrow, the number of hours of this hard work called 'play' will ease up. Erich told me that since the snow is mostly dealt with now, the school he attends will be opening again. He'll spend most of the day in school and I can spend most of MY day building up my strength. Thank goodness that Sherla anticipated the "where do you go to school?" question so that I had the answer that my "tutor" would be joining us once we had our own house to live in.*

Silently, she stripped out of her hated boy-clothes in the small water closet and then slipped into the bed chamber. The bed was rumpled, but there was no sign of Sherla in it. *Now where has she gone off too?*

Suddenly, small, but surprisingly strong hands and arms wrapped around Katrina, and half carried, half flipped her to the soft featherbed. "Got you!" Sherla crowed before teasingly clamping her small teeth on to Katrina's sensitive neck.

Katrina spun in her lover's arms and saw the rosy cheeks, the fiery eyes and full, moist lips and knew that Sherla was highly aroused. Taking the initiative, she rolled on top of her lover and kissed her thoroughly. Then she felt the rigid hardness that was poking into her belly. Reaching down, she took the godemiche in her hands and smiled at Sherla. "I thought it was my turn to "act boyish", my love.

Excited nearly beyond reason, Sherla squirmed beneath Katrina, her intent clear as she tried to shuck out of the special drawers. "Well, then do so, curse it!" she hissed. "Better yet, act MANNISH, but for god's sake, ACT!"

With languid and catlike grace, Katrina picked up the discarded item and rose from the bed. She positioned herself so that Sherla had a clear view of her, and extended one pointed toe into one leg of the garment. Slowly, sensuously, she drew up on the top of the drawers until it was nearly mid thigh before repeating the motions with her other leg. If anything, she was even slower raising it to her waist and lacing it on tightly, all the while shooting fiery, passionate looks at her lover that nearly had Sherla jibbering in need.

"Get OVER here and make LOVE to me NOW!" Sherla growled.

"With the greatest of pleasure, my love," Katrina purred, slinking onto the bed.

"God, but I love you," Sherla moaned just before Katrina's lips closed over Sherla's own.
 
 
Chapter 7. Feminine Terror in the Dark
 
The world began shaking madly and all Irene could do was hold on. "TANTE IRENE! TANTE IRENE! WAKE UP! OH, PLEASE WAKE UP!"

Bleary eyes opened, and then blinked hard several times. Surely, she was still dreaming. Irene opened her eyes again and forced them to stay open. *My god, it is Katrina next to my bed. She IS nude. . .except for that rather lewd pantalette, and she IS frantic.* "Wha. . . ," Irene's still sleeping tongue tried to get out, "What . . is . . wrong?"

"Oh you MUST come," Katrina wailed, her hands grabbing and Irene's arms and jerking the larger woman from her warm bed with unusual strength. "Oh, God, Tante Irene, I have killed her! There is so much blood! I tried to be gentle, but it was so exciting and she kept telling me to go harder and faster and. . ."

Irene was now awake enough to free an arm and put a silencing hand to her daughter's mouth. "Quiet, dear. Is it Sherla?" The still hand-silenced girl nodded vigorously. Irene looked down at the man-made phallus hanging from Katrina's drawers and saw the rust colored stains up and down its length. *It could be nothing, and yet, we don't know how fully female or how fully mature Sherla's transformed woman's parts really are.*

Both hurried back to Sherla's bed chamber where pitifully agonized moans and groans greeted their arrival. "Irene, is that you? Oh, god, help me. I think I am dying!" Sherla said, stress and pain evident in every word.

Irene sped into the candlelit room. The sheets were a crimson mess about a Sherla's hips and thighs. The girl had rolled herself into the fetal position, and Irene could see the glint of tears reflecting the candle's light on her cheeks.

Refusing to panic, Irene put a hand on Sherla's forehead, finding it warm and not cool as she would have found it from blood loss had the girl been hemorrhaging. Then she looked at the girl's bared bosom, and saw the rise and fall of normal, if sob-wracked breathing.

Smiling in relief, Irene turned back to the anxious Katrina. "Katrina, help me, please, to get our little nymph out of that messy bed so you can change the linen. Sherla, let us clean you up so that I can ensure that my diagnosis of your condition is correct, but I don't think there is anything to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?!??" both girls squawked.
 

 
"Her MONTHLY??!?" a relieved but disbelieving Katrina shrieked.

"More quietly, please, Katrina. We don't need to apprize the entire hotel of that fact. Not to mention the fact that we just got Sherla calmed down enough to rest."

"But how could she not know that she was bleeding? How could she be flowing like that and not have known about it?" Now Katrina sounded almost disgusted.

"What happened?" Irene asked, deciding not to go into the answer to Katrina's question just yet. "All I know is from when you woke from a very sound and pleasant sleep in that. . . . very unique piece of sleep wear. How did that scene in there just now come to pass?"

"Well. . . we were. . .well, making love. . ."

"I quite inferred that given your state of dress, my dear. What happened AFTER that."

"We fell asleep, but I woke up later. Sherla had rolled away from me taking all the blankets. I was going to demand my share back, but realized I needed to visit the necessary first. Inside the water closet, I lit the oil lamp so I could see where I was going. I went to pull down my. . . ummm. . .my drawers," Irene's naughty, knowing grin made the younger woman blush crimson but she pressed on determinedly. "And that was when I saw the dried blood on the . . . on the thing. It was very obvious and I knew. . . .oh curse it, Tante Irene, I knew that she was not a virgin. Not that way, so it was not her rose d'amoure, her virgin's blood on the . . .the thing."

"You knew she was not a virgin? How? Oh yes. That day you were both determined to protect the other because you each had taken shameful advantage of the other?"

Katrina nodded. "Anyway, I lit a taper using the flame of the lamp and rushed back to the room. When I woke Sherla, she started to move, then groaned in extreme pain, unable to straighten her knees from her belly. I pulled the covers off and we both saw all that red on the sheets and on her thighs. Like I told you earlier, she had been so demanding. . .insisting that I . . go . . ever harder and faster."

"And so you assumed, as did Sherla, that you had hurt her. . inside?" Again, Katrina nodded. "Well, I checked that journal of hers. She is several days late from what was her first period, so I suspect that is a good deal of the reason that this one hit her so hard."

"But, Tante Irene, how could any woman not know that her monthly is upon her? That makes no sense. This should not have been such a nasty surprise."

"Because our monthly friend has not been a part of her life before, sweet. You've been female for your entire life, and a fertile woman for more than a third of that time. Sherla has been female for mere weeks, and that only after decades of being a man. This is, from my reading of her journal, only her second monthly of her entire life." Irene thought about their afternoon's excursion, and grinned. "And she did have a great deal on her mind today that could easily have distracted her."

"Oh really?" Katrina was suddenly intrigued. She had seen the young Herr Kreuger about the town and recognized him as a very handsome man.

"Indeed," Irene replied. "She had to confront some new and potentially for her, frightening feelings today."

"She told me she loved me today," Katrina said shyly, almost afraid that admitting that gift might somehow undo the saying.

"Good." Irene said firmly. "That was one of the feelings she had to deal with today. I'm glad she thought to tell you so soon. It speaks well for the strength of her feelings for you because I know that Sherlock never said those words to a woman."

"What happens now?"

"Well, if I am any judge of Eve's Curse, our Sherla is going to have a very rough time for the next few days. She was already cramping rather severely when you took me in to see her." Irene gave a slightly malicious chuckle. "Mere men have no idea of how strong a woman must be to function with any degree of normalcy or efficiency during her time of the month. You and I have had years of experience to inure us to most of the discomforts. Sherla has to learn to be strong during these days."

"I remember my first few times. I thought I was going to die and thought I wanted to, once or twice."

"Until I decided I wasn't going to let my own femininity get the better of me, I felt much the same," Irene told the younger woman. "Sherla is your age physically, but we must always remember that she is but a mere babe as a woman."

"Maybe I will go tend to her. She'll need nursing, won't she?" Katrina said with an evil grin.

"She is liable to be a thorough and complete bitch, dear," Irene warned her.

"And won't I enjoy telling her that?" Katrina's grin grew wider as she strutted toward Sherla's bed chamber. "Almost as much as she'll hate hearing it."
 

 
 
Date: March 15, 1911

Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes

Location: The Brienz Hotel, Brienz, Switzerland.

Time: 9:00 A.M.

My Dear Doctor Watson: I am in the throes of my second menses, old friend, and, according to my beloved, acting like a complete bitch. Well, so be it. A bitch must feel better than I do at this moment. My god, John, do I have this bodily torment to face for four days, every month for the rest of my now-extended life? If I could scream in writing, I would. In fact, consider it screamed! My stomach is not merely rebellious, it has declared war on me. The merest smell of food, not to mention the sight of food, has me crawling, literally, for the chamber pot. The most grievous insult of all this, however, is that I have been told I shall not be permitted (PERMITTED!!!) to participate in our ongoing investigations until I am "more the thing," according to Irene. I suspect she said it in that oh-so-very condescending manner to get me to stiffen my British upper lip and put this feminine atrocity behind me. It should have worked quite successfully, too, had my traitorous body not won that particular confrontation. I took a mere two steps to attempt to follow Irene out of the bed chamber, and then barely made it back to the chamber pot in time. Extremely humiliating, John. And just when we have uncovered our first real clue in the person of this, as yet, unseen poorly spoken Englishman. Both Irene and I are certain that this individual was Moriarty's advanced element, coming here to make arrangements for whatever property that currently serves as the Professor's lair. Rosenlaui, once again, my dear friend. If this clue proves to be as telling as every instinct I possess tells me that it is, then I shall soon enough be looking at the Reichenbach Falls. The last time I left that fearsome chasm, it was in the firm yet mistaken belief that I had rid the world of Professor James Moriarty forever. I shan't make such an error this time. THIS time it ENDS here - once and for all. Oh, curse it, another cramp and it's a bad one. Excuse me, John.

 

 
 
Date: March 15, 1911

Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes

Location: The Brienz Hotel, Brienz, Switzerland.

Time: 9:23 A.M.

My Dear Doctor Watson: I am back, obviously. I shall never refer to women as the "weaker sex" again. I swear it. Irene hypothesizes that my difficulty in dealing with this "time of the month" has several possible causes. First, she points out that I am "late" since my last visit by this malady was more than 30 days ago and in her experience, women who are not regular tend to suffer more when the even does arrive. LATE, the woman says. My God, John, I have, throughout the course of my life, always made an extraordinary effort to be meticulously punctual and now my body is "late"?!? I don't know whether to be embarrassed or affronted - in addition to feeling absolutely vile, that is. Her second supposition is that something may not be quite "right" or complete about my feminine internal arrangements. However, we will only be able to ascertain that over time. Especially in light of her third possibility. Watson, you will not credit this, but that heartless woman as much called me a whining and spineless weakling! Told me that REAL women do not allow anything so banal as "a bit of bleeding and some minor cramping" to inhibit them in this way, but she would make allowances for me since I had not "grown up learning to deal with such things with the innate courage, strength of will and determination of the female of the species." Good god, John, she as much told me to be quiet and bear up under this female onslaught like a man! Can you imagine, John? I have not yet proven myself, in Irene's eyes at least, to be man enough to be considered fully a woman! Heavens above, I would laugh at that blatant contradiction in terms. . . .heavens, that contradiction in genders, if the spasmodic movement of certain gravely overtaxed abdomenal muscles would not send me back to my now very familiar chamber pot. In any case, I will be alone here in our hotel suite for the next hour or so. Irene is primping for her house visits with Herr Kreuger the Elder, and Katrina as Karl, is off running an errand for Irene. I think (make that fervently HOPE) that she is seeking a chemist who may have some remedy for the worst of this . . . affliction. At least Katrina will be here most of the day since young Loche has started school again now that the snows have cleared. Damn. Irene was right - I AM whining. I am actually glad I will not be alone while I am miserable. Well, I hereby make another promise. I will not take out my . . . not-so-very-minor comfort on Katrina. Really, I won't. But it will take a great deal of effort on my part, I am afraid. In fact, the only time that I have had any semblance of comfort during the night was when Katrina spooned her lovely warm bottom into my painfully cramping belly. HEAVENLY! And of course, being that close to Katrina, holding Katrina that close is wonderful as well. Unfortunately, or perhaps, in light of hindsight, fortunately, I still had a very difficult time going to sleep, even with Katrina so close and warm. We began talking, about so many things. I don't believe that I ever. . .no, let me be honest . . I never had a conversation such as that with a woman before. It was long overdue. It all began when I shifted myself about for what must have seemed like the hundredth time. . .

 

 
"Can you not at least LIE STILL?" a tired, husky voice demanded.

"Sorry," Sherla mumbled into Katrina's tangled tresses. "Can't seem to relax."

"Cramps again, Cherie?" Katrina asked.

"Yes," was the unhappy reply.

Katrina turned over and pulled Sherla close, their pert bosoms touching beneath their soft nightgowns. "Let me rub your back for you while I keep your belly warm with my body."

"But it is my stomach that is cramping," Sherla whined.

"Trust me, petite. I have been dealing with the monthly visitor far longer than you have." Katrina said as she began to press firm fingers into the muscles of her lover's lower back.

"Ohhhh!" Sherla squealed with Katrina's knowing fingers found a particularly knotted muscle. That was followed by a nearly ecstatic, "Ohhhhhhhhh."

"The belly muscles are being pulled from two places, Cherie. The front and the back, and we will deal with both."

"Thank you," Sherla sighed as she laid her head on the pillow next to Katrina's.

Continuing her ministrations, Katrina thought a little conversation might distract Sherla enough to fall asleep. "So, what happened yesterday that got you so excited that you didn't realize something like this was impending?"

"Well. . . ." Sherla wasn't sure where to start, or how much to tell. "We went sleigh riding with Hans-Peter Kreuger, the estate agent's son, after Irene and his father spoke about our supposed requirements for a house here in Switzerland."

"Ah HA!" Katrina said knowingly. "I thought the very handsome Herr Kreuger was involved." Katrina felt Sherla go very still and her already tight muscles lock up. "Relax, dear. You came home to me."

"You're sure?" Sherla asked, almost meekly. "I mean, nothing happened except flirting which Irene and you have both told me I am to do. . . . but. . "

"But what, Cherie? You were very excited when I arrived home. Am I to conclude that you wish to have this fine young man in our. . . your bed?"

Again Sherla became quiet, but this time did not stiffen as she considered the question. Finally she sighed. "I did become excited and a great deal of it initially had to do with him. It began when we first arrived at the office. I am afraid I very shamelessly and quite ruthlessly teased him."

"How?" Katrina demanded. "Surely you didn't" she said moments later after Sherla had finished her recollection of the interplay.

"I did, and had Irene explain the errors of my ways to me before we boarded his sleigh. Then I did as Irene directed, and acted very shy, very. . . submissive for a while. Then he began to tease me back, very gently. It was. . .rather sweet, actually."

"And this gentle flirtation so excited you? You are fast, Cherie," Katrina teased.

"I'm not sure. My arousal started when I was teasing him. I must say it was very exciting to see him so . . .flustered by my audacity. He looked so like a school boy caught out at something naughty, and he literally jumped to do my slightest bidding."

"And later?"

"Later, he managed to touch me - nothing overt or offensive really - but he'd hold my hand longer than was quite necessary or put his hand on my back to walk me to and from the sleigh."

"And you became more excited?"

"Yes. It was very . . compelling. In some ways it felt like I feel when we are . . . getting ready for, um, each other. But in some ways it was . . . different . . . "

Sherla's eyes looked off into nothing, yet Katrina felt her lover's nipples press sharply into her own soft bosom and knew Sherla was becoming aroused by the memories she would not share.

"A man can be . . . satisfying, sometimes," Katrina whispered softly.

Sherla's head lifted up and she looked into Katrina's sad eyes.

"You don't like men," she said, though there was a question lurking beneath that so blunt declaration.

"I, um, don't really like men, it is true," Katrina replied. "But they are, uh, their bodies have, certain . . . abilities that I can't provide."

"You provide all I need," Sherla asserted, but Katrina thought there was a still a question in her words.

"Ma Cherie, it is not the same. Do you not find that toy satisfying, at times?"

She felt, rather than saw, Sherla's response as she just nodded silently against Katrina's breast.

"Well, the real thing can be even more satisfying. Though it can seem almost as hard, there is still a pulsing warmth to it that can be quite. . . . "

Sherla's softly feminine voice held tones of worry and uncertainty. "Do you . . do you truly want me to take a man to my bed?"

"Cherie, what I WANT is for you to be happy," Katrina replied fervently, "Happy and satisfied in every way a woman can be satisfied. If that means a man, then that is what I want for you."

"And you?" Sherla asked, "I could not be satisfied without you."

A heated kiss was all the answer Katrina could give at that moment, her throat tight with emotion. When the kiss broke, both women had tears streaming down their cheeks. "I am glad, petite," Katrina managed, her voice still husky with need and other emotions, "For I am most desperately in love with you."

This time it was Sherla who felt the unmistakable signs of arousal in her lover, though she was so distracted by her own thoughts that she hardly noticed. And when she did return from her silent musings, her first thought was of the pain she still saw in Katrina's eyes.

"I had noticed that ours gets dreadfully cold. Between times, that is," Sherla said with a snicker as she tried to lighten their suddenly somber mood.

"I suppose we must fetch a basin of warm water then, hmmm?" Katrina asked quietly, but Sherla's joke was not enough to clear the anguish from her eyes. "Ma Cherie, at some point you must . . . experience. . .must KNOW the full measure of pleasure a skilled and gentle man can give to a woman he cares for - to a woman such as you. You owe it to yourself."

"Perhaps," Sherla said. But she snuggled herself and in particular, her still cramping belly closer to her warm and cuddly bed mate and murmured, "But not immediately. And not, I think, with Kreuger-the-younger."

"And why not?" Katrina asked, beginning to be mollified, yet still worried about any chance that she was being selfish to Sherla's detriment.

"Well, he is a handsome man," Sherla giggled, "and very sweet in the bargain, but in weather as cold as this? Why, I'd be afraid his . . . equipment . . .would break with MUCH less than the stress I have come to enjoy."

That earned Sherla a short giggle from her lover which gave her. . . . other ideas. Her slender fingers started tickling Katrina in places only a true lover could have found, and only a ruthless one would exploit. "And besides," Sherla added in her suddenly squirming lover's ear, "I am currently too besotted with you to want anyone else. I LOVE you, you lovely French tart, every bit as desperately as I know you love me!" In moments, Katrina was gasping for breath, begging for relief. Relief Sherla was only too happy to supply, despite her own inability to enjoy the same for at least a little while.

When she finally allowed her beloved to catch her breath, another advantage of a real man came to Sherla. She snickered and whispered to the languid Katrina, "I suppose we would not be walking so stiffly, if we had something a bit less, um, unyielding than that so-rigid and too-often-frigid device."

"Oh, don't be so sure, Ma Cherie," Katrina whispered back, her saucy grin once more firmly displayed. "Some men have equipment so much larger than that little toy that you would hardly be able to walk at all. Though, one could not fault the durability of our device. No man has that much endurance."

Sherla made no reply. At least, no verbal reply. But the heat of her arousal made any pretense of secrecy worse than useless. Not for the first time, she cursed the sensitivity that made even the most loving of caresses intolerable at that time. Then a sudden yawn caught her by surprise.

"Ah, so Momma-Katrina's back rub is having the desired effect, is it? All right, no more talk. YOU will need what sleep you can get."

"But I am not sleepy," Sherla protested as another huge yawn took her.
 

 

Only I did fall asleep, John, but mere moments later, and managed to sleep fairly restfully until dawn. It has been a very full twenty-four hours, John. I don't quite know where this will all lead, but I am looking forward to the journey. Farewell, my friend. I am going to try and rest. Irene assures me that the worst of this will be over with tomorrow. I should very much like to be asleep for as much of the time until then as is possible.

End Journal Entry.
 
 
Chapter 8. A Day Alone
 
Katrina had returned from her errand with a foul smelling and worse tasting herbal concoction guaranteed to ease the most trying of "female complaints". That alone was enough to put Sherla's back up, as she considered her condition to be far worse than a mere "complaint," whereupon Katrina pointed out that Sherla had done little else since their night had been so rudely interrupted.

Later, Sherla would admit that it was not the packaging of the retail product that bothered her so much as where it came from and what ingredients had gone into the making of it. "Just LOOK what happened to me the last time I took something provided by a CHEMIST made from HERBS!" she had snarled when Katrina had taken her task for being so silly.

Katrina had just looked at her, just stood there for what had seemed like minutes before slamming the bottle down on the table next to Sherla. "What happened to you? You became a BEAUTIFUL woman who is young and alive instead of a bitter old man trying to die!" she'd shouted. "You became MY lover and although I do LOVE you, right at this moment, I do not think I like you all that much . . . . BITCH!"

Sherla watched in open mouth astonishment as Katrina fled from the room. *Oh dear lord, I made her cry!* Struggling to her feet, and exerting every bit of her will to prevent her stomach from emptying what little she'd managed to get down, she tried to hurry after her love.

She found the girl in Irene's room, face down on the older woman's bed, crying.

Carefully, she settled herself down beside Katrina and began to stroke the dark hair they'd normally kept hidden beneath Karl's cap of late. "I am so sorry, my love. I had promised myself that I would not take my misery out on anyone, and especially you. I am so sorry. You were right, I am a bitch."

"Yes you were. ARE!" Katrina's voice was muffled by the large feather pillow she was using to hide her face. Then she sighed and rolled to face Sherla. "But it is not all your fault. I fear that you are not the only one of us who is now. . . .expressing her most basic femininity."

"You, too?" Sherla's voice broke, "And you went outside to get that potion? For me? How could you stand to move?!?"

A resigned smile crossed Katrina's face as she heard the awed respect and wonder in Sherla's tones. "I could let you feel really guilty about it, or consider me the brave loving heroine, fighting with her last ounce of strength for her beloved's needs, but I won't. In truth, my dear, most of us do not suffer as you are during this time of the month - at least once we are used to it. The first ones are often the roughest because we have nothing to gauge them by. So, I really wasn't being all that brave and self sacrificing."

"I will try to be better about it," Sherla promised.

"I am sorry for yelling at you. Even if the discomfort is more manageable for me, this time of the month does put my emotions very close to the surface and definitely sharpens my temper. Tante Irene has been known to give me the day off during my first days." Katrina added with a mischievous grin.

"Friends?" Sherla asked hopefully.

"And lovers," Katrina replied, lifting up to kiss Sherla.

"Well, at least now there are TWO of us to try that potion you brought back from the chemist." Sherla managed brightly.

"But YOU go first!" Katrina put in quickly.

"No, you go first!"

"You!"

"No, YOU!"
 

 
They took the potion together, almost as if they were two drinking friends offering each other a toast. It was several minutes before they could unscrew their faces from the bitterness of the brew.

Surprisingly, the potion actually worked, a happy result which Sherla would later attribute more to the fact that the basis of the effusion was nearly pure alcohol than to the "specially selected and prepared healthful herbs".
 

 
Katrina, as Karl, had gone to meet Erich after school when Irene finally returned from her own outing. She walked into the suite's sitting room removing her hat pins and doffing her heavy bonnet. "Ah, so you are done writhing and complaining in your bed, are you?" She said when she saw Sherla sitting in one of the chairs by the fire.

"Oh, I am jussss wonnnerful," Sherla slurred.

"What is the MATTER with you??" Irene demanded as she dropped her gloves and hurried over to the grinning Sherla.

"Not a thing!" She was assured cheekily. "That po. . potion Katrina got me is almost all spirits. Strong. I . . think. .. I may have had a bit too much of it. My. .my poor," a hiccup broke Sherla's stream of words, "tolerance for the stuff, you know."

"I see," Irene smiled in her relief. "Although I suspect that you will regret feeling quite so wonderful in the morning."

Sherla gave an exaggerated nod of her head. "I know, but it is too late now to rect. .to rect. . to fix it. So. . what did you learn?"

"Are you sure you will remember it in the morning?" Irene asked, seating herself opposite the inebriated young woman.

"Don't know, but might as well try. . .unless you are having . . . YOUR complaint, too. Might . . as well make it a full party! Then YOU can drink some of that. . .potion."

Irene chuckled. "So, I must infer that Katrina is also having her monthly?" Her only answer was another very exaggerated head nod. "I see. Well, I am not so I will have some wine instead." Irene got up to pour herself a glass from the decanter provided by Herr Schmidt. Savoring a rather large sip of the warming libation, she turned to Sherla and said, "Very well, then, oh Great Detective. I will make my report. I managed to find something not to like about all the properties Herr Kreuger had arranged to show me. I am afraid, however, that he is more convinced than ever that we are looking for a site for a bordello. He all but propositioned me as we were coming back to the hotel. I suspect we may have to move on to Meringen more sooner than later if he becomes a nuisance."

"Sorry," Sherla responded with a broad giddy smile on her face.

"And so you should be!" Irene retorted before relenting. "You did as you thought we wanted. You have not sufficient practice at being a woman to have learned subtlety. In any case, he is going to start looking farther afield which may ultimately get us closer to Rosenlaui."

"That's wonderful," Sherla chirped happily. "I just KNEW you were the right woman for the job when I thought I was dying."

"So glad to be of service, Miss Holmes," Irene retorted. "So, will you be joining us for dinner? Frau Schmidt is making a lovely lamb dish as the main course."

Even through the alcohol fumes, Sherla's body reacted to the idea of solid food as it had all day. "I will take that as a 'no'," Irene chuckled as she watched Sherla hurry toward the water closet.
 

 
When Irene and Karl/Katrina rejoined Sherla after dinner, she was more sober if less comfortable. "A better compromise, I think," she told Irene. "So, Katrina-dear, what have you learned today for young Erich?"

"Not all that much, I am afraid," Katrina replied as she started to seat herself, barely remembering to sprawl boyishly instead of sitting daintily. "Erich had an extra chore today and likely for the next few days. Seems someone has ordered some animals, but the tracks to Meringen were damaged in the storm so they have to be held here until they can be delivered, and Erich's father has put their care and feeding in Erich's hands."

"Surely that is not such an onerous and time consuming task," Sherla challenged, wanting her friend to be advancing their investigations.

"Now, don't you go bitchy on me again, Sherla," Katrina warned sternly, pleased to see her friend flush in embarrassment. Irene hid a smile behind her hand and remained silent. This was between the two of them. "Besides, you don't know how many of them there are. Fifty of one kind and two dozen of the other kind. That is a great deal of cages to clean and bowls to fill at feeding time. I helped so that I could remain in Erich's good graces once the animals have been sent on. Interesting beasts," she added, "I have never seen any up close before."

"Oh," Irene inquired, "What kind of animals?"

"Monkeys," Katrina said. "And the others are like monkeys, only bigger with no tails."

"Chimpanzees?" Sherla said, her voice suddenly flat.

"Why yes, that is what Erich called them. How did you know?"

"Because we have just been given our second major clue. I hope you like helping Erich with those animals, my dear, because I want you with them as much as possible."
 

 
Moriarty knew the man was there, waiting on the other side of the desk to be acknowledged, but he kept his head down focused on the sheaf of papers in front of him. In truth, there was nothing there he was actually studying and could have looked up to take the man's report at any time, but it was in such subtle ways a man exercised power over his minions and other inferiors. By showing them that what he did was more important than what they did, Moriarty reinforced the line that separated him from the rest of humanity.

Finally he pushed aside the meaningless paper and, putting an impatient look upon his face, stared at the man. "Yes?" he said in a demanding, clipped tone.

"Sa'ar," the man began, "Carver sent ye a message," he said, nearly stuttering. At the last moment, he remembered he held the paper in his hand and thrust it away from him toward Moriarty.

With deliberate and obvious care that he not actually touch the messenger's hand, Moriarty accepted the paper. "You may wait outside. If I have a reply I will have it brought to you." he said by way of dismissal.

The Professor broke the sealing wax and opened the heavy parchment page.

Professor Moriarty, The tracks to Brienz wuz broke by the blizard. Station Master don't think they will be fixed afore next week. Meantimes, a cable arrived at the station today saying that our monkys and chimps has gotten as far as Brienz. Brienz being only 8 miles or so as the gul flys, I am going to drive the slay down there to pick up wot I can. Won't be able to cary the lot of them, so I am asking you which to bring you now, in case you have speshal needs for some of them. Carver

Aside from his henchman's abysmal spelling and grammar, Moriarty was well pleased. Carver was good man. Did what he was told, but knew when he did not know what to do. Moriarty made some quick calculations concerning the carrying capacity of the sleigh. Filled to capacity, the sleigh might manage to hold eight or so of the chimpanzees and a small number of the littler beasts. Unfortunately, these were warm weather animals, so he would lower his estimate to allow for blankets and canvas covering to keep the primates warm, dry and out of the wind on the long sleigh ride back. It was nearly four kilometers to Rosenlaui and another twelve kilometers to Brienz. They would be several hours out in the elements.

Moriarty picked up his pen and began to write his response to Carver. Almost halfway through the note, he looked again at Carver's own missive. It was crudely done, using large, childish block lettering. Moriarty wadded up his first attempt and threw it into the fire. Carver was a good underling, but he'd never understand the Professor's own elegant cursive script, or the words that Moriarty would use with someone who was better educated. More carefully this time, Moriarty began his response anew, this time printing instead of writing, and ensuring that he used short, easily read and understood words.

It took several tries before the Professor was satisfied with his message, for he found it exceedingly difficult to force his incomparable brain to communicate on such a crude and unsophisticated level. Finally, he rang for his secretary and told him to summon the messenger. He had a task for the man.

Soon, the experiments that were showing such promise with the shorter-lived African monkeys would be tried on the much longer living chimpanzees. If all went well, why, they might have a working solution in another month or so.

And of course, Professor Moriarty would personally SEE that things continued to go well.
 

 
Date: March 16, 1911

Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes

Location: The Brienz Hotel, Brienz, Switzerland.

Time: 1:19 A.M.

My Dear Doctor Watson: I cannot sleep. Between my mind churning and my stomach churning, I have elected to get up and sit so that I do not disturb Katrina. She is also suffering from her monthly, but at least she can sleep. In truth, I must say I feel somewhat better - something on the order of a limp, tattered rag as opposed to a tattered rag being wrung out. Rather sad when feeling bad is an improvement, eh old friend? I have just taken another, smaller dose of that alcoholic tonic. I have hopes that it will be efficacious without being debilitating this time. At least, by being awake, I lessen the likelihood of a hangover from that abominable tasting brew. Next time, I believe I shall simply try an excellent brandy or a well blended cognac since I think the herbs have little to do with the effectiveness of this particular preparation. I shall do an experiment and let you know. All in all, this has been a rather forceful reminder of what has changed for me in the past two months, John. It is rather hard to forget one is a woman when your entire body is working so diligently to make that fact painfully obvious. I never had this problem as Sherlock. But then again, I can all but hear you saying, there were many other things I did not have as Sherlock. True enough. The fact is, I don't know if I really care if Moriarty truly has an antidote for this or not. Yes, John, even as I sit here in my current condition, I am not sure. Sherlock is still a significant part of me, and he would never make such a decision irrationally and in a fit of pique. Nor will I permit two or three days of discomfort to completely overshadow the greater logical picture. We are coming very close now, John. The only reason I know of for such a large shipment of primates as Katrina uncovered today is research. Specifically, human research, although, I am unsure why they would want the chimpanzees. Most journal articles I have read use the smaller, cheaper monkeys. One gets more generations per year out such animals if you are looking at genetics, and not insignificantly, they are less costly than their larger cousins. Of course, money is not likely to be an object to the Professor. I wonder if the fact that the chimpanzees are longer-lived than the monkeys might not be the reason for their inclusion in the shipment. That consideration plus their size makes them seem somewhat more similar to homo sapiens than the smaller animals. Do I infer from this that Moriarty is getting ready to test an improved version of his damnable potion? Can I ignore it? The second answer is simple - No, I cannot. Katrina will have to be very vigilant over the next few days in case someone calls for the animals. If not, we will have to move our base of operations to Meringen when the tracks reopen and they are shipped there to await pickup. I must speak with Irene and Katrina in the morning. We are getting closer to Moriarty which means the game becomes more dangerous as well. I must impress upon them the need for greater self security over the next few days. I do not think I should want to live were I to lose either of them.

End Journal Entry.
 

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To Be Continued...