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 9. New and Unexpected Possibilities
 
"Good morning, Ma'amselle Cherie," Katrina sang, throwing open the bed chamber curtains to permit the bright, snow-reflected sunshine to flood the room. "It is a glorious day and you are being the lazy lay-a-bed! Get up, get up! Vite, vite!"

Sherla felt like burrowing into her covers, but the little minx dispensed with those next. Cursing mentally, she tested her equilibrium with a careful movement and was pleased to find that the world did not instantly go into a colored maelstrom. She felt brave enough to sit up in bed and scowl at her grinning lover. "How can you be so perky this morning? You said you were suffering from your own monthly." A thought crossed Sherla's mind and she pinned Katrina with a hard look. "That wasn't a little fib to make me feel like a whiner, was it?"

"Non, non, my love," Katrina laughed merrily. "I am having my monthly, but I am used to this where you are not, and the worst is past for me. You should be feeling better today as well, if not at your best. Aren't you hungry this morning?"

Surprisingly, she was. With a quick bound, she was out of bed, and nearly on the floor. "Easy, petite," Katrina said as she moved to support Sherla. "You are better, not all the way better."

"So I see," Sherla said with some asperity. "Help me to the necessary. I need to clean up. I feel filthy."

Later, after she had seen to her toilette and her feminine hygienic needs, Sherla moved very carefully into the sitting room where a light breakfast had been laid. Sherla found she was ravenous, but decided to be cautious until she was certain what she ate would stay down. Weak tea and dry toast may not sound like a great deal, but it tasted heavenly to Sherla and made her belly smile.

"Aren't you going to eat more, dear?" Irene asked when Sherla set her plate aside.

"If it stays down for an hour, I will have the same again."

"Ah, good plan. So, what are you going to do while Katrina and I are out and about this morning?"

About to say she would stay in the room, Sherla recalled the lovely sunny day outside. "I think I would like to sit in Frau Schmidt's solar and take some sun among her plants. Perhaps read a bit."

"A capital plan," Irene enthused. "I shall help you downstairs and get you settled before I leave to meet with Herr Kreuger. I should be back by two in the afternoon, but I will speak with Herr Schmidt so that someone checks on you periodically in the event you need help getting back to the room before that."
 

 
The plant-filled solar was delightfully warm and was aromatic with the scents of flowers and moist earth. Sherla found herself comfortably situated on a lounge chair near a small bubbling fountain with the sun beaming in on her. Her muscles, still sore from the previous day's cramps, began to relax in the humid heat of the glassed-in room.

The Schmidts made a point of dropping in on her every half hour or so, bringing in some tea, or a sweet biscuit warm from the oven, or just to chat. She managed to make it to the common room at noontime and ate a substantial if bland luncheon before returning to her seat in the solar.

It was about an hour after she'd returned from luncheon when *it* happened. Sherla had been dozing in her seat when two towheaded tornados zoomed by, squealing and laughing.

"Greta! Johann! Come back here, you imps!" another voice called from the door to the main hotel. A pretty young woman, a baby in her arms, hurried into the solar. She saw Sherla and came over to her. "Pardon me, Fraulein, did you see two children run by?"

Sherla noted her harried look, her blond hair had begun to escape what had likely been a very neat bun earlier that morning, and her blouse showed signs of something spilled or spat up on it. Pointing in the direction of the children's escape route, Sherla smiled. "They went that way. I suspect they are hiding in those bushes at the end of the room."

"Drat the little demons. I shall have to go in myself and roust them out." Then she looked at the small bundle in her arms. "Please, Fraulein, would you mind watching little Eva? She is ready to nap so she won't be a problem, but if I do not have my hands free, I will never catch up with those two for their naps."

"But. .but. . .but. ." The young woman did not hear Sherla nor did she expect anything but a positive response for the next thing Sherla realized, she had a lapful of baby whose Mother was already halfway across the room.

"Oh lord, now what do I do?" Sherla breathed as she quickly reached down to get a hold on the baby. Worried that she might somehow harm the child, she did a rapid scan of her memories, trying to recall anything she or Sherlock had ever read about caring for small children. It was not something in which the Great Detective had ever had much interest. Then she remembered that one had to "Support the head. Very well, how does on do that?"

Cautiously, she wrapped her arms around the baby so that she lay in Sherla's arms - her head crooked in her right elbow. For her part, Eva found the strange lady who was looking down at her very interesting. Waving her small arms, she grinned up at Sherla.

"She said you were supposed to sleep, Eva, so you will please go to sleep." Sherla ordered. The baby giggled up at Sherla. "That wasn't meant to be funny," Sherla retorted, which only made the baby giggle more. "Happy, aren't you," Sherla asked, suddenly finding this small person interesting.

"Ga da da ma ma ga." Eva said very seriously.

This time, Sherla was the one to laugh. "Is that so, young Miss? I would never have known that." She said, smiling broadly as she repositioned Eva in her arms much to the baby's pleasure. She was now close enough to grab hold of the lace embroidered into Sherla's day-gown's collar. "Oho, so you like lace, do you? What are you going to do with it if it comes loose, eh?"

Then, the baby gave a huge yawn, and closed her eyes, nearly throwing Sherla into a spasm. She was about to scream for the little girl's mother when she realized that the baby was still breathing. *She can't have just gone to sleep. She was so alert just a few moments ago, and yet. . ." Sherla leaned over and put her cheek near the baby's mouth, and felt the light, feathery movement of her breathing. *Fascinating. She did just fall asleep. Such unthinking trust. Amazing.*

Intellectual curiosity led Sherla to examine the sleeping child closely. Sherlock had never given much thought to children, unless he was tracking a kidnapper or unless it was one of his Baker Street Irregulars. It occurred to Sherla that she had never been so close to a child so young for so long a time in either of her lives. While she was considering this, the baby shifted in her arms and cuddled closer, her little arms seeking and finding Sherla's bosom. Eva pillowed her head against Sherla's softness, gave a happy little sigh and melted something deep inside Sherla.

It was not an altogether comfortable feeling, and one Sherla was not certain she should explore further. *Ah, here comes the Mother. . * she thought when she saw the blond woman marching in her direction, one very displeased-looking child held firmly in each hand.

"Oh, good, she went to sleep. Ah, Fraulein . . . ?"

"Cheryl. Cheryl Huxley," Sherla replied absently, as she tried to decide the best way to safely transfer the sleeping child back to her MOther.

"Thank you. I am Frau Helga Mueller. I wonder if you would do me the favor or holding her for just a few more minutes while I get these two ready for their own nap? I mean, since you are not doing anything right now."

*What? Not DOING anything? She thinks I'm just laying about idly? Why, I'm . . well . . . um . .* "Ah, of course, if it would help."

"Oh, yes, immensely," Frau Mueller said, over her shoulder as she turned after one of her charges who had already slipped from her grasp.

Sherla sighed as she watched the trio disappear into the main hotel. It was too bad there was no way she could tell that woman that she was involved in a case upon which outcome the peace of the world might well stand. Sherla merely LOOKED as if she was doing nothing. Clear, rational and logical thought took great effort.

*Too bad you could not come up with any of that commodity when Frau Helga dropped the responsibility for this child quite literally in your lap, Miss Holmes,* she mentally chided herself.

Uncertain as to how one looked after a sleeping child, Sherla reassured herself again that the tiny baby she held was still breathing regularly. Of course, THAT was the reason, the ONLY reason, she lowered her head down to where her cheek rested on the child's equally-soft one. The soft susurrus of breath whispered against her cheek, confirming that the frail bundle was life - new life, so fragile, yet so full of promise.

It, no, 'she', Eva, stirred in her sleep, snuggling deeper into the warmth of Sherla's bosom, her little mouth opening and closing as even in sleep, she sought a comfort that only a woman could provide. It caused a most unexpected response in Sherla. Her hidden nipples erected with an alacrity hitherto only called forth by decidedly adult endeavors, yet there was no sense of wrongness, no sense of arousal about the feeling despite the presence of a young child in this instance. Instead, there was a rightness, as though the delights of the flesh that so amazed Sherla had yet another dimension of fulfillment to be explored.

"Ah, Fraulein Cheryl, aren't you just the perfect picture?" Frau Schmidt said expansively, distracting Sherla from a truth she was all too near to discovering.

"I would wager that you can not wait until you are holding one of your own in your arms, now can you?" Frau Schmidt continued, fond memories shining from her eyes.

"Oh, um, I haven't given that much thought," said Sherla.

"Well, from what I hear of your adventure with young Herr Krueger yesterday, you had better start," the older woman said with a laugh.

The laugh caused Sherla to start, her sudden movement motion partially rousing little Eva. But, thankfully, only for a moment. The baby looked up into Sherla's dark eyes and gave a happy little gurgle, then yawned so hugely it looked impossible for the tiny face. Yet, with another little squirm, she was once again soundly asleep.

Neither woman said anything for a moment, lost in a shared sense of wonder at the tiny miracle of a sleeping child. When Frau Schmidt spoke, her voice was soft and full of love.

"Dear child, do not be ashamed of the impulses you feel. One of the most wonderful joys in a woman's life is being able to bear and to love children. There is no higher calling," she said, reaching out to gently stroke the infant's head.

Then she snickered and said, "And as beautiful as you are, you will not lack for those willing to bestow that gift upon you." Before Sherla could disagree, she continued, "If we could capture your image, sitting here cloaked in the radiance of my solar with a child in your arms, men of any age would line up for the chance to make that picture real."

"I, um, no . . . ah, . . ," stammered Sherla.

"Oh, hush, girl. I know it is too early for you to admit such things. One just come into the flower of her beauty, such as you, is still unsure of her true appeal and of her true needs." Now Frau Schmidt's hand reached up to stroke Sherla's midnight-dark tresses. "But I was not always this old, or this stout," Frau Schmidt claimed with a twinkling smile, "and Herr Schmidt was quite a handsome man in his youth, too. Someday you will find your man. And find how blessed a child of your own can be."

She bustled off about her business, her check of the young woman complete. But her effect on that same young woman was far from finished when the door to the solar closed.

*Is a child, my own child, truly that desirable?* Sherla mused. *I have to admit, the smile on little Eva's face, one put there by the comfort of my embrace, was a very beautiful thing to see and to experience. I wonder what it would be like to have a child of my own. To feel her grow within me, and to bear her, and to feed her from my own body . . .*

*But that would mean I would have to lie with a man, to let him plow my so-very-fertile furrow,* Sherla realized - then realized the idea was not as horrifying as it should be, as she thought it should be, at least . . . She leaned back in her chair so that she could support the infant with no real effort and closed her eyes. She tried to imagine such a man in her life, and was not surprised when his face took on the features of Hans-Peter. She formed the mental picture of him cuddling her in his arms, as she had just cuddled the baby in her arms. It felt. . . strange - right. . .and yet, somehow wrong as well.

"And what have we here?" Irene's voice broke through that mental picture. "Who is your friend?" The older woman asked as she seated herself opposite Sherla and began stripping off her gloves.

"A mother was chasing her other two children and asked me to watch this one while she put the others down for their naps."

"You seem quite at home with her," Irene observed. "I wouldn't have thought Sherlock would have had much experience with small ones."

"Experience? Try none, Irene, and as to being "at home?" I have been terrified since the moment her Mother all but dropped her in my lap."

"Oh, well, then let me take her. . "

"NO!, she's FINE. . . I mean, I've gotten used to her. . .and. . and. . she's sleeping. . ." *And when did I learn to lie to myself? I don't WANT to give her up. . *

A quick glance at Irene's smug expression told Sherla that she had not fooled THE Woman one little bit. "Of course, dear. I was just offering," was all she said.

Irene considered the pair seated across from her. *She becomes more a woman with each passing day. When she applies her rational side, she seems every bit as formidable in that realm as was Sherlock, and yet, Sherla seems so much more than that to me. Would I have felt that way about Sherlock had I truly known him? Known him as more than the rival I always had to outdo, or as the living embodiment of a masculine world that I was excluded from solely by virtue of my birth? Somehow, I doubt it. She has grown much in her knowing these past days, and more than that since she wrote those early passages in that journal she still keeps. I would wager a fat purse that there shall be a very interesting entry in that soon enough. If she can bring herself to deal with this honestly.*

Looking up from checking the baby again, Sherla gave her curiosity full rein. "And what did you discover on your outing, Mother?"

A knowing look crossed Irene's face, but she replied. "Nothing suited to our needs and requirements, I am afraid. According to Herr Kreuger, we were well over halfway to Meringen at one point. He fears that he will not have anything more to show us soon, and will be forced to refer us to a colleague of his in Meringen."

"That is too bad. And what of the chateau Hans-Peter told us of? The one near Rosenlaui?"

"Herr Kreuger tells me that the current tenants have an option to extend the lease at their discretion, provided they are willing to increase the rent a suitable amount each time. He cannot guarantee its availability in any reasonable time frame."

"That is too bad. It sounds more and more interesting each time I hear of it."

"Doesn't it, though?" Irene agreed. "Perhaps when we remove to Meringen, we will get a chance to at least see the place, eh?"

Sherla was about to reply when she heard, "Ah, Fraulein Cheryl, thank you so much."

Frau Mueller's voice interrupted Irene's report and precluded a return to the more private musings the child had sparked in each of them. Musings that, at least in Sherla's case, had been almost frightening, yet still compelling; certainly too consuming for her peace of mind. She let the harried mother reclaim her infant, not without an instant's pang of loss.

Irene also watched the mother and child depart, but she watched Sherla more carefully. "A lovely child," she finally offered.

"Yes, she was," Sherla said, almost absently. "Irene?"

"Yes, sweet?"

"Did you ever regret . . I mean. . did you ever consider. . ." Sherla stumbled as she tried to find a way to phrase her question.

"Did I ever want a child of my own body, dear girl? Is that what you are trying so hard to ask?" Irene's voice was soft, and gently indulgent.

Finally, Sherla was able to nod. It was done very quickly, and just barely perceptibly, but it was a nod. AT least, Irene elected to take it as such. "A difficult question, my dear. One might as well ask what have I done in those years that might have gone undone had I instead been a full time mother? There is no good answer to that question, Sherla. For my part, I can only say that one must make choices in life, and I don't regret the ones I made. It helps that my dear friend Nel has given me several children to spoil - and then there has been Katrina . . .and you. No, I don't regret not having born a child."
 

 
"How long will you have to be doing this stuff," Katrina in her best 'disgusted boy' voice asked.

Erich looked up from the dustpan-full of monkey droppings he'd collected and grinned. "Don't tell my Father, but I actually like doing this. . .taking care of animals, I mean."

"Oh really? Seems like a pretty nasty chore to me," Katrina/Karl plied as she carefully measured food into one animal's food dish.

"Well, he wants me to follow in his footsteps here, take over the train station when he retires. Me? I want to be an animal doctor. But, I heard the man who ordered this lot is coming down with a big cargo sleigh tomorrow to take some of them back with him. Might make another trip the next day if the tracks to Meringin still aren't fixed."

"You ever seen this guy before?" Katrina asked, trying to sound off handed. "I mean, what kind of person needs so many monkeys. . .and what was it you called these big ones? Chimpandas?"

"Chimpanzees, stupid," Erich tossed off the insult companionably. "My Papa says the guy told him they were for research on some type of medicines. Hope they don't hurt these fellows doing it. As to the man, well, I saw him a few times around the station. Big man - taller than my father and he's over a hundred eighty centimeters and big all over. Talks funny. My dad says he's English like your Momma, and I have been learning to speak English in school, but he doesn't talk the way we're taught."

"What do you mean?"

"He just has a really funny saying things, like some of the letters aren't there. Like when he had me help him hitch up his team. He said, "'Ere, boy, over 'ere. Gimme an 'and with these 'arnesses." Like I said. . .some of the letters were missing."

Katrina nodded her understanding and spat into the straw. "So he's coming tomorrow?"

"That's what my Papa told me. Right after lunch because he has a fifteen kilometer sleigh ride and those big sleds are not very fast."

"Well, hopefully they will all get delivered soon so that we can get back to our other games." Katrina said, injecting what she hoped was sufficient disappointment into her voice.

"Oh, we will. Best of all, Papa wants me to be here tomorrow when the delivery is made so I won't have to go to school in the afternoon. We can go off on our own after I help load the sleigh. Got something I want to share with you, too. Something special."

"Sounds great." Katrina/Karl enthused. A bell chimed from the clock at the front of the warehouse. "Well, I have to be getting back to the hotel so I can get cleaned up and changed for dinner."

"Change clothes just for dinner," Erich said, shaking his head in resignation. "Unbelievable."

Katrina gave him a last "What can you do?" shrug of her shoulders and headed out the door and into the brisk evening air. She had information Sherla and Irene would want to hear.
 
 
Chapter 10. The Plan Comes Together and Apart
 
"So he will arrive sometime tomorrow to pick up one wagon-load of the animals?" Sherla asked as the three of them lounged in their sitting room that evening.

"So Erich believes, Sherla. Evidently, it is quite a distance to travel after picking them up. And it is a sleigh-load, not a wagon-load," Katrina replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes

For the moment, Katrina's attempt at teasing was lost on Sherla as she was thinking deeply about the ramifications of this tidbit of information. Finally, she shook her head and sighed. "Somehow, we will have to come up with a way for me to get a fairly close look at this fellow."

"Why must we do that?" Irene asked. "What benefit could we derive from taking such a risk? Clearly, he is not Moriarty. Not built as Erich describes him nor with a Cockney accent so noticeable that a native-German-speaker can recognize and repeat it."

"True enough, but I might recognize him," Sherla replied.

"I still don't see what benefit that has that justifies putting you at risk of being noticed by this man."

""If I recognize him, we will know whether he is a murderer, or at least if he is given to violence and with what weapon of choice. If we can follow him, we will stand a better chance of finding Moriarty. If he is too dangerous, we may need to take him out of the game immediately. I refuse to endanger young Loche or Katrina in this game."

"You would know these things?" Katrina asked, dubiously.

"Yes, dear, I would know, particularly if he was of the London underworld. It was my business to know such things, even though I was not given much opportunity to practice that business those last few years. I still kept myself well abreast of who was who within the criminal world of London, England and greater Europe."

With a sigh, Irene conceded the point. "Well, since you are so much better physically, it might not prove all that hard to arrange. You could accompany me for a bit of shopping tomorrow morning. There is a very nice little cafe across from the train station where we could take some refreshment near the appointed hour so that we would be in the vicinity when our quarry arrives."

"That would work," Sherla agreed. Then her face became quietly dreamy. "We're very close, ladies."

"What I don't understand is if you think the Kreugers know where Moriarty is," Katrina asked, scratching her leg where the itch of her woolen trousers still tormented her, "why don't you just ask them to tell you? Why all this sneaking about, asking questions without seeming to ask questions? For goodness sake, we could be at this supposed hideaway tomorrow if we would simply ask them. I am sure," and here her tone became sly, "Hans-Peter would tell you."

"Perhaps I could tease the information out of him, and it is certain that Irene could tease it from his sire, but I do not wish them to be endangered by our activities any more than I wish to endanger you and the family Loche. I don't want them implicated in whatever we, or rather I may have to do to that place, nor do I want them to be asked any difficult questions about whatever it is I finally have to do. If I fail, and Moriarty survives, I want them to appear innocent of any of my intrigues as they truly are. I have enough blood on my hands from the criminals I have sent to the gallows, Katrina. I do not wish them stained with the deaths of innocents."

"Sherla, you are frightening me," Katrina said, her voice suddenly shaky.

Standing, Sherla began to pace the room. "Curse it, Katrina, you SHOULD be frightened. This man is not simply dangerous, he is deadly. He kills, dearheart, and when he doesn't kill, he destroys lives so completely that killing might have been a mercy. Not for pleasure, not merely for purpose, but because it is expedient and simpler than the alternative courses of action before him. He defines ruthlessness. He is completely evil, yet completely rational. A sufficiently accurate description of him that truly imparts the danger he represents beggars my poor skill. It would be so much simpler to describe him and to stop him if he were merely, utterly mad and without any concept or understanding of good versus evil. Unfortunately, he is not mad."

Sherla stopped in front of the window, her back to the room. "And you are going to fight such a person?" Katrina asked softly.

"I have no choice," Sherla said tiredly, "for no one else would stand a chance, and he has to be stopped, once and forever." Sherla let the silence stand for a few more moments and then shrugged her shoulders. Turning back to face Irene and Katrina, she forced a smile to her lips. "I stopped him once, and I believe. . .know . . I can do so again. If you will excuse me, I think the day is catching up with me. I am still a bit under the weather from my monthly, I think. Good night."
 

 
. . . . . desire curled, hot, wet and demanding, in the core of Sherla's womanhood. The barest hint of a breeze across her body made her skin dimple and her nipples become somehow even harder. Hungrily, she writhed in her need, begging for a touch, begging for something. .

Her arms reached out, offering an embrace, offering herself as her legs spread invitingly. And then, in answer, a body appeared. Out of the shadows of the darkened room, it approached her. The night hid is face as the body first covered her, and then, filled her to the hot center of her woman's flesh.

Helpless in her aching need, Sherla arched to meet each thrust as her arms reached up to link her hands behind the neck of her lover. With all her strength, she tried to pull the lips of her lover to her own, but somehow she couldn't.

Pulsing bursts of pleasure colored her world and she wanted to scream with the wonder of it, but somehow, she couldn't.

Why wasn't there light? She wanted to SEE who was giving her such pleasure. Soundlessly, she begged to see the face.

A face began to form - blond hair, strong features, blue eyes and. . .a mustache?

"Hans-Peter?" she whispered.

A soft chuckle answered her as yet another thrust brought her to the brink of completion, to the brink of. . what?

Another chuckle vibrated through her body, and yet, this one was somehow softer, lighter in tone. She blinked hard and looked into the face again, but impossibly, the face had changed.

Her lover, the person filling her, pleasuring her, LOVING her was. . . .
 

 
"KATRINA!??!" Sherla screamed, coming up straight in her bed.

"What??" Katrina came out of a sound sleep. "Sherla, love, what is the matter?"

Sherla found herself suddenly wrapped in a familiar, loving embrace. "Sherla?" Katrina's voice finally slipped through Sherla's sleep fogged thoughts.

"Dream. . ." she managed to get out. "Just. . . a . . . dream."

"Sounded worse than that, sweet. Do you want to talk about it?"

*NO!* Sherla's mind yelled. "Not now. . .it. . it seems to be slipping away, somehow."

"Dreams do that sometimes, darling. Just relax and let me hold you."
 

 
 
Date: March 17, 1911

Entry in the Journal of Miss Sherla Joan Holmes

Location: The Brienz Hotel, Brienz, Switzerland.

Time: 10:23 A.M.

My Dear Doctor Watson: Katrina is off running some errands for Irene, continuing the process of accustoming the village shopkeepers to her regular presence. All is going well in that regard. Irene is down in the common room meeting with Kreuger about the next set of properties that will in some way prove unacceptable. And I? I am sitting here at this little writing desk trying to make sense of the nonsensical - like feelings and dreams. Or at least, Sherlock would have said they were nonsensical. I am not so sure. Well, I must say that I believe the dream is a direct result of the feelings I experienced holding little Eva yesterday. There was something so. . . unexpectedly satisfying about holding her and basking in her innocent regard and trust. And yes, there was a feeling of. . .wanting about that. I certainly missed her when Helga reclaimed Eva after putting her other children to bed. Do I want to be a mother? I don't really know. I know I truly enjoyed holding that child in my arms, enjoyed it at a level that rivals the pleasure I get from Katrina's love, though in a way so unique that I know Katrina could never provide the same. That is the issue, though. I know I can be a mother physically, and I believe from this afternoon's revelation with little Eva that I can be one emotionally. But Sherlock's experience shows that a father is important as more than simply the supplier and sower of seed. Both parents must demonstrate and provide the love and commitment that makes the child feel loved and secure. All of that was missing from my life, and I would not bring a child into the world without being very sure I could meet that responsibility properly. Could I find a man to love? And what would be the implications of that for my feelings toward Katrina, and hers toward me? I do not believe love, true love, is a jealous thing. In my heart, I think I could love Katrina and still love another, just as a woman can love her husband and her children. But would Katrina feel the same? And the man who would be my husband? Could he accept that I needed Katrina in my life? That I needed time in her arms, and in her bed? Knowing the men of my age, I think it unlikely. And if I am offered the choice, as I appear to be, then I choose Katrina over being a wife, over being a mother. This choice is not all noble self-sacrifice. Even now the hunger for the chase burns bright within me, easily rivaling the desire sparked by holding that child. Could I ever be satisfied with a life of housewife and mother, caring for husband and children while the world marches by without my mark upon it? I must be honest and admit that I could not. I have learned to respect and honor womanhood, and I may one day envy, in some small fashion, those women who do choose the maternal path. But it is not my path. Though now Sherla, still I am *Holmes*. I am unique in the world, with unique gifts and powers. Thus, I have different responsibilities to this world than most - responsibilities that are mine by virtue of the mind that still drives this now-feminine body, just as surely as the body influences the mind. But oh, it was sweet to hold that child, to see her smile, to have her seek *my* bosom for warmth. I think, that in the future, I will seek out an orphanage somewhere, and help there as I may. Unlike Irene, I have no friends with children for me to spoil, but there are and will be children who need me, and I will find them for I think I need them as well.

End Journal Entry.
 
 

 
As Irene had predicted, the small cafe provided a superb view of the station house and the warehouse that contained the animal cages. "If he doesn't show up soon," Sherla complained, "I am going to be forced to find out how well maintained the necessary is in this place."

"Oh, hush. It is only just one o'clock," Irene chided. "And if you left now, you would miss him by the time you got your clothing rearranged."

Sherla was about to protest further when a large sleigh pulled by four heavy-bodied draft horses pulled into sight and stopped at the door of the warehouse. At that moment, her entire demeanor changed and her entire focus became the large man driving the team.

Irene looked at him, too, but it was hard for her not to watch Sherla. *Something just turned on inside that head of hers, almost like an electric bulb. I wonder what she is seeing?* "Do you know him?" Irene asked after he'd gone inside to get the first of the cages.

"No. At least, I don't think so. Let's time his movements. Erich told Katrina he was picking up six of them. Let's be outside when he should be bringing out the last animal so that I can get a closer look at him. I know what he is, I just want to know more if I can."
 

 
They walked past the sleigh just as Herr Loche released Erich to go play with his new friend for the rest of the afternoon. Irene watched as Erich and 'Karl' scampered up a snow-covered hill toward a copse of trees, looking for all the world like two boys intent on avoiding any further work. *Well played, sweet,* she thought at Katrina's retreating form.

"Well?" Irene asked as she and Sherla turned the corner.

"Not here. Let's get to the hotel and our rooms first. I need to think and ensure I truly do NOT know who that man is."
 

 
"My friends have said you can join our club, Karl," Erich said once they'd disappeared into the thick stand of trees. "All you have to do is pass our little initiation, and since there is all this pure white snow here about, that won't be a problem."

"What do we have to do? Make snow angels?"

Erich gave her a disgusted look. "No, you have to make your initial in the snow."

Confused, Katrina stared at her companion. Bending over, she quickly drew a "K" in the snow with her hand. "You mean like this?"

"No," Erich said, laughing. "This is a boys only club, see? So you have to do it like this." With casual unconcern, Erich proceeded to unbutton his fly and draw a crude "E" with his urine. "See? Nothing to it. Now you do it, and you're a member."

"Uhmmm. . .Erich. . ummm. . .I can't. . .uhh. . my Mother would. . ."

"Awww. . who's going to tell your Mother? There's no one here but you and me and the only ones I will tell are the other members of our club."

"I ummm. . .don't have to go. . .so let's go back to town and I'll buy us a sarsparilla at the confectioners and then maybe. . "

"No. Can't do it. You know about the club so you have to stay here until you pass the initiation. It's the rule."

*Can't win this one. I'll just have to leave and deal with it later. Hopefully, I can preserve my cover.* "Then, I don't want to join, Erich. I am leaving."

Katrina turned and walked out of the copse. She was about a quarter of the way down the hill when Erich hit her from behind sending them both rolling into the snow drifts. "YOU HAVE TO JOIN! I VOUCHED FOR YOU!!" Erich yelled in her ear.

Katrina struggled wildly, trying to free herself from his grip, but even though he was only twelve, he was a strong boy and she was a small female. He held her down fairly easily.

And then he put his hand upon an unexpected soft swell where muscular boyish chest was expected, and went instantly still. "Karl! You're a GIRL!"

"Quiet!" she growled at him. "I will explain, but you have to be quiet or my Mother will have a fit, all right? And please, move your hand away from there!"

Erich released his hold, and in his stunned disbelief, only barely remembered the manners his Mother had drummed into him, and offered *her* a hand.

"Let's go back to the copse, and I will explain everything to you, all right?"

Neither of them realized that their confrontation, and Erich's discovery, had been observed by a suddenly very interested individual.
 

 
"I think we are safe in assuming that he is not a killer for hire. At least, he is not a professional killer," Sherla told the two women as they gathered in their sitting room before the evening meal.

"How can you know that?" Irene asked. "You said you did not recognize him."

"Because if he were a successful member of that foul profession, I WOULD have known him, particularly as he has a London waterfront turn of phrase. He is obviously a British seaman, and a smuggler, so he is almost certainly in Moriarty's employ."

"How can you be so sure he is a sailor, let alone a smuggler?"

"It's quite simply, really. His face shows the ravages of wind and sun that come only to seamen or farmers, and the choice between those two is made obvious by his watch cap and rubber-soled boots, which are clearly seaman's attire."

"And the smuggling?" Irene asked, amused to see the deductive mind of her old friend at work.

"The scrimshaw blade he carried in his boot shows he was not primarily in the Royal Navy, since that could only be obtained by trading with those who crew foreign whaling vessels. An ordinary seaman would not have the money to buy such an artfully-worked blade, so it follows that he traded something for it, something of equivalent value. Smuggled contraband of one sort or another is the only reasonable value he could provide. I had already deduced this when he removed his gloves to sign for the shipment. The missing ring finger on his right hand is clearly the sign of a moment's carelessness with a line, all too common among seamen, and there was a tattoo on the back of his hand. That tattoo was used by a notorious smuggling ring with which Moriarty has dealt on several occasions.

"Ah, of course," Irene nodded, fighting to hold in a grin. "It is so . . . elementary when you explain it so."

"And smugglers are not dangerous?" Katrina wanted to know.

"He bears watching and care when you approach him, but he is unlikely to be trusted with a covert murder. I would say that this man lacks subtlety."

"So, now what?"

"I think our safest course of action, at least for our friends here in Brienz, is to wait until the tracks are repaired and we, along with the remainder of his primate purchase, can repair to Meringen. We'll be closer to his hideout there, and can more safely follow him in that much hillier country. So for now, we keep our eyes and ears open, but do nothing overt."

Katrina wondered if she should tell Sherla about Erich's discovery. When she had told him that story about how she'd wanted to be a boy, and how her father wanted her to be a boy, which was why they were moving here - so she could be a boy without anyone noticing - Erich had agreed to keep her secret. Even to the point of lying about her initiation to his friends.

*What will happen if I tell her? She'd send me and Irene home is what she'd do, and proceed on her own. . . ALONE! THAT can't be permitted. So, should I tell Irene? Would she send me away? Dare I take the chance? Oh, I just don't KNOW!!*
 
 
Chapter 11. Successful Promises
 
"A most promising result, Herr Doctor Buchner," Moriarty said in great bonhomie, "for all the patient did, in the end, sadly die."

"I must point out, Herr Professor," the broadly built academician hurried to insert, "that we did not truly observe a gender transition in this case. Our autopsy clearly shows that the monkey was still fully female, externally and internally, at the time of death."

"True, true," Moriarty replied magnanimously, "But it is a most remarkable and obvious change, is it not? I do think you are on the correct path of inquiry at last, Doctor Haber, Doctor Buchner. So, what is your proposed plan at this point?"

"Ummm. .Professor, as you are no doubt aware, we are dealing with limited supplies of certain of the key herbal ingredients. This particular treatment uses a significant amount of one particular herb - significantly more, in fact, than any of the other herbs," Sweat was beading on Buchner's forehead. "Disproportionately more, I should say."

"What are you telling me, sir?" Moriarty's pleasant mood had evaporated and the room seemed to become instantly cold.

"Only that we do not have sufficient of that one herb for very many experiments, Herr Professor," Haber bravely broke in. We have enough to treat, perhaps twenty or so monkeys, or six to eight chimpanzees, and at most three or four human subjects. Or some combination of those options."

"I see," Moriarty said coldly, his mind already working at solutions to this unanticipated logistical problem. He had, quite overly optimistically, assumed that he had more than adequate supplies of the special Amazon herbs for his needs. *I simply had not anticipated the true lack of scientific talent that mark these so-called leaders in their fields. They are the ones who have wasted my precious supplies. Hopefully, the next experiments will prove successful - we are SO close, but how to I acquire more if I should need them?*

"Would it be possible, Herr Professor, to obtain additional supplies of these remarkable herbs?" Buchner asked.

"I am already, as we speak, Herr Doctor, dealing with that issue. You and Dr. Haber are to come up with a plan of action that will suit me and make the most efficient use of your remaining resources. Trust me that you truly want to succeed in this endeavor, or perhaps I should say, you truly do not wish any further failures."

With that, Moriarty spun on his heel and walked from the room. He would have to consider having Carver make a voyage to the Amazon. It was, at the moment, the only solution that seemed to make any sense. But that would wait until he returned with the second set of chimpanzees. "Six to eight" was probably more than the six they currently had, and Moriarty wanted to be sure that the new potions worked on the chimps. It was, at most, another day.
 

 
The sun was low on the horizon as Katrina slowly made her way back the hotel after a long day of running errands. She had not even been able to make time to see Erich and thank him for his promise to keep her secret. She made her way along the water, and stopped for a few moments. Tossing stones into the icy river like the boy she pretended to be turned out to be a good way to think, Katrina realized. At least she had learned to throw like a boy.

Not that she had managed to do much else right in this cursed guise. *Unmasked by a twelve year old boy,* she fumed to herself as she heaved a particularly heavy stone into the frigid water. *What does that say about poorly I am carrying off this role? Does my continued presence here as Karl endanger the woman I honor as my Mother and the woman I love?*

She turned from the river and automatically put her hands into the pockets of her coat. *Sherla must be correct when she said that most adults fail to look at other people's children with a critical eye. It is likely the only reason I have gone undiscovered for so long a period of time. So, the question becomes, do I stay, and wait for us to move on to Meringen where I will have a second chance to be 'Karl', or do leave Brienz and return to Irene's Paris cottage?*

She passed the train station on her way to the hotel and was surprised when Herr Loche waved to her and greeted her by name. *Evidently he hasn't recognized me as anyone other than Karl Huxley. That's reassuring since I have been around him more than I have any other adult. It is also unfortunate, because it would make my escape to Paris more difficult. Even if I changed back to Katrina before purchasing the ticket, I would be purchasing it from Herr Loche. A pretty yet unfamiliar girl would draw his attention, I think, and then he might connect Katrina with Karl. Curse it, what a coil.*

She had reached the hotel for supper without finding any better solution to her problem. *I will just have to be careful until we move to Meringen. Thankfully, Erich told me that the rails will be fixed sometime tomorrow. Finally.*

"Ready for supper, young Herr Huxley?" Herr Schmidt asked, clapping Katrina on her shoulder. The blow nearly toppled her, but she somehow managed to keep her balance and smile up at the innkeeper.

"Yes, sir. I am very hungry. Mother has had me running to just about every shop in the city this morning."

"Good lad!" Herr Schmidt said jovially. "Run and get your lovely Momma and sister, and we will feed that appetite of yours. Frau Schmidt made her apple strudel for the sweet, just for you."

"Oh, thank her for me, sir," Katrina said with honest gratitude, and hurried off to find Irene.

*Boy needs feeding up. Polite as that sister of his is flirtatious, but he needs to build some muscle - get himself a manly figure. Well, Momma's food will put some meat on those skinny bones. I'll have her give Frau Huxley some of her recipes, too. Good lad.*
 

 
"Ah, Carver, you have brought in the first load of chimpanzees without incident?" Moriarty asked.

"Nary a one, Professor," the seaman responded. "They're snug and warm in that room off the main lab area. Those two science coves be checkin' that lot over as I stands here talking to yer. But, they seemed right lively to me when I turned 'em out into that big holding cage."

Carver had worked with the previous shipments of animals and had learned how to care for and to read the reactions of the lab animals. Moriarty nodded in satisfaction. "And you'll be heading back for another load." It was not a question.

"First thing in the morning, Professor. The station master expects me after lunch again. By the time I get them back, the rails to Meringen will be fixed and the lot of 'em will be only a couple of easy miles away."

"True, true. Once you are back, I have another mission for you, Carver. One that will make use of your seaman's skills. Tell me, have you ever sailed to South America before?"

"Couple times, Professor," the big man shrugged. "Took leave in Rio once or twice. Smuggled some art out of Buenos Aires, too."

"Excellent. I shall tell you more when you return." It was obviously a dismissal, but Carver was hesitant to leave. Moriarty gave him a stern stare, but still the seaman stood his ground. "You have something else, Carver?" Moriarty's tone made it clear that Carver had better have something else to share with his leader.

"Ummm. . . Professor? You remember when you told me to be on the lookout? When we first got set up here?"

Moriarty only stared at Carver, rare confusion in his eyes.
 

 
Buchner and Haber had been watching as the big sailor went into speak with Moriarty. They were working at getting the new animals settled and deciding which would be their next test subject when Carver burst from Moriarty's office, the old man appearing immediately behind him in the doorway.

"You have your orders, Carver! I am too close. Success is within my reach at last, and I will take NO chances. See that you are back here before dark tomorrow. Do . . . NOT. . . FAIL!"

The two captive scientists became very obviously involved in their tasks, and tried to move out of the enraged Moriarty's line of sight.

Not entirely successfully.
 

 
Sherla smiled in relief as Katrina began to loosen her stays. The three women had just concluded a short planning discussion dealing with their itinerary for the next three days. Irene, satisfied with their plans, had left to make arrangements with the concierge for handling the packing and transport of their luggage leaving the two younger women to prepare for bed. "If Irene finds out the tracks have been deemed ready for passenger traffic, we shall be on our way to Meringen at last."

"I am glad, Sherla. Truth to tell, I was beginning to get nervous about my masquerade. Every time someone smiles at me, I almost expect them to ask what a nice girl like me is doing dressed up like a rough and tumble boy."

"Nonsense, sweet, you are doing wonderfully. Remember, *I* have been watching you. And you are becoming more adept at the role with each passing day."

"Well, if you say so, petite, but I shall be glad to start anew in a new place."

Something in her lover's wistful tones caught Sherla's full attention. "Would you prefer to stay in tomorrow?"

Katrina sighed. "I would prefer to stay in, but I promised Erich I would help him load the sleigh with chimpanzees again." *In return for his promise to keep my secret,* she thought darkly. "Then I am going to claim I must be here to help pack and leave the train station as soon as possible."

"Irene could send a message to Herr Loche that you are ill if you would rather spend the entire day here." Sherla said, finally recognizing how nervous her lover was acting recently. *Perhaps the strain IS getting to her. Well, the role has served its purpose and there really is no need for her to venture out once we get to Meringen.*

"No, it is all right. Besides, I would then show up the next day hail and hearty when it was time to leave the next day, which might draw undue attention to us."

*There is more to this than a desire to avoid dirtying her hands in monkey droppings,* Sherla thought. "What is really bothering you, love?" she asked gently.

Katrina turned away, focusing her attention on the fire instead of Sherla before answering. "Oh, just what we were speaking of a moment ago. I feel like . . . I . . I feel like I am on borrowed time in this guise." *And the loan has already come due and marked past due. Oh god, I wish I had never agreed to this charade. Now I am lying to her!* "I am terrified that I will give away the entire charade," Katrina continued. "You've convinced me how deadly, how purely evil this Moriarty truly is, and I don't want to be the instrument of your or Tante Irene's death! And I would be if some failure of mine brought you to this fiend's attention before you were ready to move against him."

Sherla considered her words carefully, and then took Katrina's hand in hers. "Come over to the settee, darling. Here, sit." Sherla pressed her lover into the soft cushions and then went down on her knees in front of her. "I have already told you that I think you are doing wonderfully in the role, and I promise you, that IF I thought there was the slightest chance of your disguise being pierced, I would end this scheme, for I would not put YOU in danger. Understand me?" Sherla looked Katrina straight in her eyes. She stared back for a few moments before her guilt over her secret failure made her look away. She finally managed a barely perceptible nod.

"Good, and in the second place, young miss, I am and have been ready to move against Moriarty the moment he shows himself to me. He won't surprise me, love. Remember who I am and who I was. I defeated him when I was Sherlock, and I will defeat him as Sherla."

"You sound so certain now, but last night, when you spoke of him you sounded far more cautious."

"Cautious, yes. Frightened, no. Trust me, my love. We will triumph."

A knock on the outer door interrupted them. Shrugging, Katrina rose from the settee and walked over to open the door. Herr Schmidt entered, a pleased smile on his broad face. "A message has arrived, young Herr Huxley, for your lovely sister," he said, holding out a wax-sealed envelope. He cast a paternal grin at Sherla. "I was asked to wait for a reply, Fraulein."

*This is NOT an appropriate time for whatever has put that look on our host,* Sherla thought with mild annoyance, even as she pasted a flirtatious smile on her own face. "And who would be so very bold, I wonder?" she asked as she hurried over to snatch up and open the missive.

Dear Fraulein Huxley, I would be honored if you would accept my invitation for a moonlight sleigh ride followed by dinner at my home. Naturally, your charming mother and your young brother are included in both invitations. I would like to earn the privilege of calling on you once you and your delightful family are settled in our little community. Affectionately, Hans-Peter Kreuger

*Well, well. . . the man from my very erotic dream wants to escort me out. The dream father of my dream child,* she thought, a bittersweet smile coming to her lips.

"What is it, sister?"

"An invitation, Karl, for a sleigh ride and dinner - from Hans- Peter." *If we were to be here any longer, it might do well to encourage this - he would be useful in that he knows the location of Moriarty's hideaway and he has that very nice sleigh to transport us, but that would endanger him and his family too much. It would be much less suspicious if the estate agent Irene has contacted in Meringen was the one who showed us that property.*

Sherla turned back to the innkeeper. "Herr Schmidt, I cannot accept this very nice invitation. Mother, Karl and I will be quite busy tonight and tomorrow preparing for our trip to Meringen. Please convey our regrets to Hans-Peter." She saw the surprise on Herr Schmidt's face and nodded to confirm her decision. *And my failure to send him a message in my own hand, or to speak to him myself should put paid to any further overtures from Hans-Peter. I only hope that I have not truly hurt his feelings or his confidence.*

Katrina saw the sad smile on Sherla's face and felt her insides twist. *She wants him. She has told me she loves me, but she wants him, and now her honor prevents her from taking what she truly desires. If I were not here, she'd be free to follow her heart. All I have to do to keep her is stay, and that would be the most reprehensible act I could ever commit.*

She waited until the confused innkeeper took his leave, and then turned to face Sherla. Tears were burning at her eyes, but she took a deep breath to help her control herself. "I. . . think, Sherla, . that. . . that since my role here is done, I . . I would prefer to go home to Paris. . .instead of this Meringen place. I am tired of this boy disguise, but my face is. . .too well known and I can't change back here." A stray tear or two escaped her eyes, but she ignored them and turned her face away. "I am so damnably tired of these itchy trousers. I . . .I believe I shall go . . go and pack."

All but stupefied, Sherla watched as her lover nearly ran from the room. *What in heavens name was that all about?* She followed Katrina and slipped into the bed chamber before the other girl could latch the door. It was the final straw for Katrina and she broke down completely. In an instant, Sherla had her wrapped in her arms and was making soft, comforting noises. The deluge of tears took a while to die down, but eventually, an exhausted Katrina found herself lying on the bed, cuddled in Sherla's arms. "Now, tell me what is truly the matter."

"You wanted him," Katrina said simply. "You wanted to go with him, but you didn't, because of me."

Sherla considered that. "That is true, at least in part. I may have wanted him, a little bit - that's curiosity - and I did not go with him, in part because of you, but mostly because of me."

"He could give you things I cannot, my love, and I want you to have everything good life has to offer. . ."

"And you are thinking that includes children, is that it?" A shaky nod answered her. "I have been giving children a great deal of thought of late myself. Part of my monthly blues, I suspect, and having a lovely little baby all but dropped into my arms yesterday, but I know. . .listen to me, my love, I KNOW that is not my path."

"You're just saying that. . . because you feel obligated," Katrina heard herself whine and hated it.

Sherla brought her hand up to cup Katrina's chin up so that she was looking directly into Sherla's eyes. "Goose," she said, a loving smile glowing from her face. "I could never be satisfied and fulfilled as a wife and mother, noble though those life paths are. After all, I may be Sherla, but I am also still *Holmes*, and the hole in my life without adequate challenge to my intellect would be greater than any due to the lack of children or a husband. I truly believe that I was put on this earth to stop criminals from preying on the innocent. However, all that is secondary to this, by far more important truth, you silly widgeon. I . . . love . . . YOU, and I want you in my life more than anything else I could possibly have in this new world that has opened up before me."

"You're sure? Truly?" Sherla only managed a nod before Katrina began crying again.

"What is the matter?!?" Irene's voice called from the still open bed chamber door. Neither young woman had heard her return from her last-minute-get-together with the concierge.

"Ah, Irene, just the person we need," Sherla called. "Would you come in for a moment? I have a declaration to make that must needs be witnessed."

Irene slipped into the room and stood by the bed. Sherla rose from the bed, and then pulled Katrina to her feet as well. Taking both of Katrina's hand in hers, Sherla faced Katrina. "My love, I want to make my life with you, and I do hereby pledge myself to making you as happy and fulfilled as I possibly can."

"Oh, beloved," Katrina sighed, "That is what I want, as well. I was just afraid that. . ." then she stopped herself short, and squared her shoulders. "I would pledge myself, but I am already yours, as I have been since that first night together. I want nothing more from life that to spend mine with you."

A single finger came up to shush Katrina. "Thank you" Sherla whispered, and then kissed Katrina softly, but possessively on her lips. "You are mine and I am yours."

Katrina was instantly in Sherla's arms, kissing her fervently, her fingers again seeking the fastenings on Sherla's clothing at the same time. Irene chuckled, "I can see that I have become quite de trops now that my witness function is no longer needed," and let herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"Well, you've made your choice, love" Sherla purred as Katrina finally finished loosening her stays, "And now you are MINE!" She stretched sensuously and enjoyed the feeling of an unrestricted deep inhalation. She speedily dispensed with her chemise and pantaloons before turning to help Katrina divest herself of Karl's clothing. "Have I ever mentioned, just how much I LOVE unwrapping you at bedtime? You are the most wonderful gift I have ever been given in either of my lives, and I get to open you EVERY single night for the rest of our lives! God, you are so WONDERFUL!"

Katrina blushed as Sherla planted soft, possessive kisses on each patch of slowly exposed skin. "I love you, too," she whispered as she felt the fire begin to flare in her loins.

Sherla slid on to the bed and beckoned to now nude Katrina. "Come and love me, Katrina. Come and let me love you."

"Whenever you wish, my love," Katrina sighed. *for however long we can.*
 
 
Chapter 12. Kidnap Rescue Attempt
 
Irene burst into the sitting room. "Sherla! Erich just came. They've taken Katri. . .I mean, Karl!"

Sherla burst from her seat. "WHAT?!? Who? When?"

A very white-faced Erich stepped out from behind Irene and, swallowing hard, faced the furious Sherla. "Please, Fraulein, I tried to save her, truly I did, but he was very big and very strong. I could not stop him."

Swallowing her rage, Sherla knelt down in front of the boy who was trying his best to hold back tears. She forced a gentle smile to lips that wanted to snarl at the world, and put an even gentler hand on the boy's shoulder. "I am sure you did your best, Erich, and you did even better coming straight to Mother as you did. Now, who took Karl. Did you recognize the man?"

"Yes, Fraulein. It was the man who picked up the monkeys and took them away in the sleigh. He took Karl, too. She fought him, Fraulein, truly she did, but he hit her and she went very still."

"SHE??" Sherla demanded. "Karl is a boy!"

"Please, Ma'am, but I knew she was a girl, because, well, I tried to initiate her into a boy's club here in Brienz - only a boy could do the initiation, Ma'am, out in the snow?"

"What type of initiation?" Irene demanded, "And how did that give you the idea Karl was a girl?"

"We . . . we write our initial in the snow, Ma'am," Erich choked out, his face bright red, "with our. .with our. . Ma'am, girl's can't do it at all because, . . .well, because girls can't aim."

For just a moment, Sherla had to choke back the urge to laugh as a clear vision of Katrina's predicament came to her. "I understand, Erich."

"He, um, she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't even try, and I thought she thought she was too good for our club, too high class for something like that. So I tackled him, uh, her and was going to make her agree to do it, when . . ."

"When what, dear?"

"I, um, felt . . . something she, I mean, something I shouldn't have felt. . . . if she was a boy. You see?" He begged, not wanting to say the horrible thing they had to do in front of these nice ladies.

"I see," Sherla replied, again schooling her features and striving for self control. "When did this happen, Erich? When did you discover her secret?"

"Two days ago, Fraulein, after she helped me with the monkeys."

"When the man came and picked up the chimpanzees?"

"Why, yes, Fraulein. It was right after he'd come to get his first batch of them."

"I see." Sherla's eyes went very dark. "All right, Erich, Karl and I need your help. Will you?"

"Oh, Yes, Ma'am. What can I do?"

"I want you to run and find Hans-Peter Kreuger. Tell him. . .no wait, I will give you a note. You are to tell him that I said this will be his only chance because my Mother said we are leaving soon. Can you do that?"

"Easy as anything, Ma'am. And this will help Karl?"

"As nothing else could, dear. Just a moment while I write the note."
 

 
"What was in the note?" Irene asked as she followed a rapidly stripping Sherla into her bed chamber.

"A tease. I told him how much I loved the sleigh ride and thought that a moonlight ride would be wonderful fun. Essentially, I accepted, somewhat belatedly, an invitation he sent me. He, being male, will likely interpret it as an apology for a childish slight done him last night and as an attempt to make up to him, but he will come which is all I want. Help me with these under-things, please? I need to be dressed before he arrives."

"I am going with you." Irene said firmly as she began unlacing Sherla's lingerie.

"And I told him that in my message, since I am a properly brought up young lady and need my chaperone. I am counting on you to prevent him heading for the mountains as soon as he drops me off near Moriarty's lair. Only loosen the corset a bit, Irene. I will need its support for my bosom, but unlace the pantaloons and the shift."

"You think to go in after her alone?" Irene was aghast, but she kept working at the various fastenings.

"It is the only way that has any chance of success. You know the layout we described as being the type of chalet we sought and both Kreugers said this place was a perfect match. Too much visibility for a large group to have any possibility of a covert approach. If we involved the magistrate, Katrina would be dead before we were ten yards inside the property line."

"Why would he take her?!?" Irene fumed. "Why take a boy too young to shave?"

"Because Moriarty is afraid she is me. Obviously, he had his people on the lookout for a female masquerading as a male, thinking that I would not acclimate to my new gender and would try to pass for a man. That is what he set his henchman to look for in London and evidently, what he did here. I must assume that he did not completely accept the accounts of my apparent suicide."

Finally shed of all her bulkier lingerie, Sherla began pulling on men's long sleeved and long legged white undergarments. Once those were on, she pulled thick, woolen stockings over her lighter silk ones before donning a second set of the long men's under things. Over those, she squirmed into a white quilted shirt and trouser set of the type the local skiers wore. She added white boots and then laid out matching gloves and a matching knit hat alongside her fashionable floor length cloak. "That will disguise my current attire when Hans-Peter arrives to pick me up."

"You are very sure he will come?"

"Yes," was Sherla's terse response as she knelt on the floor and pulled out a long canvas bag. She placed it on the bed and opened it. From it, she withdrew two revolvers, one of which she handed to Irene, then a long hollow tube, painted white, and a small cigarette-case sized packet. These she laid beside the cloak, hat and gloves before turning her attention back to the open case. She took a sheathed knife and strapped it to her right thigh, before strapping a small derringer, similar to the one she'd given Katrina, to her right wrist beneath the outer shirt's sleeve.

What is that?" Irene asked as she fingered the long hollow tube.

"A South American dart blowgun. Watson and I had a case where one was used. I found the weapon fascinating and learned to use one after that," Sherla replied without looking up from what she was doing. "It is silent, and when combined with these poison-tipped darts," Sherla held up a small, fletched missile, "instantly paralyzing and eventually deadly."

"Deadly? you are going up there prepared to kill?"

"Intending to kill, Irene," Sherla looked up with hard and frightening eyes. "Whoever stands between me and Katrina is already dead - they simply have not yet stopped breathing."

"Is that truly necessary, Sherla? Must you kill out of hand like that? Aren't there non-lethal alternatives for that weapon that might work as well?"

"The key word in that sentence, Irene, is 'might'. We will only get one chance to save her. If we . . . If *I* fail, she will be dead before I could hope to mount another attack." Sherla looked in the mirror and tried to pull on the stocking hat, but her hair kept escaping.

"Let me plait that mane of yours, Sherla. You'll never get that hat on as it is now. Perhaps a tight coronet of braids will do the trick."

"We don't have time for that, Irene," Sherla told her sharply. "Merely pull it back out of my face and secure it into a single tail down my back. I will wear it inside the outer shirt."

Irene could feel the barely controlled tension roiling just beneath that seemingly emotionless surface. She had never seen Sherla in this mood. *She is almost like Sherlock I used to dream of bettering back in the old days - coldly rational and clear visioned - and yet, there is an utter ruthlessness, an uncompromising determination to stop at nothing and give no quarter to save her lover that I have never heard of being associated with the great detective.* Sherla squirmed beneath her fingers. "Too tight?" Irene asked.

"No, no. . it's fine. Keep going," Sherla replied, her disinterested tone telling Irene that she must have pulled the hair too tight if she'd broken even the slightest bit through Sherla's concentration. She eased back just a small amount on the tension she was using.

*Is this determination and ruthlessness a feminine aspect - something akin to that of a lioness protecting her cubs or a woman fighting for her family? Or is Sherla's ruthlessness more due to the fact that for the first time in her life she is truly in love and that love is in danger of HER life? I wonder what the old Sherlock might have accomplished had he but permitted himself the strength of honest emotions-under-control rather than utterly suppressing them. One thing is certain - after this night's work I will either have both of them, hale and well, or I will be mourning both my almost-daughters for Sherla will never leave without Katrina. God help them both.*
 

 
The sleek, four-in-hand sleigh slooshed up to the rear of the hotel precisely as Sherla's note had directed. "Good evening to you, Fraulein Cheryl, Frau Huxley," Hans-Peter greeted as he dismounted from the sleigh. "Are you ladies ready for the ride. of your lives?" the smiling young man asked as he bowed over each lady's extended hand. "Trust me, there is nothing like a fast sleigh through the mountains on a moonlit night."

Sherla smiled graciously and then allowed him to hand her up and settled herself on the front seat while Irene was assisted into the back seat.. Boarding himself, Hans-Peter took up the reins. "And where would you like to ride, Fraulein Cheryl?" he asked as he turned to face her - and found himself looking down the barrel of one of Mr. Colt's Peacemaker Revolvers. "Sit very still, Hans-Peter," Sherla ordered in a steady voice, "for I do not wish to hurt you. Mother?" Sherla then called, "Are you ready, as well?"

"Yes, dear," Irene replied, her own weapon now at the ready, the barrel cold against the nape of the young man's neck. "I have him covered. Go retrieve your things."

Sherla nodded and then hopped down from her seat and disappeared into the shadows. She reappeared moments later carrying her large canvas case. Quickly, she put it into the back of the sleigh beside Irene before rejoining the stunned Hans-Peter in the front seat.

"What. . what is this?" he asked, a quaver in his voice.

"Listen very carefully. "My brother has been kidnapped. I used your invitation of last night as a means to get you to come, and in a hurry. I'm sorry for using your feelings like that, but I'm telling you that I will do whatever I deem necessary to rescue my brother. If you resist or try to impede me, I will shoot you and drive the sleigh myself. Do *not* consider this a bluff."

"Your brother has been kidnapped?" Hans-Peter asked, his voice breaking in his surprise.

"Yes he has been, Hans-Peter," Sherla said sharply, "and you know where he is."

"I do NOT!" he retorted indignantly. "I would have NOTHING to do with such a crime!"

"I know that," Sherla replied, "But you *do* know where he is all the same. That property you and your father told Irene about - the one near Rosenlaui - is where they have taken him."

"How can you know that?" He demanded, and then immediately quieted when he felt the cold steel of Irene's pistol nudge him firmly in the back of his neck.

"You don't need to know how I have come by that information. In fact, it would be in your best interests to know as little as possible about such things. All you need to do is drive this sleigh and me to that place. Now."

"No, Cheryl, Frau Irene, you ladies are most surely distraught and not thinking this through clearly. Let me take you to the magistrate instead. He will gather as many men as are needed and we will go investigate this place for you."

"Who is far less capable than you wrongly think I am. No, I must do this alone. I am the only one with any chance at all of getting Kat. . Karl out of there alive. Now, DRIVE, Hans-Peter!"

"I don't have to do this. You won't kill me. That would be murder. Besides, you'd be lost inside of an hour."

Sherla considered his challenge for several moments before locking her fierce gaze on Hans-Peter. He could not suppress the shudder that shook him - her eyes were like glittering chips of dark ice - and were infinitely colder than anything to be found in the black night sky. With careful precision, her pistol barrel dropped, only to press it's deadly snout between his legs. "This will not be debated. You will do as I say, or suffer consequences far worse than you can imagine."

"Herr Kreuger," Irene interjected, "It is MY child who is at risk. I assure you, that should you fail to help us save he. . him, I shall kill you."

"All right, all right, I will take you."

"I knew you would see it our way. Just one thing, Hans-Peter. Do what you are told, and ONLY what you are told, and you, at least, stand a good chance of surviving this night's work. Unlike those animals who stole my . . . brother."

The look of unswerving determination on her face, the remorseless depths of her black eyes, convinced Hans-Peter in a way that words could never match that she was set on her path and would not be swayed from it. Without a word, he flipped the reins and drove them off into the moonlit night.
 

 
The twelve kilometers to Meringen took the strong team about ninety minutes to cover the distance. Very little was said during their headlong charge through the snow-shrouded countryside, but as they approached the small village, Hans-Peter finally spoke, "This place is in the country, in the hilly area several kilometers outside Meringen. It is doubtful that anyone has cleared the trails into that part of the country since the last storm yet. It is very isolated and not very populated - one reason why my father was so pleased to get paying tenants into it during the winter. If the trails are not cleared, the sleigh will founder in the drifts before we've gone half a kilometer."

"Trust me, Hans-Peter," Sherla said confidently, "You will find the trails you need well cleared. The kidnappers have already made two trips to Brienz since the storm to pick up items that were being temporarily stored at Herr Loche's warehouse."

"If you are sure," he replied, his tone disbelieving.
 

 
"Once we round that bend you will be able to see the main buildings if there are any lights on," Hans-Peter said as he brought the team to a halt."

"How far to the main compound?" Sherla asked.

"Half a kilometer, perhaps a bit more once you round the curve."

"All right, this is as far as we go." Sherla hopped off the sleigh and doffed her cloak. She pulled the stocking hat from her pocket and used to replace the bonnet she had worn as part of her "girl-going-for-ride" disguise. Hans-Peter watched in amazement as Sherla gathered her weapons and stored them in a specially designed belt/harness arrangement she buckled tightly about her waist and shoulders.

She checked her pistol one last time, ensuring that all chambers had fresh rounds, reloading the cylinder quickly and competently, before holstering the weapon and turning to Irene. "It will likely take at least an hour for me to make a covert approach to the chalet main compound. Have Hans-Peter walk and cool the horses, but have them hitched and ready to move in an hour. I plan to use a fire as a diversion. If you see the fire and don't hear a great deal of shooting, head in at your best speed to pick up the two of us. Have your gun ready to cover our evacuation in the event I was not able to deal with all the guards."

"I should go with you," the young man said, taking a step forward.

"No, you should not," Sherla said sharply. "You are not trained for this type of activity and will give us away before we could reach the compound, let alone locate Karl."

"And you ARE so trained?" he asked derisively.

"Yes," was all Sherla said. Then, with a final kiss for Irene's cheek, she turned to face the cleared trail.

For several moments, she simply stood there without saying a word. She stamped her feet and rotated her arms, shoulders and waist. She did some deep knee bends and some funny little hops while twisting herself in mid air. One hand flexed over the butt of the pistol while the other unsheathed and then sheathed her knife. Finally she again stood fully erect, and squaring her shoulders, took one last cleansing breath. As she exhaled, her bones seemed to loosen, or soften somehow, as though her body were becoming fluid and amorphous. She began to flow over the road like a drifting white mist, only her rapid disappearance into the night revealing her deceptively-fast pace. In seconds she had left Irene, Hans-Peter, and the safety of the sleigh behind, entering a darker world.

"My god, she's . . .she's truly frightening," Hans-Peter whispered.

*Not as frightening as she will become if anything has happened to Katrina,* Irene thought grimly. Turning back to Hans-Peter, Irene motioned toward the horses. "I believe Cheryl directed that you were to see that the horses cooled down properly, my young friend," Irene said quietly. "I suggest you see to it so that we are ready when needed."
 

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To Be Continued...