In case you've disregarded the summary, dear reader, I shall outline the basics of what you will need too know for this story to make any scene what so ever. If you don't feel like reading this, then by all means, skip ahead, its not terribly hard to figure out.

story is written in an AU were :

1. Sherlock is a woman.

2. Victorian English society isn't all pissy about women having careers, or wearing pants.

3. Watson lives with Sherlock, and is engaged to Mary.

so that were all clear, i own everything nothing. To much dismay, mostly just mine, but hey.

She was a very graceful woman, much like a gazelle. She was very tall and gaunt, with dark hair, and deep brown eyes. It was hard to believe a woman such as herself was in a boxing match.

She bobbed left, then quickly she threw a right jab, cracking the mans jaw. Her opponent was more than likely twice her size, but that really didn't matter. If she only boxed opponents in her weight class shed never fight, and were would the fun in that be? She had a good 10 seconds before her opponent got back up, she supposed.

It gave her a moment to focus on her next moves, and she had decided that she wanted to end this quickly, it was getting rather dull. So she watches the man a moment longer, and then quickly catches his hand mid-swing, twists his arm, and delivers a right hook to the upper abdomen. Then she moves her back foot slightly forward she that he doesen't trip her, ducked under a punch that would've hit her in the face, and then hits him on the neck to detract him from her next move, a kick in the diaphragm. IN summery, she thinks to herself, 3 broken ribs, a fractured jaw, and an inept attempt at breathing. Physical recovery : 3 weeks, at best.

Now that she had won her money and beat up some guy in the process, she was in a relatively better mod, so she decided to put her jacket back on and to go home. There had been a odd shortage of casses as of late, and this was the first time she had left the flat in around 3 weeks. There was nothing interesting out here. Just crowded streets and people she probably didn't want to speak with Anyways.

The only person she really wanted to talk to was John. Granted, he was awful (compared to herself, that is) at noticing things, would most likely just be mad at her for testing out a new kind of medicine on Gladstone, or he would be generally mad at her for a number of reasons. Probably either the thing with and the water bucket, the apparent mess that she had made, or the fact that she had borrowed one of his jackets because she hadn't taken her clothes to be laundered.

But Sherlock didn't care. She found it rather amusing to watch Watson look for the jacket she had 'borrowed'. Or the Nanny would come in so she could crack jokes at her, whist trying to make him laugh. It never worked. But that didn't mean she would ever give up.

Sorry if it was bad, this is my first Sherlock fic. Please review! :)