- Are you ready? – Jerome asked her in his thick french accent.
- As I'll ever be… - She answered readjusting her nineteenth century dress-. God, this is dreadful. How could they even live with this on…
Jerome just laughed at her partner's expense. She was no tomboy, she was feminine alright, but he guessed this old attires where too much for any modern woman. Too much cloth indeed. And those frames over the hips? What the actual fuck, dude. Talk about uncomfortable…
They were standing a few meters away from the portal that would take her to her next mission. Time traveling, go figure… In 2015 the Assassin Brotherhood was much more than a bunch of well-trained assassins. They were scientists, politicians… A secret society all over the world, making decisions affecting the world, fighting evil. Now evil was winning hands down. It was time for drastic measures. The Napoleon of crime couldn't win. He took a long last look at her, his partner, his friend. Her long chestnut hair done the nineteenth way, shining under the lab's lights. High head, back straight. Her dark caramel eyes everywhere. And that godforsaken purple dress complimenting her nicely. Her apparel was finished by a little purse and a suitcase containing anything but clothes. Her baggage included a lot of cash for her new life's expenses, nineteenth century weaponry and ammunition, and of course her daggers of choice and other sharp-edged flying death warrants. She had aim, he knew it all too well. She would take the books with her too. He only hoped this Arthur Conan Doyle guy was right about the facts when he wrote the infamous detective's biography.
- It's time-. His musing were interrupted by the polymath in charge.
He saw her leaving his side to approach the archway she had to cross. He had no reason to fear for her, yet he did. They had tested the artifact countless times. First throwing through stones and bones. Then rats. And finally that trained squirrel monkey. They trained it to find assassins and deliver messages to them. When they were sure he would fulfill his task he crossed the archway to 1887. His mission: find an assassin and deliver a letter from the Brotherhood. Then take the assassin back to the root point and cross back to 2015. It was difficult, considering there was no archway on the other side. The monkey had to retrace his own path blindly, hoping to get caught by the wormhole. And you know what? It was a success. And utter and absolute success. The monkey showed up back at the lab a week later, pleased with himself as always when he did his deed. Imagine the surprise when a greyish-cloaked figured crossed behind him seconds later. Callum, an assassin from nineteenth century London was in their lab, looking around trying to wrap his mind around what just happened. The Leadership was informed right away and transactions began. Callum was mistrustful at first, but he ended up determined to help. After some meetings, he went back to his time, promising to return with his own leader. And that's exactly what he did. Alastair proved to be more difficult than Callum. He was an upright man, and he wasn't convinced about allowing an outsider into his time and place. Finally we got to a compromise: our jumper would not interfere in his guild's activities, and would always be looked after by Callum himself. After that, the alley where the wormhole connected was always guarded by Alastair's men in disguise. They would stop anyone who dared to get too close.
- So this is it-. She said turning to Jerome.
- Looks like it. You know what to do.
- Get accommodated. Blend in. Do my job-. She recited.
He nodded his head silently, looking to the archway once more. She took her suitcase and whistled calling the monkey over. The animal perched on her shoulder and after a deep breath she was gone.
One moment I was in the lab, the next I was in a dirty alley. Two dirty young men observed me from the furthest end, Alastair men, no doubt. I nodded my head in their direction, as a way of greeting. They nodded back, watching me as I walked past them with my purse, my suitcase and my monkey. I stopped, looking around. 19th century London was crowded and dirty. But again, I was in the world's largest city at the moment. I made my homework, I had to if I wanted to survive and not arise suspicions while trying to blend in this era. I remembered the directions Callum gave me. Destiny: 221B of Baker Street.
Social differences were clear as the daylight. Nicely dressed, clean people on the one hand; men with hats, canes and pocket watches; women in dresses much like mine, or even more extravagant. On the other hand, poor dirty workmen, with berets and mended clothes; and women with humble dresses and aprons. As I walked down the street some men tipped their hats my way, kids ran up and down the puddly sidewalk, carriages came and went, and vendors yelled their prices. I made my way toward one of them and bought the daily paper, put it under my armpit and kept walking. Soon I was facing what I hoped would be my new home. According to Conan Doyle's books, 221C, the flat downstairs, was never rented. I walked up the doorway stairs and rang the bell. I stood there, waiting patiently, suitcase on the ground. Soon a woman opened the door, she was in her fifties, dressed in black.
- Mrs. Hudson? My name is Bedelia O'Donoghue. I hear 221C is vacant. Is that the case?
- Yes, it is.
- May I come in and take a look? - I asked with a smile.
- Of course, come on in -. She invited opening the door all the way.
I took my case and walked in, leaving it on the floor again. The foyer and corridor walls were full of little paintings, and the whole place screamed ''fancy'' to me.
- This way, Miss O'Donoghue -. I followed Miss Hudson down the corridor to a solid looking door on the right, under the stairs. And there it was, upon the threshold… ''221C''. I saw her pull a key ring from her hip and open the door. – This is the living room, it is small compared to the living room in 221B, but that's because the layout is different. I assure you the flats are the same size. Over here is the study room, - she said walking towards an opened door on the right. It was a small room with a desk and bookshelves-. As you can see this flat has its own kitchen area, -she said going back to the living room. There is a backyard. And here are the bedroom and bathroom.
I followed her to the last room of the place, and then we went back to the main room. I stood there looking around. This place felt right. Sure it was a little neglected, but it was homey. With all the money I brought I could improve the place to my liking, I was rich now after all. Thank inflation for that. It was modern, in a way, with radiators and stuff. Although I have to figure out how these worked nowadays. There was some charming furniture I could sand, polish and paint. My mom enjoyed this activities and I partook sometimes in it, learning a trick or two, plus I'd have some free time till things get messy.
- I know it looks neglected and not refined. But nobody really showed an interest in the place and I barely come in here. I'm sure you're looking for something more tasteful. Plus the tenant upstairs is… a difficult neighbor -. Mrs. Hudson was babbling now, insecure for my lack of response. I smirked at her reference to Mr. Holmes.
- I'll take it. It's lovely, Mrs. Hudson. And I can take on some crazy neighbor, I assure you. May I make some upgrades?
- Of course! – She assured me a little shocked-. The backyard is yours too to do as you please.
- Could I move my things in right away? I just arrived to the city and don't have any other place.
- Yes, I'll go for the keys-. She hurried for the door.
- Mrs. Hudson! –I stopped her-. Are you free for luncheon?
- Well, I don't know if Mr. Holmes will need me. He is in one of his moods.
Yes, I guess he was. According to Conan Doyle's books, Doctor Watson moved out recently, and those were difficult times for Sherlock Holmes. And for Mrs. Hudson, apparently.
- Mr. Holmes… He is the detective, right? –She nodded her head uncertain-. Can't a smart man such as him take care of himself for a few hours? Plus, I'm new in the city, I could use a nanny more than him-. I taunted her mischievously.
- You are right -. She said resolutely-. Meet me at the front door in ten minutes?
I nodded my head with a smile and saw her go her way. Suddenly she didn't look so severe to me, more like a lonely woman in need of some quality time with other women. I looked around the flat once more. ''Home''. The word felt right. Maybe too right. I was taking a liking to my new place and my new landlady far too quickly. My whole life I felt a sense of void. No matter what I did, what I accomplished. Something was amiss. I always guided by hunches and first impressions. My reptile brain never steered me in the wrong direction, and now it was telling me the thing I looked for my entire life without knowing was right here. A dangerous sense of belonging made its way over my body.
- Don't get too comfortable, Bedelia -. I told myself-. You have to go back.
We were currently in a shop. During lunch I informed Mrs. Hudson that I was lacking clothes and I'd appreciate her advice in the matter. So here I was, being pulled and pushed by the couturier and his aide. I was looking for some simple clothes to pass the days. The less fabric the better, but Mrs. Hudson suggested I should buy some nice dresses just in case I had to attend any event, or a fine man invited me to dinner. God bless her heart… Of course the couturier agreed with her. He asked my price range the moment I crossed the front door, and when I told him price was no problem he was in a mission to sell me the whole place. I wasn't one to brag out, but there was no reason to beat around the bush either. For each dress Mrs. Hudson would pick for me shoes, hats and other compliments. I chose some nightgowns too. Again they insisted I needed some fancy ones, ''just in case''. In case of what? I sleep naked anyway… The couturier finished fixing the last dress on me. Ok, it was beautiful, I could admit that.
- You look lovely-. It was Mrs. Hudson. I looked to the mirror, right into her eyes. She was sitting in a couch smiling at me. I smiled back and looked back at my own reflection.
- Dreamy, I'd say -. Added the couturier, proud of his work.
It was a short-sleeved creamy dress, with yellow flowers and green details. French design. Very summery. I wasn't sure I'd actually use it, but I could like it. I didn't know how much time I would be here, after all.
- I love it -. I conceded-. This will be all, thank you.
- You are very welcome, Miss. I'll go prepare what you can take already. The rest will be sent to your address in two days -. He left, leaving his aide to help me get out of the dress and put my own clothes on.
- What time is it, Mrs. Hudson? – I asked her casually.
- Oh, heavens, it's half past four already! – She exclaimed alarmed.
- Did you need to be somewhere else? Am I keeping from your duties?
- No, not really, dear.
- Then what is the matter, Mrs. Hudson? – I asked her getting finished.
- Sherlock Holmes is the matter! I won't hear the end of it! He will pester me the moment I cross the door!
- Do not fret, Mrs. Hudson. We will deal with him. There's another woman in 221 Baker Street now, let's make it count -. I winked, took my purse and went to pay for my purchases.
She was right. The very moment we crossed the threshold I could hear him. He came out from his flat running at the sound of the front door, with a violin in his hands.
- The absentee landlady finally rewarded us with her presence -. He exclaimed from the top of the stairs-. Where have you been all day, nanny? Where is my tea?
I smirked at the tone he used for the ''nanny'' word. He was funny. I looked at him, pulling at his violin strings in a random cadence. The first thing I noted was that he needed a bath. Like now. His hair was greasy and looking in every direction, his skin shiny with sweat. His white shirt was more brown than white. And he could use some shaving. He was thirty four, yet he seemed to be in his forties. Drug use, lack of sleep and street fighting would do that to you, I guess.
- How old are you, Mr. Holmes? – I asked him, my voice loud and clear. Back home I had a lot of cousins, I knew how to deal with petulant children, no matter their age.
- Who are you? Get out of this house! – He answered with contemp.
- Is the great Sherlock Holmes – I continued enunciating every word- incapable of making a simple tea? Are you that helpless against a kettle? – I advanced towards the stairs -. As for who I am, my name is Bedelia O'Donoghue, and I'm your neighbor. I rented 221C this morning. Get used to the sight of me, Mr. Holmes, I'm not leaving anytime soon-. I turned to Mrs. Hudson again, her eyes wide like sausages-. Would you help me taking everything to my flat, I'll make tea for two -. Yes, I was letting Sherlock Holmes know that nobody was making tea for him, not on my watch.
- Of course, dear -. She conceded running down the corridor to my flat with some parcels.
I went right behind her, but I stopped to look at him one more time. He was still there, but silent as the grave. His hands were on his violin, but he wasn't playing it. All his attention was on me. Good. If I could give Mrs. Hudson some peace dealing with him I would. I took a moment to look into his eyes. They were the key to his current mood, they were screaming ''I love cocaine and I hate your flimsy ass'' to her.
- One more thing, Mr. Holmes. Open your windows and take a bath. I can smell you from here.
- Who do you think you a-
- Do it, Mr. Holmes – I repeated myself, this time with more truculence in my voice to match his own wildness. He wasn't going down without a fight, that was for sure. He was used to having the last word. Well, not anymore. - Do it or I'll go up there and do it myself. No idle threats.
With that I left the hall. This was going to be fun.