This is my first Fem!Lock fanfiction, and I am very excited! Please, please, please review!

Of course everything in here is complete bunk ( if you can't notice). It sounds really cheesy and fake, but after the part where I attempt to understand biology, it will become a romantic comedy (well I'll try to make it funny. I'll most likely fail.) Sorry if Sherlock seems OOC. I don't own Sherlock. I'm going to use my standard disclaimer saying which is:

Standard Disclaimerlin

Chapter 1

A loud bang accompanied an explosion and a bout of smoke. Sherlock waved his hand in front of his face, trying to clear enough of the toxic stuff to breathe. His lungs burned when he breathed in, he choked on the noxious fumes, and covered his mouth and nose with his fore arm. He quickly made his escape of his and John's kitchen deeming it unsafe to stay there any longer.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson was out with her Sunday bingo group until ten and John was at the pub with Lestrade getting back god knows when. He wouldn't want to deal with their bothersome complaints about how their health was endangered because of his experiments. Well John was in for a treat, Sherlock thought with a smirk. He had been trying to find a concoction that would change one's gender. And guess who was Sherlock's lab rat? Honest, kind, and most importantly, unsuspecting John Watson.

Of course Sherlock would knock him out, no doubt the process would be excruciatingly painful. John would never know! His plan was the picture of perfection. The smoke had cleared and Sherlock went to inspect the fruits of his labor. A petri dish was settled in the microwave carried a steaming, sparkling, pink liquid, reminding the detective of Pepto- Bismol. A devious smile found its way onto Sherlock's face. Perfect, the x chromosomes will root into John's deoxyribonucleic acid and completely replace all of his y chromosomes. I will make sure to take a large tissue sample before the experiment takes place. Once the RNA begins to copy the fabricated XX DNA, John's body will slowly change. Process estimated to take a course of one week before completion. I will administer doses of Azathioprine to keep his body from rejecting the uh- alteration. Sherlock began to ring his hands like one of those villains in the super hero movies. OH YES! Sherlock jumped into the air, This will be perfect.

Sherlock wasn't sure of all the affects. The matter of sexual organs did pose a question. Would John change fully into a female? Or will he simply be more feminine? Will his hair growth quicken? Will his lips grow? Will they deepen in colour?

Sherlock couldn't wait for his flat mate to come home.

Two hours later…

John stumbled up the stairs to his and Sherlock's flat. It was just nine o' clock and he was wasted. Lestrade and he hand one too many beers at the pub watching a football game. John didn't even really like football all that much; he just wanted to get away from Sherlock's constant wining about being bored.

"Sherlock, I'm home," he slurred as he passed by the door to the main part of their flat. He continued up the stairs to his room.

"Oh John! I was wondering when you would come home,"

John squinted down the staircase to where the voice was coming from. "You're not Sh'lock," he stated, "Who 're you?"

"What are you talking about John? How drunk are you? Please tell me you didn't consume too much alcohol. My partner can't be hung over if we have a case. I need you to be in perfect working order,"

It sure sounded like something Sherlock would say. Seeming to care for one second and then have an ulterior motive. Was John so drunk he thought that Sherlock's voice was feminine? Now that he really looked, it didn't look like Sherlock… this figure seemed to be curvier. He couldn't really see the face because it was in shadow, but the mystery person had medium length, curly black hair.

"But?" John said. He then chose that moment to pass out right on the stairs.

"John? John-," Sherlock huffed, "Of course you had to pass out HALF WAY up the stairs. Nooo you couldn't black out at the top so it would be easy to drag you to bed. Why am I even talking out loud," Sherlock grabbed John's arms and pulled them above his head. John's head lolled from side to side and Sherlock winced in apology every time John's head thumped on a stair. It took Sherlock a while- since when was John so heavy?- to get John to his room. Getting him in his bed was even harder. Sherlock tried all he could but he just couldn't manage to lift John up all the way. Losing his patience, Sherlock left John to lay face down on the rug next to his bed. The consulting detective sank down to the ground next to him, exerted from the effort.

"Don't choke on your own vomit idiot,"

Sherlock received no response.

He rolled his eyes and went to John's bathroom. The cold water hit the basin and was so inviting that Sherlock spashed some on his face. He sighed and looked into the mirror.

And he screamed.

Like a little girl.

Because he was a girl, or rather she was a girl.

Sherlock warily cast his gaze at his sleeping flat mate. How was he going to explain this?

THINK SHERLOCK! THINK! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN! WHAT? WHEN? WHY? HOW?

He lost his train of thought when he took a chance at looking in the mirror again.

I'M A WOMAN! I'M A WOMAN! The raven- haired detective rushed to the toilet just as the first round of vomit started to come. I'M A WOMAN. I'm a… I'm a woman. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. She started to hyperventilate and hold on to the toilet ring with an iron grip. Stomach acid ran up her throat demanding escape. All of the food left her and she started to dry heave. Tears sprung to Sherlock Holmes's eyes for the first time in years. It seemed to be a night all about 'firsts'.

Curling her knees up to her chest, Sherlock formed the fetal position. She rocked back and forth, trying to calm herself down. Her sobs shook her whole body. She banged the back of her head against the wall. WhatamIgoingtodo? WhatamIgoingtodo?

Her heart thudded against her rib cage. Tears ran down her face and landed on her purple dress shirt which was now even tighter with the addition of… things. Crying never solved anything, Sherlock. Get a hold of yourself. You're a Holmes. We strive for greatness. Never let me catch you crying again. It's pathetic. Sherlock was just eight years old when his mother warned him. Some of the middle schoolers taunted him and called him a freak. It escalated to kicking and eventually Sherlock curled up in a ball and just took it. When he came home crying and covered in bruises the next time, he suffered the pain alone.

She dabbed her eyes with toilet paper and blew her nose. A shuddery breath left her body as she rose from the floor of John's bathroom. She went to stand in front of the mirror once more, ready. She brought a shaking hand up to her lips. They were fuller and rosier. Softer too. Next was her hair, still black as night but longer now, and if it was even possible, it was more luscious. She ran a hand though the silky, shoulder length mane.

The buttons on her shirt strained against her chest. I guess I'll have to buy some bras soon. It was definitely looser around the waist. She wiped a hand over her face. How the hell am I going to fix this?

PLEASE REVIEW.