A/N: So this is just a little experiment on my part. I had played with the idea of a girl Watson to the famous Sherlock Holmes in the fall of last year, before I officially watched the BBC Sherlock. I wrote this little drabble (chapters one and two), stopped at a good point, and then promptly forgot about it the next day. Months later, I'm finally getting around to checking it out. So, tell me what you think. Worth pursuing?
I also have no idea what I'm talking about half the time. It's supposed to be set in late 1800s in Londonish area, a genderbent John AU of the modern (since that's what I know). If it isn't immediately apparent, I know relatively nothing about the setting I'm writing in. It's an experiment, remember? Feel free to shoot me a note or whatnot informing me if there's a glaring mistake in my descriptions or whatever. I can definitely use the help. With that said, enjoy the story!
The morning of September 26th dawned bright and clear, the brisk wind the only hint of autumn. The leaves were just beginning to change, but the social seasons remained ritually the same. It was the time of year again for balls and social gatherings to arise at all manners of the day. Now it was reasonable enough temperature outside to justify wearing many layers of formal dress to impress.
Jane Watson was having none of it.
"Mother. Why are you even wasting your time?" Jane asked, to no avail. Her mother continued to lay out the contents of Jane's wardrobe on her daughter's bed.
"What about this one? The pink brings out the color in your cheeks," Mrs. Watson commented, holding up a dusky rose dress with numerous ruffles.
"What color?" Jane scoffed. "Aren't you the one constantly complaining about the amount of time I spend reading instead of powdering my face?"
"Indeed," Mrs. Watson replied, her lips pursed. "Ooh, here's that gorgeous blue one that matches your eyes," she held the slimmer gown up to Jane. Out of all the dresses, this one was Jane's favorite by far, but this didn't mean she wanted to dress up like a porcelain doll and parade around town in it.
"Mother, just stop," Jane finally said, taking the dress from her mother's hands. "I'm not going anyways."
"Oh yes you are, Jane Elizabeth. This is your last year before you can declare spinster status and I'll be damned if you aren't fabulously dressed," Jane's mother informed her daughter.
Something in her words spurred Jane's retort: "Oh really? And what could you possibly use as incentive for me to comply?"
Jane's mother smiled wickedly. "Your books."
"Ha. How do you plan on keeping me from them? Or the public library, for that measure?" Jane snorted.
"Easy. I had the lock on the house library changed this morning before you woke and ordered the librarian to inform me if you ever decide to sneak in. Not like you'll be leaving the house anyways, except for tea and formal events," her mother finished with a self-satisfied smirk.
Jane clenched and unclenched her fists, speechless with outrage. How dare she take away her books? Her books were her life, her sustenance. She couldn't face the day without the comforting whisper of their pages or the smell of ink on clean paper.
Finally, she found her voice. "I'll pick the locks. You know I will," Jane muttered. Her mother may think she held the upper hand, but Jane had a variety of tips and tricks up her sleeve.
"You will do no such thing. If I find evidence that you have done so, I will have your entire collection donated to the Curio shop. I'm sure they'd love that."
"You wouldn't dare," Jane's voice got dangerously low. The two women glared at each other, both battling for dominance.
"Oh my dear Jane, I would. Why can't you just settle for a nice man and follow in Amy's footsteps?" Mrs. Watson sighed in exasperation, flouncing down on the bed.
"Because I'm not Amy, mother!" Jane cried aloud. Sometimes Jane understood her mother's insistence on experiencing the debutante process. Amy had gotten pregnant so early on, there would've been scandal if her beau hadn't immediately proposed. And her mother had barely gotten to test the waters when she found Mr. Right. Perhaps this was her mother's chance to have the debutante experience she felt she'd earned and been rightly cheated of. When your first child is married and with two kids at twenty-four (and another on the way), your second daughter approaching spinsterhood at 23 is not fantastic news. But most of the time, Jane didn't feel a lick of regret for rebelling nearly all five years.
"Mother, you just don't understand. I love my books! I love writing and chess and philosophizing about the curious world. I want to learn and discover-make a difference. I can't do that as a housewife," Jane explained.
"What do you expect to do for a living instead? Write novels?" Jane's mother sniffed derisively at the last word.
"Father would've encouraged me to chase my dreams and overcome all obstacles. Women are already gaining power. For gods sake's, what about the Queen? She's no silly housewife!" Jane exclaimed.
"And you're not royalty miss. So stop acting like it. One of these days you're going to have to grow up, Jane. Grow up or lose everything," and with that, Jane's mother exited the room. She sounded deflated, the fight leaked out of her. Jane regretted mentioning her father in her outburst. Although what she said she believed, she knew it was a sore point with her mother. Ever since he died three years back, everything had become a struggle between Jane and her mother.
Jane knew her mother's argument held some truth in it though. She needed to find some way to financially support herself, otherwise even her own arguments made no logical sense. The money from her father's will and inheritance could only support the twosome for so long. She had to contribute to her family. She needed her books to help her though, and the only way to get those back was to attend a ball. Voluntarily.
That's how Jane ended up at the Kensington's manor three nights later. She was plucked, powdered, and compressed into one of those godawful corsets that made even sitting difficult. It wasn't easy to keep a permanent grimace off her face. This might be her only chance at getting her books back unharmed though, so she wasn't taking risks.
Jane knew without a doubt she was the oldest "debutante" there. The other girls were fresh and young, starry eyed with dreams of finding their perfect match promptly and ending up in a secure marriage. A few of the older girls had a hint of bitterness in their eyes-these were the ones who had been passed over for a younger, prettier fancy. Sometimes Jane conversed with their kind, but they were all the same: searching for a husband.
The funny part about it was, Jane didn't truly care about finding a husband any more than she cared about getting a dog. Actually, Jane did want a dog more than a husband. A dog would always be faithful to her and understand her plight against social norms. She'd yet to hear of a man who could pretend, if not actually show willingness to attempt the latter. Breathe a word of social revolution or rational thought and it sent suitors running in terror.
"Jane, dear, why don't you dance?" Mrs. Watson inquired, prodding her daughter in the arm.
"Oh but Mother, no one has signed my card," Jane feigned a semblance of surprise as she flashed her empty dance card at her mother. Mrs. Watson huffed in reply, giving up, and sauntered off to chat with her wealthy friends. Jane wasn't concerned about her lack of dancing partners at all. Most of the young men here tonight had already attempted to work their charm on her at past events or had heard stories from their mothers about how undomesticated she was. Jane didn't mind this, but without even any hope of verbal sparring or interaction, it was becoming a very dull evening.
"Who could this lovely flower sitting all alone possibly be?" A familiar voice caused Jane to turn around rather suddenly.
"Arthur!" Jane exclaimed, a smile brightening her features. The golden-haired fellow grinned, sweeping her into a hug. Jane returned the hug, glad to see her old friend once again. When Arthur set her back on her feet, she almost exploded with questions.
"How was India? Did you find any lost treasures? Did you meet the mysterious mountain monks? How about-" Jane spewed forth in queries. She hadn't seen her good friend in months; ever since he ventured off to India. He was the only person she could freely talk to without being judged, he was her confidant.
"Hey now, hold up!" Arthur interrupted her, stopping the flow of questions. "Jeez, I forgot how much you liked to talk," he teased. Jane swatted him on the arm, but knew he was joking. "Ow! When did you become a boxer too?" Arthur mock-complained, rubbing his arm.
Jane stuck her tongue out at him. They'd always acted closer than real siblings. "Tell me about India," Jane pleaded, making puppy dog eyes. Arthur chuckled and offered her his arm.
"Let's take a walk in the garden and I'll share all my grand stories with you," Arthur suggested. Jane agreed and they set off for the large glass doors that led outside.