Author's Note

As of January 5th, 2014 this story has been extensively re-written. I'm no entirely positive I'll continue it either, it kind of depends on the response I get. Only A Boy is of course my priority - I finished this first case as more of an exercise. Plus, Sherlock just came back. I had to honor that some how.

Plot: Gender Bender. Fem!John. Jane Watson isn't interested in relationships. But some men just don't understand that, so instead she pretended she was lesbian. But what was a halfhearted, impulsive act on her part turns into a lie she's gotta continue and that isn't easy when she's bunking with the Master of Deduction, Sherlock Holmes.

Pairing(s): Hint of Sherlock/Irene, eventual Sherlock/Jane

Rating: Teen – Subject to Change

Notes: Jane is very much like John, but she's also her own thing. She has to be brilliant if she can fool Sherlock into thinking she's a lesbian after all.

DRAFT MATERIAL: NOT FOR PUBLICATION

ARTICLE TITLE: A Study In Scarlet

AUTHOR: Jane Watson, M.D.

A Fable.

A short story, typically with animals as characters, conveying a moral.

A Fabrication; A lie.

In retrospect, my reaction to the unwelcome flattery of a colleague was a little more unorthodox than what other women in my very same situation would have done. Perhaps, as I had no drive to engage in the frivolous of human interaction at the time, he was simply more than I could bear. Or, being a recent returnee from the War in Afghanistan had made me cynical to the point of desiring solitude. Whatever the reason, I found myself in the midst of a fable and there was nothing to do, except continue it.

Fable

Dr. Jane Watson missed the war

However, clarification is needed for she most certainly didn't like war. No, she abhorred it, all those lives lost and all those tears shed - but she did miss the excitement. She missed never knowing what the day would bring, the mystery and challenge of the task at hand. That was what the war had demanded of her, a never-ending list of improbabilities that she was only too eager to tackle.

In comparison, civilian life was mundane and unbearable.

She clenched the metal cane at her side, her right leg seeming to echo the tumultuous thoughts rummaging around in her brain. She knew that it was at least partly psychosomatic. While her leg had indeed been bruised during the original trauma, she'd actually been shot in the left shoulder. But try as she might, the pain wouldn't stop, and neither would the tremor in her hand that threatened to spill her coffee all over her boring attire.

No, she was definitely not in the mood to be chatted up by one of her previous peers. Jane spared the man a glance, unsure of how exactly to rectify the situation. There was already so much damage done – namely allowing him to steer her into the bench beside him and then allowing him to start this endless ramble of flattery. She wasn't interested in a relationship. Any that she'd had after the war had ended badly, and she had no desires to repeat those experiences.

"Would you like—"

"Look Mike," she cut him off, doing her best to remain civil. "You're a great guy and all, but I'm really not interested."

"Oh c'mon," he flustered. "Don't be like that."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Did he think that just because they knew each other from uni that she somehow owed it to him to accept his offer? For a moment, she didn't know what to say, and then it was slipping past her lips before she could sop it. "I just bat for the other team, I mean."

Probably not the best excuse she could have come up with. But it worked, sort of.

"But I thought—" he said, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Play the lie." She relaxed, allowing a soft laugh escape her. "Garrison?" she finished for him. She took a breath, if nothing else but to buy her mind time to come up with an explanation that he'd believe. "It was nice, for a while, but then I was more drawn to women," she continued with a casual shrug. "It didn't happen instantly, of course. There was some experimentation but…" she trailed off pointedly.

He picked up on it and nodded, his eyes wide. "I see," he said swallowing and he looked jerkily away for a moment. She let him father his thoughts, a smile quirking about her lip as she saw the lie accepted. It was gone the instant he turned back to her.

"Well, it's not really surprising what with Harry and all. And she experimented too." He paused. "Does she know?" he asked, dropping his tone.

"No." She paused. "And don't tell her, either. I don't think that'd be very good for… well, either of us," she said delicately. God, if Harriet found out it would be a disaster. Mike seemed to agree for he was nodding again.

"So, do you live around here?"

Jane stared at him. "I can't afford London on an Army pension," she scoffed. Nothing descent anyway.

"And you couldn't bear living anywhere else."

She smiled. "Something like that."

"Maybe you should get a flat-share or something."

"I tried," she said, her expression darkening. Apparently ex-military scared a lot of people away, and the nightmare filled nights did little to persuade them otherwise. "After all, who'd want me for a flatmate?"

He laughed, looking thoughtful. "You know, you're the second person to say that to me today."

She raised an eyebrow. "Who was the first?"

"He's actually at the morgue, right now."

"He?"

"He's a bit peculiar, but decent enough I think." Mike looked far too excited. He got to his feet as he spoke. "Come along, I'll introduce you."

Jane however remained seated. "But—" she started to say, but Mike interrupted her.

"Oh don't worry. I'm sure he won't care at all about your orientation. I'm not entirely sure what's up with him, as a matter of fact. Never seen him with another woman – casually, I mean but one never knows." Mike was no helping her to her feet, almost dragging her behind him.

Jane had to bite her tongue. Well, if this small fable got her a place in London for a decent price she could hardly protest. It was keeping it up that worried her. She sure wasn't intent on an actual relationship now, but what happened when she had an itch that begged to be scratched? Even so, women and men didn't just casually live together—did they? Maybe she'd been abroad too long, after all gay and lesbian ideals certainly seemed to have become more accepted. With a sigh, she relented and allowed Mike to steer her toward a cab.

Fable

"So, this is where he works?" Jane asked as they walked through the hallway. Every right step was a painful one, but none of it showed on her face. Nothing betrayed the swirl of chaotic thought within, a furious debate as to whether or not she should correct her lie that instant, or be thankful that it was spouting hidden fruits. She would have to be careful – she knew that. She would have to give herself entirely over to the part, and on that thought she glanced down at her attire.

So far so good. She'd dressed in rather plain clothes. Simple, but could be easily read as almost tomboy in nature. But the list of tasks was steadily growing. She would have to look attracted to women and see men as potential rivals. She felt a flutter of panic somewhere deep inside and took a breath, calming herself.

Treat it as a game, nothing more. She'd faced so many more daunting and horrible things. This would be a good way to make sure she was still in the game, still sharp.

"He doesn't work here," Mike said, interrupting her frenzied thoughts. "He just utilizes the lab on occasion. And examined the bodies. Not entirely sure what he does." He smiled. "Molly will be very pleased that you won't be competition."

"Pardon?"

"She works down in the morgue." He gave a knowing wink. "She's far too easy to read, poor girl."

Play the game. "Is she pretty?" Jane asked, letting a smile tug at her lips.

Mike laughed. "I'd say so. In an innocent way, though. Maybe you'll help her see that he's a lost cause."

It had not escaped her notice how he carefully avoided the man's name. Her eyes narrowed a fraction before assuming their natural blank position. Mike was acting as though he was about to show her something that fascinated him, like a rare strain of bacteria he'd managed to cultivate. She was about to ask what was the name of the gentleman she was about to meet, when Mike stopped abruptly. He pushed open a door on her left. At his nod, she entered first and was immediately greeted with a familiar sight.

A lab.

"Well, it's a bit different from day," she remarked softly, and she came to a pause near the end of a set of tables all holding scientific instruments. In her initial sweep she'd found only one person. He was sitting near the back, absorbed in his microscope. Now, she took the time to critically observe him – while his gaze was otherwise occupied. Dark hair with a hint of curl, dark clothes though not black. Even sitting she could see a regal posture, one of confidence but also bordering on arrogance.

Without looking up he said, "Mike, can I borrow your phone?" he had a deep silky voice. And then he looked up, allowing her to catch a glimpse of his features. Somehow, she knew immediately that this man would require every ounce of her ability in order to fool. She regarded him with calculation, labeling him as neither handsome nor ugly. Distance would be her ally.

"There's no signal on mine," the man continued.

"What's wrong with the landline?"

"Oh, I prefer to text."

Jane caught a half-hazard glance in her direction, like he was only vaguely interested in her. But in that single moment, she knew he was. He was reading her. Judging her just as she attempted to do the same. His cold blue eyes sparked with intelligence and she found her curiosity growing.

"Sorry," Mike said and she glanced toward him, narrowing her eyes. "I left it in my coat."

She wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but no matter. After a brief pause of silence, she rummaged in her coat pocket. It was just a clumsy hand-me down, after all. She hardly cared who used it. "Here," she said holding it out. "Use mine."

The man glanced at her again, this time more obvious observation in his light gaze. "Ah, thank you," he said getting up from his chair and taking it from her.

"This is an old friend of mine. Jane Watson."

The man didn't even nod in acknowledgement. Instead he shot, "Afghanistan, or Iraq?"

Jane blinked. "Sorry?" she asked by way of covering up her startled expression.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" He was texting something into her phone now, his long pale fingers moving quickly.

So he knew then. How did he know? She wasn't wearing a military uniform, nor any pins or distinguishing marks. She narrowed her eyes very minutely, surveying him with all the more interest.

"Afghanistan," she replied in an even tone. "Sorry, how did you know?" She heard the door open behind her and he turned toward it immediately. He set her phone back onto the table while greeting someone behind her. Jane turned, seeing a young woman with dirty blonde hair and a rather shy smile.

"Ah, Molly, coffee," the man said, taking a mug from her. "Thank you." Then he paused, his eyes narrowing. "What happened to the lipstick?"

Jane looked the girl up and down. She wasn't a ten for sure, but she had her qualities. Molly gave a small shrug, flushing as the man met her gaze. Mike had been right; the girl was far too easy to read. She worked her smile away.

"It wasn't working for me," Molly answered, her voice small but sweet.

"Really?" the man turned, walking back to his station. "I thought it was a big improvement, mouth's too small now."

If Jane weren't working so hard to keep every single muscle of her face under careful control, she would've gaped at him. She couldn't stop the widening of her eyes though, and shot him a glare. That was just unbelievably rude! Molly seemed shell-shocked. She uttered a small, "Okay," before turning to leave.

"Molly," Jane called after her, causing her to pause. "Don't listen to him," she said with a smile. "You look beautiful without it."

Molly blinked before nodding, casting a glance in the man's direction. "Thanks," she mumbled and she quickly exited the room.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

Jane turned. "What?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on and would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

Jane paused for a moment, glancing at Mike before returning her gaze back to him. She had been with Mike the entire way, and he hadn't notified this stranger of her coming—and yet, he behaved as if he had completely expected her arrival.

Oh.

She opened her mouth, but immediately closed it afterward. Maybe it was better if he didn't know that she'd worked it out. He regarded everyone else as though they were somehow less than him. He could—would underestimate the abilities of someone who didn't understand. It would put her lie in peril if he knew she possessed an ounce of competency.

So she lied.

"Who said anything about flatmates?" The confused tone of a person who had failed to figure out how he had known.

And he gave a small smile, standing and donning on his coat. "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a hard man to find a flatmate for." He said it all so casually, as if she should've known but knew that she could've never realized it. He put on a navy blue scarf. "Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap."

Jane stiffened slightly, somewhat offended by the obvious insult to her intelligence. But she pretended that it was for a different reason. "How did you know about Afghanistan?" she asked but he completely ignored her.

"I've got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We meet there tomorrow evening at seven o'clock." He smiled at her, though it didn't seem to quite reach his eyes. "Sorry, gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He was almost to the door when Jane spoke, and this time she wanted answers.

"Is that it?"

Even if he had deduced several things from the short five minutes they'd interacted, most people wouldn't just stride into this. And, she wanted to know exactly how much he had figured out.

The man paused, turning back to her. "Is that what?"

"We don't know a thing about each other," she countered. "I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."

That was what she wanted the most. Who was this man? At the very least, she could rest easy knowing that she'd never betray a single ounce of attraction toward him. He was dreadful, in behavior and manners. And so proud! A fact only proved when he gave the smallest of smirks and then started off, without drawing breath.

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic—quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

Surprise. Master of deduction indeed! How he had managed to figure all of that out in the space of a few minutes—even if some of the facts were slightly twisted—it was really amazing. He seemed to like the look of surprise on her face. She saw it briefly, in his eyes before he was striding out of the room again.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He nodded, offering a wink. "Afternoon."

And he was gone.

Jane Watson stood there, stunned for a moment before glancing at Mike who was looking smug. "Yeah. He's always like that." His grin broadened.

She jerked her head back to the closed door, where the mysterious Sherlock Holmes had just disappeared through. Holmes. Holmes. Now why did that name sound familiar to her? This man was horribly clever and worse, he knew it. But he was so interesting that she knew she would meet him at 221B Baker Street. It was a glimmer of excitement and intrigue that she knew she wouldn't get anywhere else.

Even if it was all built on one small fable.