Author's note: this is my first attempt at writing in english something that is not for work. This is done for the sake of a Dear Friend of mine - He will recognise Himself. If you notice any grammar/spelling/syntax mistake, feel free to contact me through personal message (PM) to let me know.
Note that I do not think the pokémon inserts are important enough to deserve this fiction to be classified as "crossover". But if in your opinion I should move it to the "crossover" section, feel free to contact me and I will move it right away.

Also, if you wish for a french translation/adaptation - just ask, and I'll provide. (Pour une traduction/adaptation en français, il suffit de demander.)

PROLOGUE
°oOo°

This was one rainy and cold autumn afternoon of year 86 A.C.* in the city of London. I had been walking my dog-pokémon despite the terrible weather, as I needed some fresh air. Holmes had been smoking and playing the violin without interruption for the last three days, not speaking about the poison he injected himself with, and I knew he was in absolute need for a case. To the despair of Mrs. Hudson's minccino and the natural tendency of this chinchilla-like species to clean and tidy everything in sight, Holmes kept his door locked, keeping the good pokémon from doing its cleaning duties.

"Holmes, I'm home!" I yelled through the flat we shared.
I hoped for no answer, moving myself and Silver Finch the herdier towards the bathroom, for my pokémon needed a bath. The dark blue fur of its back was soaked with rain. Its creamy moustaches and brown-orange legs had gathered more than their share of mud.
Imagine my stupor when I discovered there was someone already settled in the tub, relaxing as if at home, and that this someone was a complete stranger to me!
"Holmes, you have a client!" I yelled again.
The detective hopped out of his room like a diglett out of its hole, his violin in one hand, the bow in the other, and eyes very red like his watchog's.

"A client, Watson? Come in, come in!"
"In the bathroom" I added. "A woman. Taking a bath. I thought you knew?"
Said person kept on looking at us through the open door, with a crazy smile on her face, giggling.
"Oh, and I even have roleplaying actors for myself!" she finally exclaimed. "Nice nice nice nice!"
She clapped her hands together like a child on Christmas Eve.
"Excuse me?" asked Holmes, not troubled at all by the situation.
"Best costumes I ever saw!" the woman kept on squee-ing with excitement, eyes sparkling.

Holmes and me exchanged a puzzled look.
"And whom have I the honour to address?" asked Holmes.
She squee-ed again before answering:
"Name is Manda. Manda Leech. I won the first prize!"
"First prize of what?" asked Holmes again.
His eyes were scanning the room. I could tell by his face that something was wrong.

"Oh, and this is Hawk Fur, by the way" she added, pointing at the taillow, a swallow-like pokémon the size of a turkey, that just emerged from under the soap bubbles. "We are so super-duper-happy to have won the first prize!"
"First prize of what?" insisted Holmes, pacing the room, searching for God-knows-what.
"The quiz" she said angrily. "Quit your role-play for two minutes, would you? The quiz. About Sherlock Holmes. I won. First prize. One night and one day. Hello!"
"One night and one day of what?" asked Holmes absent-mindedly.
He was down on all four, still searching, and Thunder Fog the watchog has joined him. The mongoose-like pokémon hold its tail very straight, while the yellow stripes of its upper body sparkled with the excitement of the chase.

"One night and one day staying at the Museum."
"Museum of what?"
She sighed and finally crossed her arms over her chest, covering part of her nakedness.
"Sherlock Holmes Museum!"
She rolled her eyes as Holmes does when I am unable to follow his deductions.
"My flat is not a museum" answered Holmes, brushing the dust off of his trousers. "May I ask you how you entered here?"

She sighed again.
"Through the door, you silly!"
"And may I ask you where your clothes are, young lady?"
She turned, pointing at the floor, saying:
"In my case, you dumb-"
And she stopped, eyes wide. She stared at both Holmes and me for a moment, and then:
"You sick perverts! Gimme back my clothes! NOW!"
She was standing now, one arm across her chest, covered with soap bubbles, and red from anger. The taillow perched on her shoulder, puffing its white chest and dark back feathers, looking twice its ordinary size.

Holmes raised both hands in a soothing gesture.
"Do not misunderstand our intentions, young lady. We did not steal a single thing from you. But you should know that..."
"Holmes" I interrupted, poking him with my elbow. "Don't you think..."
I handed him his bathrobe.
"Oh, of course!" he said. "I forgot my manners! There you are!"
He covered the woman's shoulders with the bathrobe, helping her out of the tub.
She calmed down a little, though she still looked unhappy.

"Well" she said "if it is to let me snuggle in Sherlock Holmes' bathrobe, I can let you keep my clothes. For now."
Holmes made her sit in the most comfortable armchair we had, and gestured me to come by his side. He seemed rather intrigued by the unexpected, naked guest.
"So" he told her "you are telling me that you do believe this place is a museum?"
"I do not believe it is" she answered "because it is. It's a fact, not a belief."
"And you earned a stay here by filling in a quiz about me?"
"Easy-peasy, actor boy" she answered with a grin. "No-one save me remembered that Holmes' watchog's full name is Thunder Fog, and not simply Thunder. 'twas mentioned only once in the whole books."

"What books?" I asked, completely lost in the conversation.
"The books written by Doctor Watson about Sherlock Holmes" she said patiently.
"What is the day to-day?" asked Holmes, out of the blue.
"August 29th, 245 A.C." she said. "Are you okay?"
I had no clue of what she meant by that, though Holme's face relaxed. He even smiled.
"I see now" he said.
I was still in the dark myself.
"I see, I see. Well, young lady–Miss Leech, if that is your name–I am afraid you will have to wait a couple of centuries before having your clothes back."

"WHAT?" she exclaimed.
She raised on her feet, looking as terrible as Mrs. Hudson the day Holmes had a mishap in a chemical experiment that blew part of the walls.
"Calm down, please" said Holmes. "Look through the window, and see by yourself if you can recognise the level of technology and the fashion worn by the people in the streets."
Gesturing her towards said window, he grabbed the closest chair and readied himself, as if she was about to collapse.

She frowned, gave a mean, suspicious look, and glanced behind the curtains. Once. Twice. A third time. Then she opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of the water.
"Okay" she said. "You are good. Now, stop that acting, it starts to be creepy."
"Unfortunately, this is the truth" told Holmes in a soft voice. "I am really sorry."
I still had no clue about what was going on. It was as if those two were sharing some kind of secret–but I knew it was not possible. They had never met before, as far as I knew.

"So, that's it? That's really it?" she said with a weak tone.
She slipped on the floor, her taillow in her lap, white with shock.
"Watson, a small glass of brandy please" asked Holmes.
Miss Leech gestured she did not need it. She kept her fists in her lap, shaking hard from head to toes.
"Are you sure you will be all-right?" asked Holmes. "I will have Mrs. Hudson–"
He could not finish his sentence, for the woman had jumped on her feet, and was hugging Holmes closer than a wife would dare to hold her husband in public.

"This is so AWESOME!" she said.
Then she stared hopping around in the room, squee-ing like mad, while her pokémon was circling the ceiling, chirping in a similar way.
"What is awesome? Holmes, what is going on?" I desperately asked.
"Well, my dear Watson, what do you make of all the clues that sit under your eyes?"
"This woman is a lunatic!" I answered. "I will have specialists handle her, poor thing."
"Loony yourself" the woman told me, sticking her tongue out.

"My dear Watson, your explanation does not take into account most of the clues! See, she entered this flat by the door, but Mrs. Hudson did not see her, neither did Thunder. She left her clothes on the floor, but they are nowhere to be found. She thinks we are in 245 A.C., and that my house is a museum. Moreover, she knows things about myself–and yourself certainly, for she knows about your writings–that none other in this city and in this time knows. Obviously, she comes from the future, and she just realised it by looking through the window."
"Dear God!" I exclaimed. "And how did she arrive here? What do we do now?"

He turned towards the hopping woman and her pokémon, engaged in a singular dancing-like behaviour, chanting "I'm with real Sherlock Holmes! I'm with real Sherlock Holmes!" then back to me.
"Well, she obviously has no clue about how she arrived here, and neither do we. We can not let her wander alone in this time. We will have to care for her."
"But" I protested "what will Mrs. Hudson say? And the public opinion! It is not proper for a single woman to live with two single men such as the two of us!"
"Of course not!" said Holmes. "We will settle her next door, in flat A."

She appeared to have overheard us, for her chanting changed to "I'm going to be Sherlock Holmes' neighbour!".
"And after that, what will we do?" I asked Holmes.
"Well, teach her how to behave properly, not allow her out of the house, and keep her under close observation."
"Why? Holmes, why do you not want to get rid of her?"
"Because" whispered Holmes in my ear "she knows about us. About our cases. About our future. About the future of this country, and of the world. She is dangerous, Watson, more dangerous than my old nemesis himself. If anybody realises the knowledge she has, and decides to make use of her –we are doomed."
I was glad the poor lady was too busy celebrating our encounter to spy over Holmes and me. Who knows what terrible dangers lay ahead of her?

"Moreover" added Holmes casually "I have not yet solved the mystery of how she arrived here. And I do not intend on leaving it at that!"

* this date refers to the timeline of a french fanfiction of mine, entitled La Belle e(s)t la Bête. For an english translation, message me :)

Sources used throughout this fiction:

www. springhole. net

bulbapedia. bulbagarden. net

www. sherlockian

www. sshf

www. sherlockpeoria indexclassic. html

www. victorianlondon

betterholmesandgardens. blogspot. ca/

www. jadedcompass ocular_helmsman/

www. sherlocktron

www. bestofsherlock

www. victorianweb

victorianeralovers

www. victoriana

home. kendra victorianrituals/Victor/ritualsII. htm

www. avictorian

www. elegantwoman victorian-etiquette. html