A/N: A reviewer asked the questions on how characters relationships would change now that Sherlock's a woman and how a Victorian society would handicap her work. (This is why I want reviews, I need to know what questions/concerns people may have - It's how I get better).

Well the characters' relationship will be relatively unchanged, so unless I get high demands for romantic hints, there will be NO ROMANCE between Sherlene and any male character. I want to remain as true to the story presented in the TV Series as possible. So hopefully only little things will change (for example: Watson being more protective).

As for the Victorian society problem, well that one is more tricky but because The Three Gables adventure is a later Sherlock Holmes story (released in 1926) I'm not going to worry too much over it. In my mind, at this point in time Sherlene is well known. Nowadays, her clients understand that her gender is not a hindrance to her practice. Even if they do have a problem with her gender, they can't hide from the fact that she does get the results better and faster then the police.


By that afternoon, Sherlene Holmes and John Watson found themselves being lead the door of a two-story villa made of timber and yellow bricks with five red brick chimneys on its roof. The roof was green with three small projections, along with only three seen windows on the second story. They were being lead into the house by its owner, Mary Maberley. Mrs. Maberley was an elderly grandmother-like lady whose body still had a bundle of energy as evident by her non-hunching posture and lack of a walking stick. She was wearing a dark smoky dress, a sign of her widowhood.

"I knew your husband well, madam," Sherlene said as Mrs. Maberley led her and Watson into the sitting room, passing the young maid, Dora, along the way. "But it was some years ago."

Mrs. Maberley gave an amused chuckled as she lead her guests to a small circler table where some fresh cake lay, "It's been some years since he's been with us, the dear man." She gestured to the cake. "Will you try some of this?" Sherlene made to politely refuse but Maberley interrupted her by adding, "I baked it myself."

Deciding to resign herself to at least take a taste of the cake to please Mrs. Maberley, Sherlene sat down in the chair closest to the cake. Watson made to sit down when he noticed something just past Mrs. Maberley's shoulder. "That's Douglas Maberley!"

Both Sherlene and Mrs. Maberley fallowed Watson's gaze to a oil painting of a man in his twenties with blonde soft-looking and bouncy hair. He had a sharp but fine-looking young face and narrow dark eyes that made him even handsomer. Sherlene noticed Mrs. Maberley's face became a little sadder as she looked at the painting.

"Yes," she said as she took her seat at the table

"I knew him slightly," explained Watson, oblivious to the change in Mrs. Maberley's mood as he sat down still looking at the painting. "Ah, he's a splendid fellow. Plays rugby for my old club, Blackheath. "

"I'm his grandmother."

"Oh," Watson said, pleasantly surprised as he turned his attention back to her, still unaware of the sadness Sherlene could detect in the old woman.

"I was his grandmother," Mrs. Maberley corrected herself, "He died a month ago."

Watson's eyes widened in surprise, though Sherlene had expected the news that Douglas had died not too long ago. The dark colors of Mrs. Maberley's dress, the blotchiness under her eyes, the black cloth on the picture frame and on the table under the painting, the way the table was set up, the items on the table, and the fact the painting was in the sitting room of all places had pointed toward a recent passing away of a loved member of the family.

Sherlene had mistaken Mrs. Maberley's dress as that of a widower but in actuality it was the sign of a mourner. The blotchiness showed that the elderly lady cried a lot and recently. The black cloth decor around painting was that of a makeshift memorial. The items on the table were those belonging to a young man. The makeshift memorial being in the sitting room, the one place in the house where Mrs. Maberley spent most of her time showed she had not yet let him go.

"Died?" Watson asked, astonished as though the thought of a young man like Douglas dead at his age was impractical.

"You hadn't heard?" Now Mrs. Maberley was surprised but she quickly realized how impossible it would have been for Watson to hear of his death. "It was a sad ending."

"I'm so sorry," Watson apologized with sincerity "He seemed so full of life and energy. It is hard to connect."

"He lived too intensely," Mrs. Maberley told him, her voice saddening in memory "It was the ruin of him."

"Was it an accident? The last I heard, he had been appointment attaché to our embassy in Rome."

Mrs. Maberley looked away from Watson to move her gaze around the room as though lost in her memory, "He died in this house. From pneumonia they say. Brought on by a ruptured spleen." She then came back to herself as she took a deep breath in. She held it for a few seconds then began talking again, her sad mood vanishing slowly but not completely away. "But it is not to talk of my grandson that I asked you here."

Taking that as a cue, Sherlene leaned forward to draw Mrs. Maberley's attention to her. "We are here, please, to give you service," she assured

"Thank you."

The old woman made herself more comfortable and began to explain the strange happenings that made her call Sherlene in the first place. "Well…I've been in this house for over a year now, leading a retired life. Three days ago I had a call from a house agent…"


Three days ago…

"The money is no object madam," the man who said that he was a house agent told her.

"But there are several empty houses on around here on the market."

"No, this! My client's heart is set on this one.

It all seemed very strange to Mrs. Maberley. Why should anyone want her house so badly? She had seen little of her neighbors, wanting to live a quiet life of retirement despite her wish to travel, as she could not afford to do so when her husband had passed on. She could not see how someone would have heard of her house, much less want to live out here.

"Will you name your price?" the agent asked


"I suggested £500 more then I gave for it. But he said that his client…"


"My client desires to buy the furniture as well."

If suspicions were like flags, Mrs. Maberley's began to rise up at this new development although she was initially unaware of it. She could understand wanting to buy the house but why would someone want her furnishings? The furniture was one of the few things she had left in her possession now.

"All of it?"

"Everything!"

"But some of it is very good."

"Just state your price, Mrs. Maberley."


"So I did…a good round sum. He agreed at once. You see; I always wanted to travel. Around the world, if I could. It's a legacy left to me by my dear Mortimer. Alas, we never really achieved it."

"The man returned the next day with everything he drawn up?"

"Yesterday. Luckily I showed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer."


Yesterday…

Mr. Sutro slowly lowered the agreement Mrs. Maberley had given him to examine to see if the agreement it was good. His face was scrunched up with confusion. "This is very strange. Are you aware that you cannot take anything out of the house? No even your own personal possessions?"

The suspicion Mrs. Maberley had felt earlier when she heard that the agent's client wanted to buy her furnishings became clear to her then.

"Not my clothes? My jewelry?"

"Anything."


"When the man returned to the house, you pointed this out?"

"Yes. He said I might take some personal effects. But that nothing should go out of this house unchecked."


"My client is very liberal. But has fads and a way of doing things. I'm afraid it must be everything." The man handed her his pen. "Or nothing for my client."

Mrs. Maberley lowered the pen. "Then…it must be nothing."


Present…

Mrs. Maberley fished through a small pot filled with folded old papers and calling cards. She plucked out the one calling card she had been given three days ago, stood up and handed the card to Watson. "Here it is."

"Haynes Johnson? No address." Watson read off without surprise. He turned back to Mrs. Maberley "I doubt we shall find him in the directory. Honest men don't conceal their place of business."

Sherlene's sharp ear suddenly caught a particular sound that did not fit in the quiet environment of the sitting room. The only sounds that Sherlene could hear in and from the sitting room were the gentle tapings of Watson and Mrs. Maberley's shoes against the floor. The call of a robin could be heard from the slightly open window peering into the front yard, along with the slight breeze of wind. This particular sound did not belong.

Tuning out any other noise, her mind focused on this one noise and started analyzing. It was the swish of air but it sounded as though someone was gasping heavily. Yet the pitch was squeaky and whiny. It reminded Sherlene of breath being forced out through a stuffy nose.

The unexpected bellow from the until-then-silent Sherlene startled both Watson and Mrs. Maberley badly enough that it felt as though their very bones would leap out of their skin. They turned around just in time to see Sherlene struck the wall near the entryway of the hall with her cane. There was cry of alarm, though forced and startled, from who or whatever it was Sherlene wanted to surprise. Watson just saw the flash of a thin arm from beyond the entryway before Sherlene surge forward with her cane out. The hooked handle of the cane caught something and Sherlene gave a mighty pull, dragging out whomever she had seen into Watson and Mrs. Maberley's line of sight.

The cane had caught hold of the arm Watson had briefly seen. The arm was attached to a thin, sickly-faced, brownish blonde-haired woman. The woman was gasping heavily having lost her breath from being startled badly by Sherlene striking the wall she had been hidden behind. She was awkwardly fighting against the cane attached on her arm, but most of her focus was on regaining control of her breathing.

Using the cane, Sherlene dragged the woman to a wall and pushed her against it. Sherlene then unhooked the handle from the woman's arm and then held the end of cane against the side of the spy's neck. The way Sherlene was holding the cane was in no way threatening, but it was enough to warn the lady that she did not want her to move. However, the woman did not look like she could move away anytime soon. Her eyes were watery with painful discomfort and a thin hand pressed against her chest, trying to force herself to stop heaving so violently.

Seeing how the woman got her implication to not move away from that spot, Sherlene then took a step back and sat down in the seat behind her but she kept the cane raised just in case. "Just a little wheezy for eavesdropping, huh?" she asked the woman

"I…" The woman paused to take in another calmer breath though her voice was still high and shaky. She looked towards Mrs. Maberley as if she would save her from Sherlene's critical gaze, "I just came in to find out if the visitors were…staying for lunch…Madame."

Sherlene was unimpressed with the weak lie as she waved the cane still pointed at the woman, slightly threatening. "Don't force me to use this," she warned, "Mrs. Maberley?"

The elder lady blinked out of her surprise shock at seeing the spying woman and gave the woman detective her attention. "Did you mention to anyone that you were going to consult me?"

"I did not Miss Holmes," Mrs. Maberley answered

"Who posted the letter?"

"Susan did."

"Susan?"

Mrs. Maberley gestured to the woman Sherlene was holding at bay. "Ah."

Sherlene turn back to Susan, glaring harshly at the wheezy woman, "To whom did you sent your message?"

"I…sent no message."

"Tell me!"

"Susan! I remember now!" Mrs. Maberley cried, "I saw you speaking to someone over the hedge."

Susan's face harden in defense. "That was my own business Madame." Had her voice not been so rough of the wheezes, she would have sounded defensive.

"Barney Stockdale?" Sherlene asked

"Fine chance that it be. I don't even know the man."

"It is worth ten pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of this."

"Someone who could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you have in the world."

"Was he a rich man?"

Susan smiled.

"No. You smiled. A rich woman." Sherlene clicked her tongue. "Tell me the name and earn the money."

Susan leaned forward as she glared. Somehow she managed to make her wheezy voice drop into a menacing if tight tone, "I see you in hell first!" She stepped away from the wall and turned her glare towards Mrs. Maberley. "I'll send for my box tomorrow…Madame." With that, she threw the ring of keys Mrs. Maberley had given her and stomped out of the room, down the hall and through the front door, leaving behind a confused elderly woman, a contemplating lady and a watchful gentleman doctor.

For a few moments, there was quiet.

Sherlene broke the silence with a non-exaggerated proclaim of: "This gang means business!"

"But what could they possible want?" Mrs. Maberley asked, though she was oblivious to the gang part of Sherlene's proclaim. She did however believe Sherlene was meaning the mysterious client that wanted to buy her house and furnishing. But now that the elder knew that Susan was indeed a spy in her house during her time under her employment, she felt cold shivers of fear. She turned to the portrait of her grandson as if it would give her some comfort and sense of security.

"Mrs. Maberley," Watson spoke for the first time since Sherlene discovered Susan spying on them. "You say you've been in this house for nearly a year?"

Mrs. Maberley turned back to face him. "Nearly two."

"So for nearly two years, no one has taken any particular interest in the house? And then suddenly within three or four days, urgent demands are made for it and it's contents? Something new must have been brought into the house."

"No," was Mrs. Maberley's answer "I haven't bought anything new for a year."

Sherlene watched Susan through the window, surveying her departure as she listened to Watson and Mrs. Maberley. "This Susan? How long has she been with you?"

"Almost three weeks."

"Since your grandson's death?" the woman detective asked still watching the window.

"A week after. She presented herself and…I took her in, I suppose without proper reference."

That settled it then, thought Sherlene. Whatever it was Susan was brought into the house to find, it had something to do with the late Douglas Maberley and most likely his connections to Rome. But the first question that needed answering was who the rich woman that employed Susan was and what her connection was to Douglas.

Once Sherlene was certain Susan was gone, she picked off a morsel of the cake Mrs. Maberley had offered her earlier with her forefinger and thumb. She plucked the bit of cake into her mouth, gave it a couple thoughtful chews before swallowing with a delighted smile, proclaiming that it was delicious. It was tactical way to keep Mrs. Maberley away from her overly worried thoughts about her mistake with Susan. A simple compliment to an old lady's cooking was a great way to make them feel better after all.