Chapter Four: The Seamstress.
Disclaimer: I only own Adrianna Draper.
The 'seamstress' Sherlock knew was Adrianna Draper—one of the best fashion designers around, and touted as the next Prada or Gucci.
"Holmes!" An Irish accent caught our attention, and we saw Adrianna Draper walk in. Draper was a tall, broad woman, with straight black hair and olive toned skin. She wore a frothy pink dress and a wicked smile. Sherlock kissed her hand—she pulled it away and slapped him on his right side cheek. Sherlock winced.
"What was that for?!" A kiss to the left cheek, and she left him to examine the corpse, which still hadn't been moved yet.
"Dublin," she told him, briskly assessing the dress. I couldn't help but be impressed by her; the brisk manner, her ease with a murder victim, and her easy way with Holmes. Something about her was familiar. Perhaps she reminded me of Irene—or Moriarty, rather. Holmes was never surrounded by many people, but those women in his life; Ms Hudson, Moriarty, Adrianna… were all strong, confident women.
"Dublin! Oh, that was nothing. You're exaggerating."
"You vomited in every single room of my cottage, wrecked my car in a fit of anger, and had sex with almost every single girl in that village nearby! Their parents were furious with me!"
"That was fifteen years ago! I was young!"
"Your father fired me as your baby sitter and kicked me out onto the streets!"
"Which allowed you to pursue a career in fashion and build a clothing empire!" he pointed out, exasperated.
"Regardless! You were long overdue a slap."
"You've been making my waist coats for years—I thought you were over it."
"Over it?" she snorted. "You may be clever, Holmes, but that was remarkably unobservant of you. Your father pays me to make your waistcoats and mend them as necessary. I don't have to forgive you for that. Now, the dress. Very good work; whoever put this together has had absolutely no training before. It's glorious. Obviously based on Beauty and the Beast—remember when we watched that together? You loved the part with the candlesticks!—and it feels very well put together. Expensive materials have been used, and this just feels loved. We think the murderer did it?" Sherlock nodded. "Excellent. I would say you're looking for a woman, then. The way they've worked, it just feels more like a woman did it. I can usually tell the gender. A little talent I have. Now, something that is nagging at me about this is that it seems familiar. But I am fairly sure I've never seen work like this before." She moved away from the body, spotting the other outfits in the corner.
"Ah. These," she held up blue jeans and a purple sweater "can be purchased from stores and are not designer. The clothes the victim was taken in, perhaps. This dress on the other hand," now she held up a pink dress. "Is another imitation. We have the yellow dress on the victim; the master piece, the one that gives the immediate clue. This pink one was also in the movie. I believe it is at the part where the Beauty and the Beast are getting to know one another. And of course, that blue one crumpled up on the floor is the dress from the beginning, where Belle is a poor girl in a little village."
"Is it possible that he dressed her up in these outfits in turn, starting with the blue one and getting to the yellow one, going through the story with her?" Gregson asked. Sherlock nodded.
"Entirely possible that that's what happened. The blue dress is the last on the pile; the pink is on top of it. But there is a discrepancy. The clothes she wore when she was kidnapped are on top of the two others. Why? Surely they should have been at the bottom of the pile."
"Perhaps she was only allowed to wear the special clothes at certain times," I suggested. "I uh, mean. It's entirely plausible that the killer didn't want the clothes to get ruined, right? They spent ages making the clothes from scratch; doesn't it stand to reason they're special occasion clothes? Like dress up, but more sadistic. It's unlikely the killer was with the victim all the time, so why should the victim wear the clothes all the time?" I waited for someone to tell me to stop babbling, but nobody did. Instead, everyone was nodding.
"Are we about done yet? I have this divine design swirling around in my head, and I must jot it down," Adrianna said, her pretty brown eyes fixed on Sherlock.
"Yeah, I'd say we're all done here for the day. Bell, tell Clarkson he can come for the body now." Dismissal given, we all left, Adrianna and Sherlock bickering about old times and Bell looking for Clarkson—whoever that was.
"Miss Watson, I believe?" Adrianna asked. We were all walking down the street, Sherlock and I to the Subway, her to…wherever it was fancy fashion designers went.
"Yeah, I'm Joan."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I would have said hello earlier—Holmes here has told me plenty about the woman who stopped him from doing heroin—but the body put a bit of a dampener on things."
"Yet you still managed to embarrass me in front of my colleagues about Beauty and the Beast. I think you handled seeing your first corpse well," Sherlock informed her. Adrianna stuck her tongue out at him.
"You know when I talk to you I still turn into a little child."
"A very nice little child."
"Watch it, Holmes. That sounded a little creepy," she pushed him on the shoulder and their bickering continued. It was nice to just walk beside them and listen, a little smile on my face. Yes, Sherlock kept very little company. But the company he did keep was always very exciting, and that was perhaps what I loved most about my (admittedly unpaid) job.