The flat turned out to be very nice. The layout was the same, although the furniture that
was in there was more feminine. The view of the street more to my liking.
"Miss Watson, I can help you with anything you need." Mrs. Hudson assured me.
"Why thank you, but please, my name is Olivia. I'd like it very much if you call me
by that."
"That I will do, . . . .Olivia." Her smile brightened the room.
After she left me to myself, I looked through my trunk. Everything had changed,
except for a pair of worn in black jeans, pajama tank top and pants, and a black shirt. My
reading trunk held most of the same books, although there now was a addition of a few
books on British Victorian etiquette.
I caught my self sneaking a glance at a mirror, hoping *I* didn't look different.
Of course I was the same. The nearly black brunette hair that I kept at a, for my
time, strange, waist length was still the same, it was in it a bun. My amber eyes peered
cautiously at me and the porcelain pale complexion I hated was the same.
I surprised myself when I looked down. The outfit was a dark cranberry, and was
styled perfectly. I guess I'm on top of the fashion section, I thought.
I packed my things where they should be, and sat, watching the fire. I guessed that
this was a Victorian form of television. But this channel seemed to be showing boring
shows..
When someone knocked at the door, I went and answered it. I wished I didn't.
"Why, hello," Holmes stepped into the room, not asking permission, "nice place
you have here. Don't you think, Watson?"
From the doorway, my "brother" nodded in agreement.
"Your hair is black," I said flatly. "What were you disguised as before?"
"Nothing," he shrugged. "I did it for fun."
Holmes sat in the equivalent of his own chair downstairs, and grabbed the two
articles of clothing I had left out; my purse and jeans.
"Men's trousers? And this sack?" He raised an eyebrow at me.
I quickly grabbed them back. "In my time. Women wear *jeans* more than
dresses. We've found the freedom much nicer. And this 'sack' is my purse. I carry my
things that I need in it." Burrowing through bag, I found my cell phone.
"Yes!" I shrieked, causing questionable glances from my guests. I thought that
this might be my way back home. I turned it on and saw the roaming bar, crestfallen.
I was in a deadzone.
"But of course, what was I to think? That just because I had it it would work?
For goodness' sake, they don't even have a telephone yet!" I fell on to a couch.
"A telephone?" Watson asked.
"It's how you can talk to people even if you're miles away. This is a cell phone. It
can be used more freely than a regular phone." I explained wearily, then sat up. "Holmes,
someone's at your door."
Holmes stood up and listened for a moment, then looked at me. "How did you
hear that?"
I shrugged and looked at him. "I have a good sense of hearing, although I have
better uses. You better go find at who's out the door."
The two left, and I went to my room and changed into pajamas, thinking I was
going to have a peaceful sleep.
I didn't. Holmes came into the room by pick-locking the door.
"Excuse me, do you know what 'courtesy' means?" I demanded.
"No, not really. Watson already was asleep and I had to ask you about
something."
"Fire away."
"Well," he paused, "first may I ask what that thing is on your arm."
I looked at my arm, "Oh that, it's a tattoo, I thought they had them in this time."
"Well, we do, but only . . circus women wear them."
"It's quite fashionable to have one in my time. It's an onc. It's the ancient
Egyptian symbol for life. My Mum is Egyptian, I lived there for a couple of years."
"And the magnifying glass?" He asked awkwardly.
"Oh," I blushed. "That was an accident. I'd gone to get a tattoo because I had
moved from New Jersey to New York City. I told the artist that my name was Watson
and I wanted a surprise, as long as it was totally appropriate for anyone, and I got this.
Kinda a 'Holmes and Watson' symbol. He placed it in there for a strange reason. Said it
would help me someday."
"Ah, I see." He sat in the chair, fingertips together. "What's your story? What
will you tell people about your family?"
"Umm, I'll tell them that Watson is my brother, and that I went to a boarding
school in France. My brother and I were never very close, although we don't hate each
other."
"Very nice." He gave me a questioning look. "So what did you mean that you
'have other uses'?"
"I'm multifunctional. If you ever want someone to penetrate the mysterious world
of women and get any information you want. I could also help you when it comes to
Professor Moriarty's thugs. Just tell me what you need me to do."
"You?" He laughed and looked at me like I was from another planet. "You're a
women!"
I rose to my feet. " 'A women'? You think because of my gender I'm useless?"
Desperate times call for desperate measures, I thought. "Punch me in the face."
"Although I find that a thought, I *am* a gentlem-" He couldn't finish the sentence,
I slapped him on the face. He lunged at me and was about to grab me by the shoulders in
rage. Pulling the front of his shirt, I fell backwards and threw him over me He tumbled
into the next room and I grabbed the Girl Scout knife I always carried with me. His eyes
widened when he saw it pointed at him. I made a half turn and threw it at bug on the wall
who's life ended quickly. Smiling smugly and going back to my chair, I opened the
Sherlock Holmes Dictionary that I kept with me for a little 'light reading'.
"I suppose I was . . . . wrong," he hesitated, then added quickly, "at least about
you."
I smiled politely. "'Only one thing I know and that is that I know nothing'. You
should take a lesson from Socrates."
He shook his head and started to mutter something. It sounded a bit vulgar.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out." I said sweetly as he opened the door,
he turned to say a comeback, but I said something before him.
"Don't try opening that door without knocking again, I'll get a dog if I have to."
Later on, as I lay in bed, I thought of the tattoo and the onc. Did that messed-up
symbol for life save my life? Did that artist know what it would