Chapter Three: The Many Faces of Women

"You spoke like a drunkard, Jack."

"No offence, Holmes, but at the time I was a drunkard."

I lay on my back in a field of soft green grasses, plucking the tallest from my range of vision as I stared into the cloudless sky. Holmes stood, a displeased expression on his face. He disapproved of my words to Joan McGuiness, while I found them totally appropriate. I shifted on the grass to turn to him.

"Holmes, why is it that you never settled in with a woman? I hear they can be dreadfully handy." My encouraging smile was not mirrored on his own face. He turned his back to me, staring out over the ocean.

"I have never found a woman that was to my liking. There are very few women in the world who have come to earn my respect." He turned back, staring as if to grind a point into me. "One of which poisoned her entire family."

"The other being the infamous Irene Adler," I said with a laugh. Holmes' face was decidedly pale, more so than usual.

"Yes," he murmured. "I was also referring to Ms. Adler."

"The only woman to ever outsmart Sherlock Holmes," I added, picking off another piece of grass and flicking it into the breeze. "I've always wondered, Holmes, if you ever had feelings for Ms. Adler."

"Of course I didn't," Holmes said gruffly. I hadn't noticed that his teeth were grinding together as he said so.

"But, to Sherlock Holmes, she was always 'the woman.'" I quoted loudly.

Holmes rounded viciously.

"She was a criminal, Jack, and for you to even consider that I 'had feelings' for Ms. Adler, you would be greatly mistaken." His voice was thin. The anger was taut in his face, but his voice was low. So low, it was nearly carried off by the wind. I sat up, staring timidly into the face of my mentor.

"Holmes, I'm sorry-" I started. But he wasn't finished.

"While you dip into the drink and cavort with women younger than you, the world sinks lower into disarray and confusion. Only with a trained mind, unfettered to women and alcohol, can a detective do his lot in life: keep the public safe."

"Holmes, you yourself took opium-"

"This has nothing to do with that," he snapped. I had never seen this side of Holmes, only read about it somewhere in the vague past.

"I said that I was sorry, Holmes. What else do you want me to say?" I asked, standing to my full height. I was nearly as tall as he was. We stood like that, eye to eye, gray on green, for a long while. Then my eyes fluttered open.

"Mr. Holmes," it was a woman's voice calling to me. I hissed in a painful breath as I felt cold fingers gently probing my wound. Apparently the thugs had hit me on the side of the face, for it was swelling. As my vision focused, I saw a blonde-haired girl hovering over me, and I groaned, wanting to retreat back into myself.

"Judy," I muttered. "How'd I get home?" The headache from the alcohol was beginning. The orphan placed a cold washcloth on my swelling face.

"Ms. Joan brought you here, and told me and Ronny to look after you." I became aware of Ron standing behind Judy, his face pulled tight with worry.

"Where's Watson?" I asked. Judy looked at Ron with a coy smile, then back to me.

"Ms. Joan said that he went with Ms. Sara to the river for a 'moonlight stroll.'" Judy ran a comforting hand over my swollen face. She had grown up quickly. She was hardly thirteen, yet she looked like a budding young woman already. But she still wore rags and let her hair become dirty and tangled. As many times as I offered, she preferred to live on the streets than take up quarters at Baker Street. I had a feeling that it had something to do with Ron.

"Hey, Jack," Ron knelt down next to the sofa (where I had obviously been lain) with a smile on his features. "How'd it happen?" he asked. To make his point, he pointed to his own face as if he had been the one to be punched. I sat up, my head swimming, and gathered my wits.

"Be glad you didn't come, Ron. Ms. Joan attracted the attentions of some rather unpleasant folk. Another bit of advice, my young brother... Don't attempt to fight when you've consumed great amounts of alcohol." I held my head steady, the pain throbbing in my brain. So this was a hangover. "So much for trying to uphold a lady's honor, when I can't even keep my own."

"Oh, quiet,": Ron said indignantly. "You've got loads more honor than any old thug does. And trust me, I know a few." A light went off in my aching head, and I turned to my brother.

"Ron, Judy... You've lived on the streets. Do you know of a gang... There were five members present at the party. The leader, or so he seemed to be, was tall, maybe 21, with shot blonde hair and-" I wracked my brain, "-a fang-shaped earring." Ron thought for a moment, then shook his head. Judy bit her lip.

"I know them," she said quietly. "I don't remember what they call themselves, but I know the man you're talking about, Mr. Holmes. His name is Charlie Fulham, but his gang just calls him Drake." She had visibly paled, and her eyes looked everywhere but at myself or Ron when she'd told us. I looked on concernedly.

"Thank you, Judy. I'll take the matter to Scotland Yard when I am able to walk again." I stood, my feet unstable, and stretched. "In the meantime-"

"Jack!" A voice from behind me made me turn quickly. I lost my footing and fell back onto the couch slovenly. Joan was standing in the corridor leading to our rooms. Her rain dress had been sloughed off, and she was in a simple dress, and her hair was wet. She'd been in our flat the whole time. Blush rose to my face.

"J-Joan," I stuttered, losing my voice. "What are you-"

"Where were you planning on going?" She asked, her face a mixture of concern and anger. "Do you think you'd make it out the door without falling over?"

"I had no intention-"

She was suddenly sitting beside me, inspecting the wound Judy had been treating. She gave a small "tsk" and shook her head, watching me with sad eyes.

"You should've just let me deal with them, Jack," she said slowly. "You were very drunk."

"So I've been reminded," I said venomously, thinking of Holmes. Joan turned to Ron and Judy.

"Judy, could you go find out something more about that man you were talking about? What gang he's in?" Joan asked. Judy nodded, and was gone in the blink of an eye. "Ron, would you nip on down to the chemist's for something to put on your brother's face? It's not getting much better on its own."

"Uh, right," Ron muttered. He reached into my billfold and took off. I sighed, gingerly touching the side of my face.

"The great detective reduced to a fighting drunkard," I murmured. Perhaps Holmes had been right in that respect. And I'd probably been too hard on him in the first place. I'd be sure to make it up to him.

That was when she started kissing me.

One warm hand was centered on the back of my neck, fingers in my hair. Her lips had taken me quite by surprise. I could hardly do anything but give in. But I pulled back, breaking the embrace. Joan's hand quickly dropped from the back of my neck to her lap, suddenly demure again.

"Joan, what are you...? Why did you kiss me?" I asked, for the lack of a better question. She looked at me as if hurt.

"I thought you said you wanted to kiss me, Jack."

"I-I did?" The memories came flooding back: Joan in her shimmering dress, the alcohol, the dancing, the proximity we shared on the bench, how she'd smelled of champagne. "I did." We were still very close, and it would have been very easy to just lean forward and continue what I had broken away from. But I pulled back even further. "I... I need to take a walk," I announced.

Before I had time to say anything more, to apologize or take back any words, I had pulled on my coat and hat and strode out of the flat. I felt like a cur leaving her there, but I didn't know what else I could do. I was baffled, which was saying something for me. I let my feet take me where they wanted to go. Despite the chilly October air, my nerves began to calm and I gathered all of my bearings.

It was dawn, I realized. The sun had been abed when I left Baker Street, but as I crested a hill, I could see that the sun was slowly peeking above the horizon. I had arrived at the River Thames. How I had gotten there, I had no idea. I strolled idly down its banks, kicking stones hither and there, gazing out across the shimmering waters.

'Jack,' Holmes called from inside of me.

"You were right, Holmes," I told him, tossing a flat stone across the river. It skipped three times before sinking below the surface.

'I did not come to be condescending,' he admitted with a softer tone. 'But I am glad that finally grasp what it is I had been saying.'

"I left her in the flat, Holmes." I was angry with myself. "Who's to say she won't be waiting there with a brick to smash my face in? The woman is a bit unstable, shy and coy at one moment and thrusting her tongue down my throat the next." With a sigh I folded my arms across my chest and stared across the river. "I'm not sure what to think about her, Holmes. She's very beautiful..."

'It depends on your opinion, Jack.'

"Beauty isn't everything, of course." I trailed off. "I wonder what Ron will think when he returns to find Ms. Joan and not me sitting on the sofa."

"You left her there all by herself?"

I spun, for a second time, to find someone I didn't realize was there. Ron was sitting, quiet and unnoticed, on a bit of driftwood. He held ointment in one hand and was staring at me with incredulity.

"Did she really try to kiss you, Jack?" Ron asked with a wide grin.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked with apprehension.

"Long enough to know that you like to talk to yourself." He hopped down from his perch. "Now I finally know that you're my big brother. How far did you get?"

"Ron!" My face burned. "That's none of your business, and she was the one that decided to kiss me!" Ron stepped forward. My eyes darted to his feet. "Don't move another step," I warned in a low voice.

"What, am I about to step in-" He looked at his feet, and his face turned pale in an instant. A human body, covered in a red cloak, was strewn at his feet. He stumbled back, tripping over the driftwood and trembling. I stepped up to the body, checking it for any vital signs. There were none. I turned the body over, and I was met with the face of a young woman, eyes open and contracted in perpetual fear. Pain gripped at my heart. She was young, maybe 16. Ron's age. Emotion caught in my throat, but I forced it down.

"Ron, go to Scotland Yard. Find Inspector Lestrade. Mention my name; he knows me. Tell him that Jack Holmes has found the body of a young female on the bank of the Thames."

"R-right," Ron stuttered. He tried to walk a few times, stumbled, then was off. I knelt beside the body. I knew her face, but it escaped me as to who she was. No one close, that was for sure. It would be a while before the police showed up. I had a long time to think about it.

It was 15 minutes later that I realized who she was. I had seen her at the Halloween party. She'd asked to dance with me. When I'd asked her name, all she'd given me was, "I'm Little Red Riding-Hood!"

Looks like the wolf had won this time.

AN: All right... So, how are things in the Holmes section? Thought I'd ask cuz I've been gone so long. I hope no one missed me too terribly. But after watching "Great Mouse Detective" I'm back on Holmes. So, hopefully, I'll update regularly now. And I hope all the extra character development isn't getting anyone miffed at me. ... I'M BACK! BOO-YAH! Sorry. Had o do it. Enjoy the new chapter, everyone, and happy reading!