Chapter One: The Case of The woma-Lady K
Disclaimer: You know the drill; I'm not making monetary profit off of this, so on and so forth.
Reviews and PMs are always welcomed and given a good home.
Acknowledgments: I have to thank all of the betas for helping me with grammar and punctuation, brit-picking, suggestions and reminders of what they liked. Slogging through this on my own would have been impossible. Other Beta's have been very busy, so as they get back to me, I will add them into the acknowledgments also!
TheDubliner: For the encouragement and the conversation. I don't think this would have seen the 'publish' button if not for you.
MeiHitokiri: For the tireless work and quick turn-around
xXMildredXx: For the enthusiasm and wonderful stories to remind me why I wanted to do this in the first place.
thisisforyou:For being the first to look at this story, as raw as it was. And for pointing out the good bits.
SapphireElric:For fixing my American influenced spelling and chapter break suggestions.
Sianco: For the meticulous work and effort you put into helping me sharpen sentences, for making them flow better and for fixing my horrendous dialogue punctuation. Also for giving more " . " (periods) a home and " , " (commas) a better life.
Kanna-chan94: For the awesome rush job you pulled to get notes back to me!
He was lounging in the flat, staring at the wall in concentration. "...Aha," he said aloud to himself. It was evident, really.
He picked his mobile up from the chesterfield arm and dialed Lestrade. "It's not the father at all; it's the sister. Look in her bottom left hand dresser drawer underneath the photo album. She's probably kept some sort of trophy; a way to remind herself that she avenged her brother's killer."
"How do you know that?" Lestrade demanded through the speaker.
"Lestrade, I thought you would know by now. My superior intellect." He hung up on the inspector and replaced the phone in its previous spot. He pushed himself up off the sofa and strode into the kitchen.
The kettle was boiling and two tea bags were in the teapot when he heard Mrs. Hudson ascending the stairs. "In here, Mrs. Hudson!" he hollered out to her once she was on the landing.
"Oh look at this mess!" She muttered to herself as she came through the living room into the kitchen.
He figured that she was either talking about the piles of newspapers John collected for 'research,' or she was referring to the various fungi he had placed throughout the house on sections of furnishings, on the books, on the floor and on the walls. He had also placed one on the ceiling fan but he doubted she could see that one.
"Sherlock, there's a rather... Racy looking woman here to see you." Mrs. Hudson said; the usual note of concern in her voice.
"Of course. Do send her up, Mrs. Hudson, and bring us some of those raspberry tarts you have in the fridge downstairs, thank you."
"Now I know it is none of my business Sherlock but if you need to see a woman like that, well...Oh I'll just mind my own business."
"Always the best course of action, Mrs. Hudson." He affirmed.
She gave him a worried little smile, shuffled through the living room muttering. "Just look at the state of things..." before descending the wooden stairs.
As the kettle began to whistle a woman in an expensive black day dress, even more expensive yellow shoes and an equally expensive jacket came into the kitchen.
"You have to be Mr. Holmes," she said, extending her hand to him. He categorized her hand; long neat fingernails, but the paint on them, (a very pale blue) had begun to chip, probably meaning she didn't do any hard labour. She didn't type very much, nor was she often in the kitchen. Judging from the bit of nail peeking through at the cuticle the paint was at least a week old, maybe more, but not more than three weeks old. Her fingers were dainty and smooth; she used moisturizer on them regularly and didn't use the cheap stuff.
Her right hand had only one ring on it, a ruby in white gold on her second finger. The sleeves of her jacket were just a bit frayed but the rest of it was in near mint condition, meaning the coat was older but well taken care of.
"I am. Please, sit down." He told her, setting two empty teacups on the kitchen table. Even though he hadn't sat yet, she took the chair facing him. She removed her jacket and let it rest between her and the chair.
Interesting.
"You can call me Lady K. I'm here about-" He cut her off. "I'm fully aware what you are here about." He brought over the pot of tea, setting it down before making an unnecessary fuss over finding the sugar.
When he returned, everything was how he had left it.
"Tea?" He asked her briskly.
"Yes, please." She said, hands folded in her lap.
He poured her some tea without taking his eyes off of her.
"So I'm here because -"
He cut her off again, "Just one moment." He poured himself some tea and put a single spoonful of sugar in his cup, then a tad of milk. She didn't touch them until he offered. She took both.
Mrs. Hudson came back up with four tarts on a little plate.
Sherlock got up and went to take them off her."Thank you Mrs. Hudson." He set the plate on the table while his landlady retreated back to her rooms.
He took a sip of tea and the woma - Lady K, followed suit.
"You're here about the dead call-girls, presumably overdose is the cause of death, at least that's what the morons at Scotland Yard think, but someone thinks otherwise, the only question is: whom?"
"How do you know that's why I am here?" She asked, her blue eyes sparkling. She was amused.
"Mrs. Hudson said you were racy, I didn't see why at first but I caught on. Your attire is completely proper but just a bit off, the shoes an inch too high and your dress has been hemmed at least once to shorten it. Say what you want about Mrs. Hudson but she knows her women for hire when she sees one, evidently her husband used to bring women of the night home. Reason enough to have him executed." He took a sip of his tea, "So, who thinks this wasn't an accident?"
"Mr Holmes, I think that."
"Of course, you're their... pimp? Is that the word they use these days?"
"In a manner of speaking." She replied, sipping her own tea.
"Would you like a tart?" he asked her, dismissing the answer she had given him.
"No thank you Mr. Holmes, what I would like is to talk about this case."
Sherlock frowned to himself, looked out the window and told her; "Fine, what is your theory? Not that it matters because it is most likely wrong, but...Humour me."
The wom- Lady K put her teacup down. She hadn't even blinked when he insulted her. Someone had warned her about him. He felt the prickle of surprise.
"I don't know who did it, that's why I'm coming to you." She said matter-of-factly.
"Tell me why you think they didn't overdose on the hottest street drug at the moment?"
"Because we have a strict policy against it."
"And no one has broken the rules before?"
"Of course they have, but these girls were in it for the money."
"Right. Well then." He got up, left his tea where it was and put his jacket on.
"Where are you going?" The wo- Lady K asked.
"To look at the bodies. Where else?"
Last Authors Note: Through out the story two names from the original Arthur Conan Doyle stories will come up; the reader who first identifies both those names and which story (or stories) they are from, will get a character (an OC) of their making put in the next fic I write, "The Baby's Breath Case". That story will feature John and Sherlock, but for now I don't have plans for that one being a slash story.
Who is Lady K? Is she actually Irene Adler, or is she a new player on the board? Find out next Tuesday!