AN: This is my first Sherlock Holmes story. Please tell me if you like it or not and why.

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes © Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sarah Ann Llewellyn, the Thieves' Guild, The Vampire Council and other OC © Kamikashi. Storyline © Kamikashi.

Now Enjoy "Milady Vampire".

Moon 2: Raven, Crow, Magpie

Holmes however retrieved her cloak from a chair in the room. "Or in other words, a Vampire under Vampires, the epitome of a Vampire. But your cloak hid also another part of your identity. As I found your watch, I also found these." With this, he pulled out of another pocket of the cloak something black and shimmering.

As he showed it to us, I gasped and Llewellyn yelped, "No!"

Holmes smirked. "Care to explain yourself, Milady?" In my friend's open palms laid three bundles of black raven wing feathers.

Our guest breathed uncontrollably, and with a miserable sound, she fell into a dead faint. Immediately, the mocking smile dropped from my friend's face and he placed the feathers on the bedside table beside the Vampire book by van Helsing and his knife.

"What was that good for, Holmes?" I demanded with anger in my voice. "No matter if she is a Vampire, she is a patient right now, and it was irresponsible to shock her so much!" Carefully, I placed the covers over her again. In some way, in my shock and anger about the behaviour of my friend, I had gladly accepted that our guest was a Vampire.

Holmes stepped beside me, to the right side of the bed. "Do you realize that we have got the most dangerous and most skilled agent in all of London as our involuntary guest, my friend?"

I sighed. I knew he was right. The wing feather of a raven was the "business card" of The Raven, a member of the most ancient surviving combine of thieves, burglars, assassins and »informants« (spies) in all of London, even Britain. The legendary Thieves' Guild, whose loyalties were only to themselves and The Crown. "To speak in more fanciful words, we stopped a fox from eating the Queen of London's magpies the other day…"

Holmes chuckled. "Indeed. However, I didn't expect to see Master Raven so soon again after we helped »The Guild« destroying a newer organisation, or, as they put it, one without honour. I am curious to hear from herself what the meaning of this one was, although… They do not engage in certain businesses."

"Indeed, gentlemen." I turned my head in surprise, as did Holmes. Llewellyn struggled to raise herself up again. "Forgive me my weakness, gentlemen, it seems like I lost a greater amount of power than it is convenient to me. Furthermore, most of my vampiric abilities are sealed." Her countenance was grim, telling us that the one who did this to her was a dead man. Longing for revenge and anger about being degraded and humiliated like this was written all over her face. "About our organization, we are freelance agents of the crown. To ourselves, there are three crimes which will be paid with your life, stealing from another thief, disgrace and treason. Disgrace means engaging in a business outside of our codex of honour." This entire she spoke in a weak, trembling voice. "One who puts himself into disgrace is given free to be chased by the officials or people like you, Mr Holmes; or in other words, anyone you put behind bars by now is either one who is not a member of ours or someone who made enough mistakes in his career to be a risk." She closed her eyes and reopened them. "We cannot afford fools within our lines."

"For they will weaken the entire combine, or am I mistaken, Lord Raven?" my friend asked, a mischievous smile in his grey eyes as he turned up the lamp.

"You are not, Mr Holmes; but don't you dare to name me like that in here, without my mask." Although I felt a bit uneasy now, with her being a 'Vampire' and a Great Thief, I had to admire her. Even in her weakened state, she was able to keep up her dignity and masterful aura we had experienced only a few weeks ago at the Guild Hall.

Holmes bowed his head shortly and focussed his gaze on her eyes again. "Forgive my mistake, My Lady. But one has to wonder why you were in Baker Street at all."

The Peeress smiled tiredly. "It would be a pleasure to tell you, gentlemen, but first I would prefer to have some breakfast and something to regain my strength a bit." She turned to me. "If you don't mind, Doctor, I would appreciate it if you help me to my feet, for I would prefer it if I could have breakfast at the table. And also something to cover my decency would be very nice of you, gentlemen."

I was about to protest as I noticed her facial expression. Her features told clearly that denial was unacceptable. But again, Holmes caught me by surprise as he turned around to retrieve a dressing gown our landlady left the other day on the side board and placed it nonchalantly in Cardiff's hands. "My Lady."

"Thank you, gentlemen." The Marchioness nodded in a gesture of gratitude.

"My pleasure, My Lady." He went to the door. Turning his head back again, he said: "Watson, I would appreciate it if you would help your 'patient' here to get ready while I ring for Mrs. Hudson. When you are done with breakfast, meet me in the study, please." And so he was gone.

I turned to the peeress and helped her to her feet and into the dressing gown. "Is he not going to join us with breakfast, doctor?" she asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

Leading her to the dining table, I shook my head. "No, not if he is in this mood, but I cannot remember that he was ever that troubled."

In the meantime, Mrs. Hudson had been swift in preparing a healthy breakfast for our guest and me. Unfortunately, the smell of her wonderful cooking was soon overshadowed by the smell of Holmes's strong tobacco. Upon noticing the smoke, Cardiff coughed. "What a dreadful smell… do not tell me he is a smoker."

I shook my head in regret. "I wish I could say otherwise, but he indulges himself in some more unhealthy habits. His usual excuse for smoking is that he needs it to think," I told her with a forced smile. To tell the truth I wished Holmes would stop these foolishnesses he put his body through, the tobacco being close to nothing compared to the narcotics he used on occasion.

"I must have been really desperate if I drew on his blood." she murmured, taking a bite of her eggs.

"What do you mean by this, Milady?" I asked, puzzled.

Our guest shook her head, focusing on her food once more. "Never mind, it is not important right now."

Seeing that she was not going to explain herself further, I concentrated on breakfast as well. "More tea?" I offered after she had emptied her cup.

"Yes –" Sweet but eccentric violin music seemed to make the smell of Holmes's tobacco smoke fade away as my friend filled the air with his enigmatic thoughts, manifested in these lost notes. As if drawn by invisible strings or magic, the young lady got to her feet, seeking out the source of the strange music who stood in the study. Holmes stood there, playing his cherished violin.

I stepped beside her and was surprised by the dazed look in her eyes. "A Stradivarius, third series… where did he…" Inspecting the room, the case on Holmes' desk caught her eye. "My viola…" Instantly, she walked over, unlocked the case and took out a fine viola and a black bow. After tuning it swiftly and listening to my friend's turbulent musical thoughts, she joined in, answering every time he was silent. It was the strangest kind of duet I had ever seen or heard in all my life, yet it held its own kind of beauty, like clouds chasing each other in the sky. Eventually, the music died in a skilful, melancholic solo of our guest.

I stood there in awe and, out of the blue, I couldn't help giving standing ovations. Holmes was as good as ever, but Lady Llewellyn displayed a skill on a level even many professionals were unable to achieve. "Marvellous!" I exclaimed. I couldn't remember any string-instrument player I've ever listened to that talented.

With well-trained elegance, the musician bowed first to me and then to Holmes, paying him her respect. "Thank you very much, doctor. And you, Mr Holmes, I must say that it is a shame that you never even thought of pursuing the career of a professional violinist. A little more polishing your skills would be sufficient."

Holmes returned the bow in the fashion of a student bowing his head to his master. "Too much of a compliment, My Lady. I would never be able to reach you." said he in his usual flat voice. I wondered if her obvious talent made even him react humble.

She smiled, obviously amused at his modesty. "I take it you taught yourself, sir?"

This visibly 'struck a chord' in my companion and he arched a brow. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

As graceful as she could in her weakened state, she went back to his desk and placed the viola back in its case. As she turned to us, the smile had broadened into a devious grin. "I ask because in that case your level of skill is even more something to be called amazing."

Again my friend bowed his head in thanks, although I could see that it felt unusual to him to be praised by a woman. He placed his Stradivarius into its case. "Thank you, My Lady."

"I am only speaking the truth, sir." Making a rather unsteady footstep towards me, she suddenly lost footing and fell again into my friend, her face speaking of embarrassment.

My friend's expression was not the most stoic one either, for he asked in a rather uncomfortable voice as he helped her regaining her stance, "Are you all well, Milady?"

She made a sound so miserable that I was drawn to her in an instant. With our combined help, we managed to make the tall Peeress sit on the sofa. Breathing heavily, she answered, "Unfortunately, Mr Holmes, it seems like I am not well… playing music with you put a strain on me I didn't anticipate."

Holmes sighed and sat down in an armchair opposite of our guest, and so did I. "My apologies, Lord Cardiff. I find it just… very difficult to accept that vampires actually exist in our world, and so I found myself drawn to the violin to ease the turmoil in my mind."

Llewellyn nodded in understanding and smiled mildly at him. "I know the feeling quite well, Mr Holmes. Everything seems to be less troublesome in a well-performed piece of music. Although some of my apprentices have another opinion."

"Apprentices?" asked I. "What kind of apprentices?"

She turned her eyes to me for a moment before she replied, "Some of the peerage and the better-suited families of our great city employ me as a music tutor for their offspring or sometimes themselves. This was also the reason why I was in Baker Street, for one of your neighbours' children is one of my pupils. I wanted to go to Oxford Street in order to get a cab as I was… assaulted." She bit her lip.

As always when presented with new facts, my friend's grey eyes gleamed with interest. Not in the peeress herself, mind you, he was never ever interested in a woman's elegance or beauty, of which Sarah Ann Llewellyn of Cardiff had plenty. She was, after all, a tall woman in her mid-twenties, with long and heavy, extremely dark brown hair and an admirable figure which spoke of a sportive nature. Her purple eyes seemed to glow in the gloomy winter air of our flat, and her long, fine hands spoke both of her profession as a musician and as a thief. The only flaw in her personality which made her a woman not of my taste was her deviousness, extreme pride and masterfulness, which showed in her facial structures, sharp-cut and proud, but with the elegant beauty and delicacy of a well-educated, attractive woman. She was, so to say, a strong character, a little too strong for my taste.

No, it was her case that drew Holmes attention to her. "How strange. How many people know this habit of yours? And how many know your teaching schedule?"

"Not many. Actually, it's only my butler, my lady's maid and my direct subordinates at the Guild…" She counted four on her fingers. "…and these four are people I trust with all my life. Anyone else just knows at which times I am not at home."

"How can you be sure of your butler's loyalty?" I asked. "I remember from some of our cases that many servants would betray their masters for some extra guineas."

Holmes nodded in agreement. "Indeed. So why are you so confident of your butler's loyalty?"

The temperature in the study had seemed to drop about ten degrees as she glared at us. "This man, Lloyd Irving, had served my father already. And so his father did. His family serves mine for several generations already and I never offended him. I know this man all my life."

I wondered how many times we could get at the bad side of this woman on the same day. Of course, her professions, station in life and vampirism had produced a rather secretive nature to which intrusion into her affairs was at least something to dislike. Questioning the loyalty of her trusted butler was another affront to this refined, »tamed« version of a Welsh temper. If looks could kill, both Holmes and I would now need a coffin.

Even Holmes noticed her annoyance and so he answered, "We just want to limit the number of suspects, my Lady. But I am most confident that it has to be someone who knows your daily routines. Hence the question who knows of your schedules and if you trust these people."

Cardiff sighed. "Well, there is always the possibility that someone shadowed my moves and learnt through this my routines. If so, the one who did so was either very lucky or very brave."

"Why? I know that »The Raven« is a title for an exceptional high Thief, but what is your rank within The Thieves?" I wondered.

In answer, she chuckled. "»The Raven« is the title of the High Lord of the Guild. Also, I am the Leader of all British vampires, The High Lord of the British and the London Vampire Council. Originally, the three organizations were separate, but worked together. However, as I am the leader of all of them, we joined forces officially. In any case, there is something I would like to ask of you, doctor."

The soft grin on her lips surprised me, confirming my suspicions about the quality of her beauty. Indeed, she was a beautiful woman, not a pretty girl. She was not innocent enough for being pretty and also too strong-willed to be called nice. "What can I do for you?" I asked then, a bit shocked by her open confession of her position within the children of the night, wondering how skilled she had to be if she made it at the meagre age of twenty-five to the top of The Thieves' Guild.

"Give me my necklace, a pen and some paper, please." It sounded like a wish, but her eyes spoke of command.
Actually, the command was strong enough to stir up Holmes who quickly gathered the desired objects from his desk and gave them to her. "Milady." Afterwards, he sat down again; eyeing her with something I would have called distrust.

"Thank you." With a rather weak hand, she scribbled down some lines and gave both the note and the medallion to me.

"What is this?" Although the lady's handwriting was as clear as if it was printed, I couldn't read the note, for it was written in some obscure language I didn't recognize.

Holmes got up and collected his pen from her. "Allow me…" He took a short glimpse at the note. "This is Welsh, isn't it, My Lady?" he asked, suspicion on his face.

"Intriguing. I didn't know that there are actually Englishmen who still understand our lingua antiqua; or that there are people who at least can identify it correctly in our time. Yes, it is my native language, »y Cymraeg« (the Welsh language)."

Holmes sighed. "»Identifying« is the right word, Milady, for I am not proficient in the actual use of one of the Celtic languages of our kingdom, unfortunately." Scepticism filled his voice as he inquired, "Care to explain this note?"

"It's a letter to my butler. Otherwise, the poor man would die of worries… and I definitely need some fresh clothes from home. It's not like your generous landlady is of the same size as I am." Cardiff gestured to her naked feet and ankles to proof her point.

"I see." I folded the letter and placed it in my watch-pocket. "And what am I now supposed to do, My Lady Marchioness?"

Exhaling audibly, she replied, "Doctor, I hope it would not be of too much trouble for you to go to my home and give this letter to Lloyd? He will know what to do. Use my crest to proof that you come with message from me, sir."

"Why is this so?" I was bewildered.

Staring on the floor, her face was unreadable as she said, "My butler is aware of my true nature and my secondary occupation. Thus he tends to be a little suspicious of messengers in my name unless they can proof that they came from me. That medallion you hold in your hands and the language of the note, doctor, is an irrevocable evidence of your sending. My father gave it to me long ago. I do not give it away lightly. And before you ask," she faced me now with a charming smile, "I'd prefer you to do this so that you, Mr Holmes, are able to listen to the rest of the incident."

My friend nodded in approval. "Excellent idea, Milady. Even the tiniest bit of information could be of great help."

Knowing that my confusion would only grow if I stayed any longer, I got up. "Very well then. I think I shall be back in about an hour. Holmes, My Lady…" With this, I left the study, put on my hat and coat, picked up my walking stick and left the house, hailing a hansom cab a bit later. After a short ride I reached 145 Piccadilly.

145 Piccadilly, W1, Mayfair, was certainly a fine neighbourhood for a noble to live. The house, named Warren House for some unknown reason, stood in the vicinity of the Hyde Park, Apsley House (The London home of His Grace The Duke of Wellington) and other stately homes.
A combination of iron fences, brick walls and high hedges kept the eyes of the public out of the garden of the two-storey two-winged house. Its design and architecture was typical for a rich person's home built at the beginning of the century, the façades were covered with some honey-coloured stone, reminding me a bit of the Palace of Westminster. As I stepped through the high iron gates, I noticed that the wide alley to the house was lined with high trees, leafless of course due to the cold winter. To the left side of the house, another path ran to the back, probably to a private stable, judging from the sounds coming out of this direction. In front of the black door, which I reached over a short staircase made of the same stone as the façade, was a wide open space suited for carriages turning around.
I rang, and, as appropriate for such a house, I was greeted by a young porter, who practically jumped out of his chair. "Good morning," said I.

"Good morning, sir. This is Warren House, Home to the Marquess of Cardiff. What is it that you desire from our master?" The youth asked with a bow. He was probably about seventeen years old.

I took the note from my watch-pocket and gave it to him. "Actually, I come with a message from your master for her butler."

"Please, come in then, sir." The porter unfolded the message and took a quick look at it. "Your name, sir?"

"Dr. John Watson," said I and handed him my card.

"Very well, Dr. Watson, please sit down over there while I bring this note to my father. He will certainly be delighted to hear of our Master." The letter in hand, he guided me to an upholstered bench in the open-spaced entrance hall and dashed off. Waiting I took a look at my surroundings. Marble, black and white, formed the floor and the staircase leading to the second storey, where a gallery with a white marble balustrade ran around. Several doors of dark, reddish wood, probably mahogany, were leading to the other parts of the house. The walls were covered with wooden panels. Opposite of me, just beside the doorbell on the left, stood the Porter's Chair, a yellow upholstered armchair. Between the doors to the right of it hung a very large portrait of an officer of the Royal Navy in a rather modern uniform with the rank insignia of a Commodore. A part of me wanted to get closer to eventually find out who was depicted in such a spectacular fashion, especially since directly opposite of it hung a life-sized portrait of the current master of the house, but then the young porter returned with another man, who I presumed to be his father and the butler, judging from his outward appearance and the general air of a servants' chief-of-staff which revolved around him. As I tried to get up to greet him, he declined, saying, "A servant should not make a guest rise. Dr Watson, I presume." He bowed to me.

Nodding, I answered, "I am. And with who do I have the pleasure to speak with?"

He bowed once more. "Welcome to Warren House. I am Lloyd Irving, the butler and Deputy Keeper of Grounds of the esteemed House of Llewellyn. My son here said you had message from our beloved master and showed me a note you gave him." Hastily, the adolescent placed the message in his father's expecting hands. "To your seat, Alexander."

"Yes, sir." The porter sat down in his chair again.

Turning back to me, he demanded, "And why should I believe that this here is from our esteemed Lady?"

The man was indeed as paranoid as our client had described, so I produced the medallion from my pockets and handed it to him. "I wonder if you recognize this… She warned me of your suspicion of messengers, but I didn't believe that it is that deep-seated."

He gasped as he saw the necklace and bent over again. "Serving my master made me careful. Welcome again sir, and thank you for saving my master. Please follow me, doctor."

A bit puzzled, I took off my hat and coat and followed the butler to a tea room. For a Lord's tea room, the chamber I entered was very simple in interior design and furniture, but of exquisite quality. Two sofas, a pair of armchairs, a tea table stood on an expensive carpet, probably Indian. A marble fireplace on the wood covered wall completed the impression of understatement elegance I had. I sat down on one of the sofas and waited for the reappearance of Mr Lloyd Irving, butler, with some tea which somehow had been sent to the room before we even entered. The man had left me in the room to wait until he gathered the things his master had requested. Looking around, I noticed another portrait, which hung above the mantelpiece. This one showed a young man in the full dress uniform of a member of the Royal Guards, and I wondered who all these men on the portraits in the house were. One thing I knew however, the three portraits were by the same hand, and that I've seen similar paintings before, but I could not remember where. Dwelling on the subject, I nearly didn't notice the butler returning.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting, doctor, but you may understand that it is not all that easy to please a female master. Especially if it is about her wardrobe." Irving stood just by the door, a travelling bag in his hand.

"Indeed." I rose from my seat and followed the man back to the door where he gave me the bag and a small package. "What is in the box?"

Irving smiled fondly. "Chocolates. Our master has a big sweet tooth. Anyway, if you ever are in need of something, never forget that a friend of our master is a friend of the Irving Family."

"A… friend of the master?" I was confused.

Still smiling, the butler handed me the medallion, which I put into my watch-pocket. "This medallion is proof enough that she considers you a friend. I do not really know how she is able to judge people so quickly and correctly, but nevertheless, she thinks of you as someone worthy of her friendship. I know her since she was born, so you may rest assured that my words are the truth."

I stood there in awe. I hardly knew her, but she thought that I was worth her friendship. "Well, I guess that I should thank her when I return." Suddenly, I remembered the portraits. "Although, before I leave, I have a question: Who are the men on the portrait over there and the one in the tea room? I have the feeling that they look fairly similar in painting style too."

Irving turned his head to the side to take a glimpse at the other portrait in the hall. "Ah, yes, these… The one opposite of Her Ladyship is the late Commodore Andrew James Llewellyn, 1st Marquess of Cardiff, our master's late father. The one over the mantelpiece in the tea room is the late young master, the younger brother of Lady Cardiff, Captain Allen Llewellyn. May they rest in peace." He sighed. "About the painting style, they look not only similar, but they are from the same painter, John Collier. Our last master requested these a few years ago."

"Yes, that explains a lot, thank you." I put on my hat and coat and turned to the door.

The butler opened it for me and as I was nearly out already, he said, "Doctor Watson, a last piece of advice. Never insult her. Her pride and will are not that of a woman. Many men are more humble than she is, and she has also a right to be like that, for it is the last thing which is left from her bloodline. Whoever insults or offends her will suffer at the blade that her mind is."

"I will remember your words, Mr Irving, thank you. Good morning."

"I hope you will have a nice day, sir." And so the ebony door closed behind me. My head spinning from all the new information, I went down to Piccadilly and hailed a cab to Baker Street.

AN: I know, it's not much, only another introduction... Be patient please! Next Moon, "The Taste of Tragedy" will see some more verbal action! Promise!
About Lady Llewellyn, she is a "Peeress in her own right", a Title holder, who has (at this point in history) a seat in the House of Lords and thus is commonly/occasionally referred to as "Lord Cardiff" (A reference to her title, not herself). If you wanted to refer to her specifically, of course, you'll use "Lady" Cardiff and "Marchioness".
It was a common misconception at that point in history to say "Lady X" and meaning "the wife of Lord X". So I let Holmes refer to her title to give right to one who has his/her own right. Also, Llewellyn refers to herself as "Marquess", not "Marchioness" (although it is not completely right, according to »Debrett's Correct Form«) to indicate that she is in charge of the title and her family.
VALE! (Latin: See you again!)

To you, Addy-kun, THANK YOU for your advice on Victorian English again.