Sherlock paced back and forth in front of the fireplace at 221B Baker street. Mary walked in from the kitchen, and placed a mug of hot tea on the mantle beside him. He stared at it for a moment, deduced that it was not drugged, and then took a sip.
"Two sugars, is that right?" she asked. He nodded and kept pacing. Mary sat down in John's chair nursing her own mug. She took a sip and then turned toward him, "What are you thinking of?" she asked.
"What?" Sherlock barked stopping to look at her over his clapped hands.
"John told me that you work best when you can tell someone else what you are thinking. So tell me what are you thinking about right now?"
"Paper," Sherlock said. "I'm thinking of paper."
Mary took a large breath and sat back in her chair. "Paper... hmmm...paper is sold everywhere," Mary said.
"Regular paper, yes, but this is stationary. Made specifically for writing letters. Who still writes letters in this age of email and voice mail?" Sherlock rushed over to his computer and sat down, "hand me that note will you?"
Mary stared at Sherlock for a moment, then she stared at the mantle where the letter was. The mantle where Sherlock had been standing just moments before. She stood up, walked over, picked up the note, and walked back across the room to where Sherlock sat at the computer. She thrust the letter under his nose, and he took it.
Sherlock opened the envelope, and lifted the note toward the light. "Ah ha!" he said.
"What is it?"
"A watermark. Now we are getting somewhere." He typed on the computer. "The Chamberlain paper company. Now if I can find their sales locations in London..."
Mary turned and walked slowly around the room. She looked at the skull poster and the skull on the mantle. She stared at the framed bug collection with the bat in it, and at the dagger holding down the mail. "Is this why the RSVP to our wedding had a hole in it?"
"I've found it! Chamberlain papers are sold in twenty five locations in the London area. This particular stationary is sold in ten stores. It's not quite enough information yet, but this scent..." He smelled the paper again. "I've done quite a study on perfumes, you know. I don't suppose you read my monograph. It's on the website. You for example are wearing an cheap knock-off of Chanel no. 5, but this perfume is not any of the commercially available ones. I'm sure of it. It seems to have a bit of something musky to it. If I can get to the lab, I could use the mass spectrometer."
He turned back to his computer. Then he jumped. "Musk Ambrette!" he yelled.
"What is that?"
"Musk Ambrette, a scent once very popular until it was banned for it's neurotoxic properties. That was almost 100 years ago. Not very many places in London where one could get access to such a substance. Off hand, I can think of only three. Two are chemical supply companies. Unlikely the perfume came from there. The third is a specialty perfumery, Ariadne's of Paris. They make custom perfumes. And there is a shop that sells Chamberlain stationary not a block from their London store. We've found them!"
"So we have an area to search, but all we know is that the person who gave John the stationary went there."
Sherlock paced around to stand in front of her, "We know more than that," he said. " We know that the person, woman most likely, orders her own perfume to be made. Not many people do that, so she must be fairly well to do. She is older. How else would she know to request a smell that has not been found in perfumes for decades? Scents don't last forever. So John goes to see a rich, older woman who lives nearby. Who does John know who lives in this area?" Sherlock peered at the computer screen.
Mary stood up and laid a hand on his shoulder as she peered around him. He turned to stare at her, and she removed her hand. "She may not be that rich," Mary said. "If perfume is important to her job, she would pay extra for something exotic."
"But who needs perfume for their job?" Sherlock asked.
"Someone to whom image is important: a clothing designer, a brothel owner, a performer."
"Wait a second. I seem to remember something. Let me look in my index." Sherlock tapped rapidly on his computer then he smiled and slapped his thigh. "This is it, I'm sure of it."
Mary peered over his shoulder. "Brandywine's Nightclub and Cabaret?" She read, "I've never heard of it."
"I don't suppose that you have, but it is quite famous in certain circles. I knew it from the 'Oud'."
"The what?"
"Oud! It's a perfume ingredient extracted from the hardwood of aquilara and gyrinop trees. I smelled it in that perfume, and it surprised me because it is used almost exclusively in men's cologne."
"So how does that tell you that he went here?" Mary asked.
"Because Brandywine's is a locale frequented by cross-dressers."
"You mean men dressed as women?"
"Exactly. Whoever helped John is there. Perhaps the famous Brandywine herself. That's where we must go. But first, I'll have to change into something a little more conspicuous."
Sherlock threw clothes across the room as he searched for the proper costume. Mary glanced over at him from time to time as he discard first one garment and then the other. "Got it!" he said and rushed off to the bathroom.
He returned some time later wearing a straight knee-length red shift with a brown shoulder length wig. "There," he said, "I'm ready."
Mary looked him up and down appraisingly, "You're not going out like that are you?" she asked.
"What's wrong with it?"
"For one, the line on the back of your stocking isn't straight." She dropped down on her knees behind Sherlock and carefully straightened his stockings. "And these heels are a bit wicked. You should have gotten something wider."
"Do you know how hard it is to find red pumps in my size?" Sherlock commented.
Mary looked up at him. "Sit down and let me do your hair."
Sherlock walked to the kitchen and sat down. Mary fetched a brush from the bathroom and she ran it across the wig a few times, using her thumbs to adjust his curls so that they didn't peek out from under it. She bent sideways examining his face, and then rushed off returning a moment later with her purse. "I don't have much make up with me, but you can do with a bit of blush. I'd use my foundation but you are so pale."
"I've got makeup in the box over there," Sherlock said pointing.
Mary opened the box and exclaimed, "My! You have more than I do. Do you often play dress up?"
"I do not play dressup! However I am occasionally required to disguise myself."
Mary raised an eyebrow and then, picked out some red lipstick. She placed three fingers on Sherlock's cheek to keep his face still while she applied deep red to his lips. "You have such beautiful full lips. I'm envious," she said drawing a defining line around the edge of his lips and spreading it out with her thumb. "So distinctive. This powder is the wrong color, but I think that it will be okay on your neck to minimize these moles."
"Is there something wrong with my skin?" Sherlock asked dewy-eyed as a school girl.
"Hush, I'm doing your cheek line," she said holding the base of his chin in one hand as she brushed softly across the skin of Sherlock's cheeks. He closed his eyes. He opened them again when he noticed that she was no longer moving. Mary was regarding him. She frowned. "So high. So exotic. I was never exotic," she said. Then she shrugged and pulled out a black pencil to accent Sherlock's eyes. He closed his eyes again as she ran her thumb across his eyelids smearing together the dark blues and reds. "With your hair, you can pull off smoky. I could never do smoky. Makes me look like I've gone a month with no sleep. On you it looks sultry. What I wouldn't give to look sultry once in a while."
"But you are very well favored," Sherlock said. "I have heard John remark that your beauty was unrivaled, and he has known women from three continents."
Mary smiled briefly. "We're going to have to trim your eyebrows."
"No!" Sherlock said pulling away from her grip. "No plucking eyebrows. They don't grow back."
"Then we'll use wax then. Do you have a candle?"
Sherlock found a candle, and she applied it to his eyebrows shaping them so that they formed a more orderly mass. She primped and polished Sherlock, finally giving him her seal of approval. "Now stand properly! No, put one heel against the arch of the other one. That's better. Oh and I forgot!" Mary took the silver beaded necklace off of her own neck and put it on Sherlock's. She had to stand on a chair to do it, and it fit like a choker on him, but it complemented his red dress perfectly.
He walked into the living room and looked at himself in the mirror. "Not bad," he said brushing out his hair with the back of his hand. "You wait here. I'll be back soon."
"I'm going with you."
"But you'll blow my cover!"
"Mr Holmes, I'm not letting you out of my sight." They stared at each other for a moment and then he nodded. Mary walked back inside returning a moment later wearing her coat and holding her purse. She placed a fur stole on Sherlock's shoulders, then they went out.
Sherlock flagged down a taxi, but had to let it go when he found that he had left his wallet in his coat. Mary only had enough money for the train. After an arduous trip where Sherlock was propositioned not once, but twice, they arrived at Brandywine's.
"Are you sure this is it?" Mary asked.
"This is the proper address," he said, "places like this often wish to remain... inconspicuous." Sherlock turned the handle and entered.
The room was half-empty. There was a stage with a blue light shining down but no one was on it. The bartender looked up at them and then away. Mary motioned to a table in the back and sat down.
"So do you think John came here?" she asked, "It isn't his usual type of bar, unless there's more about him that I don't know."
"I'm not certain of anything yet," Sherlock said, his deep voice incongruous with his appearance. "We have to gather evidence first." Sherlock picked up a matchbook and sniffed it. He handed it to Mary who put it in her bag.
A tall woman came over to their table then. She wore a green velvet floor length gown and diamond earrings. "Hello," she said, "You're new here. My name is Brandywine and this is my place."
Sherlock reached out a hand. "I'm ..." he started to say then he stopped. He hadn't thought of an appropriate name yet.
"This is his first time out," Mary chimed in. "He hasn't gotten used to introducing himself to others yet. He likes to be called, Vacua."
Sherlock glared at her before looking back at the woman in green.
"And you are?"
"Mary, I'm his counselor. He's working through some ... gender identity issues."
"I see. Well, Vacua, I must say that you are looking stunning today. Do you sing?"
"I..uh..." Sherlock stuttered.
"Because if you do, there's a place for you in my cabaret. That figure is to die for."
"I was wondering," Sherlock interjected, "If you've seen a friend of mine, short blond hair, wearing a black coat, calls himself John."
"I know a lot of Johns. But we have an official no gossip policy here. You could be his best friend and his wife, and I wouldn't say a word to you about it. But here." Brandywine slipped Sherlock a card, "Consider my offer. I really think that you have promise. Enjoy the show." She smiled then and walked away.
Sherlock sniffed the card before handing it to Mary. She smelled it. "It's the same perfume."
"Yes, John has definitely been here."
"So where does that leave us?" Mary asked.
"It means that I'm going to have to do something a bit embarrassing," Sherlock said biting his lip.
"More embarrassing than dressing as a woman?" Mary asked.
"Yes." He said frowning. "I'm going to have to beg for help from my brother."