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Current mood:	accomplished
Entry tags:	fanfic, lost cases

The Unwanted Suitor
Title: The Lost Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Chapter Title: The Unwanted Suitor
Rated: PG
Pairing: Holmes/Watson preslash
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Sherlock Holmes belongs to the Doyle estate.

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I admit this was not my idea first. I was struck with this idea upon reading an incomplete set of notes by Cress, located here: dressmaking. I definitely recommend her works and her archive to anyone looking for better-written Sherlock Holmes slash than this paltry offering.

This is my first attempt at writing a Sherlock Holmes mystery and I admit I floundered on the mystery part of it. This is also my first attempt at writing in a proper Victorian manner; it's very similar to my own writing style in the demanded usage of run-on sentences and pompous dialogue. It was written last night and has been edited.

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I find the incredible ability of Sherlock Holmes to disguise himself as to be unseen and completely unknown to be of a rare mention. Rarely did the opportunity present itself for Holmes to display this particular prowess that I feel I must pen this chronicle merely to detail one of his most extraordinary transformations.

I was finishing luncheon when the serving girl brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and it ran:

Come to the Langham Hotel at four o’clock this afternoon. You will be met there by a woman in a green dress by the name Adele. She will detail what I need you to do for me. I ask that you trust her implicitly. Bring your service revolver.

I made my way down to the Langham Hotel at the appointed hour to observe a tall thin woman in a green dress pacing in the entryway. My first impression of her was of her nervousness and the thought struck me that this Adele must be the client Holmes had spoken of. My impressions were founded when she saw me and her face lit up with relief. I cannot say I found her to be a handsome woman, tall and angular as she was. She wore a dark green dress, dark green jacket, white gloves, a pearl brooch, and makeup. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head and she had an air of familiarity. I felt I knew this woman.

“Adele, I presume?” I asked.

“Dr. Watson,” she returned. “Call us a cab, we have much to talk about.”

This woman puzzled me so but I hailed a cab and soon we were off, headed off to Victoria Street.

“I’m being followed, Watson,” Adele confided. “The client was correct, her mistress’s life is in danger and I believe I have a plan to prevent the ghastly deed.”

This woman’s voice had a quality that I knew but I could not place it. “Then you are not Holmes’s client?” I asked.

Adele gave me the most peculiar look. “I am not. I am merely playing a part. As I am to ask of you as well, Watson. Through the client, Miss Rebecca Smyth, I have insinuated myself into the confidences of her mistress, Miss Emily Jameson.”

“If I may be permitted to ask, what shall I call you, Miss…”

“Adele. Just Adele. That comes to the part you must play, Watson. I must ask you to play the part of my husband.”

“I confess I usually get to know a woman before I marry her.” I took her hand and kissed it. Her confusion made me confused. “If we are to play the part of marriage, as you say, then we must be comfortable with each other.”

“O-of course. As I was saying, you are to be my husband. I have convinced Miss Jameson to hold a high tea this evening wherein you and I shall lay a trap for her attacker.”

“And who does Holmes suspect the attacker to be?”

“Miss Jameson is in mourning over the death of her brother, nevertheless she has a number of suitors plying for her hand in marriage. She has refused them all and all have moved on save one. This one has sent threatening letters detailing the heinous crimes he plans for her if she does not agree to the marriage bed. Tonight promises to be an interesting night indeed.”

I could tell Holmes had a plan but it hurt me that Holmes would share his plan with this woman I had never met when he had never once shared a plan with me. “And what is his plan?”

“I cannot tell you, Watson.”

I could scarcely hide the hurt on my face. “I see.”

"I do not have his plan either.”

I felt suddenly terrible for mistrusting my friend’s habits like that. “Oh.”

Adele smiled, a frightful disturbing smile that I knew boded ill for someone. “All I can ask is that you trust me as you would Holmes, my dear Watson.”

I hoped that smile didn’t bode ill for me.

High tea was a long and dreadful affair with women chatting and laughing. We were introduced to Miss Jameson, a handsome woman dressed in mourning black, Mrs. Peabody, a plump older woman in her twilight years of womanhood, and Miss Violet, a pale young woman in a red dress. Miss Smyth, Holmes’s client, was serving girl for the evening. I was thankful Adele restrained herself in the presence of the other women, none of whom had brought husbands. Conversation took a turn to this fact and the observation that Adele had not left my side all night.

“Dr. Watson, I must know, how did you and Adele meet?” Miss Jameson asked. “She’s told me all about how you work with a detective.”

“How dreadful for you both, that he doesn’t have a practice,” Mrs. Peabody muttered.

“I have my pension from the army,” I defended.

“I was a client of the detective,” Adele explained. “I hired the detective Sherlock Holmes and fell in love with his friend here. Our marriage was fairly sudden.”

“Yes, of course. It was rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps I can arrange a marriage between my Rebecca and your Mr. Holmes,” Miss Jameson suggested. I watched Adele and Miss Smyth take same expressions of discomfort.

“I can assure you, Mr. Holmes is not the marrying type,” Adele scoffed.

“He is a confirmed bachelor,” I agreed.

The ring of the servant’s bell stole Miss Smyth from our company.

“And how can we be sure you’re not a bachelor as well?” Miss Jameson insinuated. “Your wife wears no ring and neither do you. Why, you may as well have just met on the street.”

“A kiss would satisfy the question,” Mrs. Peabody supplied.

Adele blushed. At that moment I had to admit she was handsome to my eyes, as though she had finally come to life. She laid a hand on my arm and leaned close. “Just one kiss,” she whispered. “For the part.”

I nodded and pulled her into me. When we broke apart my eyes opened to shining gray eyes and a shy smile in a thin face that was still so incredibly familiar. I heard the ladies declare their satisfaction and I held this woman in my arms and wished the part we played were true.

A scream from the kitchen followed running footsteps to the sitting room. A big bear of a man stood in the doorway. The ladies exclaimed in shock and I held tightly to my Adele.

“I got yer telegram,” the man growled. “I be hearin’ ye turned me down fer the last time. Well, I says, I’d be givin’ ye one last chance an’ here I am. Here me boys be, too, in case ye be sayin’ no.” He motioned behind him and two young men stepped into the room, one armed with a pistol, the other with a cane.

“Y-you’ve had my answer for months, Mr. Duffy,” Miss Jameson stammered. “I’ll not waver but I’ll ask you let my guests be. Your quarrel is with me.”

“Let go, Watson,” Adele whispered. “And be ready.” I did so.

“An’ I’ll nae be lettin’ them get hurt but they’ll be stayin’ ta see what me boys do ta you fer yer sayin’ no.”

Adele jumped to her feet and pulled from somewhere in her skirts a riding crop with which she disarmed the boy with the cane. I took the element of surprise and pulled my service revolver.

“I think we have enough witnesses for the courts,” Adele declared. “Miss Smyth should have run for the police the moment you arrived, Mr. Duffy. Now we wait.”

“An’ if I make a run fer it?”

Adele smiled again, this time I knew whom it boded ill for. A sudden wash of cold came over me as a thought struck me. “If you run for it, as you so put it, there’s little preventing us from stopping you. And if you manage to kill us all in your flight you’ll find the police more difficult to evade. Either way your attempt to frighten Miss Jameson into wedlock has failed.”

Footsteps came up from the kitchen. I recognized Inspector Bradstreet and was relieved to get the whole thing over with.

‘Adele’ and I took a cab back to Baker Street. Once on our way I leveled my companion with the sternest glare I could manage. “Holmes…” I accused.

“Yes?”

“How in God’s name did you…”

‘Adele’s’ face became that of my friend Holmes as he looked at me the way he always does when he’s bested me. “Miss Smyth warned me her mistress has not trusted the presence of any man ever since this whole affair began with the threatening letters. I suggested I be introduced to the lady disguised as a woman. Miss Smyth aided me in acquiring the proper attire and I found I took to the mannerisms of women fairly quickly. The voice was the most difficult as I had to maintain its adaptation for every word lest I be found out.”

“And all of this was for the case? Nothing else?”

“Why, my dear Watson, of course there was nothing else. I wouldn’t even have taken the case if the difficulty of working with Miss Jameson’s aversion hadn’t presented an opportunity to test perhaps my greatest disguise of all.”

“So you’ve… thought of this before.”

“Do I not think of the part I must play to impersonate a priest? Or of a loafer? Or of any of a dozen other parts I’ve played for the good of a case? Of course I’ve thought of this before but never have I had the reason to attempt it.”

The cab pulled up to 221B Baker Street and I found myself playing the part again of gentleman to a lady. My own transformation disturbed me less than that of Holmes, who all but disappeared under the personage of Adele. He slipped his hands over my offered elbow and allowed himself to be led up the steps to 221B Baker Street like a proper lady. The stage lost a powerful actor the moment Sherlock Holmes devoted his life to crime.

Once in our rooms Holmes retired to the bedroom for ten minutes amidst much grunting and shuffling. He returned in a tweed suit that fell over his torso most irregularly. I recognized the shape and gave him the most curious look.

“I cannot seem to undo the corset strings without aid,” Holmes admitted.

“And how have you removed it prior to this?” I asked.

Holmes shrank and blushed; despite having removed the trappings of femininity I could clearly see Adele standing before me. “I have not been able to since beginning this case. Three days.”

“No wonder I haven’t seen you,” I remarked. “I will help you remove it.”

Holmes gave me a look of the most sincere gratitude I have ever seen and led me to the bedroom. The green blouse and jacket were spread over the bed, the skirts were on the floor. I caught sight of petticoats thrown among the skirts and the headdress of that dark hair was sitting on the writing desk. Holmes undressed to the waist and I cringed to see him so severely tightlaced into that corset. The knots were fiendish. Their undoing elicited such a groan from Holmes I was surprised I did not see him faint dead away in front of me. The corset and a woman’s chemise were tossed off and he redressed. I left him to his task.

He returned to the sitting room not five minutes later, looking much improved. “Now we may continue our conversation in comfort,” he sighed.

A knock on the door silenced us. Mrs. Hudson showed Inspectors Bradstreet and Lestrade into out sitting room. “Inspectors,” Holmes greeted. “I had expected everything to be wrapped up by now.”

“The most curious thing,” Bradstreet speculated. “Instead of finding Sherlock Holmes holding the criminals hostage we find Dr. Watson here and a woman identified as his wife. Dr. Watson, I had no idea you’d remarried. Congratulations are in order, I think.”

I was unsure if Holmes were ready to faint or to laugh. “I have not remarried,” I remarked. “I merely played a part as requested by Sherlock Holmes to enable the capture of the criminals. The woman identified as Adele Watson is not my wife.”

“My apologies. In that case we will require the details of the case from Holmes here else we will be unable to convict.”

“No!” Holmes ejaculated. “Unable to convict?”

“That’s right. Unless we find this ‘Adele Watson’ and find the facts then the testimony of the women becomes difficult to corroborate.”

“Very well,” Holmes sighed. “I will inform the ladies the true name and identity of Adele Watson in the future. But first, the details of the case.

“Miss Smyth came to me with the complaint that her mistress was being threatened by a man she had refused to marry. I learned of Miss Emily Jameson’s mistrust toward men and concocted a plan with Miss Smyth to solve the case without Miss Jameson ever knowing a man was in her presence. She has the letters still in her possession, I have instructed her to turn them over to you upon your request.

“The man in question was one Mr. Guy Duffy, recently of Ireland. He works in forgery of fine art. It was a matter of simplicity itself to ensnare Mr. Duffy in a trap while simultaneously ensuring Miss Jameson would be protected at the moment of the trap’s closure. He as good as confessed in front of myself, Watson, and the three women present.”

Not your usual standard of case, is it?” Lestrade quipped.

“Simplicity itself. I almost didn’t take it.”

“Wait…” Bradstreet interjected. “But you weren’t present, Mr. Holmes. At least, no one was seeing you if you were there. And you didn’t mention this mystery woman Mrs. Watson.”

Inspector Lestrade furrowed his brow in thought before his eyes went wide and shocked. I poured a brandy each for the inspectors.

“I assure you, everything I did was perfectly legal,” Holmes pointed out, the image of calm. “No carnal knowledge was gained by anybody.”

“You were Mrs. Adele Watson?” Lestrade demanded.

Inspector Bradstreet sat down very suddenly. I handed him a brandy and he drank it down.

“I assure you, he is no ‘Mrs.’ of mine,” I stated, handing Inspector Lestrade his brandy.

“But the women were convinced…”

“They demanded we prove our married status,” Holmes explained. “It was a quick kiss, nothing more. All for the sake of acting a part, I assure you.”

“If you were Adele Watson you’d have the costume,” Bradstreet pointed out.

“I have, excuse me.” Holmes disappeared into the bedroom for his clothing.

The two inspectors stared straight at me. “I assure you, even I had no idea of this plan of his,” I defended. “He never told me, not even when he was dragging me off to this ladies’ evening. I didn’t figure it out until he’d disarmed one of Duffy’s boys with a riding crop. It’s no surprise the women didn’t figure him out either.”

The bedroom door opened and Holmes stepped out, headpiece in place and dress held over his suit. “I don’t fit into it with the corset off so you’ll have to imagine,” Holmes breathed in Adele’s soft, feminine voice. “The riding crop is concealed under the skirts. Other than leading Watson down another blind alley and adding to the confusion of an already confused woman I’ve committed no crime. The only offenses were done against my pride.” He tossed the dress over the couch and the headpiece as well. “Satisfied?”

The inspectors finished their brandy. The agreed they were satisfied with the statement and now had the evidence necessary to convict. Upon leaving, Inspector Lestrade had one last word for Holmes.

“Mr. Holmes, I must say you do not make an attractive woman.”

Once they left Holmes once again made me wonder if he were about to faint. He collapsed into a chair, breast heaving with exhaustion.

I poured Holmes a brandy and one for myself. “A trying day,” I remarked.

“It would not have been my choice for Scotland Yard to know of my… activities surrounding this case,” Holmes lamented. “Now I will have been placed under suspicion.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, old boy. Well, not legally wrong anyway.”

“You too feel I have morally wronged myself for the sake of this case?”

“No, I merely would have liked to know beforehand. Should I have figured out your costume at a delicate moment all your plans may have been dashed to pieces.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Holmes whispered. “I didn’t want to chance that you would think less of me for it.”

“I have seen you bleed yourself, poison yourself, test harebrained theories on yourself, I’ve even aided you, nay, taken part of these self-destructive tendencies of yours. You have already morally wronged yourself such that the events of this evening have done no additional damage. If anything you have morally wronged me by not warning me of the danger you were putting yourself in. What if I had discovered your charade ere the fiend and his henchmen attacked and I was distracted into letting them kill that poor woman? What if I had discovered you during that kiss? By Jove, that kiss!”

Holmes cringed on the mention of our indiscretion together. It struck me that I did not regret that indiscretion, merely wondered what it would have been like if I had indeed known I was being indiscreet with him. “I’m sorry, Watson.”

“I’m not,” I stated and was surprised at my own words. “I’m merely trying to say that if I had known I was being morally wrong with you I’d have performed easier rather than worrying I was corrupting some poor woman I’d never ever met.”

Holmes looked at me in surprise.

“I’ve been morally wrong with you before, old boy,” I explained. “I find it gets easier every time. But I would have been truly ashamed had I found I’d been indiscreet with some unknown woman of high repute.”

Holmes chuckled with a sardonic air. “I assure you, I am no woman of high repute,” he assured. “And I do feel you should know you performed more than admirably tonight despite your guilty conscience.”

I allowed Holmes’s critique of my performance stand lest I ruin our friendship with words no man has the right to utter to another. I was willing to satisfy myself with the illusion that every sigh, every blush, every word Adele had ever uttered to me were all for the part despite all my heart screamed otherwise. The illusion would have to be enough.

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Dr. John Watson finished penning the last word of his short manuscript. He sighed, knew instantly that he could never send it to a publisher, editor, or any reader of fact or fiction. Not even Holmes could read it. He thrust the manuscript into his valise, fully intending to burn the pages when he got the chance.

End