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Paper Chase	By : varenoea Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 3926 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Chapter List
- 1-Paper Chase
- 2-Ch 2
- 3-ch 3
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 3
- 4
- 5
Where to start? Soho would probably be the best place. The only trouble I might have there would be to pick the right brothel.

A very pretty, blond girl was among the first who did not just watch me, but walked up to me. “Honey, is this what you’re looking for?”

I smiled a little desperately as she lifted her neck scarf and showed me her taut cleavage. “No, thank you, it’s very nice, but I’m looking for the Chrysanthemum.”

She lifted her eyebrows and pulled her lips into a pout. “Oh. Too bad.” With these words, she turned around and left me standing in the rain.

“Wait!” I called after her. “Do you know where it is?”

“The Chrysanthemum?” she said, and turned around halfway. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, are you going to tell me?” I asked impatiently.

“Hmmm… is it worth the time?” she asked coyly.

I believe I must have used some strong words while I produced some small change from my pocket. She smiled and winked and took the coins, and gave me a long description.

“How do I spot the door?” I asked, to find out if she was being honest.

“It’s got a green lantern over it”, she said. “Can’t miss it. Good luck to you, sweetheart, hope you find what you’re looking for!” Then she winked at me again in her impudent way, and I left, wondering what she was hiding from me.

It took me five more minutes in the pouring rain to find the street she had described. It was long, and winding around dozens of houses. I could never see further than a few yards, and I have to say, the street began to scare me. If someone was following me, I would not even have noticed.

But then I saw a decrepit basement stave with a weak, green lantern hanging in a corner over it. Gladly I quickened my pace and climbed down the stairs.

Upon my knocking, nothing happened for a while, but then I heard slow, dragging steps, and a little flap was opened. “Yes, squire? What do you want?”

“Uh”, I said. “In. In would be nice.”

“And what do you want in my basement?” asked the voice behind the door gruffly.

“I was hoping for… belladonna?” I ventured to ask. If I made a fool of myself, at least nobody would know about it, except for the man behind his door.

But the door opened. “Come in.”

I stepped into a corridor which was brightly lit. The guard by the door, who I had thought to be old and rickety, was about 6’5 and as broad as a wardrobe. I tried to act naturally and walked past him into the corridor.

At the end of it, there was a heavy leather curtain. I had no experience with brothels, and I could not tell if this was the usual way, so I stepped right through it. On the other side, there were carpeted stairs, and things looked much more glamorous than the decrepit door suggested.

The room looked like a medium-sized music-hall, the tables looked almost entirely occupied, and on the stage there was a singer, dressed in a shining red silk dress and singing in a smoky voice.

“What the…”, I gasped. This singer had all the attire of a lady, but was most definitely not one. And coming to think of it, the brightly-clad women who walked around between the tables and occasionally turned their attention to one of the gentlemen in the audience, were pretty definitely not real ladies either. “This is a… Mollies club?!”

The bouncer behind me chuckled. “You got a sharp eye, squire!”

I breathed out and shook the rain off my shoulders. “Fine.”

“Want to leave?”

“No.” I straightened my spine. “I like it here.” With as much dignity as one can have with a giggling doorman behind one’s back, I stepped down the stairs. I was ready to face any atrocity to continue my search.

Compared to the streets, it was almost pleasant in here – none of the faux ladies tried to catch my attention with more than a coquettish face, which clearly said that she would devote her attention to me, but only if I wanted to. Once more, I was left to my own devices, and I asked one of the waiters – he wore more face-paint than any of the prostitutes I had seen on the street – for Saffron. He told me that I could not see her now, and that it would be best if I just sat down.

The singing not-quite-lady left the stage under a thunderous applause. My neighbour on the table had another dressed-up boy on his lap, and the boy’s feathery hair decoration was getting into my face. I tried to free myself, from it, when a singular sight on the stage caught my attention.

It was woman, a genuine female. In fact, there was quite a lot of her; and she had been around for a long time as well. She wore just as much face-paint as the painted men, but her physique told me unmistakably that the front of her corset was not filled with groceries but real flesh.

Her hair was a rich yellow, which could not possibly be a natural colour. There was, I realized, no question as to who she was. She had to be Saffron.

The music began to play slowly, and now a thing happened that I had secretly feared: the fat old crone began to dance lasciviously to it, cover herself with a fan or let a piece of her calf flash out from under her skirt. While around me the men began to whistle and laugh, I sat with my eyes wide, and hoped for the ordeal to be over soon. But alas, she was not going to let me off that easy – she came down the stairs to the stage, and walked through the audience, towards me.

The thirty seconds that she spent tugging my necktie and thrusting her fruitful bosom into my face I will always remember as the most trying ones in my life. The rest of the audience, however, seemed to enjoy her performance. It did not last long, and she left via the stage, waving with her fan all the way. A young juggler with three torches took her place.

I was still sitting paralyzed, when the waiter from earlier came back and tugged my jacket. “Saffron wants to see you now.”

I turned my face towards him and considered running away, but then I thought about my sweet love and her even sweeter letters, and got up and followed him like a lamb to the slaughter.

He led me through a corridor, past the stage, and into a room with a red-painted door.

Saffron was sitting beside a mirror, which was illuminated by two gas lights on the sides. Up close, her abundance of physicality looked even more frightening.

“Come closer, luv”, she said, and her voice sounded scratchy.

I greeted her politely, and ventured to go nearer. “I was told to come and visit you”, I said, “but please don’t ask me to explain it, because you will think me a fool.”

Saffron grinned, and a large gold tooth shone in the place of one of her canines. “I know, luv. I know.”

“You… you are not the lady who wrote me all these letters?” I inquired carefully.

For a moment, her mouth fell open. Then she began to cackle. “Oh no, that’s a friend”, she gargled.

“Does she… does she also work in your… business?” I asked.

Saffron cackled even more. Her cleavage was shaking like jelly. “No, no, luv, that pretty little thing don’t take her clothes off for no one. Well, except you!” She patted on a chair next to her own, and I sat down.

“Can you tell me more about her?” I asked.

“Well, a little bit”, replied Saffron. Her cackling had mostly abated, but occasionally she was still shaken by sudden laughs.

“What does she look like?”

“Somewhat on the skinny side”, said Saffron, and then another cackle nearly made her fall off her chair: “She ain’t got much of a bust, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Hair? Eyes?”

“Grey. Her eyes, not her hair. Hair’s brown.”

“She’s not taken, is she?”

“Well, I don’t know who gets to take her”, said Saffron and winked her eyes – even her eyelids were fat. “But nobody’s named or claimed her. What she wants with a good boy like you, I don’t know.”

I blushed. I was in the wrong place here, and playing detective when I was not really one – I knew it. But I had made it this far, and this counted for something.

“Do you have a letter for me?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, would you please give it to me?”

“Come and get it.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“It’s in my corset. Left cup or right cup, you get two tries.”

I looked at the monstrous woman who was about a foot shorter than me, but had a lot more body mass. Her cleavage looked as if it had been filled with pancake dough, and by age, she might have been my mother, with a little luck.

“I can’t do it”, I heard myself say.

“Oh come on, pretty boy. Just a little touching won’t hurt. You’re a doctor, you don’t mind.”

“That’s different.”

Saffron leaned closer. “I can show you a few things that make the trouble worthwhile.”

“No, you’re very kind, but I’m not going to fetch the letter out of your corset!” I defended my virtue.

“That’s final?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“Yes. It’s final.” I swallowed, and thought about the unknown lady whom I was saving myself for. “I can’t do it. Not for love or money.”

“Fine. Here you go, luv.” Saffron opened a drawer, took a piece of paper out, and handed it to me. “You really are a good boy.”

“What… what is that?” I asked carefully.

“Your letter. You didn’t think I was carrying a letter around under me breasts for days on end, did you? I know, it’s a dumb question, but you’ve never tried it, have you?”

I exhaled loudly with relief, then I laughed. “I understand. She wrote that she was going to lead me into temptation.”

“You poor thing”, said Saffron, shaking her head. “You’re in for something.”

She ushered me out through a different entrance, and I ran out into the pouring rain, once more happy and filled with a special feeling of accomplishment.

The next time I met Holmes, he was sitting by the breakfast table, and he looked more miserable than ever. His chin supported into one hand, he looked up at me and said: “Watson, I’ve thought about the whole thing. You need to let it slip.”

I patted the pocket of my waistcoat, in which last night’s letter was tucked away, and smiled. “Why?”

“I find it suspicious.” There were dark bags under his eyes. He licked his lips nervously. “Don’t you think it might be someone who means you harm?”

“If somebody meant me harm, all they would have to do would be to wait outside the door and hit me over he head”, I replied.

“But… luring you to different, dark places and making you fulfil strange tasks… has it never struck you that there might not be a lovely lady at the writing end of the affair?”

“But rather?”

“Well, a man for example?”

I laughed out loudly. “Look, Holmes. Do you really think a man who wants to make illegal advances would send passionate letters to me, despite the fact that I live with a detective, who might go after him?”

Holmes sighed. “Most people are stupid, in my humble experience.”

“What’s your experience with love?” I asked him.

He snorted and turned his head to the side. “That is not the question here.”

“Yes, it is. I asked you.”

“And I say I don’t have much to tell you. Anyway, I urge you to leave this foolish business alone, and immediately.”

“I’ll invite you to the wedding”, I said, just because I knew that it would upset him.

He lifted his head and stared at me as if I had lost my mind. “Are you crazy?!”

I laughed and got up. While I did, I pulled the latest letter from my pocket, and waved it. “With any luck, I’m going to find out the name of my belle tonight.” I turned to walk out of the door.

“Let her be!” Holmes bellowed after me. “No good will come of it!!”
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Paper Chase