A/N: This is a really weird thing that I wrote today, after not writing for so long. I don't know what precipitated it or where it's going, but, uh, here XD It's sort of an AU genderbend thing, I don't even know XD I guess I'm intrigued by the relationship Victorian women had around that time, as it could be pretty interesting. Many women had these really passionate relationships, writing what were ultimately love letters to each other, even when married, and yet it was never seen as strange or as homosexuality. Women could call each other by their first names, kiss, spend all their time together, and it was seen as just 'woman stuff' XD Really interesting, and says interesting stuff about the society, I think XD Some liberties have been taken, but, yeah XD

Well anyway, I almost always write Sherlock Holmes as asexual because of reasons, so perhaps this is.. . er... Ace!Fem!Holmes/I-don't-know!Fem!Watson ...? Getting out of hand with those character tags I think XD

Whoops... wrote a novel there... XD

TL;DR

Weird fic I randomly wrote today, and don't know where I'm going with, and don't know if I'm finishing XDD

Hope it's all right! ^_^

'Did you see what Miss Davis wore at the theatre last night? Dreadful!'

The voice was accompanied by a cascade of giggles.

'Not at all the fashion, I'm afraid!' rejoined another voice.

Jane sighed to herself as she picked over the ribbons. She recognised the voices in question as belonging to Miss Jones and a Miss Price, with whom she was unfortunately acquainted. They were, in their own minds at least, very knowledgeable about all things which ladies ought to be acquainted with, and therefore were the unofficial critics of every other lady in London. Every one gossips, Jane knew, but these ladies in particular were excessively harsh in their judgments, and though their cruelty was unfounded, there were some who were not informed well enough to know not to believe what Miss Jones and Miss Susan Price said.

Fortunately for Jane, she was polite enough to hear them when they spoke to her, but too sensible to listen. Unfortunately for her, the shop was sold out of the blue silk ribbon she wanted. She sighed a little; she did need it to resuscitate her only formal gown, but she supposed it could wait. Now what had Sherlock wanted? Jane glanced over the rack as she tried to remember, wishing she'd wrote it down, when Miss Jones spoke up about the very woman Jane had been thinking of.

'I say, that Miss Holmes really has no taste! Have you seen that hideous frock she often wears?'

'I don't think she has got any other!' Miss Price laughed. 'It's so old and ugly, no lady in her right mind would wear it if she had got any other! But then, I do have my doubts that Miss Holmes is indeed in her right mind.'

Miss Jones, and the other companion whom Jane did not know, both laughed as well. Jane clenched the hand not holding her purse.

'Indeed she is not!' cried the other lady. 'I was walking on Baker Street one day, and saw her hanging half-way out the window, shouting to someone below!'

'She talks to street urchins, and I have heard it said that she pays them, for who knows what!'

All three ladies giggled. Jane, infuriated, was ready to storm out of the shop, but as Miss Jones and her companions were right by the door, she would have to pass them, and would be obligated to be polite.

So, she squared her shoulders, composed herself as best she could, and walked with her head held high towards the door.

As she had anticipated, Miss Jones and Miss Price noticed her, and greeted her accordingly.

'Good morning, Miss Watson,' Miss Jones said, all sweetness, 'how do you do? This is my sister, Mrs Baker.'

Jane forced herself to smile. 'Good morning. Pleased to meet you, Mrs Baker, how do you do? It seems there is no blue ribbon to be found.'

'Oh, what a shame!' cried Miss Price, with as much warmth as when she had criticised Sherlock's offensive gown. 'You look really well in blue, my dear Miss Watson.'

Jane thanked her for the compliment, and endeavoured to offer one of her own, and finally escaped them after the proper amount of civility. She was not completely certain, but she thought she heard their laughter behind her as she hurried away.

As she walked, Jane fumed to herself. It pained her to hear it, but she did acknowledge to herself that indeed, not all of Sherlock's behaviour was exactly... proper. Her dear friend was really eccentric, interested in very odd things whilst scorning what everyone else liked. She showed such gentleman-like manners at times, and at others, was alternatively so erratic or despondent that it was very difficult for Jane to keep up. Friendship was more important to Jane than appearance, so she could put up with Sherlock's queer ways, but others censured her so harshly before giving her a chance.

Jane was sometimes afraid that perhaps, should anything happen to her, Sherlock would never have anyone at all. Aside from an older brother, Jane knew nothing of Sherlock's family; and other than a friend from about ten years ago, whom Sherlock mentioned only once, Jane knew of no one.

Spurred on by the common cattiness of the judgmental ladies, and the fear of Sherlock's being alone, Jane was determined to get her friend into society at any cost, that she might have friends or perhaps even a husband, and be happy as any normal woman might be- though of course, Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary woman.

As Jane threw open the door to the flat at Baker Street, she was greeted with a triumphant shout of,

'I've got it! Come and kiss me, Jane!'

Jane, smiling to herself, went in, and as she bent to obey, she asked,

'What is it that you have done?'

'My dear Jane!' Sherlock cried, with a shocked look, 'I refuse to believe that you've forgot already about the case of the—what did you call it again?—oh, the case of the Azalea Man! Look here, my dear girl: this chemical reacts with blood, even if one attempts to clean the blood off. Observe!' She made a shallow cut on her finger and let the blood drip onto the blade of the knife. Then, she wiped the knife her handkerchief, which was dampened with water. When the knife looked clean (though the handkerchief was in a sad state), Sherlock poured some of her chemical creation on it. The place where the blood had been fizzled a bit and turned bluish.

'My goodness!' Jane cried. 'Amazing! But how—?'

Sherlock laughed, 'Well, it isn't perfect. I am yet to discover if the chemical will react only with blood, and that there isn't something else. It will require further experimentation… but I do thank you, Jane, for your wonder always does me good.'

And, so saying, she clasped Jane's hand, and used it to pull herself up from her chair, kissing Jane quickly before whirling away to wash her wound.

'Where have you been? Did you remember the dried lavender?'

'Oh! that's what it was! I forgot, I am terribly sorry. I was distracted by Miss Jones and Miss Price, and Miss Jones's sister Mrs Baker.'

'The odious Miss Jones!' Sherlock exclaimed dramatically, 'The evil shrew who destroys the lives of all around her! Who cares about Miss Jones enough to be distracted by her?'

'As odious as she is, I must be civil to her.'

'Oh, no, you mustn't, my dear girl, you choose to. However much it irks me, though, it speaks of the sweet nature that I love. What, did she insult the lace you purchased for your gown?'

'You really are terrible! No, she and her companions were talking ill of every lady they could think of.'

'Ah, and your justice was offended. It does no good to listen to such women, Jane; they will continue to talk as long as anyone will listen.'

Jane sighed. 'I know. But I do detest to hear anyone say such cruelties against a friend of mine.'

'What a good girl you are. If I weren't so selfish, I would tell you to stay far away from me, that you might remain so.'

'Shut up,' Jane returned, delighting Sherlock with her fiery spirit, 'You are my dearest friend, and you know it.'

'All right, I shall stop teasing you now. Anyway, I don't know what I'll do; I have no case, and as for my experiment, I am gone as far as I can for now. Have you any plans?'

Jane sat down in the chair unofficially sanctioned as hers. 'Well, the Miltons are having a little soirée on Thursday evening. I was going to try to make my frock look agreeable enough to be seen in public. Alas there was no blue ribbon to be had, but I suppose I can do without…'

'Fashion, the plague and joy of a lady's life!' Sherlock fell onto the settee in a pretend swoon. 'If I have got any blue ribbon, consider it yours. Though I don't see why you'd need it. Your beauty can make any frock look fit for society.'

'Hush,' Jane scolded, more gently this time. After a few moments she added, 'You should accompany me, my dear Sherlock. An evening entertainment might be what you need to revive your spirits.'

'It would be torture rather than entertainment for me. What would I do at a soirée?'

'What anyone else would do! Have conversation with others, dance, meet with a nice gentleman or two…'

'Gentlemen!' Sherlock crowed. 'What gentleman would want to dance with me? Not one I'd care to be acquainted with— such a man couldn't be in full possession of his faculties!'

'Oh, Sherlock, you always sneer at the very mention of love, but my dear friend, don't you worry that you may be missing out? There could be a gentleman who would complement you perfectly, in spirits and mind, and yet you refuse to even find out!'

Sherlock smiled a very queer, somewhat worrisome smile.

'I wish to be angry, but I can't, because you only say such things out of kindness. No, my dear, sweet Jane, there is not a man who meets such ridiculous criteria. But no matter, because I have all I need right here. All will be well till you run off and marry, and then, there is always the cocaine bottle for me.' Sherlock stretched out her arm, holding out her finger and a strip of cloth.

'Pray dress this for me, Jane, it always seems to last longer when you do it.'

Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you think :-D