Chapter Seven.
'A Study in Scarlett.'
It was only natural that after six months of trying to adjust to the modern world of 2023, Scarlett Holmes was feeling decidedly melancholy. Her comfortable life and career as the country's best-known, and most successful consulting private detective, had gone. Gone, in the swirling mists of the Reichenbach Falls of 1891, as she plummeted to her presumed death, only to mysteriously emerge in the future.
"Bored, bored, bored."
Emma Watson turned her head momentarily by her side, frowned, and then continued her conversation with her personal booking agent. The famous actress and model had graciously taken the confused and isolated Holmes into her home and had even shared in some of her latest, and unique, adventures.
They were attending another corporate event, the subject of which had eluded the uninterested Holmes, but was something Emma had agreed to appear at as a guest speaker. Although she was best known for acting, the young filly was also a UN Women Goodwill Ambassador, an advocate for the promotion of gender equality, and a certified yoga instructor.
"What was that, Holmes?"
Holmes had never been one for parties, nor had she sought new acquaintances, enjoying her close relationship with her trusted companion and lover, Doctor Emma Watson, the young Emma's great-grandmother. Granted, the bodacious and attractive blonde did have an excessive desire for sex with either men or women. Sometimes with both.
Scarlett hated change. Old faces had gone. Familiar locales had changed or even vanished. Only to be replaced by eyesores like skyscraper buildings, motorways, and mighty aircraft choking the very skies. She tried to avoid large gatherings and only sought company if it involved solving a crime or having sex. Casual sex mind, no ties or romance. Pity that Emma was going steady with her current boyfriend as she was the spitting image of her ancestor.
"What was that, Holmes?" Repeated a distracted Emma.
The slim light brunette looked her dazzling best in her white Ralph Lauren halter dress with the scooped-out back and sexy slit up her left thigh that was in full view when she walked. Her pert buttocks were clearly visible beneath the fine fabric leaving no doubt in anybody's mind that the delectable young filly has chosen to forego wearing underwear. She had her hair up in a French twist that perfectly displayed her elegant neck and kissable shoulders, something Scarlett dreamed of nuzzling if only she had half the chance.
"I want to leave, Emma." She said as she curled her lip at the indifferent glass of bubbly in her hand.
Emma now gave the pouting female her full attention. She had helped the reluctant guest to get ready, dressing her and doing her hair. The curvy blonde bombshell looked unbelievable in a sleeveless plum gown that fell to the floor. Her large bosom strained under the tight-fitting dress, and her nipples were just about observable. Her fair locks had a fresh tousled look that suited the occasion.
"Look. Just relax. You really do need to get out more. No sense moping at home and wishing for the past."
Emma took a sip of champagne and looked around the crowded room. The party was in full swing and various groups of guests mingled and chatted as waitresses offered drinks and canapes. More than one accent could be heard amid the pitch of laughter and general frivolity.
"I LIKE moping. My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me work. Give me problems. I crave puzzles, encryptions, and unexplainable mysteries. Give me a real dilly of a pickle I cannot bear this atmosphere. I want a case to solve to stem this tedious existence. Either that or you and I can just jump into bed."
Scarlett gripped Emma by the elbow and didn't let go.
"Do behave! Look, there is the organiser of the party. Let's say hello."
"No. Don't want to." Scarlett huffed, gluing her shoes to the floor.
"You silly woman. Come ON."
Emma steered the reluctant Scarlett in the direction of Sir Peter Phist, an Anglo-German diamond dealer of high-quality stones, and rough-cut ones as well. The Embassy of Germany is located in Belgravia in the heart of London and occupies three terraced houses in Belgravia Square. Phist resided in one of the houses, preferring the dependable German security of the Embassy to protect his collection of certified gemstones.
"Who is he with?" Wondered Holmes at the welcome sight of a tall blue-eyed blonde with a curvaceous figure and outstanding 36DD boobs.
She felt her heart race as she grew nearer to the host and his fabulous guest, perched at a small table.
"No idea. Sir Phist. So nice to see you."
"Emma! How kind of you to attend. Makes all the difference to our evening."
"Allow me to introduce Scarlett Holmes. She's been dying to meet you. Say hello to the nice man," whispered Emma to Holmes whose eyes were fixed on the buxom honey-hued blonde.
Scarlett shook hands with the short, somewhat corpulent man with a receding hairline, beady eyes, and pendulous lip.
'And this is Miss Stephanie Daniels, a...casual acquaintance."
Scarlett noticed how the man's eyes were strictly at bust level as he introduced the smiling woman and leered at her ample bosom.
"Phist. Yes, of course. One of the Hannover Phist's no doubt. (Say it fast-author) The renowned, but dubious diamond brokers and traders from Germany. I had some bad fortune in meeting with one Jerken Phist, an unscrupulous Prussian diamond smuggler and general sex sadist, back in 1887. I enjoyed seeing him put behind bars. Presumably one of your ancestors."
'What? Surely you jest."
"Phist by name, fist by nature, I perceive."
"Holmes! Not here!" Exclaimed an embarrassed Emma.
Undeterred, Scarlett continued.
"Yes. It's quite clear that you overdo the solo sex act. Do you find yourself in the men's room at work a lot? I observe that you have an unusual amount of skin chaffing on your right palm. A sure sign of excessive masturbation. How many times a day do you wank?"
Scarlett pointed to the gobsmacked Phist's trousers.
"I should try to tone it down if I were you. It's most uncivilized to appear at such functions with the telltale signs of semen splotches on your pants. This a clear indication that you recently bashed one out in the last half hour. Titman, are you not?"
Scarlett indicated Stephanie's eye-popping plunging neckline and generous breasts and then spread her hands.
"This is an outrage! Never have I been so insulted!"
As Phist turned on his heels, an outraged Emma fumed at how briskly her companion had reduced the German organiser to a poor excuse of a man.
"Bloody hell! Was that necessary? You have a total lack of tact and diplomacy. I truly despair."