The Red Headed League 1

Some readers may notice some similarity between this adventure and that of a certain famous detective. If I may be so bold, the famous detective made one huge oversight in that famous case. Or otherwise his faithful companion and scribe omitted a particular crucial item of evidence in the interests of Edwardian modesty when he recorded it for posterity. Setting the record straight here are characters who due to the laws of copyright were the ones who encountered the master thief Arsene Lupin. Which is probably more information than we need. So let's get on and solve the case...

Part I -- The Interview

As often happens of a midweek afternoon I was bored with the predictability of my medical practice and with no patients waiting in the vestibule to see me, I locked my surgery, made my way out into the bustling streets of London and winding my way down Baker Street, I soon found myself at the home of my friend Herlock Sholmes. As coincidence would have it, I had descended upon him at a particularly propitious time. His social media adviser Mrs Huston let me in and directed me urgently to his study where he stood with one arm resting on the mantelpiece above his fireplace, concentrating on his guest, with his unlit pipe in his mouth. He was avidly listening to an anxious woman who sat facing him in one of his chairs. She immediately caught my eye as she shook her shock of the most vivid long red hair. She smoothed a lock of it away from her eyes as she confirmed that she had my friend's full attention. Then she noticed me.

Herlock broke his conversation with this flame haired beauty when he recognised me in the doorway, transfixed as I was by her astonishing flowing mane. "Wilson, I am so glad you are here. Ms Watson is just regaling me with a tale so mysterious and arousing that I can only imagine that it would turn you on too."

Sometimes I wondered if my dear friend understood or cared about the nuance of some of the things he spouted when he was excited. Having followed me to Herlock's sitting room, Mrs Huston patted my bottom, indicating that I should enter the room so not clog up the doorway and thus barring her from following the proceedings therein.

The strange, striking woman who had captured Herlock's attention turned to me with an enticing smile as I approached. "I was just telling Mr Sholmes..." Ms Watson stopped her monologue there. She reached into the bag that rested against her chair leg and produced a laptop which she booted up. We watched her as for a moment she thought to herself and then typed in what was evidently her password. She turned to face my ever curious friend.

"You have wifi, Mr Sholmes?" He looked hopefully to Mrs Huston who nodded back at him grimly, for some reason that escaped my ken.

"Apparently we do," Herlock reported back to Ms Watson who typed busily on her keyboard.

"Ah, yes, Baker221B, very secure." She scrolled down a menu. "I think it's this one," she announced, "Craig's List." And then added "I think you should think about password protecting it." Herlock looked inquiringly at Mrs Huston who gave him an assuring nod suggesting that she would later make sure to protect their wifi. Miss Watson still scrolled busily on her laptop. After a frantic few moments, she relaxed and turned the computer around so that my friend could see what was on the screen. I crowded behind him so I too could learn what was going on.

"What do you make of it?" Sholmes challenged me.

I looked closer at the screen and read as follows:

"THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of 700 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed women who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 165 Goldhawk Road, West London."

"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I had twice read over the extraordinary announcement. "It's not what I usually see on Craig's List."

Sholmes raised an eyebrow at me. Ignoring that Ms Wilson turned to now face me. "It means," she explained slowly, "that I could apply for a job that pays a fair bit of money each week -- at least to me -- that did not have much work attached to it." She looked me hard in the eyes. "You're a doctor and probably had rich parents. You wouldn't understand what an opportunity like that means to someone like me."

Herlock turned urgently towards me. "Ms Watson was just about to describe to me what happened after she applied for the job."

I turned to her. "You mean that you actually applied for this infernal position?"

She sparked up at that. "Infernal? What do you mean by that? I am a respectable girl!" And to underline her outburst she pressed her hands tight down the lower portion of her blouse which served to accentuate her prominent bust, while doing nothing to convince me of the veracity of her passionate claim. I looked to Herlock who fired back an enigmatic smile for a moment before he embarked on what I could only consider to be a comprehensive visual study of her bustline. To my horror, Ms Watson looked up and, noticing what Sholmes was doing, she smiled invitingly at him.

I was almost ready to walk out of this appalling bacchanal when Ms Watson spoke up to continue with her unlikely tale. That was after my friend had given her some reassurance. "Of course you applied for the position," he assured her.

"Of course I did," she exploded running her fingers enticingly through her long fiery locks. "That job was virtually written with me in mind!"

"Indeed it seems as if it was," Herlock agreed. "You of course got the position."

"I indeed did get the position," she responded proudly.

His eyes narrowed as he grew more interested, removing his pipe and placing it gently on the mantelpiece. "And how did you find out about this vacancy? Are you a habituee of this Craig's List website?"

"Only when I'm after a quick one," she automatically responded. Ms Watson stopped and looked apologetically at me. "I'm sorry, Mr Wilson, I forgot that you're a married man."

Surprised at the woman's outburst, I too exploded. "How did you know I am a married man?" I demanded.

"You're wearing a wedding ring," Sholmes pointed out drolly.

"So I am," I responded rather meekly. "But this is not going to help us solve the case," I added urgently.

Sholmes scratched his chin for a moment. "I don't know, my dear Wilson, I won't be surprised if that is the clue that we need. But please continue with your tale, Ms Watson."

As she did. "Well, of course I journeyed to the West of London to this address. It was not difficult to find. Despite making a point of arriving early, I merely had to follow my eyes." She looked serious for a moment. "I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Sholmes. From north, south, east, and west every woman who had a shade of red in her hair had tramped to this address to answer the advertisement. You think they could have done it online, maybe by Zoom or got us to pre-apply, I don't know, send in photos of ourselves or something to weed out the slappers who had so clearly just put a colour through the night before. Unlike them I am a natural redhead. You do believe me, don't you?" Ms Watson stared at each of us. "I can see that you do, Mr Sholmes, you're a gentleman. But I can tell that the doctor is sceptical. Being a man of science he wants to see proof. Well, here's the proof, Mr Married Doctor Wilson."

Our guest stood up, loosened her skirt and let it fall to the floor. And just as quickly she hooked her fingers into the band of her drawers and lowered those too. With admirable daintiness she stepped out of her discarded clothes.

"I have nothing to hide," she announced as she stood there bottomless. "As you can see I was perfectly qualified for this job." I could only but notice that she did indeed display a bush of a hue almost as striking as her flowing mane.

Even so I was gravely disconcerted. "Is that absolutely necessary?" I exclaimed. But Ms Watson merely smiled at me, grinned as if she had my measure. Which at that moment she certainly had. She fixed me firmly in the eyes apparently seeking my affirmation. "I don't believe that I ever doubted you," I stammered, trying to keep my eyes from again looking downwards and so get myself further entangled in this immodest imbroglio.

"I'm asking you to solve a crime and that is all you can say?" she cried.

Sholmes chose that moment to walk over to our guest and in his most respectful manner he bent from the waist and examined her closely. He gently turned her so that she was facing him. "Yes, I think it is necessary," he chided me. "One should not overlook any possible angles."

"Are you scared at all of those of us who are blessed with this colour of hair, Mr Sholmes?" Ms Watson asked the detective cautiously. "You don't see us as freakish or in some other way deficient?"

"As red hair is a natural result of human evolution, a woman with red hair like yours seems to me to be perfectly normal," Herlock assured her. "And I am sure the good doctor feels the same way." He shot me a stern glance. I winced.

Sholmes then smiled congenially at Ms Watson as he licked one of his long, slender fingers. "Do you mind?" he asked her. Receiving no objection from his guest, Sholmes reached down and inserted his glistening finger into her. Indeed she widened her stance presumably to make his attack on her easier. All the time during this invasion of her womanhood he carefully watched her face, clearly from a viewpoint very close to her. "As I suspected, you are getting aroused," he told her.

"What do you expect?" she gasped as she pressed her bare belly against my friend's arm and gripped him hard with one of her fair hands.

Sholmes did not resile from his merciless ministrations, indeed he appeared completely unruffled by the woman's reaction. "Wilson," he addressed me, "do you wish to come over and confirm Ms Watson's state of arousal? As a man of science?"

She turned to me with a wicked smile. "This one knows how to treat a girl," she told me as she gripped my friend's shoulder for support while he continued to confirm her arousal. I felt rooted to the spot. All I could think was of my Mary and the shock that I expected she would express if I had to recount to her the events that were occurring in front of me, particularly the casual nature of Herlock's intrusion. Mrs Huston gently rubbed my shoulder as if she knew what traumas I was going through at the moment.

But Sholmes shot me his commanding stare. I knew there was no denying his wish. All for science, I prayed silently as I dragged myself over to where Herlock still had at least two of his long inquisitive fingers imbedded in Ms Watson whose turmoil seemed only to be increasing. I looked over to Mrs Huston for her support but she merely shrugged, clearly she did not intend to intervene.

Happy that I was now condemned to assist in this quest, Sholmes smiled at me as he ordered me to spread the red haired woman's legs, wide enough that I could be in no doubt as to the veracity of her assertion through an unencumbered view of her most private parts. Obeying my friend I bent down to observe what turned out to be Ms Watson's alluringly flat lower abdomen which was bordered by gently curling red hair to below where Herlock was still manipulating our guest. I recognised the undulations of the area of her labia and decided on a plan of action instilled by my medical training in case the woman fell into complete hysteria. Sit her down, get her to sip a cup of black tea. And if necessary, the morphine.

She grunted suddenly.

"Herlock," I recoiled, "you are hurting this fair maiden!"

Both of them laughed heartily at that. Indeed Herlock laughed too much and his fingers disengaged from their demonic work. That drew a gasp of complain from his victim. "My dear Wilson," Herlock addressed me when he had recomposed himself and readmitted his digits to her private parts, "that was not a cry of pain. I must inform you that it was one of pleasure."

"Impossible!" I insisted. "Why, only yesterday I was reading Herr Freud's writings on the castration complex..."

"I think you'll find your Mr Freud is somewhat phallocentric," Mrs Huston interjected.

I turned on my new accuser. "And what do you know of the writings of the greatest researcher of the human mind in our time and probably of all human history?"

Mrs Huston gave me a knowing smirk. "All I know," she challenged, "is how to get off when I need to. And I don't need your psychoanalyst to tell me that I'm doing it wrong."

"That's just unscientific anecdote," I retorted.

"Oh, would you like a further demonstration?" Mrs Huston threatened, hands poised on her hips. I shook my head in disbelief. But she was clearly determined to make her point. She wriggled out of her dress and discarded her undergarments much as Ms Watson had done. Except she went much further and was soon completely undressed whilst our guest still maintained the dubious modesty of keeping her bosoms and chest clothed. "My God, I hate that frilly stuff," Mrs Huston exclaimed as she loosened her shoulders with her new freedom. She strode over towards the rest of us and leant up close to Ms Watson. "Now watch," she ordered me. "And learn."

Mrs Huston leant forward to plant a kiss on Ms Watson's lips. To my horror, Ms Watson kissed her back and even worse she was soon fondling Mrs Huston's soft and not inconsiderable breasts to her apparent appreciation. Mrs Huston gave her quarry a relinquishing kiss then knelt down between Ms Watson's spread legs, nudging me out of the way.

Before she set to exacerbating Ms Watson's apparent pleasure, Mrs Huston looked up at Sholmes. "Herlock, do you mind?" She indicated where he still had his digits imbedded in the poor woman.

Herlock smiled down at his assistant. "If I deduce correctly as to what you are intending to do to our guest, my continuing digital penetration will only add to her enjoyment."

"If you say so," Mrs Huston conceded as she eased forward to place her entire mouth over the upper part of Ms Watson's exposed genitalia.

I gasped in astonishment at this impertinent action. "Observe and learn," ordered Sholmes noticing my discomfort. "What do you think your Herr Freud would make of that?"

Realising that the others in the room had surrendered to their animal instincts, I regained some of my dignity. "Polymorphous perversity!" I retorted. "Dr Freud is quite explicit on this."

"Does he draw explicit pictures?" Ms Wilson gasped, apparently completely under the spell of these two monsters who, only a few short moments before, I had considered to be amongst my most intimate acquaintances. I felt utterly alienated from them as I felt obliged to watch their diabolic performance.

Their handiwork on the beleaguered Ms Watson continued until, overcome no doubt by her feminine weakness, she collapsed back panting on the chaise longue. "My muffin is buttered," she gasped which elicited grins from both Herlock and Mrs Huston and utter bafflement from me.

"When you are ready," Herlock addressed Ms Watson softly as he gently caressed her, "let's continue with your story."

***

Some time later, Ms Watson concluded her explanation of what had transpired after she applied for and gained the position with this accursed Red Haired League.

During her narration Ms Watson remained bottomless on the chaise longue and apparently oblivious to the display she gave us as she explained that she was accepted in the position and how her job was copying Wikipedia articles to pdf in alphabetical fashion in the Goldhawk Road office for seven hours a day, either side of a lunch break. Mrs Huston at least had slipped back into her dress although eschewing her underwear which she carefully folded and placed ostentatiously on an occasional table. Every so often when she sensed she had my attention, Herlock's social media assistant would run her hands over the silky garments and lick her lips at me with what was to me an unsettlingly daring smile. I refused to take her bait and respond. But her confidence vexed me. What did she know that I did not? I dared not to ask.

Herlock seemed to again be focussing on the case despite the way that he curled his fingers each time he refocussed on Ms Watson as she sat demurely if bottomless in front of us her legs now pressed together so only the fiery evidence of her bush was visible. My friend had a longstanding habit of appearing to drift away from proceedings, seemingly staring at nothing while he cogitated only to suddenly swoop on some matter of interest. As he did at this moment. "How many articles were you expected to copy in this way each day?" he asked Ms Watson abruptly.

She thought for a moment and told him. Upon her answer, he stared at her wide eyed, now entirely engaged in her tale. "That would take you 2000 years to complete the task. I deduce that there is something nefarious going on," he concluded.

"Well," Ms Watson reminded us, "it would take have taken me 2000 years except as I told you, the arrangement abruptly came to an end this morning."

"Remind me," asked Herlock piercingly, "how did this termination occur?"

"By text message," Ms Watson snarled indignantly.

"The curs," I added, equally harshly.

They both looked at me. Mrs Huston pretended that she had not heard.

"Wilson," ejaculated my friend, "That's it!" He looked earnestly at our bottomless companion. "Things are unfolding at a rapid rate. We must act immediately. Can you take us to this Goldhawk Road office forthwith?"

Ms Wilson thought about that and nodded. "I'm expected tonight at The Wild Duck, and I am supposed to be there in an hour. Would you like to come along? I am working back there again after, well, I will get to that in my story. And it's just off Goldhawk Road, so that would be convenient." She stared hard at the floor then noticed that I was staring disapprovingly at her. "I am sorry sir, but I need the money."

"Certainly, I would be delighted," Herlock exclaimed ignoring my interaction with Ms Watson. "And please complete your story."

"Aren't we supposed to be in a hurry?" I asked them.

They both looked at me.

"The woman still needs to earn her living," Herlock admonished me.

I tried to make light. "The Wild Duck? Isn't that the premises run by your friend Ibsen?" I asked Herlock. "The Adventure of the Father's Pistols, if I recall?"

"That," Herlock replied firmly, "was The Wild Goose. A most singular case. And particularly tragic. Sometimes there are no easy answers for the survivors." He smiled gravely. "But I believe The Wild Duck is a strip joint. Ms Watson, you disrobe there for money?"

Ms Watson laughed. "You boys are messing with me. Come here, Herlock, let me see your shlong. We have just enough time to get you off before I have to go there."

I gasped as my friend obliged, unbuttoning his breeches as he approached the poor woman, his johnson now poking out in front of him. Ms Watson seemed all too happy with this development. Mrs Hudson nudged me and pointed towards the two of them like I may learn something from what was about to occur.

"Let me give it a lick," Ms Watson smiled. Herlock shrugged over at me, as I watched in horror. I had heard that some types of people engage in such acts but I never thought that I would ever see it happen for myself.

Herlock gave me a stern look. "As much as anything that you have experienced in these rooms, this is for your education," he told me. And he continued with what he was inflicting on the unfortunate woman who had unwittingly come to him for assistance. I could only but observe that Ms Watson appeared to be enthusiastically employed in what the detective was forcing her to do with her mouth. He did not take long to complete his business during which time, Ms Watson issued muffled grunts that seemed to be in accord with the apparent look of satisfaction on Herlock's face.