Khaat had heard about the fantasy holiay spells and she had taken it upon herself to go check it out for herself. The travel agent made it sound immensely appealing, and the rooms for their clients were amazingly elegant, despite the fact that the clients would not be aware they were in the rooms while they were under the spell. Still, it sounded like fun.
She hadn't been thinking particularly about the famous muggle detective, but the travel agency's waiting room was decorated as a huge library of history books and some of the most famous fiction books ever written. When the travel agent got to her and offered her a free trial of the holiday spell, her mind blanked. She didn't know where she wanted to go. Her mind simply, rather randomly, glanced at a large red leather bound edition of the Sherlock Holmes stories. She had shrugged and said. "Oh, how about there?"
The spell felt much like being sucked into a tornado that spun backwards. She heard the travel agent say, echoing, "Your name will be Mary....Mary....Mary....." She felt herself sinking and spinning viciously in the wrong direction. It took her breath away, and, unable to breathe, she felt everything fade and go black.
The next she knew, she heard knocking on a door. What the heck? she thought. She woke to find herself in a large mahogany four poster bed, with adeep dark green brocade spread, with white sheets trimmed in lace. The room was decorated in handcarved mahogany furniture with marble tabletops, and the wallpaper was dark green, with dark green drapes. She found herself in some sort of long white nightgown, trimmed in lace.
"Mrs. Watson," a woman's voice sounded a bit persistant. "Are you up? Mr. Holmes will be quite put out if you are late, you know. I have your tea."
"Tea?" Khaat asked. She decided she'd better simply roll with the program. "Come in." The door opened, and an older, gray haired woman delivered a formal tea tray to her bedside table and poured her a cup of tea. The woman was dressed in a long, victorian dress in light and dark blue. Khaat was confused. And then it struck her. She'd actually ended up, somehow, in fictional Victorian London. In Baker Street, in the home of the detective. The woman went back to the door and put a pitcher of hot water near the basin and laid out a fresh cake of french milled soap and a clean towel Then the woman opened the drapes, and Khaat noticed she could hear the sound of horses and carriages in the streets below. "What...time is it?" Khaat asked.
"Nearly 7 am," the woman replied, going to the armoire. She drew out a copper colored slender, long traveling dress with a matching, well trimmed jacket that Khaat believed was designed to hit her right at the top of her thighs. The woman got out layers of undergarments, a pair of black high button shoes, and a wide brimmed hat that matched the dress and the jacket, along with a black beaded bag. "Mr. Holmes says he is going to Blackheath today, and it looks like rain. You shall need your umbrella. Oh, and Dr. Watson says you should go without him. His patient at the surgery may have him occupied far too long to go with you today. Hurry and dress now, or Mr. Holmes shall be out of sorts if you are late for breakfast." She sounded like a mother getting her child up for school. Once she had laid out Khaat's clothes and all her accessories, she left again, closing the door.
Khaat sat up, and took a sip of her tea. Oolong, pehaps? It took her a bit to figure out the layers of clothing, but with a bit of help with wandless magic, she managed to refresh herself, dress, and style her hair in a Gibson girl style. She found a pair of gold heart shaped earriings and a little gold watch that pinned with a gold bow to the copper colored dress. She picked up the hat and the copper jacket and the black umbrella and opened the bedroom door. There were two other doors on this floor, and it did appear to be the top floor. The other doors were closed. The sounds seemed to be coming from the lower floor.
She made her way downstairs, and smelled pipe tobacco and breakfast. The stairs opened into a hallway that went to her left and her right. There were two doors to her right and they were closed. When she looked to the left, there was a door straight ahead and one--which was opened--off to the right. To the left, the stairs went down to another lower level. Still more stairs went up to an upper level. She proceeded to the open door.
"You are nearly late, Mrs. Watson," a man's voice sounded. She went into the room to see a tall thin man at the breakfast table, sipping tea, his attention devoted to a copy of the London Times. His black suit was impeccable. He wasn't exceptionally handsome, but there was something magnetic about him all the same. "Come sit and eat. We have a train to catch this morning. Mrs. Hudson is packing your carpetbag." She laid the jacket, the hat, the umbrella and the bag on a basket chair and went over to the table and sat down rather tentatively, feeling a wee bit nervous.
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