Hello, greets and so forth.

As you probably know, I am Beth AKA Luna. and this is my newest story 'The casebook of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson'.

I'm soo happy to be back with this story and if you haven't read 'The memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson', I would suggest you do so as to minimise possible confusion later on.

Now for a hurried disclaimer... I do not own any characters that you may recognise like Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade or even 221b Baker Street. I do, however, own all of the books, countless DVDs, a flask of steaming black coffee and Luanna though her last name isn't of my own creation.

Just wish to say that updates will probably be slow at first for I'm still revising for countless exams but I shall try and update as often as possible.

Alright then...

Please enjoy the first chapter of 'The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax'.

"But why Turkish?" Sherlock asked, his gaze fixed on my boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at that moment, and my protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention.

"English," I answered him with some surprise. "I purchased them from Latimer's in Oxford Street." Holmes simply smiled with an expression of weary patience from his position between my sister's legs. Now please, I beg of you not to think me vulgar, however I could see no other way to word the way they were sat other than that. Perhaps, if I were to say that he was perched between her thighs, her chest pressed against his back, while she gently massaged his temples, it would better portray the way they were sat.

"He's speaking about the bath John. Why the relaxing and rather costly Turkish in place of the invigorating home-made article?" she explained with a small smile as our friend gave a quiet groan, his head lulling back onto the bosom of my young baby sister. Lately, he seemed to be experiencing terrible headaches which had caused her to evolve a way of calming them down as to avoid him using other 'methods' that may prove hazardous to his health in the long run. I could find no wrong in the daily practise as it seemed to mellow down his nerves.

"Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. A Turkish bath is what we call an alternative in medicine a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system. And, by the way, Holmes," I added, "I have no doubt the connection between my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to a logical mind such as yours and Luna's, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it."

"The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "It belongs to the same elementary class of deduction which I should illustrate if I were to ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning."

"I don't admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation," said I with some asperity.

"Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical remonstrance. Let me see, what were the points? Take the last one first the cab. You observe that you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat."

"Had you sat in the centre of a hansom, you would probably have had no splashes, and if you had then they would have certainly been symmetrical." My sister cut in, her hands trailing from gently rubbing his temples to stroking his chest soothingly. A moment later, his hands moved up to clasp hers, pulling them up so he could press a kiss to the back of them. I shall admit that, occasionally, I found it strange to see Sherlock so domestic but when he's paired with my sister, I found that I couldn't see him in any other light.

"Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clear that you had a companion."

"That is very evident."

"Absurdly commonplace, is it not?"

"Now love, let's not brag." Luna jested, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"But the boots and the bath?"

"Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing up your boots in a certain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate double bow, which is not your usual method of tying them. You have, therefore, had them off. Who has tied them? A boot maker or the boy at the bath. It is unlikely that it is the boot maker, since your boots are nearly new. Well, what remains? The bath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkish bath has served a purpose."

"What is that?"

"You say that you have had it because you need a change. Let me suggest that you take one. How would Lausanne do, my dear Watson first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?"

"Splendid! But why?"

Holmes leaned back into my sister's embrace and then took his notebook from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

"One of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "is the drifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciter of crime in others. She is helpless. She is migratory. She has sufficient means to take her from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She is lost, as often as not, in a maze of obscure pensions and boardinghouses. She is a stray chicken in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed. I much fear that some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax."

I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular. As the detective was about to consult his notes, my sister plucked them from his hands with a cheeky giggle which drew a short huff from her partner.

"Lady Frances," she continued for him, "is the sole survivor of the direct family of the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as you may remember, in the male line. She was left with limited means, but with some very remarkable old Spanish jewellery of silver and curiously cut diamonds to which she was fondly attached..." The notebook was once again in the hands of Sherlock as he childishly stuck his tongue out at her, almost waving the book in front of her face.

"Too attached, for she refused to leave them with her banker and always carried them about with her. A rather pathetic figure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange change, the last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a goodly fleet."

"What has happened to her, then?"

"Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? Is she alive or dead? There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, and for four years it has been her invariable custom to write every second week to Miss Dobney, her old governess, who has long retired and lives in Camberwell. It is this Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five weeks have passed without a word. The last letter was from the Hotel National at Lausanne. Lady Frances seems to have left there and given no address. The family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can clear the matter up."

"Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she had other correspondents?"

"There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is the bank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries. She banks at Silvester's. I have glanced over her account. The last cheque but one paid her bill at Lausanne, but it was a large one and probably left her with cash in hand. Only one cheque has been drawn since."

"To whom, and where?"

"To a Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the cheque was drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellie less than three weeks ago. The sum was for fifty pounds." Luna explained, settling to read over Sherlock's shoulder. A small smirk was settled on her crimson painted lips but I didn't know why. All I could do was see the triumphant glint in her eyes and observe the tiniest of shivers on his part then join up the dots in my mind.

"And who is Miss Marie Devine?" I asked, trying not to let them see the small grin which was making it's way onto my face.

"That's also something I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine was the maid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid this cheque, we have not yet determined. I have no doubt, however, that your researches will soon clear the matter up."

"My researches!" I cried out. As he was about to speak again, Luna placed a hand over his mouth.

"Hence the health-giving expedition to Lausanne. Sadly, as you know, it's impossible for Sherlock to leave London while old Abrahams is in such mortal terror of his life." she explained, shooting the occasional apologetic look towards me.

"Besides, on general principles alone, it is best that I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard would feel lonely without me, and it tends to cause an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes."

"And the reason behind why my beloved sister cannot accompany me?" I inquired, taking note of how he suddenly tensed in her embrace before wrapping his arms around her, his hands resting on the small of her back.

"You know how the thought of prolonged separation unsettles your sister." He said casually though the look she gave him was enough to tell me that he was lying.

"Actually John, I suggested that I go to the hotel with you but Sherlock finds separation difficult as of late though the reason remains unclear to me." She explained, drawing a look from the detective but before she could speak, he interrupted her.

"Go, then, my dear Watson, and if my humble counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant a rate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the end of the Continental wire."

Hope you like it!

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Love you all.

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