a/n: written for a challenge on livejournal-Great Tales. Include a Mary Sue (idealised heroine) in a fic.

Holmes and companions do not belong to me.

We all need a little stardust in our lives...

An Inspector Calls...

Imagine a lovely Victorian maiden,

With rose coloured ringlets cascading like silk,

A perfect complexion the envy of peaches,

With freckles like gold dust on fresh full cream milk.

A nose which was sculpted by fairies and angels,

Red lips putting cherries and rubies to shame,

And eyes of forget-me-not blue, with gold highlights;

Inspector Larch Unicorn Jones was her name.

~0~

She floated her way down the highways of London;

White doves and rare butterflies flew in her wake.

She reached the address she would bless with her presence,

Her shoes made the sound a small kitten might make.

She knocked on the door in an elegant rhythm;

A violin answered, a pure-toned duet.

The landlady answered and curtsied, quite awestruck,

A date in her year she would never forget.

~0~

The graceful inspector ascended the staircase,

Her customised uniform flowing behind;

Embroidered in gold with the Scotland Yard emblem

And velvet accessories, all hand-designed.

She entered the room, singing softly and sweetly,

Surpassing the notes coaxed from Holmes' violin.

She borrowed the bow, played a perfect Vivaldi,

Then handed it back so their work could begin.

~0~

"A case, dear Inspector, I need your assistance.

A client whose crime is beyond my great brain."

Young Larch, with one hand on her gem-studded truncheon,

Declared she'd be honoured to help him, again.

They studied together the intricate detail,

Their heads almost touching above a fine script;

While Watson just sat and admired both detectives;

The one, fingers steepled, the other, full-lipped.

~0~

Larch quickly deciphered the Mandarin code work,

The postscript in Latin, the Sanskrit address,

The hairstyle and age and shoe size of the writer;

All details deduced with great flair and finesse.

It was clear that a shipment of gold was expected,

Young Larch had discovered the plot just in time;

They'd have to move fast if they wished to bag villains;

And duly make haste to the scene of the crime.

~0~

So, Holmes and the peerless inspector got ready,

Disguised as two sailors to stake out the docks;

With Watson amazed at the swift transformation

And the glow through her cap of her russet-hued locks.

They carefully crept round some crates at the dockyard,

With Watson and trusty revolver close by;

They sat, and they waited, pressed closely together,

Prepared to bring blackguards to justice...or die!

~0~

Holmes gazed through the long silver fringe of his comrade

At her emerald, dotted with cinnamon, eyes.

He'd never met anyone else who could better

His art at detection and skill at disguise.

He knew Irene Adler and numerous Violets

Could never compete with this fabulous girl;

Her manner was bold her intelligence charming,

And the light softly fell on each ebony curl.

~0~

Larch suddenly motioned for Holmes to move closer;

Her super-keen hearing had picked up a sound;

Two men, one left-handed, were quickly approaching;

They appeared within moments, looked sharply around.

Three more men appeared looking seedy and shifty;

They slouched to a ship in the shallows...then stopped,

And turned their attention to Watson, the sidekick,

Alerted, perhaps, by the pistol he'd dropped.

~0~

Five men charged as one to subdue the poor doctor

Who stood there defenceless, quite brave, not too bright;

Larch moved like a cat, she was one with the shadows

(In fact she put genuine shadows to flight).

She boldly stepped forward in front of the doctor

And spoke in a voice made of treacle and spice,

"Please put down your weapons, and please put your hands up;

Larch Unicorn Jones never makes this plea twice..."

~0~

The five stood a moment, transfixed by her beauty,

Transfixed by her flaxen Rapunzel-like hair;

Then, crouching, they crept round the crate and took captive

Holmes, also transfixed by her tresses, so fair.

Larch tensed every muscle, recalling the training

She'd had on her seven year trip to Tibet;

Her finely honed body tuned in to Baritsu,

Those grueling lessons she'd never forget.

~0~

She unsheathed a silver-tipped sword with a flourish,

And leapt into action; a pulse-raising sight,

She lunged with precision, her chestnut mane flowing

And felled two assailants with one perfect smite.

Then, using her martial arts skills like no other,

She whirled in slow motion, disarming her foe;

While Holmes and the doctor stood hopeless and helpless,

Admiring the grace and the style of each blow.

~0~

Now gently perspiring from recent exertions,

Larch brushed from her forehead, damp strands of pink hair,

And turned to her grateful, delighted companions;

No Venus, no Disney Princess could compare.

The derbies were placed on the five dazed opponents,

Larch smiled and they quickly confessed all they knew

Then, arms linking arms, the three friends headed homewards

For freshly brewed tea and a warm scone or two.

~0~

Now picture the scene in the Baker Street parlour;

Fine china, bright silver, an excellent meal;

And Larch, proud and queenly, her skin, alabaster;

Her eyes, grey and smoky; her elfin bob, teal.

She pours out the tea from a fine Wedgewood teapot;

Spreads strawberry jam on each scone with great style,

Then curls up in Holmes' fireside chair with her shoes off,

Transforming the room with her cab-stopping smile.

~0~

She helps the good doctor with difficult patients;

She helps Holmes to solve an old puzzle or two;

She helps Mrs H bake a fine rhubarb crumble;

There is literally nothing this girl cannot do.

Then, all are aware of a sound in the distance,

As a magical conch shell is blown from afar.

Larch sighs, "That's Lestrade, he requires my assistance",

Her hazel eyes glint like the bright evening star.

~0~

So, down all the seventeen steps in an instant,

She glides like a swan down the cobblestoned street;

The doves and the butterflies, waiting, now follow

As they head for the point where two bright rainbows meet.

And two Baker Street residents watch her, in silence;

Their world now seems empty, mundane, and bereft,

They stand there till moonlight pours over the rooftops

Reflecting the glittering trail she has left.

~0~

Next morning, a parcel arrives on their doorstep;

The shiniest copy they've seen of "The Strand"

Front page-"The Adventure of Gold at the Dockside"

Inscribed in a perfect clear copperplate hand...

~0~