Work Text:
All she came to do was drop off a copy of the autopsy report. It should have taken all of two minutes; a brief stop on her commute home, one simple errand.
Stevens ought to have known by now that things involving Norton were rarely simple.
Finding the office itself was trivial. Nothing at all was out of the ordinary until the moment Godfrey Norton's door opened to reveal—
"Adler? What are you doing here?" Stevens snapped, taking in the sight of Irene Adler sporting a thin moustache and low ponytail, casually dressed in men’s attire.
“Sorry, you must be mistaken,” Adler said, giving Stevens a coy wink. “I’m Godfrey Norton, defense attorney. Would you like to step into my office?” As she said this, she opened the door wider and motioned for Stevens to come in, eyes darting expectantly between Stevens and the corridor behind her.
The shock knocked Stevens off balance, the way Adler always did, but the sheer confusion drew her into the small office nonetheless—she needed to understand what was going on.
There was an uncharacteristic air of anxiety hanging around Adler as she peeked out into the corridor one more time, then closed the door and turned the lock.
"You can't seriously believe a false moustache and a pair of trousers are fooling anyone," Stevens said when Adler faced her again.
Adler paced back to her desk, saying, "You'd be surprised. Not everyone has a keen eye like yours, Doc." She removed her cuff links and began rolling up her shirtsleeves. "Of course, being an excellent actor helps too," she said with a cocky grin.
Stevens reminded herself that this was meant to be a quick stop—she shouldn’t rise to the bait and fall into their usual bickering. She had no reason to linger, even if there were now dozens of questions racing through her mind.
Why is she doing this? How long has this been going on? Has Godfrey Norton been Adler the whole time? How is that moustache attached? Why are her bare forearms so distracting? Does she even have a law degree?
Frozen in place, she watched Adler retrieve a small bottle of liquid, compact mirror, and washcloth from a drawer and set them down on the desktop. Adler removed the moustache with practised ease, cleaned her upper lip, checked her reflection, and snapped the mirror shut.
"Now, what can I do for you this evening, Doctor?" She leveled Stevens with a piercing stare, one eyebrow raised.
Being under that sharp gaze made Stevens’s heart beat irregularly fast, sending a feverish warmth through her veins. Trying to recover her focus, Stevens looked down at the folio in her hands. "I’m dropping this off on behalf of Dr. Wilson. It's an autopsy record that may be pertinent to tomorrow’s proceedings," she explained, struggling to look Adler in the eye.
Whatever this odd reaction was, Adler had seemingly caught onto it. She rounded the desk slowly, approaching with the grace of a cat stalking its prey. Stevens braced for the pounce, but it never came. Instead, Adler took the folio from her hands, gave its contents a cursory glance, then turned back to place it on her desk atop a stack of other documents. Something akin to disappointment flared in Stevens's chest.
"That'll be a great help. Thank you, Doctor Stevens," Adler said, words laced with a sincerity she rarely showed. The teasing lilt quickly returned when she asked, "Are you sure that's all?"
An innocuous question with an easy answer. But Stevens knew a challenge when she saw one, and she had over two decades of experience in stubbornly refusing to back off.
It was clear that Adler was similarly experienced—they stared one another down, both poised like fighters circling each other in a ring. Waiting for the first blow to come and break the tension.
Adler moved first. She began taking slow, deliberate steps forward, never dropping eye contact.
Stevens could step away and maintain the distance; she could concede from this bizarre standoff they'd entered. She doesn't. It takes a lot more than that to make her quit, and she thinks Adler knows that.
They were inches apart when Adler stopped advancing. Despite her larger-than-life presence, Stevens noticed Adler was nearly half a foot shorter than her; a fact she may have already known, but failed to fully consider until now. She was so caught up in this thought, she nearly missed Adler’s fiery brown eyes landing on her lips for a half-second.
"Adler, what are you doing," she asked, trying to hide the hitch in her breath underneath her flat tone. Judging by the minuscule tilt of Adler’s head, she was not successful.
"Depends," she drawled, "what do you want me to do?" Her voice had gone soft and low, like distant thunder.
Courtney didn't know where to look. Her field of vision was eclipsed by this captivating woman, all half-lidded eyes and arching brows. Strands of chestnut hair curled around her strong jaw and sharp cheekbones dusted with barely-there freckles. Under her aquiline nose sat pink lips pulled into a sly smile, as if she knew precisely what Courtney was thinking when their eyes met once again.
"Irene..." she whispered, not sure if it was meant to be a warning or a plea. Adler just raised an eyebrow. The little smirk stayed put, and so did the woman wearing it, waiting expectantly.
God, she's going to have to say it, isn't she?
Courtney took a breath as best she could, around the tightness in her lungs and pounding of her chest. In a voice that would have been inaudible were they not standing so close, she muttered, "Kiss me."
There was a satisfied sparkle in Irene's eyes as she reached up to place a hand on the side of Courtney's neck, drawing her in to fulfill the request.
Kissing Irene was unlike anything Courtney could have expected. It was sharp and soft and filled her senses with nothing but Irene. The warmth of her body as she leaned in, the texture of her hair as Courtney threaded her hands through it. The smell of her cologne, accented with whatever solvent she'd used to remove that ridiculous moustache. Ethyl alcohol, supplied the little part of her brain that could still function.
As if she could read Courtney's mind, Irene licked into her mouth and promptly shut down any further cognitive thought. One hand found its place at the base of Courtney’s skull, while the other hooked its fingers on the knot of her necktie to pull her impossibly closer.
In this burning moment, the grasping of hands and grazing of teeth was natural as anything, a new version of the back-and-forth dance they’d been sharing for months.
The overwhelming sensation of it all dragged Courtney under like a dose of morphine, running through her veins to chase away every memory of pain. She clutched at Irene to keep herself from floating away completely, finding purchase on narrow shoulders.
It was frankly embarrassing to come away from the kiss feeling so lightheaded, but she had hardly a moment to collect herself before Irene's hands moved to her waist, holding her steady. She pressed a kiss to the corner of Courtney's mouth, then her cheek, her jaw, her neck.
"It’s a good thing I'm not wearin' any lipstick," Irene sighed into the space just below her ear, "I wouldn't wanna stain your collar."
A traitorous part of Courtney's mind wished Irene would leave smudges of colour along the path her mouth was tracing. She imagined looking in the mirror and seeing the evidence of desire covering her skin, imagined Irene's self-satisfied expression as she admired the mess she'd made of Courtney.
The whine that escaped her throat at the notion was a mortifying, pathetic sound. Irene looked up, her hand stilled where it had been undoing the top button of Courtney's shirt.
"Or maybe you'd like that? You want me to mark you up, darlin’?" Irene's voice was teasing, but full of warmth all the same. For all her composure, her accent was stronger now, and her breathing was heavier than it had been minutes ago. Courtney refused to give her the satisfaction of answering aloud, so she leaned down to kiss that obnoxious, perfect mouth again—trying to ignore the tender feeling "darlin’" stirred up.
Without breaking away, Irene walked backwards, and Courtney could do nothing but follow along. Once they reached the desk, Irene swiftly spun them around and nudged Courtney to sit on the edge of it. Then she slotted herself into the space between Courtney's legs and continued working on the buttons of her shirt, teeth grazing her throat before landing at her collarbone and nipping insistently there.
Courtney clenched her jaw to keep quiet under Irene’s ministrations. Always one to give as much as she got, she dragged her fingertips up Irene’s neck until they arrived at the nape and freed soft brown hair from the confines of its ponytail.
She ran a hand along her scalp, then—out of purely scientific curiosity—tugged lightly on Irene’s hair. The resulting hum of a stifled moan near her clavicle told Courtney her experiment was a success.
Irene's hands danced up to Courtney's shoulders, starting to push off her coat when a distant clock tower bell began to ring. With those damned lips finally removed from her collarbone, Courtney managed enough attention to count the chimes.
"Wait," she said, wincing at the sound of her irregular breathing and raspy voice, "We can't do this."
Irene tilted her head to the side and asked with mock-innocence, "Why not? We're just two gals having fun, nothing wrong with that." Still, her hands had stopped where they were in the process of removing Courtney's jacket.
"No, I— it's not that. Under different circumstances, I would be... amenable, if you..."
Irene chuckled. "Yeah, Doc, I'd be 'amenable'. Thought I made that pretty clear when I started undressin' you."
Courtney pushed her away so she could stand up from her perch on the desktop. "Don't be so crass, Adler. I know it may be difficult for you Americans, but it's unbecoming."
More than willing to pick up their usual banter, Adler replied, "Right, of course. Terribly sorry to have offended your delicate British sensibilities, madam." Watching Stevens shrug her coat back on, she continued, "Would it be unbecoming to ask what's got you in such a rush this evening?"
"I have to go home and put my daughter to bed," Stevens explained. Returning to a more rational state of mind, she cursed herself for losing track of time over something so frivolous—the whole thing was completely uncharacteristic and inappropriate.
Adler hummed thoughtfully, pushing a hand back through her loose hair. "I didn't know you had a daughter. What's her name?"
"Maria," answered Stevens, voice full of pride and love, the way it always was when she spoke of her daughter.
"Well, you can give Miss Maria my sincere apologies for keeping you."
Maybe Stevens shouldn't be so surprised by this response, but in the six years since Maria came into her life, she had resigned herself to the incredulous reactions. The most common were from fellow mothers perturbed by her professional status, and fellow doctors dumbfounded by her motherhood.
Adler seemed neither perturbed nor dumbfounded by this revelation—she simply accepted it with all of her usual grace.
"I’ll tell her as much," Stevens replied. She studied Adler for a moment, considering the fascinating, impossible woman in front of her. Cheeks still tinged pink and hair mussed where Stevens's hands had tangled in it, but holding herself with unflappable certainty regardless.
Stevens voiced a thought that very rarely crossed her mind. "I think Maria would like to meet you sometime," she said. Ever since she was small, Maria disliked most people—she found them boring and condescending and illogical, and her mother couldn’t blame her. But Irene Adler was not most people.
"Well if she's anything like her mother, I'm certain I'd be charmed to meet her," Adler said smoothly, openly reveling in the way Stevens turned her face to the side, as if ignoring the praise would make it go away. With a chuckle, Adler reached out to re-fasten the buttons of Stevens's shirt.
Heat rising in her cheeks, Stevens protested, "I'm not a child, Adler, I am perfectly capable of dressing myself."
Adler gave her a look. "Of course, Doc. But it'd be awful rude of me not to clean up after myself, don't you think?" Stevens heard the insistence for what it was. “Let me do this for you.”
How long had it been, since Stevens allowed someone to take care of her? Her late ex-husband was never a particularly doting lover—not that she would have tolerated it if he had been.
Inexplicably, the idea of permitting Adler this indulgence was not so unthinkable.
She huffed, closed her eyes, and allowed Adler to continue. Steady, purposeful hands buttoned her collar, re-knotted her tie, and smoothed out her lapels before coming to rest on her shoulders. Stevens opened her eyes and was met with an expression of admiration she'd never seen Adler wear, at least never with such openness and sincerity. It lasted for just a moment before she donned the veil of cocky confidence again—slipping back into character.
Those little glimpses behind the mask had become more frequent, as of late. Or perhaps Stevens was just more inclined to notice them. As she pulled away from Adler to make her way to the door, she resolved to study the phenomenon in greater depth.
Adler quickly hunched over her desk and scribbled something down, then joined Stevens at the door.
Stevens was unsure how to bid Adler farewell, given all that had transpired in the last half hour. She settled on extending her hand and offering a handshake.
Adler gave an amused smile and shook her hand, slipping something into Stevens's palm. Before releasing her grip, Alder lifted their joined hands and pressed a feather-light kiss to sharp, pale knuckles.
"Goodnight, Doctor. Get home safe," she said softly.
Stevens simply nodded and exited the office before her face could flush any hotter. Looking down at her hand, she found a calling card bearing Godfrey Norton's name, with a Serpentine Avenue address handwritten beneath it. She tucked it into her breast pocket, exited the office building, and tried to ignore the odd tingling sensation in her gut.