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Having another woman in the house would, to most women, or in this case most landladies, would either be a blessing or a curse.
A woman in a rented house often tended to be one of three things: wives, governesses, or prostitutes. Broadly speaking, at least. And regardless of what they were, they tended to cause some form of havoc in one way or another.
For Ms Hudson, though, she really wasn't quite sure what category to slot Ms Adler into.
The woman was a menace, to say the very least.
She liked to use and abuse Sherlock's wallet, making a farce out of the case that Ms Hudsons' two tenants were looking into, and being downright…unchristian, since she worked in the opera, were three big strikes in Ms Hudson's book.
So running into the woman in the kitchen after coming back from the farmer's market was nothing short of awkward.
Ms Adler was perched on the kitchen counter, giggling away as Dr Watson regaled her with one of his many stories of dealing with publishers as he tried to get his novels published.
Ms Hudson felt a strange tightness growing in her chest at the sight. Though, as soon as she fully recognised that the feeling was even present, she dismissed it with a shake of her head before she had a moment to put a name to it.
"Ah! Ms Hudson!" Dr Watson said with a smile as she entered. "I was just chatting with Ms Adler here - my, I didn't realise that the life of an opera singer could be so exhilarating!"
The blonde woman laughed, placing a carefree hand onto Dr Watson's shoulder. "Oh, John, you're far too kind!"
The two of them laughed away together, Ms Hudson still standing in the doorway of the room. First name basis? Already? Despite her dismissal of the pang in her chest, it reemerged with a vengeance, claws scratching away at her heart.
"If you two could be so very kind-" Ms Hudson interrupted, her lips pursed. "I need to put away the groceries, and I'm being blocked from doing that." Dr Watson was immediately apologetic, quickly collecting his belongings from the kitchen and making a beeline for the stairs to his room.
Ms Adler, on the other hand, took her sweet time, gliding one hand over the fruit bowl before selecting a bright red apple. The very same one that Ms Hudson had been planning to eat for breakfast the next day.
Ms Hudson placed the bag down (perhaps a tad more firmly than normal) on the countertop as Ms Adler sashayed past her, taking a bite out of the apple as she did. "Phenomenal as always, Ms Hudson," the blonde said, trailing fingertips along Ms Hudson's back before she left the room.
Ms Hudson stared at where the woman had been, before she shook her head and started to unpack the groceries. The feeling in her stomach grew and grew as she thought about the interaction. She sighed as she put the bread into the breadbox.
Jealousy manifested in such strange ways, she thought. She wouldn't say that her and Dr Watson were overly close, but seeing Ms Adler and him so close stirred funny feelings in her heart.
— — —
Ms Adler was really starting to get on Ms Hudson's nerves as the days went by.
Despite the fact that Ms Adler often spent most of her time outside of the house, shopping and spending to her heart's content, the presence of another woman was grating on her nerves more than she would like to admit.
One evening, she came back from her bridge night with some of her friends only to find the blonde in the sitting room. Her head swirled a little as she stared at the opera singer - the drinks she'd had (of which there had been many) finally starting to catch up with her a little.
She staggered into the room and sat down on the chair that was closest to the dying fire.
A grate had been placed in front of it (one of the few things she properly insisted on people doing, the risk of a blaze was too great otherwise), but she could still see and feel the heat from it.
She sighed a little as she stretched out, closing her eyes. The sensible part of her in the back of her head whispered that she needed to bathe and then go to bed, but the much louder part of her urged her to simply sit and lounge by the fire for a spell.
She could have almost forgotten that Ms Adler was also in the room with her. Almost.
The blonde was asking her something - she could hear that irritating, grating voice that bounced her head so much - but in her inebriated state the words merged and blurred together like droplets in a river.
The only thing she could feel was the softness of a blanket being draped over her shoulders and someone tucking her hair behind her ear.
The coziness of the room grew a little too much for her, and she closed her eyes, her thoughts spinning of the blonde. Ms Adler really was a force to be reckoned with. But her manipulation tactics, her false kindness, it would not work on her…
Even as she slipped into slumber, she found her dreams filled with murmurs of conversation with the woman, and brief glimpses of red dresses, and long golden dresses, and soft, soft lips-
Ms Hudson awoke with a start, heart in her throat.
The fire had burned itself out - some time ago, given the fact that a chill had had time to set into the room. She grumbled as she shrugged the blanket back off and hung it over the back of the chair. Even in her dreams, the damn woman couldn't leave her alone.
— — —
Saying that two dripping wet people walk into a rental home would, to anyone else, sound like the set up of a particularly bad pun.
Unfortunately though for Ms Hudson, such events seemed to be par for the course for her daily life.
From everything that she'd been able to glean from (not so subtly) eavesdropping on the conversation that Sherlock and Dr Watson had had, Ms Adler had leapt into a river to save a little girl who was being heckled by some wealthy ones her age.
After hearing that, for the first time, Ms Hudson didn't actually feel any animosity towards the woman when she took an excessively long bath. She'd almost even earned Ms Hudson's respect for her heroic actions.
Having to get the smell of river water out of her hair was a somewhat justifiable reason for having to take so long to bathe, in her book.
The evening stretched on. Ms Adler got out of the bath and retired upstairs. Sherlock went to bed at around midnight, Dr Watson a little before that.
Ms Hudson, on the other hand, found herself awake into the wee hours of the morning.
Eventually, she got up with a sigh, swinging her legs up and onto the floor, pulling a cardigan on and heading into the kitchen.
She poured herself a glass of gin from the cabinet underneath the sink - her own private stash, one that Sherlock didn't know about (as far as she was aware).
She knew that there would be questions of concern as well from Dr Watson if he found out about her slight drinking habit, which was why she hid it from him as well. She sighed as she sat down at the small dining table in the kitchen, rubbing her forehead as she poured herself glass after glass. Inebriation was a surefire way to find sleep.
She'd blame the alcohol as to the reason why she didn't hear the footsteps until they were already behind her. She almost jumped a foot in the air, whipping her head around as a soft voice said her name.
Ms Adler stood there, clad in a silky red robe, a hand raised close to Ms Hudson's shoulder. The two women stared at each other for a long moment, Ms Hudson's cheeks turning red with the embarrassment of being caught indulging.
She very slowly slid the bottle close to her chest so it was out of Ms Adler's direct view. The blonde, instead of walking away though, sat down opposite her at the table, leaning back in the chair. Her eyes were not on Ms Hudson though. She instead observed the bottle, looking almost intrigued.
"I didn't know you drank this sort of thing," she said, breaking the silence between the two of them. Ms Hudson forced a polite smile as she nodded. "You know what they say about us women having to have our guilty secrets, hah…"
She trailed off uncomfortably, silence permeating the room once more.
Ms Adler broke the silence again. "Might I have a sip?"
Ms Hudson blinked at her owlishly and then slid the bottle across the table to her silently. "I didn't know you drank like that," the landlady commented as Ms Adler took a swig straight from the bottle, instead of the proffered glass that Ms Hudson offered her. "I expected women of your…caliber to sip daintily on sherry or something."
Ms Adler snorted as she took another long swig before she set the bottle down once more. "Ms Hudson, you seem to have a perception of me that couldn't be further from the truth. Opera is only glamorous if you're in the audience. If you're on stage, trust me. You get used to swigging down gin to wind down in the evening pretty quick."
Ms Hudson nodded, the alcohol starting to get to her head a little. "Call me Martha." Ms Adler's eyes widened a little at the declaration, before a small smile crept across her face. "Call me Irene, then."
Ms Hudson nodded in acceptance, gulping down the last few drops of gin into her mouth before sighing. "I suppose I should try to go back to bed. You too, Ms Ad-Irene. A good night's sleep solves many a problem."
Irene sighed and stood. "Wise as always, Martha. Good evening, then."
As blonde hair made for the stairs, Ms Hudson spoke up once more, almost timid. "Thank you for the blanket, by the way." The red robe stopped swishing as the woman stopped moving for a moment, before calling out back to her. "It was no problem at all," she said as she swept upstairs.
— — —
Ms Adler - Irene, Ms Hudson had to remind herself - had only been in her life for such a short amount of time, all things considered. Their relationship would end when the case was sorted out.
During one of their late evening chats (which had become something of a common occurrence, much to Ms Hudson's ever growing delight, though she'd be loath to admit it to anyone), Irene had shared her plans for the life she wanted to build. Continuing in the role of performance, somehow - though probably not as an opera singer. That ship had sailed, she often said with a melancholic smile.
Hidden moments were stolen by the two women around the house more and more. They most often found themselves giggling away together in the kitchen, sometimes over a drink, but more commonly they were able to work themselves into gasping breaths of laughter just by talking.
On one evening though, the two women found themselves walking into a small bar some ways away from Baker Street. It was lively, to say the least. But it wasn't the amount of alcohol that made Ms Hudson shocked - she had had her fair number of exciting nights as well.
What was more surprising was the fact that everywhere she looked, she saw people of the same gender kissing each other. She almost did a spit take when she first saw it, before she choked the liquid down.
Irene looked at her with an unfamiliar look on her face. Ms Hudson wasn't able to decipher exactly what that woman was thinking as she coughed a little, swallowing the remnants of the liquid.
"Is…something the matter?" Irene asked carefully. Ms Hudson stared at her, confused. "No, everything's fine, apart from me, you know, choking on my drink. Why do you…" she took another look around the room and then her eyes widened.
"Oh, no, I really am fine with this! I can't say that I've had a lot of, ah, experience with this. But I'm not judgemental of it, or anything. I may not seem like it, but you do see a fair lot when you've been out in the world."
Irene's shoulders lowered in what could only be described as relief. "And…are you having a good time so far?" she said, changing the subject Ms Hudson laughed slightly at the question. "Well, I haven't really been able to see much of what's happening yet!"
Irene laughed as well, but there was still something lingering in her eyes as she looked down at her drink. "Yes, I suppose you're right. You need to experience everything before you can make a judgement call on it."
Ms Hudson was distracted by a rousing chant and sing along that was starting to spread over the bar, forgetting about the conversation.
Irene watched the woman's face as she sipped on her own drink.
Experience, huh?
— — —
Irene - James - didn't really stop by Baker Street anymore. Too much of a risk, he was told by MI6. Not a good idea to tempt fate if something were to happen and he would be recognised. It could undermine any future career - or life - for James.
Tonight, though, he found himself unable to stay away.
He could just see her outline through the curtains. She was in the kitchen - not drinking, thankfully - just moving back and forth and she cooked.
He probably looked like a creep standing across the road watching like this, a thought whispered in the back of his mind.
He ignored it, hoping for some small glimpse to keep him going.
The shadows of the late night obscured him enough to be little more than a whisper. He knew that. But the thought of her catching a hint of him, even with all the risks attached, was far too tantalising to resist.
The curtain shifted slightly, allowing him a brief glimpse of her. Her hair was down, and she was chopping carrots next to a steadily boiling pot. He smiled a little. She looked so concentrated, her lips pursed like that.
So beautiful.
He managed to drag his eyes from her after a long moment, feet feeling like cinder blocks as he started to walk away down the road.
If anyone asked why his face was wet, he'd say it rained on the way home.
In another life, maybe.