Sherlock waited until he heard the thud of the door closing, and the footsteps fading away. He then rounded the corner and promptly rapped on the apartment door.
"Did you forget someth..." Mrs. Hudson began, and then faded off as she realized that it was Sherlock, and not her husband at the door. She gasped and pulled her robe more tightly about her.
"You? What are you doing here? How did you find me?" She quickly closed the door to a crack and placed her slim body firmly against the other side, as if that would keep Sherlock out.
"You know something about the case. The woman in Florida. I know you do." Sherlock answered. He had spent all night researching what the American media had put out about the murder, and then further researching all he could find on the victim. She had studied abroad in London, which only confirmed Sherlock's suspicions.
"I already told you, I know nothing." The woman's voice was shaking. "Now leave before I call the police. Or my husband! He's close enough to turn around and come back here right now!" She threatened.
"I am the police." he told her. A slight lie, but oh well. "And you won't call your husband to come beat me up. Him leaving is the best part of your day, and from what I gather, he already has someone to beat up."
"Excuse me?" The woman opened the door, and glared at him angrily. "How dare you!"
"Oh, so I take it those bruises across your chest, wrist, and face, are from..."
"I'm naturally clumsy."
"Of course. Oldest line in the book. You might at least try to get a little creative. Now, might I come in? I could use a strong cup of coffee."
He didn't wait for her, but pushed his way in.
The apartment was meticulously well kept. Everything was clean and in its place, except for the kitchen chair which had been knocked over in Mr. Hudson's morning fit of rage, which Sherlock had overheard from his waiting spot.
"How's your right cheek, by the way?" He reached out and touched her face, causing her to flinch in pain. "Thought so. Pitiful excuse for a man."
"If he finds out anyone has been here...you must leave this instant!" The woman insisted.
"Look, I'm trying to help here. You can make it easy, or you can make it more difficult."
"I'm dialing the police now." was her shaking response.
"All right, all right." I already have everything I need anyway.
"Sorry? Don't understand?" she wrapped her arms protectively over her chest.
"The suitcase though the bedroom. It has a tag on it from the Orlando airport. Your husband just got back from a business trip there. The new shot glass in his collection on your shelf there is from the same bar the young woman in Florida disappeared from. And, if I hadn't overheard your husband's violence this morning, the way you flinched when I went to touch your face would have told me enough. I despise men who beat their wives, Martha. I don't know why you would defend such a man, except out of fear, which must be the case. If you decide to change your mind and be more helpful, you can find me at this address." He pulled out a business card and handed it to her, before striding out the door that she had been holding open.
"Maiden name is Hudson, is it? Not associated with the Hudsons on Grand Street, by any chance?" He asked over his shoulder.
"How did you...?"
"The wedding embroidery on your wall." he answered impatiently, though he was almost too far down the stairwell for her to hear by then.
Martha stood in shock for a moment, shaking with the fear that her husband would find out about her conversation with this man, and even more dreadfully, what he would do if he found out that she had allowed him into their apartment.