In a nice little flat in central London, a consulting detective is drinking tea with the most dangerous woman in the city. She eyes him over her chocolate noir biscuit, he keeps his gaze fixed as he sips a lapsang soushong. John and Mrs Hudson hover awkwardly, sipping English Breakfast with a dash of milk and nibbling at Speculoos. In time, Irene will unfold her arms and smile a Devil's smile and tell them how Sherlock helped her escape. He'll sigh and deduce, and move the conversation on with a wave of his hand.
Life in 221B will go on.
Author's Note: From now on, I'll be alternating each drabble between the 221B lot, and Cynthia & 'M'.