A/N: Takes place between If We Knew Then Now What We Know and Riding Job.
It was a shock to receive Irene Adler's letter, if she's being perfectly honest with herself. She likes the girl, and they get on very well, but in all of the length of their acquaintance Irene has never written her, nor vice versa, though she knows that Irene is a regular correspondent of Sherlock's. So the letter was a surprise, mostly for the fact that it wasn't addressed to Sherlock this time, but very definitely to her.
Martha Hudson smiles at the memory. She received it a month ago, a very polite enquiry as to whether or not Irene could join them in the house outside Cheyenne. She stated that her situation had changed, and didn't specify how, but Martha Hudson is a woman of the world and understands these things.
She keeps her own counsel on the subject, doesn't mention anything about the letter to Sherlock or John, but she replies to it very kindly that of course she can join them. They'd be delighted to have her.
That's how they came to be here, sitting in the kitchen sharing coffee, Irene pale with exhaustion and worry, Martha offering her biscuits and letting her take her own time. She was considerate enough to send a wire from Denver, giving Martha plenty of time to prepare a room and do some baking. If only Sherlock would learn to do that more often, then all would be right with the world.
Irene sighs, refusing to meet Martha eyes and instead looking down at her hands wrapped around her coffee cup. "I'm pregnant," her voice is quiet. It's the most she's spoken at a single time since arriving, bless her, perched in her seat as if she's ready to take off at a moment's word. She can't have had an easy time of it lately.
Martha smiles, sipping at her own coffee. "I know." And she does. It's obvious, right down to the choice of the word situation in the letter. A child out of wedlock is still such a shameful thing, after all.
Irene jumps, finally looking at her, eyes wide in shock. "How?"
"I guessed. It wasn't really that difficult, dear. When is the child due?" Kindness is undoubtedly the best way to find out more.
The poor girl still looks nervously worried, in spite of her slight smile at the mention of the child. "October, I think. More than likely." She stops, and turns the coffee cup in her hands, looking away from Martha again. "I don't know who the father is."
Martha doubts if that's quite true. Very possibly – considering her profession, which certainly isn't suitable for raising a child – she isn't certain on who the father is, but it's likely that she has some idea. It doesn't much matter, anyway. There are children who've come into the world far worse off. She reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of Irene's. "It's all right, dear. Stay here as long as you want and we'll do our best by you."
Irene still looks uncertain. "But what will Sherlock think? And John? When are you expecting them back?"
"They've been helping that lovely Marshal Lestrade in Utah with a case, but they should be back this evening or in the morning. They won't mind, and if they do, I'll have a very stern word with them. I promise."
Irene smiles a watery smile, and nods. "Thank you."
"Don't you worry about a thing. You're far better off here than in Austin. Now, you should get some rest. You've had a long trip, and you don't want to take too many chances."
