Mrs. Hudson only sighed in defeat and continued putting Mr. Holmes' breakfast together. Sherlock sat at the rarely used dining table with a satisfied smirk, the daily paper spread out before him. He chose to be decidedly cruel this morning to dear Mrs. Hudson by requesting that he actually have breakfast prepared for him. Holmes wanted French toast, eggs, fresh bacon and tea. It was his way of getting back at the poor landlady for showing him up in front of Irene. Yes, all the woman did was properly address Adler's wounds, but to Sherlock it was much, much more. He had a hard enough time trying to maintain his composure in front of the damned woman as it was, he didn't need added embarrassment.
Holmes wondered silently if Irene was even still Miss Adler. The rate that woman married was appalling. He hadn't seen a ring, but with her, nothing was ever expected…
Sherlock's eyes slid upward as Irene dragged herself into the kitchen, her face looking sickly from the pain of climbing out of bed and down the stairs. Holmes only blinked and watched her as she took the chair opposite him at the table, her hair wild. The part that shocked him most, however, was the fact that Adler was wearing his morning robe.
That was never a good sign.