The Lobby, evening around 8 PM.
Iris had a long, long day. The library shift had been quiet (a rarity, actually, something that surprised her when she began that job) but the coffee shop one had been a nine hour hell of demands and aching feet. She got home early, having worked the night before through, and she didn't even bother changing before she fell asleep on her couch, convinced she had until midnight to worry about Irene Adler.
When she woke, she found herself hungry--and also not herself. Irene smoothed down the layers of her pink day dress, and after some thought, discarded the straw hat that covered the rich auburn of her hair. She felt refreshed from Iris' nap, and surprised at the amount of lingering memory the woman had of the last month's experiences. Iris and Irene, rather than coexisting, practically blended into one person, so much so that Irene was hardly disturbed at her present whereabouts, nor by Iris' concerns about this evening. Irene made a soft ohm of thought with her soft lips, and then, shaking her head at the complications, sought out the apartment key before she left #202 for the lobby.
Despite the concerns of Eliot, Micah and Iris, she had no real desire to visit anyone in particular, and though she wouldn't have said no to Mr. Holmes' presence, there were many fish in the sea even when one was not fishing. Train rustling, Irene secreted the key in a pocket and drifted gracefully down the hallway, wrap over her arm. Perhaps there was someone to see, or somewhere to go. She would like that.