This story is an expansion of what Reid tells Dr. Crabbe in S2E2 about Emily's very public mental break and shows the consequences of Edmund's actions.

Emily Reid stumbled through the streets of Whitechapel in a thin, white slip. She wore no shoes, dress, nor even a brassiere. The shop keepers, publicans, and every other citizen of the infamous borough gawked at the Inspector's wife, traipsing about the cobble stones as if she had just come out of a long night working on her back. Emily did not seem to notice her audience: she was too focused on her destination.

As she came to The Brown Bear, the bar where her husband and every other copper from Leman Street had taken solace countless times, she brushed back her long, black hair that hung about her in knots. She faltered towards the front door and flung it open as hard as she could. Every head in the bar turned to see Mrs. Reid standing at the door, peering back at them with wild eyes. The men in the bar were too fearful of the Inspector to look at her in her present state, let alone lay a hand on her. Once again, Emily did not notice how others gaped at her madness.

She ambled towards the bar, tripping right before she came to it, and caught herself on the sleek wood of the counter. She laughed at her clumsiness and banged a hand on the surface. "You, back there," she pointed to the barkeep. "What does my husband drink when he comes in here? What foulness does he put into his body to keep himself away from our home?" The bartender ignored the question and kept his head down for he too knew of Edmund Reid and the rage that no one wanted to see stoked within him.

Emily raised an eyebrow and spoke again to the bartender, "Fine. If you do not wish to speak with me, I'm sure someone else will assist me." Her voice began to rise, "For everyone in this shitty corner of the earth knows the great Edmund Reid, who snatched the Ripper from the streets so we may be safe in our beds." The number of astonished looks Emily received for her comment were too many to count. She laughed dryly, "Oh that's right. Edmund could not catch the Ripper, could he? He could not even stop the beast from slaughtering those poor girls. Silly me!"

Emily turned her attention to the young constable who sat just a few feet down the bar from her. She slid down the bar and leaned into him, whispering, "Would you like to hear a secret, Constable?"

The young man tried to put space between himself and Mrs. Reid. "Miss, how's about I walk you home? Or go fetch Mr. Reid for you?"

"Boy, I did not ask for my husband. I asked a question of you."

The boy decided the best way to get rid of her was to let her do as she pleased. "What is your secret, Mrs. Reid?" he asked quietly.

She grinned and whispered to the young police officer, "Last year, when my husband was still chasing Ripper like a dog after his own tail, there were times, when I wished I could be a tart." The constable raised his eyebrows. "I figured, if I were a harlot, that Ripper would eventually have his way with me, and then my husband would have to spend time with me." She laughed devilishly and covered her mouth. "Isn't that amusing? I can see Mr. Best's headline now: 'The Great Inspector's Whore Wife Ripped.'"

Across the restaurant, Jackson wearily raised his head from the table it had rested on. He had been drinking in The Bear all morning and passed out about an hour before Mrs. Reid's entrance. As he sleepily rubbed his eyes, he heard a woman's voice yell for a drink across the bar. Jackson fell out of his drunken stupor completely when he saw Mrs. Reid at the bar, barely dressed. "Jesus Christ," he breathed. The American picked up his hat and made his way to the woman.

He came up behind her and placed a hand on her arm, saying softly, "Hi, Mrs. Reid. Are you alright?"

Emily shot him a look and pulled her arm from his grasp, "Go have a whore on Tenter Street on your wife's dollar, Captain." Jackson could not hide his surprise at her comment fast enough that Mrs. Reid did not notice. She caught the quick twinge of his muscles and pointed a finger at him, "Ahh, you did not know that I was aware of your habits, did you? You are just like Edmund: you think women should put their simple minds to activities like church or tea while the men do everything else." She took a sip of a beer someone had left on the counter. "You're just a big a fool as he is."

Jackson remained calm, and slipped his fingers around her wrist, "It's time to go, Mrs. Reid."

This time Emily could not escape his grasp and struggled to get away. When Jackson wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into the air, the woman let out a bone-chilling scream that was so loud, it was quite possible all of Whitechapel heard it. Jackson ignored her cries as he carried her from the bar, with the once meek soul kicking and screaming for her life. As he carried the writhing woman into the street, he heard Edmund's voice come from the door of the police station, "Emily!" He yelled, hurrying to her.

Jackson sat her down as gently as he could just as Reid approached them. Reid attempted to take Emily into his arms to cover her nearly-naked figure, but she pushed him away, roaring, "Do not touch me, Edmund! Leave me be!"

There was not a soul in Whitechapel that could not read the horror on Edmund's face. He tried to speak as calmly as possible, "Emily, please. This is an embarrassment."

Emily threw her head back in laughter, "An embarrassment, Edmund? For whom? You or me? The man who took another woman to his bed speaks to me of embarrassment. How amusing!" Edmund could not speak for the shock of the secret his wife had just revealed, but Emily did not miss a beat. "Do you think me stupid, Edmund? Do you think I did not notice how you would suddenly disappear in the middle of the night? Or how you were oh-so-eager to have me leave the house for church on Sundays? Or the note from that whore that I found in your coat pocket? Yes, Inspector, I know all about how you fucked Deborah Goren while I sat at home grieving for our girl!"

Suddenly, Edmund struck Emily across the face with the back of his hand. She stumbled back and held her cheek. The Inspector froze while Emily began to laugh again, "Oh how adorable, husband. You think you can hurt me. You cannot. You broke my spirit long ago with the false hope that you stabbed me in the heart with. Your affair was merely the twisting of the knife." She spit onto his polished black shoes, "I hope you enjoy living with the monster you created, Inspector Reid."

Dozens of citizens watched as Inspector Reid lifted his wife and threw her over his shoulder; mothers covered their children's ears as Mrs. Reid spewed profanities at her husband. Edmund Reid tried to ignore the masses watching this shameful occurrence as he carried not only his wife, but the consequences of his actions, away, through the dusty, Whitechapel air.