Author's Note: No time for a long note, it's almost time for classes, but I wanted to put this up. Here is the intro into part two of The Problem of Siamese Amnesia. I hope you enjoy!

And yes, it may seem unrelated at first but hopefully you'll find the connections.

Let me know what you think! Please R+R. :) And please answer my poll on my profile, too. :D

Irrevocable Heart

The armed man, who was dressed as a gentleman but had a badge and truncheon, slid into the small alcove between two fish-skinning shacks and drew his firearm. He knew, absolutely knew, that he was being shadowed.

Sure enough, he heard footsteps approaching and jumped out, gun at the ready.

"Don't mo—"

Before the Yarder could even finish, the man who had been tailing him caught his right hand—gun and all—and slammed it into the wall over his shoulder hard enough to free the weapon from his grasp. That didn't go as planned, the lawman thought, ducking a punch and throwing his weight—which wasn't very much considering he was rather lean—into his attacker.

They crashed into the side of one of the shacks together. The Yarder, a thin, wiry-muscled man, drew out his truncheon with his left hand and pounded it into his tail's stomach. The man who'd been tailing him hardly flinched and instead threw a heavy punch, the punch of an extremely skilled boxer, into the Yarder's eye.

The lawman reeled, but managed another punch of his own before his attacker hit him again, then tackled him, making the Yarder's head bounce off the pavement.

He didn't move. Warily, the man who'd been following him prodded him with his foot. Definitely out. For a small, lean, man the Yarder had surely put up more of a fight than he'd anticipated. He hadn't really wanted to hurt the man, not seriously, so he hoped the lawman wasn't too injured. He bent down next to him.

"Yer lucky it uz me foll'win' yer, mate," Jack Uden said softly, pulling the Yarder's whistle out of his pocket. "Any o' th' others'd killed yer."

He put the whistle to his mouth and gave several short bursts, only satisfied when he heard the pounding of feet coming his way.

When he was sure someone was coming to the unconscious man's aide, Jack dropped the whistle and vanished. He'd known that this particular Inspector wouldn't have come here without some sort of back up.

Sergeant Greene hadn't really wanted to come down to this area by the docks, he'd grown up here, but a Sergeant didn't disobey an Inspector. He'd been flirting innocently with a few of the girls when he heard the whistle. Instantly he stopped being friendly, all around well-liked Tommy Greene and turned into the dogged Sergeant that had a reputation for charging into the fray ever since he'd gotten his first injury all those years ago.

He ran for all he was worth and stopped short when he reached the crumpled form next to one of the wharves many fish shacks.

"Inspector?" He asked, hurriedly kneeling down next to the prone man after surveying the area and making sure it wasn't a trap. He pulled a decently clean handkerchief out of his uniform's pocket and sat down, lifting the man so he was propped on his lap. One eye was already purple and swollen shut, he had a gash in his eyebrow where a blow had opened it, and, after a careful inspection, he had a nasty bump with considerable bruising and bleeding on the back of his head.

Meg, one of the girls he'd talked to, gasped, having followed him.

"Fin' some wa'er Meggie," Sergeant Tommy Greene ordered. "An' call fer a doc."

She hurried away. Satisfied, Tommy Greene did what he could to stanch the blood flow. The inspector moaned as he pressed the handkerchief to the back of his head.

"Inspector Lestrade?" The sergeant asked worriedly. "Can yer 'ear me?"

Lestrade was the best of the high rankers, a little cocky, maybe, but just as concerned for his men as for himself. The inspector didn't move or groan again and Tommy waited for help in worried silence.