Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta read by the lovely likingthistoomuch. Thanks for their reviews go to CQCRASH, 2lieutenant, Bekah1218, AGirlInTheGalaxy, Peacockgirl, Lara1786, simplyshelbs16 and Whoovian- Enjoy!

~ DEARHEART ~

The Remains of The Cock and Hen

Temple

By the time Sherlock and Irene exit Temple onto Fleet Street, the authorities have arrived.

What had been a scene of devastation is slowly starting to right itself; the injured are being seen to, while policemen argue with London's more recalcitrant cabbies and passersby about why they can't continue up through the Strand, damn it, and yes, you can be arrested if you make a nuisance of yourself by continuing to ask. Smoke still hangs over the street, mixing with the greying skies and London smog and setting a dark, dismal atmosphere.

It all feels rather... funereal.

Still, the detective nods sharply to Irene and then makes his way towards a nearby Chief Inspector (Dimmock, he thinks his name is). Irene saunters along behind him, somehow managing to make her disguise look like an evening gown. Heads pass as she does but she ignores them, as does Sherlock. He wishes to ascertain where Mary and his wife have been taken, and the ranking police officer on-site is the most likely to know.

All else is superfluous, in his estimation.

As he nears Dimmock however, he is distracted by the sound of angry voices, one male and one female. His eyes are drawn from the chief inspector to a large, mustachioed bobby who is arguing with a soot-covered, weary-looking female figure.

She is gesturing quite sharply to the unconscious form of Kitty Reilly, lying on a makeshift stretcher and looking like nothing so much as a broken doll. As Sherlock gets nearer the woman says something sharp and the bobby reaches out, grabbing her elbow and dragging her roughly towards him, his hand swinging back to hit her-

Recognition goes off inside Sherlock like a firework: The woman being manhandled is Molly. Molly.

His Molly.

Sherlock is not bloody well having that.

Heedless of the situation- or Adler- he charges across the Strand and shoves the policeman sharply away from Molly, making sure to catch her as the motion knocks him off-balance. The bobby glares at him- "What the devil are you about?"- but Sherlock doesn't answer, merely shoves him roughly away again and places himself in front of his wife. He straightens himself up to his full height and has the pleasure of seeing the policeman's confidence slip somewhat: Apparently threatening people half his size is more this man's style. He can feel Molly's hand at his arm, trying to hold him back, but he shakes his head. Refuses to look at her.

There are some things, he knows, which are not to be borne, and someone harming her is one of them.

"You'll not treat my wife that way," he snarls and at these words he hears Molly give a soft gasp behind him. It occurs to him, somewhat irritatingly, that she is surprised at finding a champion in her husband.

Surely, he thinks, she can't have so little faith in him as that?

"No lady is to be treated in such a manner," he continues, brushing so uncomfortable a thought away, "and certainly not one who has spent the last hour helping the treat the wounded-"

"Treating the wounded, was she?" The bobby grins, a hulking, ugly thing.

Apparently he feels himself on familiar ground now.

"There wouldn't be any wounded if it weren't for the likes of her and her harpies," he hisses. "Why else do you think we're rounding them up?"

He smiles, showing yellowing, tobacco-scarred teeth.

"Everyone knows what sort they are- tearing apart families," he continues. "Throwing themselves in front of carriages and scarring decent men, and for what? Votes for women?" He spits, the spittle just missing Molly's boots (and Reilly) though the message is obvious. "A belt from her husband, that's what she needs- What the lot of them need." His smile turns lewd. "That or a good, proper fu-"

The blow comes out of nowhere, so fast and sharp that the bobby doesn't even see it coming.

Truth be told, neither does Sherlock, and having seen Irene fight he supposes he shouldn't have been so naive.

Adler merely grins, enjoying both his surprise at her speed and the policeman's flabbergasted expression- Even Molly appears surprised by her strength.

The smile she shoots them is incendiary.

"Don't talk about what women need when you clearly know nothing about them," she tells the policeman wryly. "Now shouldn't you be trying to arrest me for assaulting a member of Her Majesty's police force, hmm?"

She makes a shooing motion.

"Toddle off, there's a good man, and get some reinforcements- I'll play nice and wait for the long arm of the law here."

The bobby opens his mouth then closes it; his expression turns ugly but though he squares up to her, Irene doesn't back down.

"Off you go," she repeats, voice more even. "You're getting to make an arrest tonight- Probably the only one. You should be pleased. Oh, and tell Popewilliam that I expect the best cell he has in Belgravia knick- I'll be sorely put out with him if he tries to stick me in the icehouse."

Confused, but knowing that he should follow procedure- especially concerning someone who knows to call his guv'nor by his preferred nickname- the policeman lumbers off, calling to a couple of his fellows and demanding of someone named McCabe that he hand over his pair of handcuffs post haste. McCabe grumbles but does so; Both Sherlock and Adler find themselves rolling their eyes at the man's slowness, something which Molly doesn't seem to like at all.

His wife's feelings are not Sherlock's only care in this, however. "What are you about, Irene?" he asks, sotto voce.

She shrugs, an elegant, sharp gesture which Sherlock recognises all too well.

"I need somewhere safe to lie low," she tells him. "Popewilliam owes me a favour- I'll more likely be in his bed tonight than anywhere else." She grins. "I might even get some information out of him- He's such a gossipy little thing, when he's all tied up."

Her smile dims somewhat.

"And if the police arrest someone tonight, they're less likely to continue harassing the rest of the women here- Or those on the street." For a moment her eyes are far away. "Nobody needs trouble like that, not with what happened today."

Molly sounds suspicious, something Sherlock thinks wise. "That's awfully generous of you, Miss Adler," she says. "To think of those so much less fortunate than yourself."

Irene turns a wintry smile on her. "Despite what you may have heard, I am not without feeling, Mrs. Holmes." Her tone is dry. "Why, according to some I'm practically a saint."

Her smile turns anything but saintly.

"Now, shouldn't you and your husband be heading back to Baker Street to start plotting with the Watsons, hmm?" She gestures to the unconscious Reilly, who is now being lifted gently into an ambulance cart. Makes the shooing motion as the other woman is loaded in. "Off you young lovers go, chop, chop. I'll see you in the morning-"

Sherlock hesitates. Grasps her arm. "Irene, you can't-"

Her tone is firm. "I can," she tells him. "It's no concern of yours what I do or do not do- Not anymore." She pulls her arm back, straightens her purloined robes. "Besides, do you honestly think I would choose such a course if I didn't think it the best way to secure my safety?" A snort. "Think of who you're dealing with, dearheart."

Sherlock remains unconvinced.. "But you could come to Baker Street-"

"Dear God, you really are an idiot, aren't you?" Though the words sound hostile, the tone is fond. Still shaking her head, she looks over at Molly. "Now I can see how things have gotten this way between the two of you," she tells her. "He's utterly immune to common sense." She smiles fondly. "But then he always was."

Sherlock opens his mouth to argue but before he can say anything the bobby is back, McCabe (and his cuffs) beside him.

"There you are, darling," Irene coos. "Now off to the jail-cells with me, and I can start my journey back towards the straight and narrow- Huzzah!"

For perhaps the first time in her life neither man smile and Irene shrugs. With her usual theatricality she holds her hands out for the cuffs to be put on- Cuffs which Sherlock doubts would hold her for more than half a minute if she had a mind to have them off.

For all he knows, she might well do.

Hips swaying, she saunters away from he and Molly, making her way towards the arrest wagon in which so many other members of the Suffrage Committee are sitting.

Sherlock and Molly watch her go, an uncomfortable silence settling between the couple though when he offers it, Molly takes his arm. Walks with him. Together they set off towards the Embankment, hoping to find a hansom.

It's only as they disappear around the corner that Irene relaxes-

That is, until she realises that, despite her best efforts as bait, the person who was following she and Sherlock through Temple is now following he and Molly.

"Oh, for the love of tits," she mutters to herself as the police wagon takes off and she starts working quietly away at her cuffs.