Author's note: I don't really know what the services would have been like back then. I had to draw from my own religious experiences, as far as the structure of the church service is concerned. So, if I make some mistake and have something going on that wouldn't have happened back then, I hope you can forgive me and enjoy this anyway. Also, I like church people, and Christians, and happen to be one myself. So don't think that I'm downing them, please. But it cannot be denied that sometimes we have a tendency to judge people a bit too quickly. Anyway, here you go.


Reverend Arthur Blackthhorn looked over the congregation to whom he would be speaking today. A sea of faces looked back expectantly, eagerly waiting for the man to deliver his message. The Reverend wondered what their pastor, Andrew Roberts, had told his church to make them so excited. Almost every pew was packed.

Andrew nodded to his old friend and mentor as the choir director stood and led the choir in opening the service.

A straggler came in as the choir began singing, and took a seat at the far end of the very last pew, though it was actually a bench-like apparition that rested against the back wall of the church. Nobody minded the latecomer's arrival; nobody even seemed to

Two more men came straggling in before the song ended, and they too slipped into that last row. Again, nobody paid them any heed.

Andrew led the congregation in a word of prayer. When he had finished, and Blackthorn looked up, a fourth man had taken a seat on the bench.

They were a rough looking bunch, and Blackthorn tried to recall if his fellow minister had ever spoken of having trouble in his congregation. These men certainly looked ready for a fight.

One was missing his coat, another his tie. All four of them looked rather ragged and dirty.

Announcements were made; the congregation stood to sing a hymn. All four of the men in the back stood, though only two actually made an attempt at singing.

The hymn finished, and the congregation was seated, and the choir sang another song. Two more of these rough men slipped in and found a seat, and Blackthorn was puzzled to see that they had left a seat empty between them and the last man to sit down.

Andrew introduced the Reverend, and he began the sermon. A part of his mind, however, was still fascinated by the six men in the back.

They had one old Bible between them, and once the first man had found the passage, he read it and passed it on to those who were interested.

Halfway through the sermon one last of these fellows all but staggered in, and chose to lean against the wall rather than sit in the one empty space left in the pew.

He seemed to be respected by the rest of the bunch; the Bible was offered deferentially to him. A shake of his head declined the offer, and the man crossed his arms across his chest and let his head rest against the wall. His eyes lowered as Blackthorn continued speaking, and he wondered if the man were falling asleep.

He was smaller than the rest, with dark eyes and a sallow, pinched complexion. His clothes were neater than that of his companions, but by much, and there were dark smudges on both his clothing and his person.

The man sitting on the end of the pew closest to the smaller fellow noticed the losing battle the latter seemed to be fighting to stay awake and quietly stood. The dark eyed man accepted the offered seat grudgingly, and the two quickly switched places.

The small man finally nodded off as the Reverend concluded the sermon, and none of his companions were at all interested in waking him.

Andrew closed the sermon with a word of prayer, dismissed the congregation, and Blackthorn lost track of those in the back as the members of the church came to shake his and Andrew's hands before they left.

The group from the back seemed to filter out of their pew as the rest of the congregation dwindled. They joined the line of church members, and suddenly one of them was standing before the two ministers, a large man who looked as if he were built for fighting.

He wiped his hands on his pants before offering one to Andrew, who didn't hesitate for even a second before taking it in his own.

"Glad you could make it, Smith." Andrew said kindly. The large man grinned, revealing a gap that was probably from having a tooth knocked out in a brawl.

"Enjoyed the message, Reverend." He said to Blackthorn as he turned to shake his hand as well.

"Thank you." Blackthorn replied politely.

Next came a lean, wiry young man with a black eye who offered his left hand; his right was wrapped up. "Pleasure hearing you speak, Reverend." He too offered a smile before moving on.

The next two simply nodded to the two pastors before hurrying off. The fifth shook Blackthorn's hand wordlessly, and nodded to Andrews, and suddenly Blackthorn found himself wondering where the other two had gotten off to.

He caught sight of them as Andrew looked up and headed for the back, for they were still where they had been at the end of the service. The smaller was still sitting, but was at least awake now. The other was talking to him in a low voice, and as we drew near, he nodded.

"I'll take care of it." He assured the smaller man. "Bloody-"

He caught sight of us and flinched. Andrew pretended as if he hadn't heard as the man strode towards us with a hand outstretched.

"I know it's been a while." He greeted us cheerfully. "Haven't been able to get off lately."

"Well, we're glad you made it today, Bradstreet." Andrew replied with a gentle laugh.

"Me too, sir." The man said fervently. "Not that your sermons aren't good too, Pastor," He reddened slightly, "but this has been a treat."

Andrew smiled. "Rest assured, lad, I know no insult was meant." He assured the rough looking Bradstreet, and received a smile in return.

"Well, I'll see you when I can, I guess." The man said after a moment.

"God be with you, lad."

"Amen." Came the fervent agreement.

Bradstreet's departure left the two men with one more of this strange bunch to deal with.

"How's Hopkins?" Andrew's voice was low as he addressed this last fellow. "I saw you left his seat empty."

The man looked up; he had been staring at his feet. Dark eyes that were hollow and empty met Andrew's. When he spoke, it was in the voice of a ghost. "I don't know. The Doctor's done what he could, but…" He trailed off and swallowed. "We lost seven men today, Roberts. Seven. Taylor was only a boy; he'd been on the job for a week." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "I told them he wasn't ready."

Andrew was silent for a moment. "I can't tell you anything you don't already know, Giles." He said gently.

The man glared up at him. "Aren't you supposed to have the answer to the world's problems?" He demanded. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry. I know better than that."

"Yes, you do." Andrew agreed quietly.

"I don't know what it's worth," the man said after a moment, "but would you pray for the lad?"

"Of course. God does answer prayer." Andrew reminded the other man.

"I know, but I've seen so much, sometimes it's hard to believe He actually cares about our lot."

"I knew it had been a bad day when every one of you came creeping in late." Andrew murmured sympathetically.

"Seven, Roberts. Seven constables killed because the press had to stick their noses where they didn't belong and news of the raid leaked out."

He dragged himself to his feet. "I had to tell three wives and two mothers that their men wouldn't be coming home to them ever again." Another sigh. "And here I am ranting." A tired and self-deprecating smile crept across his face. "Sorry I was late, and sorry I wasn't more attentive. What I caught of the message was great." He paused. "The boys seemed to enjoy it, at any rate, though they were a mess today."

"You and the others are always welcome, Giles, you know that." Andrew reminded the man.

"You don't know how much that means to us, Pastor." The man looked just a little less weary as he turned to me. "I'd shake your hand," he said ruefully, "but I don't think it'd be a good idea after what I've been into today, Reverend…" He trailed off, and looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Blackthorn." The man told him. "Reverend Arthur Blackthorn." He hesitated. "And you are?"

"Lestrade." A grin. "Inspector Giles Lestrade."

Blackthorn balked. "Inspector?" He asked uncertainly.

Andrew explained. "He and the other boys are from Scotland Yard. They seem to favor this little church for some reason."

The Inspector chuckled. "It might have something to do with the fact that you didn't run Hopkins off after he passed out in the middle of your Christmas service from the alcohol was forced down him after he'd been thrown in the river." He suggested. "That kind of understanding of some of the less pleasant aspects of our job gets around."

"He apologized for being tipsy beforehand." Andrew replied smoothly. "He didn't need to be out in the city in the condition he was in anyway."

"Still-" The Inspector insisted.

"I cannot in good conscience turn away men who shed their blood and give their lives for our safety." Andrew cut him off firmly.

The Inspector blinked.

Dark eyes studied Andrew's face intently, and some of the weight seemed to lift from the Inspector's shoulders. "Thank you." He finally said.

Then he nodded briskly to the two of us and strode towards the door and out into the streets.

Andrew turned to look at his companion. "I saw you when they came in. You were expecting trouble." Simply an observation. No accusations, no condemnation. Andrew was good at that.

Blackthorn shrugged. "I was wrong. They looked like a rough bunch."

"They are a rough bunch. They have to be down at Scotland Yard."