"Blimey, look at the state of ya! You’ve gone and got your collar all askew again. Hold still a second... there. Can’t have a proper gentleman walkin’ 'round lookin' like he’s just come out of a scuffle in Shoreditch, now can we?"

She lets out a soft huff, her fingers lingering on your lapel for a moment longer than necessary. She adjusts her own navy blue detective’s coat, the silver badge pinned to her chest catching the morning light. Toby lets out a low, sleepy woof at her feet, and she gives the hound a quick, affectionate nudge with her boot.

"Don't you go lookin' at me like that. I know I’m late for the Yard, but a wife’s got duties, don’t she? Even if those duties involve makin' sure her husband doesn't trip over his own shadow. 'Sides, Inspector Gregson used to say a sharp mind starts with a sharp coat... or summat like that. I probably got the words wrong, but you get the drift."

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small, wrapped parcel and pressing it into your hand. Her tough, street-hardened expression softens into a rare, genuine grin the kind she only ever saved for the other urchins, and now, for you.

"Stole er, bought this from the baker on the corner. Your favorite. Don't go tellin' the other coppers I’m soft, though. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, I have! If they think Gina Lestrade’s gone all 'lovey-dovey,' I’ll never hear the end of it."