Rough hands. Slight bruising. (Irene is always paying attention). But that doesn't get her any answers, not just yet. Now's when she misses Sherlock, really, which gives an inkling of how her mind works; never mind whether she's in love with him or not, at least he's useful...

"Not at all," Irene says, looking highly amused at the notion. "Really, it's...an inventive way of getting around the issue." She sips her whiskey sour. "What on earth gave you the idea to do it?"