[Vastra smiles. It's a terribly American phrasing, but she can see the wisdom in it. Then she looks a little distant for a moment, as though remembering something that happened not too long ago. Something that James is inadvertently hitting dead center.]

There is always a war going on, somewhere. But some are too small in scale to be noticed.

I concern myself with those who prey on the innocent, in London. That is my small war.