The Irregulars is a supernatural crime drama set in Victorian London. A bunch of misfits becomes Sherlock Holmes’ secret weapon. Bea runs the show with her tough partner, Billy. They tackle dark cases that stump police and even Holmes. As they dig deeper, they stumble upon a conspiracy that could unravel reality itself. Fun, right?

Meet the characters from The Irregulars

Bea Cook

Oh man, Bea is the kind of person who punches first and thinks about feelings later — a total streetwise leader with a soft core she pretends not to have. She’s fiercely protective, sarcastic to the point of poetry, and somehow always has a plan even when the plan is “wing it and hope for the best.” She’ll tell you she hates rules but then keeps a tiny, obsessive notebook of “be-a-person” rules (yes, really), and she’s equal parts stubborn and surprisingly sentimental. Honestly, she’s the glue — rough edges, a permanent scowl, and the kind of loyalty that’ll make you cry in a back alley at 2am.

Jessie Cook

Jessie is sunshine wrapped in chaos — bright, earnest, often loudly optimistic and somehow always the one who believes people can change. She’s sweet but not stupid, with sudden fierce moments where she proves she’s tougher than you assumed (don’t underestimate the kid with a smile). She collects tiny things for no reason, like buttons or hopes, and alternates between giggling and being scarily practical, which is a weirdly delightful combo. Also, she’s prone to dramatic lines like “we’re a team!” and yes she means it, 110%.

Prince Leopold

Okay, Prince Leopold is surprisingly complicated — aristocrat vibes but with this restless curiosity about the lower streets, like he reads too many pamphlets and then gets mud on his shoes on purpose. He’s polite in that old-money way but curious and a bit lonely, someone who wants to be brave but keeps tripping over protocol (literally and metaphorically). He has a ridiculous fondness for pastries and pocket watches and will apologize to a vase for looking at it wrong, plus he’s more progressive than his eyebrows let on. He’s vulnerable without being whiny, which makes him oddly endearing and frustrating in the best way.

Billy Chisup

Billy is the big, loud heart of the crew — brash, protective, and absurdly clever in a brawny, hands-on sort of way. He talks tough and jokes even tougher, but you can tell he’d give his last sandwich to someone on a bad day (and then calmly punch someone for wasting it). Has a surprising hobby of naming pigeons (no idea why) and sometimes gets sentimental about terrible movies, which is adorable and confusing. He’s the friend you want beside you in a fight and also the one who’ll steal dessert when you’re not looking.

Spike

Spike is all knuckled raw energy — quick-tempered, sharp-tongued, and with this weirdly sincere streak he tries to hide under sarcasm. He can pick locks and pick on you in equal measure, but also has these quietest moments where he’s totally human and you forgot he was ever anything else. Loves flashy gestures (dramatic entrances, please) and hates paperwork with a passion, yet will somehow micromanage the most ridiculous details when it counts. He’s messy, loud, occasionally terrifying, and improbably loyal — the chaos you can’t help but like.

Dr. John Watson

Watson is the steady, grounding presence — medical, methodical, and ex-military in the best possible way: practical, blunt, and impossibly reliable. He’s the sort of person who will patch you up while making an awkward joke about fixing your “mental dents” and then secretly worry about you for days. He’s loyal to a fault, good with people in a quietly fierce way, and yes he’s got this oddly soft spot for slightly silly hats (don’t ask, it’s a thing). He balances brilliance with a kind, human touch — a safe harbor in the middle of nonsense.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock is the cold spark of genius that everyone loves to both admire and fear — razor-brained, impatient, and theatrical, with an ego that deserves at least three medals. He notices everything: the weird tear on your sleeve, the way you hum when you lie, the exact brand of soap you use, and he’ll tell you in the tone of someone announcing a crime. He pretends not to care about human things and then will, inexplicably, play a two-hour violin piece because there’s a pattern in the melody that comforts him, which is adorable and terrifying. Brilliant, infuriating, possibly emotionally constipated, and absolutely central to every mystery.

the Linen Man

The Linen Man is straight-up nightmare fuel but in a weirdly tidy way — immaculate, slow, and eerily calm, like someone who irons your fears and folds them neatly. He’s the kind of villain who prefers a whisper and a wrinkled handkerchief to shouting, and his motives feel personal and quietly twisted (he likes things ordered — human feelings included). He hums to himself and has this bizarre devotion to linens — handkerchiefs, sheets, the whole terrifying catalogue — and yes, sometimes he smells like starch, which is both unsettling and oddly specific. He’s the quiet storm you don’t see coming until your sleeves start to tremble.

Alice Cook

Alice is a complicated, warm-ish presence — motherly in fits and starts, quietly fierce, and surprisingly cunning when she needs to be (don’t test her patience). She bakes when she’s happy, hides letters in teapots, and has a way of looking like she knows more than she’s willing to admit, which makes her both comforting and suspicious in equal measure. Sometimes she’s all soft smiles and bandages, and sometimes she’s cold and sharp, like someone who’s learned survival and then taught it to everyone else. She’s practical love with a few secrets and a tendency to hum old songs at odd hours — it’s oddly soothing and also possibly ominous.