Disclaimer: Still trying to get my hands on that script but if that fails I have a backup plan. *insert evil cackle* Oh yes I do. No! I won't share what it is. If I did that you might use it and then you'll have Lestrade and I won't. That would be unforgiveable. Truly. I mean I love you guys and everything. You leave such lovely reviews but I don't even love my daughter enough to let her have Lestrade instead of me. Cheer up though, I don't have him yet or any of the others so you still have a chance.

Silly Fears?

Greg thought about running by his own house before going on to Anderson's. He could really use a hug from his wife about now. He wouldn't though. He needed to bring Anderson in. His own feelings of revulsion and sorrow had to be placed in the back of his mind for now. Later he would bury himself in Joanne's welcoming, warm arms and attempt to forget the events of this horrible night.

As though summoned by his need for her his phone rang with the insane ring tone Sherlock had programmed into it. Really he knew his wife was perfect he didn't need to be reminded every time she called his mobile. Still it shot a warm feeling through him tonight.

"Hey Jo," he answer gruffly.

"Greg?" Jo's voice was concerned. "What's happened? I just received a text from Sherlock's phone to call you."

He noticed that she didn't say it was from Sherlock which meant that he either hadn't signed it or someone else had used his mobile to send it. John then. "I…" he paused. "You know I can't give you any details."

"I know," she told him soothingly. "Just tell me what you can." Her voice was warmer and comforting. Did he really sound that off to her? After nearly thirty years of marriage she knew him better than anyone but then she'd known him since the day they met.

"All right," he cleared his throat. "You remember that PC? Penelope Chelton?"

"Mmm," Joanne hummed. "The one Anderson got pregnant?"

"That's the one." He swallowed. "She was attacked in her home this evening." Joanne gasped. "She called John and Sherlock called me. They've taken her to the hospital if you want to head over there. John, Sherlock, Donovan, her husband and several others are there already. That's really all I can tell you," he swallowed again. "This…well, it's not good, Jo."

"I'll head over there as soon as I tell Ben where I'm going," she assured him. "You won't be home tonight will you? You already have a suspect."

Sometimes her deductive powers amazed him. "When did Sherlock Holmes start possessing my wife?" He teased though his heart wasn't really in it.

"Mmph," Joanne huffed. "I'm far from stupid dear. You're not at the hospital because Sherlock would have just told you to call me. I can't hear anything in the background which means you're in the car so you're on your way to pick up the suspect. Do be careful dearest."

"I will be," he pulled the car to a stop in front of Anderson's town house. He saw the panda that held the two constables he'd ordered to meet him here and sighed. "No I don't think I'll be home tonight. Jo," he paused. "Take Ben with you. He can skip school tomorrow."

"That bad?" Was her only question.

Greg swallowed again. "I'm fairly sure she lost the baby and I know how you are about things like that. Take our son so that you can be sure he's there and he's fine. Tell him I love him, yeah?"

He heard Joanne draw in a deep breath. "Yes, okay," she told him shakily. "I'll tell him. Call…call me when you can?"

"Of course. Jo, I love you."

Joanne gave a half a laugh. "Love you too, dear."

Greg rang off and stared at the picture of his wife on his phone for a moment. This was going to be a nightmare. Steeling his resolve against the apprehension he was feeling, he exited the car and stood on the kerb to wait for the constables to stand beside him. "Look, this could get ugly. Forget that he's a colleague. Forget that you may not like him. We're taking him in for questioning on rape and attempted murder. That's it. He's just like any other suspect. Don't let him try to talk his way out of it because he's one of us."

"Yes sir," they answered together.

"He's going to be angry," one of the muttered.

"Then we'll know that he did it won't we?" Greg returned. "If he were innocent then he'd know that we were only doing our jobs and were crossing him off the list." He strode up to the door and rang the bell.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

Francine was thirsty. She really wanted a glass of apple juice. Her mouth was dry and the only thing that would quench this unreasoning thirst was the apple juice in the kitchen.

She eyed the door apprehensively. She couldn't explain, even to herself, why she was scared. She was though. Very scared. Of Humphrey of all the people and things to be scared of. She didn't know why. She really didn't want to go out there right now. Humphrey would hear her. He would come out of his room to see what the matter was. She didn't want to see him. There was something off about him tonight. Something very wrong.

Jr. really wanted that juice though. She could risk it, she decided. Humphrey was asleep. His phone had rung for a while about an hour ago but he'd never picked it up. She forced herself to walk to the door and open it. It was her house; if she wanted juice at two a.m. then she could have apple juice at two a.m.

Still she was as silent as she could be as she crept down the stairs. Reaching the relative safety of the kitchen she allowed herself a sigh of relief and poured her juice. She drank it down and smiled to herself. Jr. was happy now and her mouth wasn't dry anymore. Now she could sleep.

She giggled to herself at her own silly fears. Really Humphrey would never hurt her. He was a good man. Sure he could be very surly and cold and he often found someone else to take care of his sexual needs but still all in all a good man and she felt bad that she had let herself be afraid of him.

She had just placed her hand on the bannister to climb to the stairs back to her room when the doorbell rang. She screamed in fright and one hand leapt to her throat. "Good Lord," she whispered. She trekked away from the stairs towards the front door. Who on Earth would be visiting at two thirty in the morning?