Chapter 11

Overcome, Anne began to weep as Lestrade cradled her head to his shoulder, burying his face in her neck. He was only vaguely aware of John stepping past them, crouching by their side, until John reached up and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Greg," he said softly, shrugging out of his coat. "We should get her out of here."

Lestrade shot a dark look his way, still holding Anne, then he nodded.

"C'mon, love..." he murmured in her ear, pulling Anne away, reaching down to cup her wrists as she reflexively clutched his shirt. There was a flash of terror across her face. "It's okay," he quickly reassured, "we just need to get out of here. All right?" His familiar authority returned to his voice. He searched her face waiting until he got a nod in response.

John settled his coat around Anne's shoulders and stood up. "Bring her upstairs, I'll get Emergency services on their way," he said, pulling out his mobile.

Lestrade suddenly found it a little difficult to get up, much less bring Anne with him.

"Allow me," Sherlock suddenly murmured, standing next to him. Lestrade blinked in surprise as he grabbed hold of the back of one of the benches and pulled himself up with a groan of pain.

Anne, still on the floor, looked at Lestrade in confusion before Sherlock took his place, dropping to one knee before her. She was still struggling with the weeping, trying to regain some control of her emotions. Silently Sherlock handed John's jacket to Lestrade.

"It's all right, Anne," Sherlock said reassuringly. Almost by magic a clean white handkerchief appeared in his hand as he. He took her wrist gently in his hand. "Here you go. It's all right. Put your arm around my neck," he said firmly, taking her arm and laying it over his shoulders. Wrapping one arm around her, he slipped his other arm under her knees and in one smooth move effortlessly picked her up off the floor. She grabbed at his coat and shoulder, gasping at the sudden pain and looked around in bewilderment.

"Sherlock?" she asked in confusion, looking at her husband.

"Who else?" Sherlock said to her as he shot Lestrade a warning look, nodding at the chair in the room.

Catching the warning, Lestrade moved to block Anne's view of Elena in the chair as Sherlock twisted slightly to follow John up the stairs. Lestrade trailed behind, grabbing the railing, grimacing in pain, while clamping his arm down on his side.

"What are you...?" Anne started to ask Sherlock before she realized something was wrong with her husband. "Greg?"

"I'm all right," he said, following them up the stairs more slowly.

"For someone whose been stabbed," Sherlock replied dryly.

Anne looked back at Lestrade in alarm. "Stabbed?"

"Thanks, pal," Lestrade growled at Sherlock's back not seeing him smirk as he emerged on the ground floor level. "I'm all right, Anne."

"Stabbed?" she asked again, tears welling in her eyes. "When?"

"The other night, when this all started," Lestrade said. It nearly tore his heart out again as he watched the tears rolling down her bruised and battered face. Only this time they were tears for him.

Looking around inside the deserted pub, Sherlock was about to set Anne down when he caught sight of John standing on the front step. He made his way outside and settled Anne down on the step. Sherlock stood back, letting Lestrade drape John's coat back around her shoulders, before Lestrade shrugged out of his own coat, adding it to John's. He turned away as Lestrade dropped down on the step next to his wife, pulling her close in the circle of his arms adding his own warmth to the coats wrapped around her. He heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

To their mutual surprise, the sky was lightening and a bare strip of pink could be seen on the eastern horizon.

Feeling Anne shiver, Lestrade looked at her, seeing she was still struggling not to weep. "It's all right love," he murmured, kissing the top of her forehead. "Let it out."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, clutching the handkerchief.

"Whatever for?" Lestrade asked, genuinely puzzled.

Anne was a picture of misery as she struggled with her tears, "I tried to fight, I tried to get away. I couldn't!"

"Looks like you did a pretty good job to me," he said then winced when her arm connected with his wounded side.

"Oh, Greg!" She looked at him apologetically, fresh tears springing up. He shook his head quickly, gingerly pulling her arm away as he heard John concluding his initial call. "It's all right, I'm fine, just sore. You're the one I'm concerned about." He lifted her chin, searching her battered face, unconsciously reaching up and wiping at a dab of blood on her chin with his thumb. He could almost see the jumble of confused thoughts in her blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured again, reaching up to touch his cheek reaffirming that he really was sitting next to her.

"Darling, what for?" he asked, pained at the look of sorrow coming across her face.

"For doubting you. You've been right all along, Elena..." Anne choked suddenly, struggling not to cry. "Elena..." she tried again and Lestrade could see the betrayal and the horror of the past few hours replaying in her eyes. She couldn't go on.

He shushed her then, holding her close, resting his chin gently on top of her head.

"Greg?" John was by their sides again. "Paramedics are on their way. There's been quite a bit of trauma. Let me start checking her over?"

Lestrade nodded, as John got Anne's attention. "Do you remember me? I met you the other night?"

Anne, shivering in reaction, looked at John befuddled.

"This is John, Anne." Lestrade said. "You met him the other night, before all of this..." Lestrade paused and shook his head in dismay before he continued. "Before all of this happened. You can trust him, he's a doctor." Lestrade suddenly smirked. "And a damned good one at that."

John reached out, slipping his fingers under Anne's wrist and smiled, gently settling his other on top of her hand as she tried to pull away. "A very good one," he said confidently. "It's all right, Anne. I'm just want to see what's wrong with your hand and check your pulse, all right?"

Before she could even reply he was examining the bite marks on her knuckles, then gently turned her hand to check the state of her swollen and broken finger.

"Greg, who was he...?" she asked Lestrade softly, watching John check her hand, before he flipped his wrist up to look at his watch, settling his fingers on her pulse.

"No one for you to worry about," Lestrade reassured. "He won't hurt you ever again," he added, with promise.

"How are you feeling?" John asked her. "Dizzy at all? Nauseous? Any ringing in your ears?" She was shaking her head gently as he studied her bruised and blackened eye and the slight swelling around it. He could see where her lip had been split and where she had bitten it.

"You bit yourself," he said with a kind smile.

"I didn't want to be heard," Anne hesitated, feeling a wave of confusion wash over her. "I didn't want to get caught." She blinked. "Everything's confused, my head is pounding and I'm so tired," her voice became plaintive as she gazed up at Lestrade puzzled. Clutching the coats with her good hand she added, "It's cold."

"We'll get you some place warm soon enough. Let's take a look at that knee shall we?" John said moving down, and very carefully slipping a hand under her knee. She instantly tensed letting out a gasp of pain. John looked at her in concern. "How's that knee?"

"I can't bend it. He, um, he hit it. I don't know with what but he hit it. I couldn't see." She gripped at Lestrade's arms as John very carefully set his hand on her knee.

"Relax," Lestrade said softly into her ear. "He's not going to hurt you."

"Anne," John said, "You can trust me, I'm a doctor. And I'm not going to lie, this might hurt. I need to feel around your knee, to see what state its in, all right?" John waited until she met his concerned gaze again.

With a look of uncertainty on her battered face, she nodded her consent.

She jerked abruptly, gasping out in pain as he felt around her knee. Lestrade, watching John like a hawk, had to admit he had an excellent poker face as he gently probed. He smiled at Anne apologetically.

"Sorry about that, I know it must be painful, let's check that foot as well, okay?" He moved down her leg then gently lifted her foot. He asked her a few times where she felt the pain as he tried to flex her ankle, then her toes. She nearly jumped out of her skin again as John apologized.

"All right, it's all right," he reassured, setting her foot back down. He shifted position and settled his hand gently back on her knee. Catching Lestrade's eye he leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Distract her."

Lestrade looked intensely at John's very serious face then he looked down at Anne. Lifting her chin he looked her in the eyes and said, "I had to call your mum."

"What?" She gasped in horror staring a moment at Lestrade before glancing nervously at John.

Lestrade tugged gently at her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Holding his hand out for emphasis he said, "If you thought she didn't like me before, I can guarantee she hates me now."

Anne could only stare at him in shock.

Out of his peripheral vision Lestrade saw John set one hand on the outside of Anne's knee and suddenly shift her kneecap with the other. Anne's entire body jerked unnaturally in his arms as Lestrade watched the blood literally drain from Anne's face. Her mouth dropped in an 'o' of pain as she gasped inwardly before she remembered to breathe. She literally sagged, wide-eyed into Lestrade's chest before her eyes began to roll into the back of her head at the pain.

"Don't let her pass out!" John said firmly, feeling the knee again. He smiled reassurance at Lestrade as he caught Anne's chin in his hand forcing her to look up at him.

"Stay with me, Anne!" Lestrade said urgently, "He's just set your knee back into place." She had his arms in a vice grip, whimpering at the pain before she cast a wary look towards John.

"The patella was just resting this side of your knee. Right on the edge, so to speak. If you knew what I was about to do, your muscles would have tensed and I wouldn't have been able to put your knee back into place so easily. Better to set it now than to have to endure that kind of pain later, especially when you know it's coming, right?" He looked at her with what Lestrade would forever swear was his puppy-eyed look.

Anne could only shiver in response, looking positively grey at the pain still washing over her.

"Stay awake, Anne." John said. "You've been doing great all this time. Don't go fainting on us like a girl now, okay?" He smiled at her.

Somehow he actually got a smile onto her lips with his remark.

"It'll take," she stammered through suddenly chattering teeth. The terror she had been in was subsiding and the adrenalin coursing through her veins was wearing off. "It'll take more than that to get me to pass out."

"Atta girl!" John said.

"What about Elena?" Anne suddenly asked, looking back at Lestrade. "Is she?"

Lestrade nodded at her. "She's dead," he said gently.

Anne frowned as the memories played back. "I heard him, I heard him kill her. I was under the benches. I heard..." she shivered again. "She said something to him, to set him off." She looked imploringly at Lestrade. "She mentioned someone's name."

"What name would that be?" Sherlock suddenly asked. He had crouched behind them, and was now looking intently at Anne, fixing her with his blue eyes.

Anne looked at Sherlock baffled. "Sherlock? Is that really you?" She asked. Then she looked at Lestrade. "Has he been with you all this time?"

"Well, more like the other way around. I've been with him all this time." Lestrade replied ruefully. "Felt like an eternity too..."

Sherlock barely refrained from rolling his eyes as John looked at him in consternation. "Anne, what name did Elena mention before Weston strangled her?" He pressed.

Anne paused, looking uncertainly at Sherlock. She glanced at her husband again. "Moriarty," she said. "Who is Moriarty?"

"Ahhh..." Sherlock sighed in satisfaction, rubbing his hands together. "You've confirmed it for me."

Lestrade suddenly twisted around, tightening his grip on Anne as he locked gazes with Sherlock. "What the hell do you know about Moriarty?" he demanded, his no-nonsense DI voice coming back into full, intimidating force.

Sherlock blinked in surprise for a split second before looking back at Lestrade. "What do you know about it?" He shot back.

"I asked first!" Lestrade snapped, his own gaze intense. He felt Anne squirm and he glanced down at her. She was reaching up to rub at her neck, wincing as she did.

"Boys, please..." Anne implored as she shivered, her teeth chattering again.

"Anne? Is something wrong with your neck?" John asked, moving to check her over.

"It's sore," she admitted.

John flashed a sympathetic smile at her, "Considering the thrashing you got, I wouldn't be surprised. Are you still cold?"

"How do you know about getting thrashed?" She asked, frowning.

"Your face is a bit battered, love," Lestrade said, neatly evading revealing anything about the video's they had seen. He tried to wrap the coats around her more.

Her emotions still close to the surface, there were tears in her eyes again, as she recalled the horror. "He, he hit me," she stammered. "He kept on hitting me, he wouldn't stop." A shudder ran through her.

"Let me check the mobility in your neck?" John asked as he distracted her train of thought. Reaching up he gently set his hands on either side of her head. "Just tell me when you can't turn it any more?"

She nodded her head as he carefully turned her head one way, then the other. The shaking was more pronounced, and she winced at the pain. Heaving a sigh, Anne leaned her head into Lestrade's chest, closing her eyes wearily. Lestrade looked at John, the concern all over his face.

"It's just reaction, Greg. It's all starting to catch up with her. All the events that have happened. Plus resetting the knee. The confusion is normal as well the anxiety. We just need to keep an eye out for a few other signs. We also need to keep her awake and warm until help arrives." He didn't have to tell Lestrade that he didn't want her having an acute stress reaction.

Lestrade listened to him intently, fully realizing that John himself had suffered all these thing when he had been traumatically injured in Afghanistan. He turned towards Sherlock."Your coat," he said.

"What about it?" Sherlock asked, beginning to rise.

"Hand it over," Lestrade said flatly. "Now."

"She's got two already." Sherlock protested, waving a hand at Anne. He suddenly caught the look on John's face.

"Now!" Lestrade barked.

A look of petulance crossed his features as Sherlock stood over them.

Lestrade heaved as sigh of disgust. "Your coat, Sherlock!" He snapped his fingers, holding up his hand. "And I'll let you in on what I can regarding Moriarty."

"You'll let me in on all of it." Sherlock replied, stubbornly refusing to remove his coat.

"I don't even have full access to what's known about him! I can only tell you just so much and I'll have my arse in a sling if anyone finds out!" Lestrade snapped at him. "But you will tell me everything you know..." He added shooting a glare up at him.

Sherlock looked down at him, a sour expression on his face before he slowly peeled off his overcoat. He handed it to John. "There is something we need to remember..."

"What's that?" John asked as he settled Sherlock's overcoat over Anne, tucking it around her. She was nearly engulfed by it.

"Anne's heard the name," he suddenly focused his attention back on her again. "Anne..." Sherlock said to her. "You cannot, you absolutely cannot, mention that name to anyone, ever. Never mention it out in public. Do you understand?"

Anne looked at him in consternation before looking at Lestrade.

Lestrade nodded, meeting her gaze. "Believe him, Anne. You tell no one. You never talk about it. Outside of us." He hated to see it, but the terror was creeping back into her eyes. "You should be fine, so long as no one else knows you heard his name."

"But who is he?" She asked in a plaintive voice.

"We don't know," Lestrade said. "We just know that association to that name can be deadly."

Sherlock nodded affirmation. "He's far worse than the man who's been torturing you."

Lestrade shot Sherlock a warning look.

"We also need to consider that all of that 'name dropping' was recorded on the camera," Sherlock added.

Lestrade looked hard at Sherlock. Several disturbing implications were racing through his mind. "You said you were making the link private, right?"

"Between myself, the Yard, and whoever was posting the live feed. We need to have the Yard track that link. The camera was still running when I entered the room. Meaning that Anne's escape attempt would have been taped. As well as Elena's murder and the reason why she was murdered. It doesn't take a great leap to figure out that Anne would have heard it, being in the room still."

Anne blearily opened her eyes, frowning. "Camera?" she asked.

"Yes, the video camera that was filming your torture." Sherlock said blithely, looking intently at Lestrade. "We can't be sure that people at the Yard can be trusted with not revealing what Anne has witnessed. And we certainly don't know if the man himself may have been viewing the live feed right along with us."

"Oh that's just great!" Lestrade growled sarcastically.

"Videoed?" Anne asked. Lestrade looked down at her. If she could get any paler, she did. "What do you mean videoed?" She asked him in dread. He could see the horror reappearing in her eyes as her mouth dropped open in shock.

"Your torture." Sherlock said. "From the moment Weston entered the room, broke your finger, then came back to break your foot and dislocated your knee. Everything was filmed, and no doubt so was Elena's murder."

Anne's vision suddenly seemed to constrict to just Lestrade's face as she whispered. "It was all filmed?"

"Anne..." Lestrade started, alarmed as he felt her shivering turn to tremors.

"Why?" She asked, appalled.

Sherlock carried on. "To torment Lestrade, mainly. Weston wanted to drive him mad before he got an opportunity to kill him out right." Sherlock said. "It was also to provide Elena Grigorvich with a souvenir that the rival she has detested for nearly a decade was being removed at last."

Anne's eyes were enormous as she barely managed to whisper, "Elena? Souvenir?"

John and Lestrade's eyes met with mutual trepidation and before either could say anything, Sherlock was off and running.

"Yes, a souvenir. Elena Grigorovich has let her dislike for you fester for years. The first six years you were with the company, you remained in the corps of general dancers and she didn't feel threatened. "However," Sherlock went on in a continuous stream of consciousness flow. "When you were selected for promotion to First Soloist, Elena began doing things to try and prevent you from succeeding. Namely insisting on overloading you with work. As her understudy, she did have some say over what it was you were to do. Only she never suspected you'd actually stick it out and do it. Despite it driving a wedge between you and your husband. She wasn't about to let anyone know of this dislike and distrust because she didn't want her paranoia revealed. Which was losing her position in the company. That was until about a year ago," Sherlock went on, barely taking a breath.

"Last year she learned that the board of directors were intending on promoting you to a Principal Soloist. Equal in rank to herself and that would not do..." Sherlock was shaking his head. "She began searching around for some way to get rid of you permanently. She made contact with someone who learned that you were none other than the wife of a Scotland Yard DI, whom they knew was the subject of a deep hatred by a prisoner about to be released and who wanted his revenge."

Sherlock smiled at his summary. "John put it best. What you got was a match made in hell. And Elena Grigorvich wanted proof that you were permanently dispatched from threatening her position at the company, ever again. Hence the filming. She wanted to see your career ended with injuries that would prevent you from ever being able to dance properly again."

Silence greeted him and Sherlock became aware of two things. Lestrade was looking at him dangerously pissed off, and John was running his hand down his face in despair.

When John looked up at him, Sherlock frowned with uncertainty. "Problem?" he asked.

John just shook his head. "TMI, Sherlock, TMI. Anne, don't you faint on me!" John's focus shifted instantly. He reached up, slipping his hand by her neck, feeling her pulse.

"If I were able to get up just now, you and I would be having a serious discussion about this!" Lestrade snapped, his eyes blazing at Sherlock. "Preferable with a little help from a steel friend of mine!"

"What do you mean too much information? She asked, I told her the truth!" Sherlock protested.

"Oh god!" Lestrade groaned. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it further in frustration.

"Greg, please turn him off..." Anne implored in a strained whisper, her world swimming around her. She closed her eyes, trying to make it stop.

"Sherlock your timing sucks," John said flatly, his attention divided. "Anne, take a deep breath for me, let it out slowly."

From somewhere behind the group, in the darkened pub, came the sounds of something akin to the keening of a wounded animal. Sherlock's entire face changed and he let out a gasp of surprise. "Oh! Weston's waking up." He slapped his hands together and rubbed them in glee. "I think I'll go have another little chat with him..."

"You do that," John encouraged as Sherlock was already turning and walking back into the pub. He looked at Lestrade. "Was it the truth?" he asked him.

Lestrade, closing his eyes in weary relief, rubbed at them with a free hand and looked at John. "What's that?"

"What you said about not being able to get up?" John looked frankly at him.

Lestrade let out a soft snort and smiled ruefully. "I couldn't if I tried."

"Right," John said. "Here's the drill then, Inspector," he said with emphasis. "When the police arrive, you are totally off duty, medically speaking. You will not get up and you won't leave your wife's side for one instant. I will handle them because I know the minute they discover who you are they will want you to walk them through this mess. And as your doctor, not to mention a concerned friend, you will not oblige them. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

A smirk tugged at Lestrade's lips, as he met John's determined look with a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Yes, Doctor."

"Good. Anne, stay awake for us now all right?" John said, making sure she responded.

In the far distance they could just make out the sound of sirens.

End Chapter 11