So uh I've been having some trouble with this chapter. I've been working on it since last Thursday (and it's a good thing too because if I hadn't it would be ten times worse) but I still feel shitty about it. So let me know how it reads. Make me cry if you have to. At this point I deserve it kinda. But for now I'm going to put some space between me and this goddamn thingy.

In other news, you also need to let me know what your reaction was. Did you call it? If so, you deserve a prize. Treat yourself to a bubble bath or something.

Enjoy.

"Let's go through the case file one more time before John wakes up." Lestrade's voice. The smell of paper, and faint crackling sounds of them being maneuvered. You sighed. I felt the pressure release from your chest, brushing past my hair. "Thanks. I just want to make sure I've got everything. Start from the beginning? The café?"

"Mm, fine." Your voice vibrated against my ear. "John arrived at the designated café, Sam and Christa's, at 12:39 P.M., Friday, December 27th. He allegedly met with Ms. Anne Whitefield, though she has yet to admit to the event. At 1:19 P.M., John was recorded by an outdoor security camera nearby to be taken from the café and loaded into a small, black 2008 Cadillac. The car travelled west."

"Why do you think it was Anne?"

"The camera picked her up."

"The woman in the video could've been anyone."

"It was Anne. Tuft of red hair near the collar. Height, weight, frame, movements. It was definitely Anne." You huffed, shifting a little and running your hand along my back. "If the camera doesn't convince you, the napkin should. When Anne had eaten with us she re-folded her napkin twice. Using that bit of information the table that she occupied was easy to identify. The scuff marks on the café floor matched the brand of John's shoes and showed him being quickly ushered out of the restauraunt, half-walking, half-dragged, most likely under the influence of a drug."

More page-turning. "Explain the parking garage."

"We traced the car to a parking garage in Newham. There we found two sets of footsteps. One was a woman's, assumed to be Anne Whitefield's. The other, a man's, 6'5, heavy build, wide gait. He had been carrying John. The trail seemed to shuffle around quite a bit between the vehicle and the elevator to the street, which I found peculiar. The woman's footsteps went off in a different directon than the man's. The man took the elevator down to the street and escaped with John, while the woman found a different car in the garage and disappeared."

"Any camera footage?"

"Hardly. All the cameras froze at 5:30 A.M., and no one noticed until we showed up to inspect them. No help to us."

"What about deductions about the car? The one that brought John from Camden to Newham."

"Stolen. Driven by the man. In the rear part of the car, John's mobile phone had fallen and been pushed under the rear seat. I caught sight of it through the window. The owner was Roger Stenley, uninvolved with the case and oblivious to the fact that his car had been compromised. He had been having sex with his secretary at the time of the kidnapping. The car made frequent trips between Stenley's house in the suburbs and his office building in Newham. The level of gas left in the tank matched the distance between Camden and Newham."

"Alright. Anything else you can tell me?"

"Not much. We've exhausted most of our other sources. Questioning Anne Whitefield would reveal the identity of the man she was accompanied by, but I've been told by the detective inspector assigned to the case that she was off-limits to amateurs."

"I think that man deserves a raise." Lestrade tutted, folding his papers again. "Alright, Sherlock. I'll submit the report. Give me a ring when John wakes up, I still have questions for him."

"Fine."

The creak of a chair. Greg gently patted my shoulder, then went out toward the door, shutting it behind him with a resounding click.

You sighed again, moving your hand up to my shoulder. "How did you sleep?"

I stretched, my whole body aching. "How did you know I was awake?"

"Did you hear the whole conversation?"

"Most of it, I think." I put a hand on my forehead. "How long have I been out?"

"Just for the night. It's half-past nine now. How are you feeling?"

"A bit dazed. My back hurts."

"The muscle or the skin?"

"Both," I groaned, letting my head sag against your shoulder. "How are the wounds?"

"There won't be any permanent damage."

"That's good." I yawned.

"Are you feeling well enough to answer questions?"

"Mmh. I'm so tired. I don't want to talk to Lestrade right now."

"How about your brother-in-law, then."

I flinched upon hearing Mycroft's voice behind me. I should've assumed he'd be around. With a huff I eased myself over to look at him. He smirked a little at my surprise, meddling with his grey suit and black umbrella leaned against his chair. His small eyes went across my length with his signature Holmes look; searching for a problem. Ultimately they settled back to mine.

"Hello, Mycroft," I muttered. "I didn't realize you were here."

"That's understandable." He bobbed his leg. "If you've been awake for as long as I think you have, you should already be aware that-"

"Anne." My chest tightened as I said her name. My memories of her all came flooding back at once, and I realized both her position and my own. She was in danger; I was absolutely sure of it. Fight-or-flight took over me, twisting my fingers into the sheets. I looked up at your brother. "Where is Anne."

Both of you straightened your shoulders, like cats arching their backs in response to a threat. Your eyes met. "Whitefield?" Mycroft asked, smoothly. He adjusted himself in his seat, both trying to cover up his aggrivation and to show it. "I do believe she's still occupied in her apartment in Greenwich. Greg's been putting off issuing an arrest warrant, but if he hears from you-"

"No. Neither of you touch her. I want to see her." I started to sit up, but the room spun with the stress. A curl of nausea settled in my stomach. I braced myself on the arm of the bed.

"She's a suspect," You protested. "She's dangerous. She's not coming anywhere near you."

"I want to see her."

"Why don't you explain to us the role she had in your abduction, and then-"

"No. I want to see her now." My heart monitor had begun to beep faster. "I want to talk to her. Not as an arrestee, just... her. Bring her here, let me talk to her."

"Relax," You warned, running your hand along the curve of my back. Your cool hand helped my nausea for the time, but as it started to return I leaned back against your chest, and your hand rested at my waist. "John. We realize that you are still recovering. But try to be rational. We need you to tell us what happened to you, so that we can keep you safe."

"I'm not going to tell you anything until I see her," I kept on. Mycroft's gaze darkened, and I felt an irritated tick in your fingers. "I don't care if you both think I'm raving lunatic, and I don't care if I am one. It's not a request. Bring her here. Tell her I want to talk to her. And make sure she knows that you're not going to arrest her." I looked directly at Mycroft as I said this, my stomach twisting. "You're not going to hurt her."

He began. "It would be impossible f-"

I lurched over the arm of the hospital bed and spewed up a bucket's worth of yellow liquid, the stuff pouring out my mouth and nose and splattering all over the tile floor. Mycroft quickly scutted his chair back, but his shoes were already speckled, and there wasn't much he could do for his trouser cuffs. You and he exchanged glances again as I came down, collapsing back against the pillows.

"You're quite the hastle, aren't you, John," Mycroft sighed.

Anne looked nothing like the Anne from before. Her skin was pale, fading to purple around her eyes and cracking at her lips. An oversized sweater hung off her shoulders, draping over her hips and wrists, while her hair had been sloppily tied back into a braid with various tendrils escaping still. It surprised me. And evidently I surprised her, as well. Her eyes widened as she came through the door, glancing over me and all my bandages and tubes. She seemed to think twice about entering, but eventually slid from the door into the guest chair.

"Anne," You muttered, your voice dark.

"Hello, Sherlock." She replied. "John."

Our eyes met. Her whole face glistened with shame.

You were utterly convinced that she was a villain; some malicious, deceptive woman, who had been planning to lure me into danger from the very start. I, however, knew there was something in your puzzle that didn't fit. All your theories fit, perfectly so. The champagne, the dinner, the interest, the intentions, they were all plausible and whole. The only thing that didn't fit was Anne. She might have been deceptive, yes, but her eyes convinced me. You were good at reading people, but I was good at seeing people. Her gaze at the flat, her gaze at the café, and her gaze in that moment, fixed with mine, was anything but malicious.

"Tell me." I said, softly.

She flickered, lips curving down. "I'm sorry. "

"The café," I continued. "What happened at the café."

She didn't speak.

"Anne, I need to know."

"I want you to know, John." She stated. "I want to tell you. But as much as I want to, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because, John." She glanced quickly over her shoulder, then pulled her chair forward. "There's much more at stake here than just your trust."

"Trust isn't an option anymore." You bit.

Her eyes flashed bitterly at you.

"You don't have to tell us everything. Just tell us what you can," I said. "Skirt around the things you can't."

"John!" You snapped.

"Shut up." I turned to glare at you.

Anne cleared her throat and wetted her lips with her tongue. "...If you swear - swear, Sherlock - that you won't go near this, I can tell you what happened at the café."

"We can work with that," I answered, before you could interject.

You grumbled and resigned. "But first, tell us who you are."

She nodded. "I'm a surveillance agent. Well, at the moment, I am." She busied her hands with her hair. "My birth name is Adrianne Carter, I go by Anne. I was born in the United States and worked with the CIA for a time as a covert operations agent. After resigning, I relocated to Wales, and for the last several years I've been doing private work."

"Your current client is E," You said.

"Yes. My instructions were to gather intelligence on Dr. Watson and to build a relationship with him in order to monitor his health and status. Lestrade gave me easy access. I was informed at the beginning that it might be necessary to bring John in, so I prepared myself for the possibility."

I sat back into your shoulder. Hearing it from Anne's own mouth made it seem much more real.

She saw my reaction. "Sorry."

"When you received the order, you arranged for him to meet you in Camden." You filled in. "Away from me."

"Yes," She started.

"Then you drugged him and, with the help of your accomplice, loaded him into the back of a stolen car."

"Yes, b-"

"Then you rendezvoused with another car and had him delivered directly to E."

Anne flexed her jaw. "No."

"No?" I repeated.

"That's not what happened. If you'd let me explain," She glared, "you would know that already."

"Well if-"

I elbowed your stomach, and you went quiet. "Go ahead, Anne."

She looked between us, then settled on me. "E wanted eyes and ears on you at all times. She wanted to make sure you didn't go anywhere or do anything that might've interrupted her plans. She arranged for that French kid to plant cameras, and had a car follow you whenever you went out. But eventually, just watching you wasn't enough. Argall and Conrad were assigned to abduct you the day before Christmas, but you got away that time. So, logically, it was my turn."

I could feel the heat of rage on your skin. In a low, clear voice, you asked, "What is this about, then. What is her goal. Why is she doing this. Is it me she wants?"

Anne shook her head. "She doesn't care about you. She only cares about John. You, Sherlock, you're just an obstacle. A challenge."

"But..." I shifted. "Why would she be targeting me? What have I done?"

"It's not something you've done, John. You're not the target, you're the leverage."

"Leverage? Leverage for what?"

She fiddled with her hair.

"If it's not about Sherlock, then who the else would I be leverage for?" I asked, slightly louder.

You answered for her. "Your parents."

Her expression changed, and she nodded.

"Why hadn't I thought of that sooner," You muttered. "Your parents have obviously stumbled onto some sort of sour business relationship or something of that nature. You told me that their business had been flourishing as-of-late, right?"

"Well, yes..." The gears in my head turned. "But... What could they..."

"Am I correct, Anne?" You asked.

She was soft. "Yes."

"But why would they-"

"I don't know everything about the situation between them. I'm assigned to E, and that business is her supervisor's. But I do know that it must be extremely important to both of them, and that they've gone without a settlement for months now. The supervisor has gotten restless, and he's gotten angry. He assigned E to make you miserable, and so far it's been working. In part, that's my fault, and I'm sorry. But I want to make things right.

"As I worked the case, and got to know you, John, I realized that you weren't the perverse son of some drug-lord. You were nothing but an innocent bystander to this entire situation. And you cracked me. I saw just how messed up this entire scheme was, and when I saw it, it was hard for me to stay loyal to it."

"And this realization, it happened last night?" You snarked.

"No," She snapped back, "It happened long before. I received a second sponsor, one who had John's safety in mind."

"Who?" I asked.

She folded her hands. "Patricia Watson."

"My mother?" I stammered. "My mother hired you?"

"Yes. She and I were under agreement that I would remain loyal to my client until the time came that she called you in. If and when she gave the order to abduct you, I would step in to prevent it."

"So you were spying on the people you were spying for," I said. "That was what happened in the café."

She nodded. "I brought you out to Camden to talk to you. E had given me orders to bring you in, and so I was prepared to take you away, back to Wales, where your parents could keep you safe. But I wanted to make sure you were alright, mentally, before I tore you away from Sherlock. We talked; you were. So I laced your drink." She ran her hands through her hair. "But after that, things went wrong."

"Argall was included in the plan by E, and he wouldn't let you help me escape," I murmured.

You hissed. "That was the scene I found in the parking garage."

Anne nodded sadly. "I'm no match for him, in strength or stamina. He took you to E, and now my cover with my client is blown. She knows that I've double-crossed her. I can't battle Argall's word. I'm surprised she hasn't come after me already."

"You should stay with Lestrade until we're able to find her," I said.

"No, no. That isn't necessary. I'd rather not drag more people into this." She smiled apologetically.

"We'll find E, and we'll-" You were cut off.

"My client is not a woman to be trifled with, Sherlock." Anne said, her voice dark. "She's remorseless, intelligent, and bloodhungry. But even she isn't the worst of your problems."

"She's not?" I asked, half surprised and half frustrated.

Anne shook her head, and I watched her skin go clammy. "Her supervisor."

She paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing.

"Don't go near him. Please, don't. He's one of the most vicious men I've ever encountered before. All the cruel things that you've attributed to E have come from his lips, I'll promise you. I've watched him break bone to get what he wants, and if you go after him, he's going to slaughter the both of you, there's no doubt about it. You'll kill yourselves trying."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "But, Anne. There's no choice. You're not safe."

"I'm not safe anywhere, not from them. If they could get Argall out of an iron box, there's nowhere I can run. Besides, I'm better off on my own." She stood. "Now you understand, John. And you have to keep this quiet, alright? If they find out that I told either of you about the plan, they'll dismember me. There are rats everywhere, even here."

"We can deal with rats," You said.

"Please, Anne, stay." I pleaded. "Let us keep you safe,"

"No. They can't know I told anyone else." She pulled her sweater tighter around herself. "I have to go. Be careful, John."

She went as quickly as she came, keeping her head bent.

When the doors were closed, I laid back against your chest, lost in thought.

"How much of that story do you actually believe?" You asked, fixing my hair.

"All of it," I answered, truthfully. "I don't see why she would lie to us."

"To keep herself safe. She might've been on your side, but she's still a trained spy. She knows how to manipulate people." You huffed. "American. She doesn't sound a damn thing like an American."

"You have to admit, she was pretty good." I smiled, amused with the thought of Sherlock Holmes being baffled.

"I've seen better."

I watched the doors. "I'm worried about her, Sherlock. She's going to get herself killed."

"She can handle herself."

"I hope so." I closed my eyes uneasily. "I hope so."

All I am is a man, I want the reviews in my hands.

Next update Sunday. (It will be better I promise.)