A hard shove between his shoulder blades sent Lestrade sprawling through the door of the damp basement room.
There was a glass block window, too high for him to reach, but in the muted light from a street lamp outside he saw Sally sitting, huddled and shaking in the corner of the room.
"Sally? You alright?"
Turning her face up towards him, Sally finally let the tears she'd held in since her capture spill down her cheeks. One eye was bruised and almost closed, and on the opposite cheek her caramel coloured skin had a purple handprint, testament to the treatment she had received.
Pulling her into his arms, Greg held her as she cried, listening to her distressed babbling, thankful on several levels that she wasn't being particularly coherent.
"Shhh," he said softly, as her sobbing subsided. "I'm sorry I didn't keep you safer."
"Th….they wanted to know how to find those men, those names I had from Mr Holmes." Gulping loudly Sally eased back out of Lestrade's hold, a mixture of embarrassment and shame on her face. "I don't think they believe me…." A note of hysteria entered her voice.
"Sally, stop it. You're better than this, better than them. Don't let them get to you."
"Yes Sir." She took a deep breath.
"Whatever happens, we won't be broken."