Elizabeth didn't emerge until the next morning. She had come out to take a shower. Taking off her clothes, it showed hundreds of scars everywhere on her whole torso area. Since most of her shirts were washed and in the laundry room, she had no choice, but to go downstairs in nothing but her light gray yoga pants and a bra, showing the scars. She couldn't remember the layout of the house very well, so when she got to the bottom of the stairs, she passed the lougeroom to go looking, not noticing that people were in there.

"Elizabeth!" gasped Greg, jumping up and coming over. "Did they do all of this to you?' he asked, his face stony and angry, his movements incredibly gentle.

She backed away from him as soon as he came near. "I have to get a shirt." She said lowly, seeing the laundry room door and entering, shutting it and locking it behind her as the doorbell rang. She knew it was her Uncle John, Uncle Sherlock and Hamish.

Mycroft stood and went to the door. "Hello" he said, letting them in. "John, I think we have a problem. You might want to do your examination of Lizzie now..."

She didn't come out until they were all seated and her parents were telling them of her behavior last night. Wearing a light gray sweatshirt, she whistled, taking in the look of Hamish. "Well hello Hamish."

Hamish jumped up from the couch. He had inherited Sherlock's height, bringing him even with Elizabeth, even though she was 2 years younger than him. "Hey Lizzie." He said "How's it going?" "Good, I missed you so much!" She quickly grabbed him, hugging him tightly. She smiled at John like her old self.

"Hello missy" said John, grinning back. "It's good to have you back". Sherlock smiled as well, but remained silent, watch Elizabeth carefully. He could see the tenderness she had because of her injuries, as well as the minor limp. John cleared his throat. "I just want to give you a checkup, make sure everything is healthy. Ok Missy?"

"Sure." She smiled as if nothing was wrong. "Should I take off my shirt or any clothing?"

"We'll do it in your bedroom, if you don't mind" said John, glancing at the other adults in the room. A teenage girl who is willing to strip off in front of men was not a good sign. "Oh fine." She sighed, smiling at him. "Less of a show for me, but I swear my parents are going crazy in their old age. I apparently spoke Dutch last night." She laughed. "Funniest thing I ever heard." She started up the stairs.

"Well, we're about to find out" said John, standing and following her upstairs. He shut the door behind him and took a seat at the desk. "Ok Missy, you can stop the act" he said "You and I both know you don't want this exam to go ahead, so I'd appreciate you not treating me like an idiot" "I don't what you're talking about." She just raised an eyebrow at him, sitting on her bed.

"I'm married to Sherlock Holmes, and I've dealt with dozens of teenage girls trying to put on acts in front of me. Now, since you're 13, medical privilege comes into play. I can't repeat anything that's said here without a warrant or a waiver from you. So, talk to me Missy. I won't tell your father, or I'll lose my medical license"

"Really?" She smiled at him, looking truthful. "There's nothing to tell /Dr/ Watson, I'm fine and my Dad is wrong that I am sick, I'm fine."

"Fine" said John "Just know that if you talk to 'Dr Watson', it stays between us". He gave her one last searching look before beginning the examination. "Alright, have you had any broken bones in the last few years?"

"Plenty." She nodded.

"How many is plenty?" asked John, raising an eyebrow. "Ballpark figure"

She knew that she couldn't give him an number, so she had no choice but to tell him what she knew. "Okay, okay." She sighed, looking up at him.. "20% of my body is covered in scar tissue, I have second degree burns on my back and shoulders. And on last count, i have at least 12 fractures that haven't properly healed,. that's all I know."

"That's quite a few" said John, covering his shock with businesslike professional mask. "Please remove your shirt and lie down" She took off her shirt, showing him the scars and lying back on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "I will tell my fathers myself."

"Very well" said John, beginning to examine each scar individually. "You know I was in the army right?" asked John, pulling out a set of glasses from his pocket. "Yeah, did dad tell you that I pulled a military pin on him?" She asked.

"Yes" said John "And the one you pulled is quite advanced. Not something you can just pick up from watching, you have to be very carefully trained to use it. Which requires hours of practice. And yet, your school never offered a self defense program, nor did you attend one. Which leaves only one option. Your captors trained you". All of this was said mildly, still examining the scars. "Don't bother denying it. I'm not going to question it. I'm just telling you what I know"

"Think whatever you'd like, I'm not saying whether it's true or not." She shrugged.

"Doesn't bother me."repeated John, continuing his examination. "You say you went to school in New York, and yet you were trained in military moves someone else. How very interesting."

"I..." She shook her head. "Forget it." She pushed him away, pulling her shirt back on. "This is over." "Your fathers are insisting on you having this exam" said John, sitting back. "We can do it in silence if you want"

"No, this is over." She growled. Grabbing her duffel bag, she left the room going downstairs.

John sighed and followed her downstairs. His eyes tracked the bag, noticing several odd shapes. He came back into the living room and began murmuring to Sherlock quietly.

Bugger, he was suspicious. She was going to have to be more careful around them.