As the cab pulled up in front of 221b, Abigail threw the fair at cabbie and jumped out of the cab. She skipped the process of knocking and waiting for someone to answer and flung the door open, letting herself in. She, nosily, made her way up the steps to Sherlock's living room.
Sherlock lay on the couch, turned away from Abigail. His eyes were closed and his hands were in the prayer position. Abigail dropped her bag and grabbed a pillow. She hit Sherlock over the head with it.
"Wake up," she demanded.
"I am awake," Sherlock informed her, not opening up her eyes. "And if I was asleep, I'd definitely be awake after you stomped through my apartment like an elephant through the forest."
Abigail crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at Sherlock. He took a moment before opening his eyes. He studied her carefully, trying to figure out why she was at his flat so late. That's when he noticed her bag by her feet.
Mrs. Hudson came up over the steps in her nightie.
"What was all that racked?" she asked. "Woke me up from my slumber."
"It was nothing, go back downstairs Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock told her, but didn't take his eyes off of Abigail. Abigail rolled her eyes and turned to look at Mrs. Hudson.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hudson. That was me. I didn't mean to make so much noise. Do go back to bed and I'll be more quiet," she said.
"Oh, it's alright love. Are you alright? It's quite late."
"It's nothing. I promise."
Mrs. Hudson looked skeptical, but she soon retreated back downstairs. Once she was gone, Sherlock slung his legs over the side of the couch and pulled himself up. He grabbed Abigail's arms, startling her for a moment, to make her look at him.
"Something happened. Something terrible and that's why you're here," he concluded. "What is it that happened? Did you get hurt? Did someone hurt you?"
Abigail shook her head.
"Then what is it? Tell me!"
"Someone broke into my flat!"
Sherlock froze. He looked up into Abigail's brown eyes, which were now filling with tears. He wasn't sure what to do or how he shoulder comfort her. He let his arms fall to his lap as Abigail buried her face in her hands and fell into a chair next to the fireplace.
She let herself silently cry for a moment, the shock and fear of having that strange man in her apartment questioning her about Sherlock returning. Finally, she managed to regain herself, wiped her tears and took a deep breath.
"You alright now?" Sherlock asked. Abigail nodded. He moved from his spot on the couch to kneel in front of Abigail. He took her hands in his and looked her in the eye. "Can you tell me what happened now?"
"I came home from Scotland Yard, like I said, and my door was opened. There was a man there. He-he was waiting for me. He-he was spying on me. He seen me and you at Speedy's. He wanted me to spy on you and he-he said he'd pay me."
This captured Sherlock's attention. His somewhat concerned looked turned to a hard and serious one.
"What was his name?" he asked.
"He-he said it was M-Mycroft," Abigail said. Sherlock quickly stood up. He made his way across the room to grab his coat and scarf. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"
"I'm going to kill my idiot brother."
It took Abigail a moment to piece together the information. Once she did, she shot up from her seat and stopped Sherlock from walking out the door.
"No, don't you dare," she said.
"Don't I dare what?"
"Don't you dare leave this apartment and do something you'll regret. It happened and it's all over now. And look! I'm okay."
"You don't understand, Abby. Nothing gives him the right to break into my friend's flat and scare her half to death in order to get her to spy on me."
Abigail paused a moment. Long enough to raise an eyebrow at Sherlock and say, "Abby?"
"Abigail is too long and takes too much time and energy to say. Abby is short and sweet and pretty, like you."
Abigail scoffed. "I will have you know that I am 5'6, that is at least 4 inches shorter than you and not short enough for you to consider me 'short and sweet'."
Sherlock smiled down at Abigail. He liked her sassiness.
Eventually, Sherlock decided to listen to Abigail and stay. Due to the fact that Abigail was still shaken up a bit from what happened, Sherlock allowed her to stay as long as she needed.
Sherlock was on his laptop, looking into something, when Abigail came out of his bedroom with a pillow and a blanket. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"I'm setting up a bed. I don't want to take your bedroom," she replied.
"Why not?"
"Cause it's your bedroom! Your bedroom, you sleep there. I'm the guest, I sleep on the couch. And don't fight with me cause you'll only lose."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked back at the computer. Abigail made up her bed on the couch and lied down. She pulled the blanket up to her chin. She turned on her side so she could watch what Sherlock was doing.
She studied him as he stared at the computer screen. He'd start typing away, then he'd stop for a moment and stare at the screen once again.
Abigail never noticed how good looking Sherlock really was. At moments like this, when his guard was down and he didn't think anyone was looking, he looked handsome. He looked aeons younger than he really was. He looked more like mid 20s than early 30s.
Sherlock felt Abigail's eyes on him, but choose to ignore her. He was typing up something for his website to take his mind off of the case and off of the anger he felt towards Mycroft at the moment.
Abigail's eyes slowly moved to the fireplace.
"Where's your skull?" she asked.
Sherlock looked over his shoulder then back at his computer. "Mrs. Hudson took it."
"Why?"
"Punishment."
"For what?"
"She found a jar of blood in the fridge."
"Blood?" Abigail asked in amazement. "Human blood? Where's you get a jar of human blood."
"I have people," Sherlock replied. "It was an experiment. I wanted to see how long it would take for blood to freeze in a normal temperature fridge."
Abigail chuckled and said, "Can blood even freeze?"
"I don't know and I never will because Mrs. Hudson made me take the blood out."
Abigail giggled. She felt safe in 221b with Sherlock, despite anything Mycroft said to her.
Seconds turned into minutes and minutes soon turned into an hour. It was nearly 12 at night. Abigail's eyes were getting heavy and she could barley keep them open. Sherlock had moved from the desk to the chair with a pillow that looked like the British flag (A/N: John's chair).
He studied the way Abigail was sleeping. One arm was tucked under her pillow and the other hand was placed under her. Her legs were curled just enough for the tips of her knees to be over the side of the couch. Her face was peaceful. She looked peaceful.
Sherlock was enraged with his brother. He couldn't believe Mycroft would break into Abigail's house and try to get her to spy on him, scaring one of Sherlock's only friends half to death in the process.
"That man has no morals," Sherlock whispered to himself.
Another hour in silence passed. Sherlock, who usually never slept when he was on a case, found himself growing tired. He rested his head on his knuckle, eyes still on Abigail. Before he knew it, his eyes were closed and he was fast asleep.
*******
*A/N: I'm not overly proud of this chapter. Meh.
Also, I was watching A Study In Pink the other day and I realized that (I think) Sherlock and John were just moving into 221b Baker Street. I thought that Sherlock had been living there beforehand because his stuff was there and everything. I'm sorry for this mistake, it was just me not paying close enough attention when I watched A Study In Pink the first time. Please no hate or anything.