"What'd you get?" Sherlock asked Abigail as the two left St. Bart's together.
"What?" Abigail asked in confusion.
"I seen you deducing Molly. Tell me what you got and I'll tell you if it's the truth or not."
"Late 20s," Abigail started.
"28," Sherlock confirmed.
"Deceased relative."
"Father."
"Thought so. Well educated."
"Very."
Abigail contemplated telling Sherlock the last two. That Molly liked him and didn't like her. But she decided against it. She just shrugged and said, "That's all."
"Very good. You're getting better."
Abigail gave a half smile. She was glad she was able to impress Sherlock. Obviously she couldn't deduce someones whole life story just by their appearance just yet, but she was getting there. Maybe in a few more weeks or maybe a few more months.
Abigail and Sherlock slid into a cab and drove off back to 221b. Sherlock was holding the jar of blood in his hand. He started lightly throwing it in the air and catching it in his hand as he looked out the window, absentmindedly.
"You shouldn't be doing that," Abigail said, still looking out the window.
"Why?" Sherlock asked.
"Two reasons. Which one do you want?"
Sherlock slightly chuckled. "How both of them?"
Abigail wasted no time to state, "You could drop it and waste it all over yourself, or even worst, all over me. And you're freaking out the cabbie."
Sherlock looked up to see the cabbie eying him through the rearview mirror. Once he noticed Sherlock looking at him, he quickly looked away. Sherlock looked at Abigail and the two began to laugh.
"Sick," the cabbie mumbled.
"Excuse me. If that's really how you think, we can get out here and you can drive off. But you're not getting the fair," Abigail said and crossed her arms. The cabbie mumbled profanities under his breath and kept driving.
"Maybe Donovan's right," Sherlock said.
"Donovan's never right," Abigail said. "And what is she right about?"
"You need to stop being around me. You're turning to much into me."
"You'd miss me too much."
Sherlock looked at Abigail again. She was gazing out the window once again. He fought off the urge to reply, "Yes, I would."
The cab pulled up outside of the flat. Sherlock paid the fair this time. The two began walking towards the door. Sherlock's hand was around the knob when he stopped. Abigail looked up at him in confusion.
"What?" she asked.
He looked down at Abigail and smiled. "Client."
Abigail raised a confused eyebrow as Sherlock opened the door and raced inside.
"I thought you were a genius, not a psychic," she laughed, entering the house and closing the door behind her.
Abigail made her way up the steps, taking off her coat as she did so. Once she got up to the flat, she noticed something different. A great difference, in fact. One of the chairs had been moved to the middle of the room to face the couch and a woman was sitting there, her legs crossed and hands folded on her lap.
"Hello there," Abigail said. "My name is Abigail Watson. You must be Sherlock's client."
"Yes, that's me. Terry White." Abigail shook the girl, Terry's, hand. "So, um, how did Sherlock know-"
"Better not to question it," Abigail cut her off. She sat on the armrest of the couch. "Now, we don't have to wait for Sherlock. So, if you'd like to begin explaining your case."
"Oh, yes. Well, you see, my brother went missing almost three days ago," Terry explained. "He was on his way to a business meeting, but never showed up. They found his car this morning, but there's no body or even a trace of a body-"
"Boring!" Sherlock declared as he re-entered the room. "You started without me. Naughty girl."
Abigail rolled her eyes before turning to Terry. "Please excuse us for a second."
She stood up and grabbed onto Sherlock's arm, digging her nails into him, and dragged him out of the room and into the kitchen.
"Ow, ow!" Sherlock hissed in pain. Finally, Abigail released his arm and turned to look at him.
"I want to help her," she stated.
"The case is boring, Abby. He went missing and there's no body. He's most likely dead," Sherlock argued. "Done and done, case closed, too easy even for me."
"Sherlock," Abigail snapped. "I knew her brother. Tom White, went to school with me. He was a nice guy and, if there is a chance he's still alive, I want to find him. At least for his sister. I mean, look at her. She's clearly very upset."
Sherlock turned to look out the door at Terry. She was looking down, tears falling down her cheek. Her face was stained with dry tears, her eyes puffy and red. The whites of her eyeballs were bloodshot from loss of sleep and crying.
He let out a long sigh. He knew he couldn't say no to Abigail and she seemed as if she really wanted this case.
"Fine," he gave in. "We'll take the case, but when I'm right-"
"IF you're right," Abigail said.
Sherlock gave her a look before continuing, "IF I'm right, I get the pleasure of telling you I told you so."
Abigail rolled her eyes and replied, "Deal."
The two headed back into the living room. Abigail took her spot on the arm rest while Sherlock sat on the couch next to her. He absentmindedly draped an arm over her leg, curling it so his hand dangled off of her knee. Abigail tried not to blush, but it didn't work.
"Sorry, Miss. White. Continue," Abigail said.
"Right. As I was saying, there was no body and no signs of a body. This led the police to think that he was dead, but there's something...strange," Terry continued. "There's no blood in the car. No keys, either. Nothing to say that there was ever a body there. That's why I've come here. I was hoping you two could find my brother, prove he's alive."
Abigail looked down at Sherlock and smirked. He ignored her look.
"This got interesting," he said. "Alright, we'll try. Where was the car found?"
~
Sherlock and Abigail arrived to the crime scene. It was taped off with yellow police tape, which Sherlock ignored. He walked under the tape and held it up for Abigail. The first person to spot the two was Philip Anderson.
"What are YOU doing here?" he asked, sounding disgusted at the sight of Sherlock.
"Working a case. The victims sister hired us," Sherlock replied.
"Us?" Anderson's eyes trailed to Sherlock's side where Abigail was standing with her hands in her pockets. "Who's this?"
"Abigail Watson," Sherlock said. "My partner."
"Partner? I thought you worked alone."
"I need someone to talk to and your brains are far too small to comprehend anything I say."
Abigail giggled causing Anderson to shoot a glare her way. But it didn't phase her. She really didn't care. She and Sherlock just ignored Anderson and began walking towards the car. Both pulled a set of gloves from their coat pockets and put them on.
"Can you not contaminate my crime scene?" Anderson asked, following the two.
"YOUR crime scene?" Abigail scoffed, spinning on her heel to meet Anderson's gaze. "This is A crime scene. It's not anyones. Unless, of course, you're the murder."
Anderson gave Abigail a sour look. She knew he didn't like her and she felt like that was an accomplishment. From what she's heard about him from Sherlock, she didn't want him to like her.
"The victim's wife is over there," Anderson said. "Would you mind talking to her? She's been too upset to speak, maybe talking to...non-police will help her open up."
Abigail nodded and walked away from Anderson. The wife was standing back on to her and all that Abigail could see was her long, black hair poking out from underneath the hat she was wearing and her shoulders bouncing from the crying.
Abigail put on her best sympathy look as she approached the mourning woman and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Excuse me, ma'am," she started. The woman turned, causing Abigail to stop, her blood running cold.
The mourning wife was none other than Diana Jenkins, a girl that Abigail went to school with. Diana Jenkins had made Abigail's life a living hell all through high school, making Abigail believe she was a worthless nothing. And she did believe that, until she met Sherlock.
"Abigail?" Diana asked, her voice cracking. "Abigail Watson, is that you?"
"Yes. It's me," she said. "You're Tom's wife?"
"Yeah. We got married a few years ago. What are you doing here?"
"I was hired to look into your husband's disappearance."
Abigail tried building up that wall she had before she met Sherlock. The one that had been on its way down from the moment she had met him. She was working and she couldn't let anything Diana say hurt her.
"Look at you," Diana said, looking Abigail up and down. "Last time I seen you, you had braces. Now look at you. Your teeth are so beautiful."
Abigail smiled, showing off her perfect teeth. That was the first complement Diana had ever given her. It felt pretty good.
"Too bad it couldn't make the rest of you beautiful."
Abigail's smile vanished and so did her wall. Diana's words cut her deep like a knife and no matter how hard she fought them, they stuck in her head.
Diana cocked her head like a confused dog and smiled through her tears at Abigail. Her smile was evil and Abigail knew what was coming up.
"Little Abigail Watson. Not changing from that freak in high school, I see," she said. "Awe, too bad."
Abigail bit her lip and tried to speak.
"When-um-when did you last see your husband?" she asked, trying to stick to the matter at hand.
"Oh, don't pretend you really care," Diana said. "I mean, it can't just be a coincidence that you've been hired to find MY husband. Speaking of husbands, where's yours? Oh wait, that's right. You don't have one!"
Diana laughed as her words sunk into Abigail's skin, re-opening old scars and cutting new ones. Abigail felt the hot tears race down her face, which only caused Diana to laugh more.
Abigail couldn't take it anymore. She had to leave. She had to go as far away from Diana as possible. She turned and marched away from the scene, ducking under the yellow tape and towards the street. Diana's harsh words and evil laugh followed her as she hailed a cab.
"Abby! Abby, wait!"
Abigail turned to see Sherlock racing after her. He stopped when he seen her face.
"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asked.
"I can't, Sherlock," she said. "You take this case, I can't."
"Of course you can. It's nothing too bad. I'm sure we'll find Tom-"
"It's not about Tom," Abigail cut him off. "It's about his wife. She's a stone cold bitch that used to hate me in high school and still hates me now and makes me see what I really am. A nobody."
Abigail turned away so that Sherlock wouldn't see her cry. Sherlock let Abigail's words sink in before he stepped closer to her. He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to tell her, "You'll never be a nobody to me."
Abigail paused for a moment before turning to look at Sherlock. He was walking away with his hands in his pockets. The taxi, which had been waiting through their short conversation, honked the horn signaling that he was getting impatient. She quickly climbed into the cab and told him the address; her flat.
As the cabbie drove, she thought about Sherlock's words. "You'll never be a nobody to me". What did he mean by that?