High Functioning Hopeless Romantic

Chapter 1

I stepped out of the cab eyeing the green door that read 221A in cracked gold lettering. It was right next to the small cafe "Speedy's" that Mrs. Hudson had owned at some point. I unloaded the last of my boxes and paid the driver. I made sure I had my keys in my hands, then lifted my boxes and marched to the door. I stepped up the stairs, and not wanting to put the boxes down, I attempted to unlock the door with them still in hands. My arms were sore from moving all day, and they struggled to insert the key as they shook with weariness.

"Need some help?" asked a man behind me. I strained my head to the side to see a man with blondish hair standing at the bottom of the stairs. He offered out his hands and I set the boxes in them.

"Than-"

"John," started another voice, "she doesn't need help, she's fine. We have more important things to focus on." I turned to glare at the voice that obviously didn't think me good enough to be given the time of day, and saw him to be a tall, fit, man with dark curly hair - quite the opposite of his partner. He gave me a look like, well I don't know what kind of look, maybe skepticism? Judgment? I turned and smiled at the man holding my boxes.

"Thank you John, glad to know there are some gentlemen left in the world," I said, then glared at the rude man on the stairs. He looked at me questioningly, scrunching his eyes in confusion. Huffing, I turned and unlocked the door, holding it open for John. He walked through giving me an apologetic look.

"That's Sherlock. He, uh, isn't really a people person." Sherlock. The name rang a bell, but you couldn't quite place it.

"Oh it's okay," I responded, shutting the door. Before it could shut however, the rude man, whom I now knew to be Sherlock, burst through the door.

"Here let me help you with those," he said hurriedly reaching for the boxes in John's hand. He turned to give me a smile, which I could see was supposed to be genuine, but looked more creepy than anything. I then gave him a skeptical look, but he continued to smile forcefully. I headed to my flat door and unlocked it revealing a room stacked with boxes. Outside of the flat, to the left, Mrs. Hudson came out of a door that connected 221A and 221B.

"Oh Abigail, you're all moved in! Good to know, I just finished making some cookies tea for you dear, why don't you come over," she said engulfing me in a hug. I had known Mrs. Hudson since I was little, she babysat my dad when he was younger, and he often would take me to her house to visit. Now, just when I needed out of Rochester, my hometown, she was my saving grace.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, I'll be right over."

"Oh, good to see you met Sherlock and John!" she said clapping her hands together.

"Yes, John was very nice and helped me with the boxes." I saw Sherlock crinkle his eyes together again and he opened his mouth,

"I helped too," he added in whilst glaring at me.

"Yes, only to prove you weren't an impolite arse which I still believe you to be," I said snapping back. He looked taken aback, as did John, by my sudden senile words.

"He always is dear, don't take it personally," teased Mrs. Hudson patting my back. I locked eyes with Sherlock, his ice blues meeting my cold grays.

"I'll be right over, I just need to unpack some," I said finally breaking the stare. I smiled at John and Mrs. Hudson as they left, then stared coldly at Sherlock. I wasn't one to put up with rude behavior, and he was no exception.

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After unsuccessfully putting anything away, I headed over to 221B, not bothering to lock my flat as there was nothing of much value to take. I had some clothes, my pictures, my dishes - all the basic necessities. The important stuff however, was locked in a safe inside my room. I opened the door to the hallway that ran behind Speedy's and connected the flats. There were cleaning supplies and papers stacked on shelves throughout it, and lamps lined the walls, set approximately 2 feet away from each other providing a soft glow. I walked through the door on the other side and turned right to what I believed to be Mrs. Hudson's flat, that is if she hadn't moved in the past 8 years. The last time I had been here was when my dad had taken me out for my birthday to central London and he promised Mrs. Hudson we'd stop by since it had been more than 3 years since we had last seen her then. The door was ajar so I pushed it open to find her setting the tea on the table in front of John and a lady.

"Finally you made it dear, I was worried you had fallen asleep or something! Come, sit," she said leading me towards the table. The woman was looking at a bridal magazine. She looked up and smiled warmly at me, then held out her hand towards me,

"Hi, I'm Mary, John's fiance, you've just moved in next door haven't you?" she said.

"Yeah, nice to meet you. I'm Abigail," I responded taking her hand.

"How do you and Mrs. Hudson know each other?" asked John.

"Well," I began, then proceeded to explain my history with her.

"So why did you move to London, if you don't mind me asking," John said, looking a little embarrassed at his nosiness.

"Rochester was not working for me anymore, I needed to branch out and meet more people. Also, it's better for my job, more aspiring authors in the city," I explained, then sipped my tea. Mint flavored, just how I liked it, Mrs. Hudson must have remembered.

"What do you do for a living?" asked Mary.

"I write the blurbs on the back covers for authors. I don't work for a specific company, it's more of an individual business, the publishers come to me."

"What an interesting job, doesn't seem like it requires a lot of thinking, but most jobs don't these days," said a deep voice behind me. I turned to find Sherlock leaning against the door frame.

"And what do you do for a living?" I asked, turning angrily to face him. How dare he insult me..

"I'm the worlds only consulting detective. Like you, the police come to me when they can't find somebody better to do the job."

"Never heard of it," I replied boredly, although I was quite intrigued.

"Well he made up the job so it's no surprise you haven't," said John chuckling. Suddenly it hit me.

"So you're the man who faked your death?" I said turning to look at him again. He looked at the ground sadly, almost regretfully, and looked up at John. I heard a sigh from behind me and swiveled to see John frowning at the table, and noticed Mrs. Hudson focusing intently on her tea. Oh.

"Yes, I am Sherlock Holmes."

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(This chapter has officially been edited.)