High Functioning Hopeless Romantic

Chapter 9

After finally being hauled to the car, John refused to let me walk, and having a blanket wrapped securely around me, the questions began trickling in.

"Who did it?"

"What happened exactly?"

"Did they mention anyone?"

"Did they hurt you in any way?"

I answered the questions the best to my ability. However, I wanted nothing more than to lay my head down and sleep, trying to forget about this whole mess. It was not easy for me to talk about it, my speech must have gotten screwed up in the scare of it all. John said it was from the shock, but it will wear off. I hoped so, I can't imagine not talking again. I talk a lot, nonstop some people say, it's a blessing and a curse.

"Did they mention me at all?" It was the first communication Sherlock had tried to have with me since we got in the car. He had been steel faced the whole drive, hands gripped tightly onto the steering wheel, staring forward, no emotion.

"I mentioned you, and he started laughing." No answer, but his eyes flicked up to meet mine in the rearview mirror. See, I'm the type of person that makes a big deal out of small happenings. I repeat, SMALL happenings. So it only made sense that I was more in shock about the hug I shared with Sherlock than actually coming close to death, it had to be. My near death experience hadn't hit me yet like it did out on the tracks. Sherlock and I were and unlikely pair. He was intelligent, blunt, and mysterious. I was less intelligent, more aware of others feelings, and an open book. It only made sense we shared differences between us. We sure as hell argued about them; we shared one common trait, being stubborn. That led to some fights that I'd rather not bring up right now. Usually in the "fights", Sherlock called them "unnecessarily loud arguments", I was the one yelling and he sat there, voice calm and cool, arguing with me. I just wanted him to yell, just once, yell at me. Not like when he's trying to holler at John all the way from upstairs, or when he calls for Mrs. Hudson to make some tea. An actual yell, where his face gets red from anger, and his fists clench, and he stomps off to his room in defeat afterwards. In short, I just wanted to make Sherlock Holmes very angry at me, that would be very enjoyable.

City lights sprouted around us, stars that lined the buildings in the city like planets in the sky. Mary patted my hand, she sat beside me in the back seat, and smiled up at me trying to send me reassuring waves of safety. I smiled back, thankful she was here instead of just the boys.

Molly.

"Did one of you text Molly and tell her I was okay? I feel bad I missed out on our date."

"You couldn't really help it Abi, you were in the midst of being kidnapped. Although if you asked, I'm sure they'd have let you go on the date, then kidnapped you," teased John. I started laughing - John was always making little jokes that only I found funny, Mary and Sherlock just ignored him. I think that's where our friendship started - me laughing, him cracking jokes. Sometimes we changed roles - I'd tell the jokes and John would chuckle (he didn't think I was that funny). "I'll text her though."

"Don't bother, I texted her before we left." Sherlock texted Molly? I soon realized that he was the guy. From all Molly told me about this guy, who I now knew was Sherlock, he was rude and barely noticed her presence. That is until a little over 2 years ago when he had asked for her help, then he had started to notice her. Did Sherlock like Molly? She had moved on, her fiancé was Tom, whom I had yet to meet. Not that it mattered, except that I wouldn't want Molly to be hurt. Would Sherlock hurt her? How would Sherlock act in a relationship?

"Abigail."

"Sherlock!" I mentally face palmed. Sherlock met my eyes in the rearview mirror - this time however my face burned a bright red. I glanced away first, knowing he could see right through me.

"What about him?" asked Mary, who I now know said my name. I tumbled over my thoughts, trying to think of any excuse for letting his name slip out of my mouth, I felt like I was hiding a dirty secret even though my thoughts about him were normal, completely normal.

"Uh just that uh-um, I think maybe this adultnapping had to with Sherlock in some way."

"You're assuming that because you were 'adultnapped' by a psycho killer, it has to do with me?" Speechless, I nodded my head, knowing my explanation was not as good as it should have been.

"Okay, the boys will look into it, but let's get you into bed now." Mary coaxed me out of the warm car and into the cool air of London. The walk up to the flat was exhausting, I had just realized how tired I was from the past 5 hours.

"Abigail." The deep voice came from behind me. John and Mary stood holding open the door of 221A, but left to go inside - Sherlock must have gave them a look. I turned to face him and he asked, "Do you know the man who did this to you?"

"Sherlock did you not listen on the drive home I s-"

"I heard what you said. But I also heard what you didn't say. You're leaving something out. Tell me." I sighed. He was right, of course, about me leaving a small detail out.

"When I got in the car he said 'be quiet or it will be your dad next sweetheart'." He cringed at the nickname the man had given me. Then a look of thought came across him.

"I'll look into it. That's all there was?"

"Well you seem to be able to read me, is that all?" He smirked at my snarky humor and my stomach jolted, from the coldness of the outside of course. He walked up the steps to 221A and opened the door, motioning for me to walk through. What a gentleman. I started to head to my door, John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson's visible inside through the open crack. "You coming in?" He shook his head. "Well thank you," you said. He was in the middle of heading thorough the door that went around to his flat when he looked back at me, raising his eyebrows in question. "For you know, saving my life." No response, but the small smile that flashed across his lips was enough.

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(This chapter has officially been edited.)