Back To The Start (Sherlock fanfiction #Wattys2016)

Chapter Nine: Sherlock Stays At Abigail's

Abigail climbed the steps to her apartment, hesitant to continue down the hall. She was worried. She knew Sherlock was coming to make sure Mycroft didn't break in again, but those memories were still fresh in her mind.

She walked down the hall slowly before coming up to her apartment. She turned the knob to find it was unlocked. Of course it was. Sherlock had her key.

She turned the knob and opened the door. It creaked as it opened, filling the silence of the room. Abigail ran her hand across the wall to find the light switch. She flicked the lights on and jumped as she noticed a body on the couch.

"Sherlock!" she snapped. "You scared me half to death."

"Only half?" Sherlock teased. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Abigail shrugged her coat off and hung it up. "No one has been here since I got here and from the looks of your door, no one has been here before I got here."

"Except you," Abigail pointed out. "What did my neighbors say when they seen an unfamiliar man entering my flat?"

"No one was around," Sherlock replied. "I'd imagine there would be a bigger concern when and if they seen Mycroft breaking in, although he's clever. He probably knew how to do it without making noise and had an excuse if anyone caught him."

Sherlock turned his head and watched as Abigail cautiously made her way to the kitchen. He pulled himself up into the sitting position. He watched Abigail pour out a cup of tea that was laid on the counter and began to make some more for herself.

Sherlock stood and walked to the kitchen. Abigail sent a quick glance his way and smiled before continuing what she was doing.

"You're still scared," Sherlock pointed out. "You're worried he's going to come back. That he's going to break in and hurt you."

Abigail stopped for a moment. She took a deep breath. "When someone breaks into your flat it's only instinct to be worried he'd come back. I refused to do something for him. What if he does come back and tries to hurt me for saying no?"

"You're talking about my brother. I've known him longer than you, he will not come back and will not hurt you," Sherlock assured her. Abigail didn't seem to buy it.

Since the night before, Sherlock had noticed that Abigail picked at her fingers when she was nervous or scared and bit the inside of her cheek. He noticed one of her fingers were bleeding from a hangnail she had been picking at since she entered the flat and she had turned to biting her lip as apposed to her cheek.

"I can stay if you want," he said. Abigail looked up in surprise. "What?"

"You want to stay?" she asked.

"Well, if you feel uncomfortable here alone, of course I will. Is that a problem?"

"Uh, no. I was just thinking that you'd rather be at your own flat."

Abigail put on the kettle to make herself and Sherlock some tea. As she did so, Sherlock pulled a wad of money out of his pocket. He began thumbing through it before extending his hand to Abigail. Abigail raised an eyebrow and took the money. After counting through it herself, her eyes widened as she looked at Sherlock.

"This is €50," she stated.

"Yes. Lestrade paid me €100 for the case. Personally, I think it should've been more due to the severity of the case, but I couldn't agree on anything higher than 100," Sherlock explained. "You did help me with the case and that's your cut."

"I didn't do that much."

"No, of course not. You just talked to Angelo, managed to get him to give something up thus getting us the phone to track down the real killer and arrest while almost getting killed in the process. I apologize for that by the way."

"Again, Sherlock. It's fine."

Abigail looked down at the money and decided to put it in her purse. Once the kettle boiled, Abigail poured two mugs and gave one to Sherlock. The two sat in her living room, sipping their tea.

"How was it?" Sherlock asked. Abigail raised an eyebrow. "That meeting you had at The Packet."

"Oh! It was fine. Nothing serious or anything," she replied. Sherlock didn't pry anymore.

After drinking their tea, Abigail decided to turn in for the night. Sherlock had claimed the couch as he didn't feel tired. Abigail retreated to her bedroom to sleep. She was dearly tired.

Sherlock returned to his position on the couch, lying on his back staring up at the ceiling with his hands in his signature prayer position. Due to his lack of cases or anything else to keep his mind busy, really, Sherlock started thinking about Abigail.

Everything about her drew him towards her. Her beauty, her innocent yet sarcastic personality, her smile, her laugh. Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled as he pictured her the first time they met. That day at Speedy's when she caught him looking at her.

He had knew Abigail was listening to his and Lestrade's conversation the moment Lestrade sat down. But when he actually looked at her, he was left breathless by her beauty. She was perfect. Sherlock had never felt this way about a woman before.

His perfect memory was soon overtaken by the most recent memory; Sean threatening to kill Abigail. All he could see was the terror on Abigail's face as Sean had his arm tightly secured around her neck and the barrel of the gun shoved against her temple.

Sherlock's eyes tightened together as he tried to get the image out of his head, but it didn't work. It just kept repeating over and over until Sherlock finally opened his eyes and gasped.

He was back in Abigail's flat lying on the couch in darkness and silence. Abigail was sleeping safely in her bedroom, not seemingly affected by what happened. But Sherlock was. It was something he couldn't delete from his memory. Something he wouldn't delete from his memory. Sherlock needed this memory to keep him on track.

Every time he thought of Abigail as anything more than a friend or a colleague, he'd bring that image back to his head. Sherlock couldn't afford to have Abigail hurt and if that meant keeping their relationship strictly platonic, then so be it.