Back To The Start (Sherlock fanfiction #Wattys2016)

Chapter Eleven: Sherlock Learns Something About Abigail

"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.