Beloved lost- Introduction

Sherlock could count the number of times he was stumped on one hand, and he wasn't excited to be adding to that list.

American.

That's all her could get-other then the fact that she was moving into 221c Baker Street, but even John could have figured that one out. It wasn't enough. He wanted the details, all of her secrets, the things she wouldn't tell even her best friend. He was so use to looking at a person and having their life story at the tips of his fingers, but that just wasn't coming with her. If Sherlock was fair to himself he would say that he only gets a few glances of her from the window of his flat as she carries in boxes, but he figured out more going off of less. So what was his problem?

The woman in question was cradling, what appeared to be, her final moving box and braced herself against the lingering cold of London in march, an experience completely foreign to her. But Sherlock still didn't get anything. He had to get closer.

"John?" He didn't wait for a response, "Don't you think you should invite the neighbor over for coffee?"

John stared at his flat mate for a moment, "What?"

"Isn't that," Sherlock waved his hand in the air, searching for the word, "Neighborly or something? She's attractive, if that helps, perhaps she can be the next in your hideous line of girlfriends."

John peaked down the stairs to find their new neighbor at the bottom of the stairs, chatting with Ms. Hudson. She let a laugh ring up the stairs, even and short, like a song. Sherlock hadn't been wrong, she was quite attractive. "You know I already have a girlfr-" John stopped himself. To be honest, he wasn't sure if Sherlock cared enough to know his relationship status. "Anyway, Since when do you find people attractive?"

"I can recognize it."

He sighed, "Well, it would be nice, and she seems friendly enough. I'll boil the kettle then, I was planning on getting the shopping though."

Sherlock found his way to the leather chair and dropped in, "Not tea, John, Coffee," He corrected. "She's American. They don't 'do' tea."

"Then I will head to the shop actually, need anything else?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No, that should be enough to get her up here. I just need to get a read on her-"

"So that's why?" John questioned. Sherlock only replied with a raised eyebrow, he was too use to John questioning his motives to give a better response, "A new neighbor and you just want to get a read on her. I swear to god don't scare her away. She just moved in, don't make her move out."

John didn't get much response, as Sherlock just continued to stare forward with his fingers pressed together under his chin.

"Forget it,"

And with that John left the flat, hailing a cab once he got outside, hoping his flatmate would do anything idiotic while he was away.

He decided to get busy while he was waiting, walking up to the wall above the sofa, plastered with crime scene photos and clues from his most recent case. It would be a simple enough case, woman in her mid thirties found dead in a ally- poisoned- with her belongings missing to make it look like a crime, if it weren't for the fact that she had been registered as dead four years ago and had the case number from that murder case carved into her arm. Quite puzzling. No wonder the police had called him in. But Sherlock wasn't getting very far with the case either.

His focus was interrupted by a light knock and a, "Hello?" Sherlock turned as the woman from 221c stepped into the room, "Sorry, the door was open, I wanted to say Hi. I'm-"

"Moving in to 221c from America," Sherlock interjected, and smiled when she was a little taken aback. He couldn't say he didn't enjoy surprising people.

"Well, yeah. Abby Johnston. 221c. But I guess you knew that."

Sherlock took a moment to study her, looking for anything he can find.

Tan- not fake.
Sun bleached but still brown hair.
Missing wedding ring.
Blue eyes.
Tank top.

"Can I help you with something or are you just going to stare all day?"

Had he really been staring? And he didn't even get much.

"It's- uh- how I read people," He stuttered out.

Abby only smirked, not being too phased by Sherlock, "And what can you read from me?" She leaned on the wall, crossing her arms and looking quite smug. Sherlock thought that she must be hiding something she doesn't think he could get at. And it was going to drive him crazy.

"Well. American- already established. From Florida, specifically. Late twenties to early thirties, you are recently divorced, which left you at quite the loss of money. You wanted to get away and called Ms. Hudson, whom you knew when you were younger. And you got the flat you are currently moving into now."

Abby only nodded her head a few times, "That's really good. You could do that for parties and stuff, you'd probably make a lot of money." She sighed," But here you are knowing all of this about me and I don't even know your name."

Was she flirting? Sherlock wasn't really all too experienced in flirting. He didn't know, he wasn't sure how he'd feel if she was, " Sherlock Holmes." Abby tried to hold back a laugh, but it broke free, "What?"

"That's-uh-" She pulled herself together, leaving the smirk from before still evident on her face, "That's quite a name you've got Sherlock. I like it."

Abby let herself in and walked around Sherlock, taking the apartment in. She noted the strange decor, the skull on top of the fire place, the strange animal skull with head phones, and, well, crime scene photos. Pretty modern, she thought, and took a step closer to the wall above the couch.

"And quite the fetish, not sure if I like it." Abby joked.

Sherlock felt the need to explain, "I'm a consulting detective."

"Like a Private I?" She squinted to read the report under a picture of an evidence bag, "Don't they normally do cheating spouses, not dead bodies, though cheating can lead to that."

Sherlock felt a smile tug at his cheeks, she had an interesting sense of humor, "Is that why you're here?"

Abby poked his chest, "Should't you 'read' that off of me?"

Sherlock dropped his smile, because he wasn't sure if her could find that in her clothes or her hair or the way she phrased her sentences like he should be able to. And it bother him. It made his feel exposed, to not have another person exposed to him. "I don't normally deal with those cases, though John does make me when we're low on money, but the police consult me when they're in too deep or when they have no where left to turn."

"That happen often?"

"Quite."

She glanced up at Sherlock, finding him interesting. He was really different, to the point, smart, full of himself almost. She wanted to make him read her and find her daughter, or at least give her some hints. But it was so early to be asking of favors like that, especially when she can't hire him with the no money she has.

"If you have an opening, you should bring me along."

"No- you'd just slow me down. I already have john to do that."

"John?"

"Flatmate."

Abby let out an 'ah' in understanding, "Well, if John's ever sick, hit me up." She glanced down at her watch, "I should get back and finish unpacking, though. Nice meeting you, Sherlock. Have a goodnight."

Sherlock watched her leave and pause at the door when he said, "Goodnight, Abigail."

It took her a moment to respond, as if she didn't know what to say, "It's Abby." All happiness had left her voice and Sherlock felt the tension radiating off of her form.

"Abigail suits you better."

A few more moments passed before Abby could pull herself away from the door frame, "Well then, goodnight Sherly." She called over her shoulder.

"Sherlock."

"Sherly fits you better!"

Well, that's only an introduction, I promise there will be more in the next chapter, more background, more story in general. This is going to take place in between blind banker and the great game and weave into the show. Please rate or review if you would be so kind! Thanks again, promise chapter 1 soon!