I awoke particularly early the next day to ready for my departure. I observed my enormous selection of clothes I've used for different cases. I have everything from near royalty to a homeless man, all of which was arranged from highest class to lowest. I selected some of my several upper-middle class dresses and packed them in one of my suitcases and wore a maroon colored one along with a matching hat over my brown pinned-up hair. Nothing too flashy, but clearly shows my class.
I used silver earrings paired with a locket with a capital "H" to accessorize with. I have the same locket with every other letter of the alphabet as well, which is a small but important detail that goes a long way when trying to convince someone of the kind of family you're from.
I also kept my make-up rather simple. Eyes-shadow that matched my dress, red lipstick, and a light pink blush.

Almost ready.

The man I was working for had already called a coach to take me to London where I would be staying in a nice hotel a few blocks from 221B Baker Street. Close, but not too close to my target.
Promptly at 9:00, as promised, was a knock on my door. I answered to see a rather tall rugged looking man whom I knew to be my friend and co-worker, David. He smiled coyly at me.
"Well, you sure are looking the part."
"I could say the same to you, David. A job well done."
"So far at least. Where are your trunks?"
"Right over there."
David, who would be helping me in this case, brought my three very bulky trunks to the door one by heavy one.
"Packed lightly, I see." He said with a groan dumping them with a dull 'thud' on the ground.
"Lighter than I could have. And be careful with those, I need them."
"You better, for what these weigh. What's in them, anyway?"
"Some guns and knives, extra supplies, notepads, and, of course, my array of girlish effects. "
"Well next time, you're posing homeless." He said as he heaved the trunks up and carried them down several flights of stairs, complaining all the while.
"Son of a—"
"Don't use such vulgar slander in front of me. I'm a lady, remember?"
"Just about as much a lady as I am, missy." He grumbled as he dropped my luggage in the trunk. I hit on the head with my purse.
If this were another case and I were another person, David would have playfully shoved me back or something of the like. He was my only true friend and over the years we've become close enough for him to rough me up as I do to him. We've both taken an equal amount of beating from one another which I very much appreciate on the level that he doesn't underestimate me.
However, because we were in public and I was an upper-class young woman and he was just a working class citizen he just had to take it with a smile.
We both got into the carriage and discussed the plan.
"So what exactly are we doing?" David asked
"According to the file, Holmes and Watson typically go to a little coffee place on Saturdays at noon. They return back at about 12:30. There's a little ally-way that leads to another part of town that's under construction. I'll be down there "exploring the city" and that's where you come in. Your job is to attack me in some way to which I will scream, catching the attention of Holmes. He'll then valiantly save me from your evil clutches and I'll be the flattering damsel in distress that he won't be able to resist. I'll get to know him, and get him to trust me and eventually lead him back to… whoever we're working for. Simple, but so simple I don't think he'll suspect anything."
"How do you know Holmes will be the one to 'rescue' you?"
"Because he hasn't had a case for some time now and is desperate for adventure."
"And what better adventure than saving a pretty little rich girl? But what about the police…?"
"Are out doing other things. One of the papers describes that section of town and it's more or less a free-for-all. They don't have police patrolling the area, it's relatively safe."
"What makes you think he'll trust you?"
"Because he won't have any reason not to. I appear innocent enough, don't I?"
"I suppose. So when I "attack" you…"
"You must truly hit me. If I'm wounded, Watson, as a doctor and a gentleman will be obliged to bandage up poor little me."
"How hard are we talking?"
"A believable amount. Not out cold or anything, but cuts and bruises preferably."
"Fair enough. What will they're reactions be?"
"Well, according to the file, they've only killed several people: all of which were accidental. You're considerably larger than both of them, so no worries as far as serious damage."
"One more question: how much of the sum goes to me?"
"It depends on the job you do. Remember, after I leave this carriage, neither of us are to communicate in any form with the exceptions of letters that you will write posing as my father. Burn this after reading. Good luck."
I handed David a sheet I made for him including Abigail's details to make the letters more believable. As the carriage slowed to a stop.
"See you at 12:30 then."

We shook hands and I emerged as Abigail Howley.