Two quick things before the story:

Just wanted to say thanks a million to those of you that reviewed! I feed off of it :D

I am aware that some of the details I've made so far aren't completely accurate. For example, the information sheet that Abigail, it says Holmes doesn't have any family when he does in fact, have a brother (Mycroft…yeah… I don't know who named these kids) etc. So there are some things I may be missing out on. In my defense, I was lost in RDJr's eyes for most of Sherlock Holmes and didn't know the plot the first time I saw it. I blame him entirely. Anyway, the gist of this ramble is that if I mess up again it would be much obliged if those of you who are still reading this and care to point out any mistakes you see.

THANK YOU AND HERE IS YOUR STORY:

Judging by the sun in relation to the horizon, it was approximately 10:45.
The carriage had stopped right outside of the hotel, called, interestingly enough, the Grand Hotel. I entered the large white reception room and checked in with the man behind the counter.
"Hello. Abigail Howley, please?" I smiled sweetly and changed the register of my voice just slightly higher so as to sound more feminine and innocent. The small black-haired man smiled back, checked his papers and handed me a key.
"Here you are, Miss Howley. If you could just follow this man…" the receptionist gestured to a young man, (new here, judging by his anxious looks and rigid posture trying far to hard to seem natural) struggling with my luggage. I suppressed the urge to laugh as he guided me to my room-- up many flights of stairs-- with shaking legs. I unlocked the door and he dropped my suitcases and caught his breath.
"Is there—anything else-- I could—get you?"
"No, but thank you very much, sir." I said as I tipped him quite well
"No, thank you, ma'am. Enjoy your stay."
"I'm sure I will."

He finally left and I observed the room. It was every bit as grand as the hotel it had been named for. The contrasting pale greens and gold hues along with the elaborate architecture were all very French. The room had been occupied not several hours ago which was given away by the diminutive amount of dust and the empress on the bedcovers where the chambermaids hand was to smooth it out and the smallest of imprints in the carpet where the maids shoes had been stepping. Poor thing was overworked. The impression of where she lay down for a bit on the couch and the rather sloppy job of dusting told me that much. I snapped myself back into the present and started unpacking.

As promised, there were several loose floorboards in the closet where I could keep my personal effects well hidden, providing the area around said space isn't stepped on by anyone who would notice the considerable difference in the feeling of the hollowness of the floor. I set up the rest of my dresses, make-up and so on and soon enough it was time for the first part of my plan.

I strolled around for a bit before it was time to enter the ally. London was truly an exciting and busy city. People everywhere chattering up a storm going in different directions without any regard to others. Much different from the quiet little town I was just getting used to previous to this case. I slipped into the dark cold ally-way. I checked my pocket-watch.

It was exactly 12:33.

Any second now.

A strong hand grasped my upper arm.
"'Scuse me, miss." Said a gruff voice I knew to be David in full character. I turned around in faked surprise and he struck me across the face and attempted to take my purse. I let out a high-pitched scream, not too screechy. I clutched my purse to me, "trying" to fight him off. I waited a moment before I screamed again and he punched and pushed me to the ground, true to his ethos.
He was atop me in a moment, still beating me to the ground, but not with the full force I know he's capable of. He was playing his part almost too well and my instincts to really fight back were not far from taking over.

And then in a second with a grunt and a thud, David was off of me and fighting a man. He was considerably smaller than David with unkempt dark hair and scruff.

Sherlock Holmes.

He was a surprisingly good fighter, especially for a detective. He jumped and came down with a blow that knocked David on the back of the head. As David was bent over, Holmes then kicked him in the gut and with a sickening crunch broke at least two ribs, several most likely fractured. David was now on the ground on his back and just before he was able to get up, Holmes jumped on his shoulder, completely dislocating it. David kicked Holmes in the back of the leg, causing him to fall over, roll away, and get up. He faked a punch on the left, which David went to block, but then got him square in the jaw on the right side and hooked him from under the chin cracking his jaw and severely hurting his neck. Holmes managed to grab hold of David's left wrist and twist until that also snapped.

Meanwhile, someone I was sure to be Dr. Watson lifted me to my feet.
"Are you alright?!" he asked supporting me. I felt the warm wetness of blood spill across my brow, and cheek from ground debris. I was rather cut and bruised up, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I met the doctor's eyes
"You're going to be fine. I'm a doctor." He assured me.
I saw David run away from the scene and I silently congratulated him on a job well done. Holmes wiped sweat from his brow and walked over to Watson and I.

"What was the damage?" Watson asked to his partner
"Two ribs broken, several others fractured, completely dislocated shoulder, cracked jaw and broken left wrist."
Watson turned his attention back to me. "We'll find him soon enough. He won't get far. Holmes, why don't you assist this young lady back to our rooms where I can properly treat her. I'll go and alert the authorities. You'll be just right in no time." He assured me again. I smiled weakly and nodded.
"Thank you, Doctor."
Watson returned the smile and set off to find the police. As soon as he let go of me I noticed the sharp pain in my right ankle. It wasn't too bad- I've walked with far worse, but as I was playing the delicate flower, I began to fall. Holmes swiftly caught me as I knew he would.

"Do you think you'll be able to walk?" he asked, arm tightly around my waist.
"I… I think so." I said. I tried putting weight on my foot but the pains were just as sharp. I exaggeratedly gasped at the feeling as Holmes got on my right side, put my arm around his shoulders, his arm still around my waist and supported most of my weight.
It was the first time I really looked at his face. And I must say the sketches in the book didn't do him justice. His large brown eyes framed with dark eyelashes gleamed with intellect, his jaw was strong and decorated with scruff, his nose was ever so slightly lopsided, his lips were- and it pains me to say this- appealing. He smelled of tobacco, baked goods and had a hint of various chemicals. I could feel the strength in his arms as he supported me. Of course, none of this is allowed to affect me emotionally. And it wasn't. I was just observing.

"That was really brave of you. Saving me like that. You aren't hurt, are you?" I asked sincerely, looking up at him through my eyelashes. He smiled crookedly at me
"Of course not, I've been through far worse, trust me." He said smugly. His expression was lost quickly and I could almost hear his inner regret of sounding too self-confident. I was pleased, this meant that he was conscious of what he was saying to me.
"Do you get yourself into dangerous situations quite often then?" I played along
"You have no idea."

We got to the staircases that lead to what I assumed was Watson and Holmes' rooms. Holmes looked from the top of the staircase to me.
"Put your arms around my neck, carrying you will be much faster."
I did as he told me and he literally swept me off my feet and went up the stairs with ease. He gently let me down at the top of the staircase and resumed his previous position of supporting my weight.
"Be a dear and don't tell the doctor. I'm not supposed to lift and move patients as a rule. Something about 'further harm to the injuries', 'I'm not a qualified doctor' and such babble'."
"It can be our secret." I smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, we haven't even been properly introduced. My name is Abigail Howley." I said as I gave him my hand to shake.
"Enchanté. Sherlock Holmes." He said, kissing my hand, not breaking eye contact. I could feel myself turn red under his gaze and I wish I could say that it was purposeful.

Thankfully there was a knock at the door and Watson entered.
"I just alerted the police, and they'll be able to track that monster down in a moment." The Doctor took off his coat and came over to Holmes and I, "What did I tell you about cleaning up your mess?" he hissed at Holmes who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. The doctor let out a sigh of aggravation at his roommate and turned over to me.
"Hello, I'm Dr. John Watson, and this pig here is Sherlock Holmes."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson. I'm Abigail Howley. I can't thank either of you enough for saving me back there; I don't know what I would have done without you."
"Don't think a moment on it, we were happy to do it. Weren't we, Holmes?"
"Yes, downright jubilant." He said dryly. Holmes seemed to have acquired a pipe and was lounging in the doctors desk chair, watching.
"Please excuse him if you can. How's that ankle of yours?" Watson asked
"It hurts a bit but I'm sure it's not broken. Twisted, perhaps."
"Lets take a look then, shall we?"
Watson examined my ankle carefully applying different kinds of pressure and feeling around. Holmes was continuing watching my every move and though I caught his eye several times, I tried not to notice him.
"Well, you were right about it being twisted, but it's certainly not broken. Should be right as rain in a day if that, just be sure to keep it moving for the lubrication between the bones and so on. Is anything else hurting? That man hit you quite badly." He said, taking my face into his hand and looking at the cuts and bruises
"Nothing too bad, mostly just the ankle. I must be a fright to look at though." I said with a smile.
"Not at all" The doctor laughed, "Let's get you cleaned up though." He wet a cloth in the sink and gently wiped the blood off of my face and put a sort of clear cream on the cuts. "All better. The cream will keep out any infection. An innovation of our very own Mr. Holmes as a matter of fact." I smiled warmly at both of them. Watson smiled back and Holmes seemed to be caught off guard.
"Thank you so much. Both of you. Allow me to take you out to dinner tonight as a small token of my appreciation. It's the least I could do."
"I do wish I could, but I have an appointment with my fiancé and her parents. An appointment I've been putting off for far too long as it happens. I don't believe Holmes has plans tonight though." Watson seemed sincere enough, but Holmes seemed startled to be put on the spot in such a way.
"Well… I wouldn't want to exclude you from any festivities, Doctor." Said Holmes
"Oh, but I insist! I simply must do something for you!"
"The lady insists, Holmes." Watson said pointedly. There was a moment of tension between them and they seemed to have an entire conversation via several seconds of eye contact.
"I'd love to." Holmes finally responded.