Chapter Three – Introductions

Sherlock stood still for a moment, one hand pressed against his forehead, the other bawled in a fist around a sheet of paper, on which where several words, scrambled thoughts, none of which John had understood when he'd caught a glimpse of it. He'd never seen Sherlock struggle so badly with a case, not be able to get any readings at a murder scene, not able to analyse, not able to make assumptions about the killer. It was frustrating him. It was getting to a point where Sherlock no longer was enjoying this case, the killer was striking weekly, seemingly at random, and always with precision, no room for error.

Sherlock had worked out that whoever he was (Sherlock guessed it was a man due to the style, women tend not to be as, gory,) he was a psychopath. It was the only reasonable explanation as to why he couldn't work it out, why he couldn't crack this case.

It'd been two months, and Sherlock was making no head way with it. London was in panic. The seemingly random pattern that the killer was following meant anyone and everyone was a target, people were scared to leave them homes, the situation was dire.

Suddenly Sherlock roared and threw the crumbled piece of paper across the room, making John flinch. Mrs Hudson came scurrying up the stairs, but John waved her back down from his position on the sofa. No point in her coming up, Sherlock would just shout at her.

"Why! How! What is he! Aghhhh!"

Sherlock threw himself down in his chair, his head in his hands. He massaged his temples and sighed.

"Watson, I don't have the answers this time."

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. John looked at the ground.

"I know, Sherlock, this is the toughest case you've ever had to tackle, we're not even at half time." He looked up at his friend, "But the game is on, Sherlock, and you're the only man in England who can solve this." If anyone can, John added in his thoughts, but dared not say that part out loud. Sherlock was already doubting himself, and needed no encouragement to sink into melancholy. "Isn't Mycroft doing… something?" Mycroft had come by a few weeks previous, and said he was working on something that may help them out. He was very vague, however, and whatever he was working on was yet to appear. Sherlock rolled his eyes and then closed them,

"Yes, 'something', god-only-knows-what, which will come god-only-knows-when, I wouldn't rely on Mycroft's 'something' Watson."

"Oh, little brother, what faith you have in me."

Sherlock's eyes shot open and he focused on the doorway, there stood Mycroft, behind him was a girl with long, brown, slightly curly hair and bright green eyes. She worked for Mycroft, his new secretary, he supposed.

Mycroft walked into the apartment and occupied Watson's usual chair opposite Sherlock. The girl perched on the sofa beside Watson. She gave him a small smile, which he returned, she seemed rather sweet to him, and he regretted that she had to work for Mycroft, he supposed the older Holmes wasn't exactly easy to work with, much like his brother.

"So, brother dear," said Sherlock, with an air of disdain, "What is this 'something' you've been working so tirelessly on?" Mycroft smiled, and gestured to the girl on the sofa, "Sherlock, meet Abigail Smith, she prefers to be called Abbie." Sherlock's eyebrows rose half-way up his forehead, he glanced at the girl, nothing special, was how he summed her up.

"What? All this to get me a, what, a secretary?" he asked incredulously, Watson glanced once again at the girl beside him, what could she possibly have to do with this case?

Mycroft smirked, "why don't you analyse her?"

"Do we really have time for games?" Sherlock shot back,

"Indulge me, brother."

Sherlock sighed in defeat, and turned his attention to Abigail 'Abbie' Smith.

"You work in an office of sorts, as a secretary, you had coffee and muesli this morning for breakfast, I'm assuming from the way you're sitting you were brought up in a prim-and-proper home, in a fairly ordinary setting, you're well educated, intelligent, you like to take care of your appearance suggesting you care a great deal about what others think of you –" and then Sherlock was cut off, as Abbie leaned forward and smiled, this smile was seductive, suggestive… predatory, and not in line with what he'd read from her at all. He looked back at Mycroft, his eyebrows getting dangerously close to his hair line. Mycroft smiled at Sherlock in that condescending way he had always done, "Abigail Smith is a diagnosed psychopath, brother dear. A wolf in sheep's clothing, a master of disguise. And she can help you get inside the mind of your serial killer."

Mycroft reached inside his brief case and handed Sherlock a file, Abbie's file. This gesture didn't go unnoticed by Abbie either, He's worried for his little brother, she mused, Mycroft glanced over at her and made eye-contact, she smirked "What's wrong Mycroft? Scared of leaving Shirley with the big bad wolf?" she lounged back on the sofa, crossing her arms and legs, and smiled in a playful kind of way.

Watson mentally took back everything he'd thought about this girl, if one thing was certain, she was not sweet.

Sherlock flicked through her file, and was taken completely by surprise. He was completely and totally off with her history, her personality, everything. He'd read her so, so wrong. He looked up at Mycroft, "Are you sure this is a good idea? Letting her near this?" he inquired, the last thing he needed was her teaming up with the serial killer, two psychopath's running amok in London? Right now, that was his worst nightmare. Mycroft glanced down and sighed, "No, no I'm not sure," he looked over at Abbie, "but it's the only option we've got now Sherlock."

Sherlock stood up and placed Abbie's file on the desk, and met her gaze with an equally intense one, trying to analyse something, anything, about who she really was.

"One question, Miss Smith."

"Yes, Mr Holmes?"

"Was I right about the muesli?"

"Yes."

"Right, she's on the case." Sherlock clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "The game is on!"

Watson rolled his eyes, why did he hang out with these people?