'And that's how I helped the President of Egypt find his trousers!' Mycroft laughed heartily. Abigail was in fits of giggles.
'You have some pretty good stories.'
He shrugged. 'What comes from years working in the British Government.' he considered her for a moment. 'What do you want to be when you're older?'
'I wanna work for the FBI.'
'You definitely have the aptitude. You're very bright, Abigail.' She looked at him through genuinely touched eyes.
'You really mean that?'
'Of course I do! I'll leave the lying to the politicians. Which reminds me...one time, I hir-'
Fascinated by his stories and still glowing from his praise, Abigail tried to ignore the phone ringing. Mycroft, though, it had put off completely. He rushed to answer the phone, uttering a quick 'sorry' in his guest's direction.
She supposed it was what came from his 'minor' position. He probably answered a lot of calls quite quickly. She tried to listen in to the conversation.
'What, where?...Is Jack with you?...Then where the Hell is Sherlock?...Who was he with?...Did he say anything to him?... No, of course... Can Abigail come then?...I suppose so too. Goodbye Lestrade.'
He put the phone down and let his head sink into his hands. Abigail approached him.
'What's up?'
'Sherlock's enemy has come back.' Silence.
'B-but I thought Moriarty was...was dead.'
He took his hands away and stared; his confusion boring into her like a flaming dart.
'Everyone knows the story of Sherlock Holmes.' she said, eager to skip her explanations and get down to his.
'Well...we all thought he was dead. Apparently, he was not. He's got-' he snapped out of his absent-minded repeating of the message. He couldn't tell her that Will Graham's life was in danger, or that Hannibal could be another of Moriarty's victims.
'What has he got, Mycroft?' she read his sorry eyes like a book. 'Who has he got?'
No reply.
'WHO HAS HE GOT?' she screamed, tears threatening to engulf her voice.
'Abigail, you need to come with me.'