JOHN'S POV
It had been another two weeks since the conversation with Sherlock and my hope of finding Abrielle was very slowly sinking away. There wasn't a single sign of her anywhere and in fact it seemed as though she hadn't even existed. No traces of kidnapping were left behind other than the phone and the blood dried to the fence, and all that told us is that she struggled with her kidnapper. According to Sherlock she had fought that day, she had fought so much to get back to the flat, so much so that she had jumped on top the fence and tried to run along it to avoid her kidnapper. She didn't want to get kidnapped, she wanted to go home. She was scared, and hurt, and I wasn't there to save her from it! I felt horrible, everyone did. It just felt gloomier without her. She was the ball of energy that kept us going, and without her even the flat felt darker. Mycroft was constantly checking on us, making sure we were okay, Mrs. Hudson didn't come up to the flat anymore and Sherlock stayed locked up in his room, avoiding any and all communication with the outside world, and as for me … well, I just didn't seem to have the energy to do anything. I was constantly upset, and my thoughts were constantly worried about her. It's as if, somehow, Abrielle was our guiding light, the other half of us, and it seemed as though we couldn't function without her. She made me happier. She made all of us happier. And without her the happiness was gone leaving nothing but a shell in its place. I was just going through the motions and doing enough to stay alive, and it was all because of her. All because of Abrielle Watson, my little sister. We weren't even taking cases anymore it seemed, Sherlock was never around and with my gloomy mood I was never quite up for leaving the flat, let alone solving a murder. Yet, even so, Greg still came to us for help. For days he has come by our flat trying to get us back to our old selves by offering us whatever cases he possibly could. In fact, that's what he was doing this very second. He had given me a case file for a murder that was right in Sherlock's relm, a man found dead in a locked flat that had no cause of death other than two puncture marks behind his ear. It was a wonderful case, the perfect locked room mystery that I was sure Sherlock would be able to solve in five minutes. But I knew how he felt, I knew how we all felt, and it was not the time for a case.
"We can't help, sorry." I replied, denying his offering, handing the case file back to the man, a bit of regret seeping into my voice.
"No it's fine, you already have a case and I'm trying to add on another. How's the case going anyways?" He replied, sympathy overtaking his tone. He may not have met her yet, but he knew how much she meant to me … to all of us, and that meant a lot to me.
"We haven't made much progress on the case since the kidnapping. Sherlock's been too busy looking for my sister. Half the time I barely even see him, and when I do, he just mopes around and doesn't even speak." I explained, sighing as I looked in the direction of Sherlock's room. He was never quite the same since she had been taken … he was more distant, he wouldn't even talk to me anymore, and that honestly scared me.
"Are you kidding me? If I didn't know any better, I'd say Sherlock's depressed." Lestrade replied, looking towards Sherlock's door in surprise. To be fair, he wasn't that far off. Mycroft had warned me about this he had seen this coming. The great Sherlock Holmes was in fact worried about Bree. The robot had emotions. Sherlock Holmes was broken.
"I think he is depressed. Mycroft told me that he shows his worry differently than me, and I think that this is what he meant." I explained, looking back at Lestrade with concern evident in my eyes. Sherlock Holmes, the man that would rather confine himself in a room than show his emotions was worried about my sister.
"Maybe he should talk to a shrink." Lestrade replied, a smile on his face as if the very thought of Sherlock with a therapist was hilarious.
"I considered taking him to see my therapist but this is Sherlock we're talking about, he'd never open up to a complete stranger." I replied, a small smile resting on my lips. To be fair, the thought had in fact went through my mind, but then I realized that he would just deduce the therapist, leave, and then lock himself right back in his room which to be perfectly honest would be a total waste of not only my time and energy, but Sherlock's as well. He'd never open up to a therapist, it was a simple fact. He didn't trust many people, and out of the very limited amount of people he did trust he wouldn't listen to. Sherlock Holmes would not bode well with a therapist. Not at all.
"He opened up to your sister didn't he?" Lestrade questioned, a smirk lighting up his features.
"Yeah, but she was different for some reason. Special." I stated, my brows furrowing in confusion. Yeah … he got me there. He trusted her, he told her things that I didn't even know about him. In fact in the short amount of time Abrielle had been here I had learned more about Sherlock than I had in a year and a half of being his best friend. For some reason she was an exception to the rule. For some reason Sherlock opened up to her and she in turn opened up to him. They trusted each other, and for some reason Sherlock didn't mind. So yes, Lestrade was right. He opened up to a complete stranger. He had opened up to Abrielle Holmes. He had opened up to my sister.
"Do you think you'll ever find her?" Lestrade stated, snapping me efficiently out of my thoughts.
"I hope so, but it's looking like we'll never find her." I stated, my head whirling from all of the things she could be going through right this second. She could be bleeding to death, her crimson blood falling from her as she begged for help, calling out into the dark abyss of nothingness as life slowly drained from her body. She could be getting tortured, ropes rubbing against her skin as she screams in pain. She could even be dead at this point, her body left to rot in the middle of nowhere while we're moping around doing nothing. Anything could have happened to her. Anything! And we were not even an inch closer to finding her even close to three weeks after the kidnapping had occurred.
"I hope you find her I honestly do, if not for her sake then for Sherlock's sake." Lestrade replied, standing up to grab his coat, his eyes wandering towards Sherlock's door once again before quickly exiting the flat, closing the door quietly behind him, as if the guilt of not being able to help us both was weighing on his mind. To be fair, I knew where he was coming from. I felt horrible guilt for not being able to help Sherlock. He was my best friend and even when I tried to help him he ignored me, and pushed me away. He was a recluse at this point, reverting back to old habits that I had long since helped him rid himself from. Clearly Abrielle means a lot to him for some reason. He was worried about her safety, the same worries that plagued my mind every day and every night. Abrielle was gone and it was taking a toll on everyone. Maybe we'd find her, maybe we wouldn't but all I knew is that we needed her back and we needed her back fast.
