A/N: Once again thank you for all the comments, follows... I love hearing about your thoughts on it.

ML also made this chapter better. Thank you.

Abby Grange

"Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you."
― Sarah Dessen, What Happened to Goodbye

It was time to pay Abby Grange a visit. Ever since Sherlock Holmes had read the file on her he had debated if he should see her or not. Although he was fairly certain of what had happened more than 10 years ago, he needed proof. He wanted to hear it from the person whose horrible fate had set everything in motion.

Therefore he found himself knocking on the blue wooden door of a small flat in Marsham, Kent.

The door opened after his third knock, and as it did. Sherlock walked straight into the flat, past a very surprised woman.

He turned around and faced her.

"Good day, Miss Grange."

Abby Grange was a tall woman, with short blonde hair. She was very thin and had dark circles under her eyes, along with chapped lips from chewing on them too much. Sherlock deduced that the latter was a nervous habit of hers, linked to nicotine addiction. She stared at him; clearly flummoxed that he had entered her place in such a manner.

After a moment, in which she managed to get over most of her surprise, she stated, "You are that sleuth in the papers. Ever thought of getting a pipe? Would go well with that hat of yours."

Sherlock, unimpressed by her statement, replied, "I am not here to talk about my style of clothing"

Abby Grange closed the door and crossed her arms. "I know why you are here. And since you are so clever, you know that coming here was a waste of time. I have nothing to say."

Her lips formed a tight line, as if to prove her point.

Sherlock just looked at her, and for a moment there was a staring contest between the two of them. In the end Miss Grange gave in as curiosity got the better of her, "How did you know where I live?"

"I followed you."

"I saw no one."

A sly smile formed on Sherlock's lips, "That is what you may expect to see when I follow you."

Abby Grange shook her head and walked past the consulting detective.

"What happened in Cambridge in 2002?" he asked without further ado.

Abby acted unimpressed and went to put the kettle on the stove.

"I'm sure you've read the police reports, Mr. Holmes. You know very well what happened."

"But I want to know was what was not written in the police reports, because I am sure that is much more interesting."

Abby paused what she was doing a moment. "You are very nosy, Mr Holmes."
The consulting detective took that as a compliment. "It is my business to be."

Abby Grange didn't say anything to that. Sherlock went over to the kitchen counter to observe her better. She looked as he had expected; a woman who had gone through severe trauma and still struggled in life. He felt sorry for her and hated the man who had almost managed to break this woman.

Sherlock changed the subject. "I know you have heard what happened to Tom Hopkins."

Abby seemed to ignore him, yet still muttered under her breath while pouring the tea, "The sly devil."

Sherlock continued, "There is a certain element of improbability in Molly's story of his demise, and a lady's charming personality must not be permitted to warp my judgement."

Abby Grange looked up from the two cups of tea, "Yeah, Molly has told me that you are oblivious to womanly charms, and talk in a peculiar way..."

She walked past him into the sitting room, put the two cups down and sat in an armchair. Sherlock followed her, but remained standing.

"So, Miss Grange, what happened to Professor Brackenstall and to Tom?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "They died, as far as I know."

Sherlock glared at her, he'd had enough of her games.

"You know exactly what I am talking about, Miss Grange. Do us both a favour and don't act as if you are stupid, because I know you are anything but."

Abby Grange looked at him with a calculating stare, as if evaluating whether she could trust him. She seemed to come to a decision.

"Molly has talked a lot about you. She trusts you and has said that you are the most brilliant man she has ever met. Yet you have been so blind and stupid."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He didn't at all like to be called stupid. But Abby Grange ignored him and went on, "I have heard some queer stories about Tom. He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him at such times, and he was capable of anything."

She took a small pause during which she sipped at her tea, and then she continued, "There was a scandal about him drenching his dog in petroleum and setting it on fire. His friends have taken care of the dog ever since. Then he threw a decanter at that ex-girlfriend of his, Theresa Wright. On the whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter world without him."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be surprised. But he did not show it.

Abby Grange put her cup down.

"And that is all I have to say, Mister Holmes."