A/N: Aye, I'm back! In all honesty, I was waiting for a couple reviews before I continued, and I got them! So here comes chapter 4!

P.S. I love constructive criticism, as long as you're nice! :) Also, this is back to Abbey's POV, but the little part at the end is in John's.

It's strange not remembering who you are.

What are my parents' names? Where am I from? When was I born? What's my story?

The only comforting thought I have is this John guy. He's really kind. Sure, the police and the hospital folk were nice as well, but he's different. I've known this man for only a month and he already treats me like a daughter. It's nice to know I have someone who'll help me through this.

Sherlock, on the other hand, is a different story. He's rude. He's sarcastic. And the eyeballs on the counter scare me a bit. But he's smart. Like, really smart. And if he can figure out what's happening to me, then that's good enough for me.

I've been staying in their flat for a little over two weeks now. I don't do much. Everything on the television bores me, so I took to reading some of Sherlock's books. He wasn't very happy with it at first, but once he realized it would keep me busy and away from him, he was fine. He seems a little puzzled as to how well I'm retaining all of the information in the countless forensic journals and history textbooks. It's strange for me, too. I can comprehend everything I read, but I can't even remember my own name. How's that for irony?

One day, I'm sitting on the couch, John is in his armchair, and Sherlock is in the kitchen experimenting with the chemical the cop man provided him with when a excruciating pain split my head. I must have passed out from the agony, because the next thing I know, I'm on the ground looking up at John.

"Abbey, are you alright?" he looks genuinely worried.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright... I think."

"What happened?"

"I don't know, I... I..." All of a sudden, a brief glimpse of a picture shows up in my head. A garden, with blue flowers. And a woman with long brown hair. "I think... I think I remembered something."

"What? What did you remember?"

"Just some woman in a garden, I don't recognize her. But then again, how could I," I say sarcastically.

All of a sudden, the sound of breaking glass comes from the kitchen.

"IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

"What is, Sherlock?" John asks.

"This substance does not exist. It is completely organic, yet it does not exist! It simply doesn't!" Sherlock storms into the living rooms and flops onto the couch with his arms crossed, and a pout resembling a four-year-old. At least, I think that's what a four-year-old looks like.

"Well, obviously it has to exist, now doesn't it?"

"Shut up, John."

"Shut what up, John? If you are referring to me quieting myself, then a more correct phrase would be 'can you be quite Sherlock,' for simply saying 'shut up' could mean a number of things, such as-"

I couldn't contain my giggles at that point. Suddenly, Sherlock jerks his head in my direction and glares.

"What is so amusing?"

"You two! So, how long have you been together?" I ask between giggles.

"Well, John moved in approximately four and a half years ago, so-"

"That isn't what she meant, Sherlock. No, Abbey, we are not romantically involved for I am not gay, and Sherlock here is married to his work," John replied, sounding rehearsed. How many times has he had to explain that to people?

"Really? Bullshit."

"Excuse me?" John asks, looking somewhat annoyed.

"Oh come on!" Do they really not see what's in front of their faces? "You two are perfect for each other, I bet anyone can see that considering I've only known you for a month and I can see it!"

"I have no interest in being romantically involved with anyone regardless of-"

"Oh, just stop. This is ridiculous. I'm gonna leave the room now to give you two some privacy. If you aren't bumping uglies by the time I get out, there's gonna be a problem." With that, I exited the room, not before seeing the shocked look on both of their faces.

"Sherlock, you don't need to listen to her. It's not like we haven't heard it before."

"Yes John, I know. But, would you mind if I tested a theory?" Sherlock replied.

Oh god. Now what.

"Sure, Sherlock. What theory?" I say, unsure of what will happen next.

Sherlock gets up from his position on the couch and leans over my chair, with one hand resting on each armrest. His face is mere centimeters from mine.

"This one."

And with that, he closed the gaps between our lips in a bruising kiss.

A/N: CLIFFIE. Kinda, sorta.

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