Only Disclaimer For This Story: I OWN Abigail THAT IS IT. and if i do any additional cases not on John's blog :-p

A/N: Okay, i've finally jumped on the damn bandwagon. i'm writing a Sherlock fic (holy crap!) and, honestly, i'm just writing this for myself, but i hope that some of you will like this. it's only a starting chapter, yes, but i've got two others already written, so YAY.
the endgame of this story should be Sherlock/oc, but i don't know. Rupert Graves is a pretty attractive man. Screw age differences.

Review if you like. Sorry for any mistakes; unbeta-ed. Enjoy.

After waking from a dream, that was far more a memory than it was a dream, and making himself tea, John Watson sat down in front of his laptop, the screen already open to his blank blog page.

Ring! … Ring! … Ring!

John glanced at the lit screen of his mobile and gave a small groan when he saw who was calling. "Hello?"

"Have you seen her?"

He rolled his eyes, "'Hi, John. How are you?' 'Oh, hello, Harry. I'm fine thanks!'"

Harry Watson scoffed on her side of the line, "Yeah, all right. Have you seen her?"

"Seen who, Harry?"

"Your sister, idiot."

John gave a long-suffering sigh and rested his head in the palm of his left hand, "Abby is your sister, too, Harry."

"She may be a relative, but she is not my sister." Harry's voice was scathing as she spoke, and John idly wondered if she'd been nipping at the alcohol – even if it was only nine in the morning.

"No, Harriet, I haven't been to see Abby, yet. Have you?" As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he marvelled at the idiocy of it.

"Of course not. You're the one that insists on her having visitors." She said, and it was taking every ounce of John's self-control not to hang up on her the longer the phone call went on.

"I don't understand why you won't visit her. I'm sure she'd love to see you at least once, Harry." God only knows why, is what he didn't say. Harry had never been the kindest soul to Abby growing up, even though the youngest Watson all but worshipped the very ground Harry walked on; some business about believing that Abby had been adopted, and wasn't actually a Watson – it was all very stupid, and John had grown up being the mediator whenever Harry made Abby cry.

"I wouldn't love to see her." They were both silent for a long minute, John's disapproval clear even over the phone. Harry sighed, her tone gentler now, though it was clear she was annoyed with John's continued lack of support on the matter of Abigail Watson. "Listen, John. You know how I feel on the subject, and I'll always be happy to see you even though we don't really get along. Just...don't think that I'll suddenly start jumping for joy over Abby. I can't. I'm sorry. Bye, John."

Heaving a heavy sigh, John ended the call and set his mobile phone to the side of his laptop after glancing at the time. Seeing that he had two hours until his therapist appointment – which, he did not need, thank you very much, - he decided to go ahead and visit Abigail.

Abby Watson, a young woman of twenty-five, sat in her cell (she called it a cell, but it was really just a square room furnished all in white; white walls, white floor, white bed,) silently brooding while staring up at the ceiling. While brooding, she was also thinking about the fact that she was supposed to receive a visit from her older brother; and, while this made her happy, she was also finding it difficult to care much about it.

Must be the new meds, she thought as the 'cell' door opened to reveal a brunette woman wearing the customary white orderly uniform, her facial expression blank.

"I'm to take you to Meeting Room 3. Your brother's here," the nurse, Lara, said, her voice not matching her expression at all, as it was actually quite genial.

It took Abby a moment to make her limbs work properly and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Standing, she wobbled slightly, but steadied after Lara took her arm and helped her out of the door and down several corridors that seemed to go on for ages to Abby. Sighing, she tried mustering up happiness at seeing her brother, but her thoughts kept wandering to the fact she was slowly starting to feel nauseous the longer she was upright.

Lara led her to the designated Meeting Room and gently helped her down into a large, cushioned chair. Smiling at her charge, Lara then turned to the man sitting in the chair opposite Abby, "Once the two of you are finished here, just press the button to the right of the door and I'll be right down."

"Right, thank you." John said, watching the woman (her arse, if he were to be honest) as she left the room.

"She's married, John. Just doesn't wear her ring to work," Abby suddenly spoke, her words slightly slurred in her lethargic state.

Her brother turned to look at her, face slightly pink with embarrassment. "Haven't the faintest what you mean, Abby."

She just barely managed to smile in amusement, silently cursing the meds currently coursing through her system. "Of course you don't, John,"

John smiled, but it quickly morphed into a look of concern as he looked at his little sister with a clinical eye. "How are you, Abby?"

"Still living, if you can call it that."

"How're they treating you here?"

Abby sighed and lolled her head against the back of the chair, "They haven't tried murdering me or anything, so, fine."

John was silent as he continued looking his sister over, noticing how thin she was; nearing an unhealthy level of skinny it looked like. Her hair was lank and lacked any sort of shine that would have suggested she was even remotely all right, her eyes were dull, and her skin was a ghostly pale from having not been outside in a very long time. Overall, in John's medical opinion, she looked as close to dead as possible without actually being deceased; in his brotherly opinion, he was already thinking of multiple arguments to use when demanding Abby be released – today.

"John,"

"Hm?" He acknowledged the fact his sister had spoken, though his mind was still miles away – how could he support two people on an army pension? And in London? He couldn't, he would have to get a job, quickly.

"I hate it here. I want to go home." She said her words quiet though it was easy to see that she was slightly distressed. "Everything here is bland."

"You know we'd be a bit tight on living until I can find a job." John said, not wanting to discourage her, just letting her know the reality of things. "We may not be able to stay in London, Abby. It's very expensive,"

"As long I get out of here, I don't care if we have to live in a park."

He snorted in sarcastic amusement, "We may have to."

Abby gave a tiny smile, "They let me read the letter you sent. How's your shoulder?"

"Oh, it's good. Yeah, good. Gives me a bit of trouble sometimes," he said, rotating his shoulder as he spoke. "Gets stiff, you know."

"And your leg?"

"My therapist thinks it's psychosomatic." Her smile got wider. "Shut up, Abby."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You don't need to, that stupid smile is saying it all."

Abby slowly heaved herself out of the chair and moved toward John, who had stood upon seeing her struggle out of the chair, and wrapped her thin arms around his waist. Laying her head on his chest, she beat down the urge to cry. Abby was the shortest of the family, a fact both Harry and John never let her forget, standing at five feet and four inches, she just barely made it to John's shoulder, but in moments like this she was happy for it because his hugs always made her feel safe and well cared for in a family of people that couldn't, as an unspoken rule it seemed, care less about the girl.

John cherished the feeling of hugging his sister, having not done so since the last time he had seen her some three years ago. "Abby?"

"Yes, John?"

"How are you really?"

She was silent as she contemplated an answer, not knowing how best to phrase how she felt. "I'm...not very good. But...I am better than I was before."

Though not happy with the resopnse, John accepted it, just glad that she had told him the truth. "Okay. Good, that's good." Finally breaking the hug, John took a step back and looked his sister over once more before nodding decisively to himself. "Yeah, definitely getting you out of here."

It took John having to argue with three different people, having to say that, not only was he a Doctor, but also that he was Abby's primary guardian/caregiver and that he could properly care for his own sister; then, and only then, was he able to sign the release papers, after which he received a list of medications Abby was currently on which caused him to gawk at some of them.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Abby's primary doctor, the director of the institution, commented almost snidely to John as they waited for Abby to be brought up.

John's hand tightened on the handle of his walking stick, silently contemplating beating the man over the head with it. "I do, thanks."

The man grunted, and turned to leave as the doors opened revealing Abby being led by Lara toward John. "Good luck, Doctor Watson."

John ignored the man, his attention solely on helping Abby outside once Lara had left her in his care. "Come on, Abby." He said gently, hoping that he actually could take care of her adequately enough. When they made it outside, the sun was somewhere behind the clouds but Abby still flinched at the brightness of being outdoors for the first time in what felt like an age.

"Now, let's see if we can't catch a bloody cab," John mumbled, making Abby smile a little.

After finally managing to hail a cab, John bundled Abby in and told the cabbie their destination. Abby seemed to melt into the seat as she looked at the city fly by in a blur of colours and life. "John?"

"Hm?"

"How's…how's Harry?"

"Oh, she's…well, she's Harry. Still finding her days spent looking into the bottom of a bottle," John said, watching as Abby continued looking out of the window like she had never seen London before. "She and Clara are getting a divorce."

Her head whipped round so quickly, John was afraid she'd end up with whiplash. "They're what? But…Harry loves Clara!"

"She loves booze more than she loves Clara, apparently." He wryly commented.

She sighed harshly and went back to staring out of the window, angry with her older sister. "She always manages to cock something up by drinking."

"Yeah, well, that's Harry." John shifted in the seat, turning his body to face Abby. "Listen, Abby, I'm going to leave you in my flat for a bit so that you can sleep off the ridiculous amount of drugs in your system while I'm at an appointment, okay?"

She hummed in ascent, looking forward to sleeping in a bed that wasn't white and was actually comfortable.

"Abigail, I need to know that you'll be okay and that you're actually going to sleep,"

She rolled her eyes in his direction, "John, I'm not going to fucking kill myself in your flat."

"I know, I know. I just…I worry for you, Abby, that's all."

"Don't worry, John. I'll let you know when you need to worry, yes?"

He scrutinised her face for any sign of a lie and, finding nothing, sighed and nodded in ascent, even though he really was not happy with her response, John knew that he had to give her a modicum of trust.

When the cab stopped in front of John's temporary home, he paid the cabbie and helped Abby out and into the tiny flat. Their progress was slow going, but John was in no hurry and Abby hardly cared what was really going on even though she really wanted to see if John's bed was as comfy as her brain was making her think it would be.

"Now, the bathroom's just through there," John said, pointing to a door to the left of a small brown desk. "And, I think, there's still some milk left if you wake up and want tea. No sugar though, sorry." He sheepishly finished.

Abby smiled and gently nudged her older brother, knowing that he didn't like putting sugar in his coffee or his tea. She moved lethargically toward the small bed, covered in white sheets, but it was more of an egg-white, really, and immediately laid down on it. The mattress was almost sinfully comfortable.

Seeing that Abigail was comfortable and already on her way to sleeping, he moved toward her and gently ran a hand over her hair. "Abs," At her sleepy hum of acknowledgement, he smiled a little and spoke softly to her. "I'm going out for a bit, I should be back before you wake up, all right?"

"Okay," She mumbled, though it sounded like a mashing of sounds to him.

John quickly began to leave the flat, patting his trouser pockets to make sure he had his keys and his wallet, not looking forward to his therapist appointment at all.

"Johnny!"

Jesus, he thought, having been startled by the unexpected shout and leaning slightly on the open door. "Yes, Abigail?"

"I love you."

The statement made John smile and remember when a much younger Abigail would always scream the same three words at him every morning before leaving for school. "I love you, too. Now, sleep." With that, John Watson shut and locked the door to his flat, not knowing that, by the end of the day, he was really going to wish he'd cancelled his appointment.