Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XVI • 16

"So you know it's a fake?" You asked, meeting up with Sherlock again in the parking lot.
"Yes and no. I know it is, but I can't prove it. I was hoping I would have more time to observe it before she came in."
"I see."
"It doesn't matter. I'll get a chance to look at it again later. Right now I need to go see Stauffer's regiment again."

******

"Did he keep a journal, a log, anything?" Sherlock demanded of Michael Wraight, the second in command of Stauffer's regiment.
"Harvey? I have no idea, sir."
"Where would it be if he did?"
"Mister Holmes, you've got to understand, Lieutenant Wieland died seven years ago. Any of his personal belongings are either gone or with his family."
"Family members?"
"Mum, dad, and wife." Wraight replied, scribbling three names on a scrap of paper and handing it to Sherlock.
"Thank you."

You hailed the cab because Sherlock was too busy on his phone, trying to find out more about those three names.
The cab pulled up and you shoved Sherlock towards the door. He made a point to look up at you. "Thank you."
You smiled and went around to the other door, sliding in next to him.
"Home?" You asked him, and he nodded, still distracted by his phone.
"221B Baker Street." You instructed the cabbie.

By the time you got back, Sherlock had finished on the phone and now had his head back, eyes closed, thinking. He jumped out when the cab stopped, once again forgetting the fare.
When you finally made it up to the flat, you found him squeezing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, face scrunched up, pacing violently. His mouth moved as though he were having an animated discussion, but no sound came out. He was gesturing wildly with his unoccupied hand, and you decided it best to leave him to his imaginary argument.

You went back downstairs and made tea and lunch. After eating, you settled down on your sofa and picked up your book- you could still hear Sherlock pacing upstairs, so it was safe for at least a little while.
Half an hour into your reading, your phone buzzed, bringing you back from middle earth.
'See you tomorrow! <3 - K'

You cursed under your breath. You had entirely forgotten that Kenzie would be here tomorrow. This was not exactly the state in which you wanted her to meet Sherlock.
Oh well. He could change on a dime, there was no reason to stress.
'Can't wait!' You replied.

B had become quieter, so you climbed the stairs and poked your head through the door.
He sat on the sofa, facing the wall, staring absentmindedly. He blinked once, twice, but otherwise didn't acknowledge your presence.
Last night you were declaring your love for him. Now you just wanted to punch him.
"Sherlock?"
He made a noise that sounded vaguely like recognition to your inquiry.
"Care to explain your mood swing?"
He continued staring at the wall, until you shut the door again, frustrated.
"It doesn't add up." He said, his voice now muffled by the door. You opened it again and waited for him to continue.
"It's all connected somehow, the cabbie, the painting, the blackmailer. It must be, but it doesn't add up."
It was like he was trying to fit a jigsaw piece in a place it didn't belong, and he was allowing it to frustrate him.
"Perhaps I can help?" You asked, your desire to hit him dissipating. You sat down next to him on the sofa.

"Have you called the names on the list?"
"Yes, I'm going to meet up with them later."
"Well maybe that's the connecting piece. Perhaps all you need to do is wait until you can get some information from them."
"No, no there's something else." He got up and started pacing again, the heel of his hand pressed against his forehead.
"The painting. The painting is the one thing I couldn't figure out. It must be a fake, but for the first time it's not obvious!" He raised his voice in frustration.
"Good artist." You muttered.
"Forger. Good forger." Sherlock corrected, looking at you pointedly.
"Right. Sorry."
He gave you a sideways glance, but continued his frantic rounds of the flat.
"Look, Sherl." You got up and crossed your arms. "Your stressing won't do a bit of good. You need to just calm down and occupy yourself some other way until you can talk to Wieland's family."
He stopped pacing and looked at you. He opened his mouth to say something but shut it again, then let out an exasperated sigh and picked up his violin.
"Good. Thank you." You gave a thin smile as he began to play, shutting the world out.