Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XLII • 42

A/N: The meaning of life :P
Better make it a good one!

******

You were confused. It was your job to introduce yourself. Your customers had never told you their name.
Well, not on initial contact, at least. You felt uncomfortable and slightly angry as you remembered your friendship with Jim.
"Uh, okay. Nice to meet you, Sebastian-"
"You can call me Seb." He interrupted you with a smile that completely contrasted his sad blue eyes, blinking owlishly.
You frowned a little, your brows furrowed in confusion. "Okay, Seb, again, what would you like to drink?"
"What would you suggest, sweetheart?" He continued looking up at you from where he sat. His eyes looked as though he were about to cry, but he continued his slow, methodical blinking without the water in them spilling over.
One eyelid drooped almost lazily and his mouth twitched up on one side, as though he was amused.
You relaxed a little. The lazy calm that he emanated was contagious.
"Personally, I'd say the cappuccino is best." You said with a smile, then winked.
"In that case, I'll have to try it." He smiled back.
"Coming right up." You replied, turning on your heel.

When you came back with his drink, he took it from your hands then said, "Thank you," He glanced at your name tag, "(F/N)"

He was charming.
But so was Jim.
You had to admit he was a nice fellow. Odd, sure, but he was polite, respectful, and he tipped you generously when he left.
But so did Jim.
You tried to ignore the little voice in your head telling you it wasn't safe. Jim worked alone. He was too arrogant and condescending to have an accomplice.
What were the chances that there was another psychopathic maniac running around central London?
He was really sweet. You liked something about his eyes. They were so calm and sad, even when he wasn't. His slow, owlish blinking seemed almost entrancing.
What could go wrong? It's not like he could hurt Sherlock.
You felt that Sherlock would want you to move on, find someone else. He wouldn't want you pining for him.
You could take it slow. You'd be careful.

You walked back to your flat that day, taking your time, mulling over your indecisiveness. On the one hand, you liked him, you were interested in him. On the other, you were still in love with Sherlock. You still believed he was out there somewhere.
You bit your bottom lip. You had no idea what to do, and every time you'd ever felt that way before, John had helped tremendously.

******

"John."
"Yeah? What's up, sis?"
You had waited until he'd come home and had sat down with his evening tea.
You chewed your lip for a second, not sure how to approach your dilemma.
"Do you- do you think it's possible there would be another psychopath frequenting my café? Or was that purely coincidental?"
He gave you a look that said, 'What's really going on here?'
"Fine! There's this guy, he acted-" You paused, "Uniquely. He's real nice and intriguing, but I don't want it to turn into another Jim."
"I don't know (F/N). I would say that the chances of there being another psychopathic killer running around and that he would target you are slim to none, but you have to make your own decision on this, kiddo."
You slumped in your chair.
"What else?" He asked, knowingly.
"Sherlock." You mumbled, your chin against your chest, inhibiting the movement of your mouth.
"What about him?" John asked, carefully.
"I still love him, John. I still believe he's out there. Somewhere."
John sighed. Not like he was exasperated, but like he was sad for you.
In truth, he was.

John's POV:

I was sad for you. You loved him so much, and I couldn't even tell you the truth. I wanted to so bad. I wanted to ease your suffering. But I knew that would be presumptuous. There was no way of knowing for sure whether Moriarty would be back or not. In person, unlikely, but the whole reason Sherlock was gone was to tear down his 'web'. He had his tentacles in every crack and crevice of the European continent.
That was why Sherlock had to be gone. That was why you couldn't know that he was alive.
"What's wrong?" You asked, noticing my sigh.
"Oh, it's- it's nothing. I just- I want to believe you're right. I want to believe he's still around."
"He is." You replied, almost defensively.
"(F/N)-" I paused, sighed again, then continued gently. "I really don't think it's going to help you, believing he's still alive. It's not possible. It's not practical. It's not-"
"Yes it is!" You stood up abruptly. "It is possible. You're blind as a mole if you can't see it."
I had never seen you this defensive and angry.
I tried again. "(F/N), we both saw-"
"NO!" You screamed this time. "You're wrong!" You stormed toward the door, opened it, then spun around.
"I hate you." You snarled, tears sliding down your cheeks, then slammed the door and half stumbled, half ran down the stairs.
The outside door slammed.
I flinched.
I was trying to make things easier for you.