Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

LV • 55

I got myself dressed and went out to talk to Mycroft.
"Hello little brother." He spoke in the condescending way that was characteristic of him.
"What do you want?" I replied flatly, remiss.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, faking concern.
I rolled my eyes. "Mycroft, you came all the way out here after calling me thrice and even texting. Bravo, by the way." I tossed my hands up in fake congratulations, then continued, my face returning to the hard set I had begun with. "You had John wake me up because you were too afraid to do it yourself. Now, what do you really want?"
"Of course." His expression matched mine. "Sebastian is out again."
I clenched my teeth but stayed calm as I spoke. "He was arrested yesterday."
I glanced at John, who had a mixture of rage and shock on his face.
"Y-yesterday." He spluttered.
Mycroft ignored him and addressed me.
"A witness at the prison said that he had become violently ill, and after he'd been let out to be treated, he killed his guard, er, let's just say without the use of a weapon, and ran."
Again I spoke, but didn't manage to stay entirely calm this time. "Violently ill? The man was toxicology major imprisoned for poisoning and they just believed him without a second thought when he became violently ill? Why can't people just think?!" I half shouted this last bit, and John cringed a little.
Mycroft shot a glance at him before continuing. "Hm yes. I'm afraid ordinary people don't think like you and I, little brother."
I felt my hands curl into fists and I clenched my jaw.
I swallowed hard and looked up at him, fire in my eyes. "Where is he?" I enunciated my words slowly and evenly so that I didn't shout.
"First case back at Baker Street." Mycroft said, handing me a file. "Everything we've got on him and his escape is right there." He turned on his heel and left the room, not daring to provoke me further.
That was probably a good idea.
I was a ticking time bomb now.
Once I'd cooled down enough to be safely approached, John summoned me.
"Sherlock, we need to talk."
I sighed, sat down in my chair and leaned forward.
"Sherlock.." He too sighed, "I need to know why you wouldn't tell me. Had I not seen it, you would've continued to ignore it. It could've gotten infected, all sorts of things can result from that."
He was almost pleading now. He didn't seem angry anymore as much as hurt.
"I just didn't want you worrying about me." I said again.
"Sherlock, I spent a year and a half worrying about you! What have you even been doing this whole time? Dismantling Moriarty, I know, but what have you been doing? How many death threats? How many other injuries?"
I thought a moment. "Seventeen." I replied, honestly.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Seventeen death threats."
He continued to stare at me, waiting for me to continue.
I rolled my eyes. "Seventeen death threats, three attempts on my life and six actual injuries. Including this." I indicated my back.
"God, Sherlock." He shook his head like he had given up trying to get through to me.
"What?" I asked, rather confused. "You already know I had to."
"But you could've avoided the injuries!"
I made a face. "Hrmmm. No. I really couldn't."
"Sherlock! You could've done your- your deducing thing, freaked 'em out!"
I raised my eyebrows. "My deducing thing?" I asked, incredulous.
He looked utterly frustrated. "You know what I mean!" He was flustered and vexed, which was a rather potent combination when it came to John Watson.
I sighed, thought a moment, and after an almost unbearable period of silence, I spoke, quietly. "I did."
"You did what?" He asked, looking up.
"My deducing thing." I replied with a half smile.
He kept a straight face for just a second, then broke into a smile, realising just how ridiculous that description of my skills in deduction and observation was.
The moment of humour didn't last long, however, as his face became serious again. "Then why do you look like you've been mauled?"
"It was a last resort." I answered, sheepishly.
For a moment, he looked at me like someone would a disobedient child, then he shrugged heavily. He wasn't going to get through to me and he knew it.
He looked around, and saw my phone on the end table where I'd left it the night before.
"Sherlock." He addressed me. "How did you know your brother called you? Your phone is here, has been since I got home last night."
I grinned, looking up from the file I was examining. "He always calls at least twice before texting- he hates texting- and house calls are his last resort."
He smiled in wonder and I returned my attention to the report on Sebastian's escape.
The details were concise and gory. It appeared as though he'd somehow snuck some sort of poison or toxin into the cell with him yesterday and administered it to himself, or more likely that he'd taken a slow acting poison in expectation of it making him ill.
That had sure had it's desired effect.
He'd been so sick that he was in need of a doctor, and yet he'd managed to overpower his guard and kill him.
But to me, it didn't matter how or why he'd gotten out. All that mattered was getting him back in.