Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

LVIII • 58

Sherlock's POV:

I still wore my tourist costume as I made my way through the outskirts of Dublin.
This was where Sebastian had grown up and where I now had no doubt he had returned.
I needed to find out more about him and his background in order to collect leverage and to decide where it was most likely he was hiding.

I needed to start at the prison where Arthur Moran had been arrested 20 years ago.

******

"I need the arrest records on Arthur Moran." I requested the deputy on duty.
"Who's asking?" He asked, squinting at me.
"Private detective." I responded, cringing inwardly at having to use that conventional description of my line of work. I handed him the case file that Mycroft had given me to prove that I had ample reason to receive what I was asking for.
I had changed back into my preferred trousers and button down, but had left my beloved coat and scarf behind, just in case.
I was thanking God I wasn't still in the tacky tourist get up, or else I'd had to have made up a story about being undercover as well.
He looked it over, then nodded, satisfied.
"Wait a moment, please." He said, turning to his computer.
I complied, but my patience was wearing ever thinner. I had no idea how long Sebastian would be here, or what he would do next. I tapped my fingers on the desk, counting the seconds.
The deputy spun in his chair to face the printer which was now shaking and choking. Eventually it spat out one, two, three sheets. These the deputy collected and handed to me.
"Everything we've got."
"Thank you." I nodded.
"Pleasure. Have a good day, sir."

******
I sat in a corner booth of a small restaurant down the street, looking over the papers.
I didn't want to eat- I didn't want to take the slightest break in finding Sebastian, but I knew if you were here, you'd stare me down until I ate something.
Besides, John wanted me to eat even more than usual until I got my health back- because he was right, I'd been immensely malnourished in Germany.
I thought of you, and I thought of John, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to eat while I was here anyway.
I scanned the papers while I waited.
Sebastian had every right to hate his father- it certainly didn't justify murdering him- but Arthur was a horrible person; an excuse for a human.

Charges:
Child abuse, domestic violence, rape, child abuse...

The list went on and on. He'd been charged and incarcerated at least three times for child abuse, he'd been a habitual alcoholic, he'd been charged with domestic violence for beating his wife- it was sickening.

I searched the second page- his behavioural records and releases. Why he'd ever been released I couldn't say, but it seemed as if he'd be incarcerated, be on good behaviour until he was paroled, then he went right back to his old habits.
He'd eventually been revoked of his privilege of parole, but that time Sebastian bailed him out and he'd died shortly after.
Sebastian had bailed his father out of prison just so he could have the pleasure of ending his life himself. It was sick and twisted. And yet, in a very small way, understandable.
I shook my head in disgust and continued onto the third page.

Family history. This is what I needed.
Arthur Isaac Moran, born 3 February, 1954 in Dublin. He was the oldest of three boys born to Samantha and Jeffrey Moran.
The family moved to Dalkey, a seaside village outside of Dublin when Arthur was 10. Jeffrey started Moran's Chartering, a family fishing and boat chartering business.
It was successful until Jeffrey's death in 1978.
The business was then handed down to Arthur, who ran it into the ground due to his drinking habits. What little business he may have had left, mostly tourists, shied away when they heard of his reputation.
He was married in 1982 to Maggie Barker, who then gave birth to Sebastian the same year.
In 1986, Maggie fled the household, having endured rape and domestic violence. She left her four year old son with Arthur.
Only a month after her leaving, Arthur took another wife, Peyton Farley.
She gave birth to (F/N) that same year.

I stopped reading there. I was right. Sebastian was indeed your brother. Half brother, yes, but he was still your brother.
I stood abruptly, barely remembering to pay for my food, then left.
I needed to go back to the house where all of this had occurred.
A house boat to be exact.

******

I took a cab from the outskirts of Dublin to the village of Dalkey, 18 kilometers away.
From where the cab dropped me, it was only a short walk to the harbour where Arthur's house boat was docked.
It was a run down, shabby old thing which had been in disuse since his death. No one had bothered to buy it nor move it, so it just sat there, bobbing in the calm lapping of the waves.
I circled it a few times, checking it for signs of recent entry.
Stepping carefully onto the deck, I saw that the rusted out door had been recently shoved inward, causing flakes of the red damage to flutter down and land at the threshold of the door.
That was the only proof I needed. Sebastian was here.