Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

LXXXI • 81

I'd gone too far. You had stalked off after I'd yelled at you, rage still evident in your features. I too had walked away- in the opposite direction. I had no idea how far I'd gone, nor where I was.
Not like I cared.
Now I was slumped on a bench, my head in my hands, cursing myself for what I'd done. I'd never before let someone telling me off anger me so much. Even if I had, I'd certainly never displayed my pique in such a rash manner.
I supposed it came with sentiment- a package deal. One was bound to get angry and to allow emotions to take over, whether they were negative or not.
Maybe you were right. Maybe it was time we both just shut down; ignored our feelings.
Our feelings for each other.
And yet, I couldn't imagine that. I could barely remember myself before you'd come into my life. I remembered that most everyone but John had hated me, that they had drove me to drug use. I glanced down at my arm, at the numerous scars from the syringe I'd used to fling myself into psychedelic bliss. I'd have eventually killed myself if it weren't for you.
I remembered my alternate high was when I'd had a case to solve. Perhaps I would forget about you if I focused on the girls.
I had immediately become suspicious of both the cook and Mrs. Connor. I needed to look into them further. I sat there on the bench for another few minutes, collecting myself.
Forget you.
I'd forget you.
I tried to convince myself of this, but I knew it was impossible. You'd changed me and there was no turning back now.
Maybe this was temporary. Maybe you'd come back to me. You'd only said you needed a break, you hadn't said you wanted out.
I stood, and once again noticed a figure with a camera standing not far from me. Realising I'd seen them, they darted away. I squinted after them. It seemed strange, but I didn't have time to worry about that when I needed to solve this case- hopefully in time to save those girls. I observed my surroundings, then headed back to Baker Street.

Your POV:

You too had gone back to your flat, still in a stewing rage. And yet, after half an hour sitting in your room cursing him, you realised he'd been right. It was his case and despite how much you wanted to save those girls, you had distanced yourself from him and you couldn't take part in his business without spending time with him. You knew spending time with him would result in you surrendering to your feelings for him. They were still there, despite your efforts to ignore them. The only way you could imagine succeeding in that endeavour was to distance yourself entirely, and that meant not even looking at him. You couldn't help but feel shocked about how quickly your civil 'break' from your relationship with him had become an angry grudge against him for his subtle efforts to repair your bond. You felt bad for how you'd reacted, but not enough to go find him and apologise. You still needed solitude.
The outside door opened and you could hear him muttering to himself. You could tell he was upset.
He was still angry at you.
You felt the hot prick of tears in your eyes and willed them to go away.
You weren't really succeeding in this whole endeavour to remain emotionless. You felt the tears beginning to fall and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to make them stop. It didn't help. It wasn't long before tears were streaming down your face, unstoppable. You gathered your knees to your chest and tried not to think of Sherlock's thumb wiping your tears away, his gentle voice consoling you.

Sherlock's POV:

I was so angry at myself. I could've done so much better- maybe you'd still be by my side. I wiped my shoes on the floor mat in the mud room, muttering to myself about my own stupidity, alternate scenarios running around in my head. I thought if I just concentrated on the case this wouldn't happen, but I couldn't. I couldn't think of anything besides what I'd done and how much worse it had made this situation, which was already a mess.
I saw that your door was closed and I knew you were in there, but I couldn't bring myself to knock. You were probably still just as angry with me as I was with myself.
I climbed the stairs, mentally beating myself up, making sure I'd never make that mistake again. The mistake that had changed my reputation and had severed my confidence. The mistake that had cost me my best friend.