Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XCI • 91

Your alarm woke you at 6:30 and you completed your morning routine then went upstairs, as you always did.
You'd half expected it, but you were slightly disappointed when you saw Sherlock still bent over his desk staring hard at the photographs before him. He was so focused that he didn't even look up when you opened the door, didn't smile and reach down to pet Bowie when he trotted up.
"Sherlock."
He ignored you.
"Sherlock!"
He made an unintelligible noise that meant he'd heard you but had no interest in listening.
"You haven't slept all night have you?" He said nothing.
"You're such an idiot." You muttered, hoping he'd hear.
He lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. "You're not usually one for provocation." He said, calmly.
"Who said I was trying to provoke you? Maybe I was just stating a fact."
"Perhaps it is a fact, but it's not a fact you'd state, besides you were already angry. Conclusion: provocation." He looked back down at the photographs. There were times that you hated him- usually when he was indeed right.
You hated that he thought you incapable of calling him foolish, you hated that he always felt he could ignore anything and anyone he wanted to, but you mostly hated that he was right. You had been trying to provoke him, simply for revenge, and he'd not let it bother him in the least.
You glared at him and saw the corner of his mouth twitch up.
"I hate you!" You spat out, knowing it was childish.
"That's not what you said last night." He replied distractedly, still studying the photographs, his eyes flitting between them.
Finally, he looked up, a smile playing on his lips. "(F/N), calm down."
"Why didn't you sleep, Sherlock?" You asked, slight desperation in your voice now.
"Because I need to figure this out. I already told you nobody else is going to die because I'm not good enough or quick enough. Especially you."
"But you won't get anything done if you're tired."
"I'm not tired, (F/N). I do sleep when I'm tired."
"Why are you so stubborn?" You asked, rolling your eyes. You saw his smile before you turned away.
You went to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea, and tapped your fingers idly on the counter top, watching the kettle shake and steam.
It always takes longer when you watch it.
You wandered away, peering over Sherlock's shoulder.
"What can you possibly see in those photos that you haven't already?" You asked.
He didn't answer and you shook your head and sighed heavily as you went to answer the kettle's call.
You muttered to yourself as you fixed two cups of tea, then put his directly in front of him where he couldn't ignore it if he tried.
He sighed, tearing his eyes away from the photos long enough to move the tea and thank you.
It was okay, you didn't need long. You fairly pounced on the photos, collecting them and holding them away from him.
"Hey!" He stood up, making it harder for you to keep them out of his grasp. You kept them behind you as you backed toward the door.
"(F/N), please." He looked almost desperate.
"You haven't found anything. What harm will a few hours without them cause?"
"It'll be a few hours that I can't continue looking!" He retorted.
"They need a new pair of eyes. They might just catch fire if you keep staring at them."
He sighed heavily. "It's a good thing I don't feel the need to actually take them from you." He said.
"Why's that?"
"Because I could very easily if I really wanted to."
"Is that a threat?" You raised an eyebrow.
"No. I'm just saying that you couldn't keep them from me if I didn't want you to."
You rolled your eyes. "You obviously want them, so why aren't you trying to get them back?"
"Because you're right. I've not found anything. Maybe it would be good for you to take a look."
"Ooh. That must've been painful for you to admit." You smirked. "I'm going to work, Sherlock. And for heaven's sake, get some sleep." You started to head out the door.
"Wait a second." Sherlock came up behind you and you turned to face him.
"Wh-"
He cut you off with a kiss.
"That was unexpected." You said, smiling.
He shrugged and held up the photographs, a huge smirk on his face. "I was just proving my point."
"Oh you little twit." You narrowed your eyes at him and punched his shoulder. His grin grew as he handed them back.
"Goodbye." He said, then gave you a genuine kiss.

Sherlock's POV:

I heard the front door close and sighed. You were right. I'd found nothing and I'd done nothing but frustrate myself and deprive myself of much needed sleep. I went to the window and watched you hail a cab, then drive away.
It couldn't hurt to sleep for a few hours.
You had my photographs, and I had no leads to follow up on. It was really the only thing to do.
I sat down on he sofa and Bowie immediately trotted up, laying his head in my lap.
It was impossible not to smile when he did that.
I stroked his ears and pet his head.
"Hey Bo." I whispered.
After a couple of minutes, I pushed him away gently and went to my room. He followed and I didn't make him leave, although I left the door open a crack in case he wanted to go out. I took a moment to change, then collapsed onto my bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

******

Your POV:

"I'm home Sherlock!" You called as you opened the door. There was no response, but Bowie nosed open the door to his bedroom and trotted out, greeting you. You smiled and poked your head into his room. He was sprawled on his bed, one arm thrown over his face, evidently to block the sunlight without having to actually get up and close the blinds. You smiled again, glad he'd finally decided to sleep.
"Watching me?" He asked.
You startled, not having known that he was awake.
"Maybe." You grinned. "I have your photographs back."
"Alright. I'll be out in a minute." He sat up and you closed his door, sitting down at his desk to wait. You spread the photos out in front of you and began studying them.
Sherlock came out of his room a few minutes later, now dressed in his usual button down and trousers.
"Find anything?" He asked.
"Not much, although I can tell you that these were chemically developed."
"Oh really?" He seemed genuinely surprised, and you took a moment to smirk at the fact that you knew something the great Sherlock Holmes did not.
"How?" He asked.
"I took the time to bring them to Molly's lab on a hunch and she humoured me in letting me look at them under a microscope. They lack the pixels that are telling when a photograph was digitally developed."
"So you think that the photographer is old school?"
"It's possible. How old would you say that woman by the river was?"
"Mid to late forties." He answered promptly.
"That would put her birth year in the mid 60's to early 70's. Digital photography didn't become popular until the 90's."
"So you think she's been a photographer since she was young and never upgraded?"
"Likely. A lot of photographers believe that film cameras are superior."
"Interesting." He mumbled.
"Does that tell you something?" You asked.
"Maybe. It seems to add suspicion to my only suspect."
"You seem frustrated."
"That's because I have no idea where to find her. It was just a fluke the first time- it's a dead end."
"Maybe you just need to wait for another fluke." You suggested. Then, gesturing at the photographs, "It's obvious she wants to be noticed."
He nodded. "It's just that I hate waiting.