Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XCIII • 93

"This is ridiculous!" Sherlock exclaimed. He had just collected the post and was scoffing at a creme coloured piece of cardstock.
"What is it?" You asked, coming out of your flat, Bowie trailing behind.
"The American Police Force has arranged an appreciation ceremony for me. Apparently they've been after Oliver for months and they couldn't get to him."
"Why is that ridiculous? Someone has finally acknowledged your profession. You are going, right?"
"Why would I voluntarily immerse myself into a social event? One where I'm the centre of attention of all things? You know how much I hate that."
"Oh come on Sherl. They just want to show their appreciation. There's no harm in that."
"But there'll be people. A whole room full of vacant people."
You chuckled. "What if I go with you? I'm not just some vacant person, right?"
He looked thoughtful. "No. Not generally."
"Not generally?" You pretended to be offended. "You mean I am sometimes?"
He grinned. "On rare occasions."
"In that case, so are you."
"I'll accept that." He nodded.
"You changed the subject, Sherlock."
"I really don't want to go." He complained.
"How about I drag you out the door?" You placed your hands on your hips.
"You couldn't if you tried." He replied.
"Is that a challenge?" You smirked. Without warning, you charged at his back, your flat palms ramming into his shoulder blades. He stumbled forward, laughing. "No fair!" He complained. "That was shoving not dragging!"
Bowie barked excitedly and Sherlock smiled down at him. He slid down to the floor and sat cross legged, petting the dog. He looked up. "You're really going to make me go?" He asked, despairingly.
"Yes. Besides, it'll get your mind off this case. Actually, for all you know she'll be there! I'm sure there will be plenty of photographers.
He sighed. "Fine. That's the only reason I'll go. I suppose you're going to make me dress up too?"
"Well, that is a fairly common expectation."
He rolled his eyes.
"But I must say that would be difficult, since you surely don't have anything to dress up in."
"Believe it or not, I do."
You faked a gasp. "I'm impressed!"
He rolled his eyes again and got up. "I acquired a dinner suit when I needed to be a waiter at a wedding in order to get close to the best man who also happened to be a psychopathic murderer."
"Lovely." You spoke sarcastically.
"Oh, it was a good one." His eyes lit up.
You smiled. "When is this thing?"
He glanced at the card again. "Two weeks. Saturday night. What on earth am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Come on Sherl. Do what you always do. You've got tons of inquiries and plenty of clients."
"But they're all boring." He complained.
You grinned. "Well then. I suppose you're going to have to mentally prepare yourself."
He groaned and dragged himself up the stairs. You heard him mutter as he was nearing the door, "That's impossible."

******

"Are you going to make me wear this too?" He asked in despair, holding up a necktie.
You couldn't help but smile. It was the night of the ceremony and he stood outside the door of his room wearing a full dinner suit minus the tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone and the collar was turned up halfway. He looked entirely pitiful, hoping you wouldn't make him wear it.
"It's an effective slow choking torture device." He continued, holding it further from his person.
You walked up to him and took it from his hand. "It's can't be that bad, Sherl."
He sighed. "Fine."
You did the buttons, turned his collar up all the way and slipped the tie around his neck.
"Tell me when." You said, tightening it little by little.
"Okay, it's good." He spoke after a moment. You turned his collar down and straightened his jacket.
"I sure hope it looks better than it feels." He muttered.
"Oh hush!" You chided him, then stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. "You look lovely."
"I'd better at this point." He grumbled.
"Shut up." You grinned. "You're so fussy."
"I'm not cut out to be trapped in a suit!"
"You said yourself you've done it before." You smiled.
"That was for a case! Something I was actually interested in."
"This has potential to be for a case, I already told you that."
He sighed heavily and you continued.
"Besides, you're doing this for me and no one else, okay? And I really, truly appreciate it."
He managed a weak smile. "Alright. For you."
"Thank you. Now, are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be." He mumbled. "Is John coming?"
"He said he would. There's still a little bit of time left."
"Then why did you make me get ready?" He asked, clearly aggravated.
"Because I had no idea how long you'd protest." You smirked at him.
He grumbled and shoved his fingers into the neck of his shirt, yanking the tie loose.
"Stop!" You swatted his hand and fixed his collar.
He rolled his eyes. "What time is it?"
"6:34." You replied, glancing at your watch.
"26 minutes." He supplied.
You raised an eyebrow. "I know."
"That's 20 minutes I could be outside of this death trap."
You were about to retort when the door burst open and John came in.
"Sorry I'm late guys!" He said, panting. "I didn't get off till ten minutes ago."
"And I'm sorry I'm early." Sherlock grumbled again.

******

The gala was held at the Cavendish Banqueting Colindale, about half an hour from Baker Street. It was a big white building, nothing spectacular about it's exterior. Large block letters advertised it's name near the top of it, above four windows.
By the time you arrived at 7:38 it was already crowded.
"Why are there so many people?" Sherlock asked, hanging back.
"It was an open invitation. These are the people who love you." You replied. "Half of them probably want to kill me." He said.
"Goodness Sherlock, you're such a pessimist. Just come in."
He looked disgusted, but followed you and John.
The moment you walked in, the crowd enveloped you. You gripped Sherlock's hand.
He looked down at you. "You okay?" He asked, looking tremendously uncomfortable himself.
"Remember the first day I met you, you were sprawled out on the sofa and you relayed at least half of my life story?"
"Yeah." He smiled a little.
"And remember how you said I disliked crowds?"
"Oh. Yeah."
"Then let's get through this together, okay?" You gave his hand a quick squeeze.
"So you didn't want to come in the first place?" He narrowed his eyes at you.
"I never said that. Although I do admit I forget how much I hate crowds until I'm in one." You smiled sheepishly.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Alright then. Together."

******

At 8:00, a bell was rung and someone you hadn't seen before spoke into the microphone.
"If our special guest could take the stage, our host would like to say a few words." He spoke quietly, only audible because of the microphone, and he looked very nervous. His hands shook, despite his effort to stop them. You could see the sweat on his forehead and he couldn't keep his eyes focused on one thing.
"Agoraphobic. He's also itching for his next smoke break." Sherlock said, whispering in your ear.
"I got the agoraphobic part. How do you know about the smoking?" You asked.
"Sweat, shaking hands, nervous eyes. It all points to a nicotine withdrawal." "Couldn't those be the symptoms of a panic attack too?"
"Could be, but you can see that he is a smoker." Sherlock replied, without elaborating.
"How?" You asked.
"He has cigarettes in his jacket pocket." He answered, glancing at you with a half smirk.
You laughed. "You make it look so complicated."
He shrugged. "I'm simply observing."
You made your way to the stage and John met up with you halfway there.
The three of you took your places on the stage, Sherlock with his head down and his hands balled into fists.
The host, an older American man with FBI credentials took the stage, standing in front of the microphone as it was adjusted to his height.
He looked completely comfortable, smiling confidently.
"Harrison Oliver." He started, grimacing. "This man has torn apart so many families and tortured and killed so many children-"

You elbowed Sherlock gently and whispered through your teeth.
"I know this makes you uncomfortable, but you need to at least try to smile. These people have come all the way from America just to thank you."
He lifted his head and tried his best to smile, though it looked pained.

"It's hard to believe that just one man could cause so much strife, and yet we have one man to thank-"
"That's not true." Sherlock interjected.
You elbowed him harder and he stepped out of range of the offending limb.
"I only came here on the one condition that my friends would be honoured at least as much as myself. I couldn't have done it without them."

The host chuckled. "Of course. To thank for the capture and incarceration of this terrible man, we have Mister Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson, and Miss (F/N) Watson." He raised his voice announcing your names and everybody in audience applauded appreciatively with an occasional 'thank you' and 'we love you Sherlock'.
He looked so uncomfortable that you almost felt bad for him.
"It's almost over." You whispered.
"No it's not." He groaned.
"This part is."
"But not the part where I'm still surrounded by people."
"You'll survive." You smiled.
"I'll get back to you on that." He mumbled.