Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XCIV • 94

"Come on." Sherlock grabbed your hand and nodded toward the dance floor.
"Nooo. I don't dance, Sherl." You pulled your hand out of his but he took it again. "You dragged me to this wretched event in the first place, so the least you'll do is dance with me." He tugged on your hand expectantly.
"Sherlock, I can't dance. I don't know how."
He smiled. "It's easy. I'll show you. Now come on."
You groaned. "Is this payback?"
"Yes."
You sighed heavily. "Fine. So long as you don't let me trip on my own feet."
He chuckled. "I won't. I promise."
You let him lead you out onto the floor despite the fact that you were still unsure.
"I promise, it's about as easy as it gets." He said, seeing your doubt. He took your left hand and placed it on his shoulder, then clasped your other hand in his own, placing his right hand on your lower back.
"You see? That was the hardest part." He smiled gently.
"Of all things, I wouldn't have put you down as a dancer." You said, chuckling.
"I'm full of surprises." He smiled. "I've always loved dancing. Since I was a child."
"But this isn't dancing, it's swaying." You laughed.
"Who are you to complain?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You can't dance."
"Fair enough." You conceded.
You laid your head on his shoulder, your discomfort forgotten.
"Remember when you asked about my phone code?" Sherlock said, suddenly.
"Yeah. I've been thinking about that actually."
"Oh?" He asked, curiously.
"It's formatted like a date. 16-07-87.
16 of July 1987. You're 33, which means you were born in '81. Six years later would be '87. You said you and your sister were six years apart. So it's your sister's birthday, isn't it?"
He was silent for a long moment, a certain distance in his eyes.
"I'm sorry." You said, quietly. "I shouldn't have tried-"
"You're right. That's her birthday. Your observation and deduction skills are improving."
The silence that followed was heavy.
After a few minutes, you saw someone from over his shoulder standing at the edge of the dance floor, looking straight at you. It was a middle aged woman with a camera around her neck. She looked vaguely familiar, but you didn't have time to wonder who exactly she was.
"Sherlock." You murmured, trying to stay calm.
"Yeah?" He asked. 
"I think I see her." You felt his body tense. "Don't." You warned. "She's watching us. If she knows we see her she might run."

Sherlock's POV:

I turned slowly, acting as though I was just moving with the music, until I could see her. We locked eyes for just a moment, then she ran.
"Crap." I muttered. There was no way to keep up with her subtly. I let go of you and ran after her, doing my best to dodge other people, but not entirely succeeding.
I heard you following me, apologising as you went.
Determination kept me going, but I was still in pain from my previous injuries and I couldn't overtake her. I burst out the door of the rented building at least 30 seconds after her and had just enough time to see her step into a cab. She waved merrily and it left the kerb, tyres squealing.
I knew I'd get nothing accomplished, but I ran after it anyway. I kept it in sight for maybe a quarter of a mile before I ran completely out of energy. I collapsed onto a bench, breathing heavily, cursing myself for letting her get away. I sat there under the glow of a street lamp, listening to London getting ready for bed. Even after my heart rate slowed and my breathing evened out, I sat. There was no way I was going back to the party, so why not stay?
After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only twenty minutes, you arrived and sat down next to me. You didn't say anything, just joined me in my miserable silence.
You had taken off your shoes at some point and it was clear you'd been running barefoot by the splatters of mud on your feet and legs.
"You didn't have to follow." I said, breaking the silence.
"You expected me to just stand back and watch you run like a maniac?" You smiled.
I felt my own mouth lift in a smile. "Insanity is contagious?" I asked.
"Evidently. Otherwise I'd probably still be in Scotland."
Now I laughed. "Is that the only reason you like me? My spontaneous bouts of insanity?"
You shrugged. "Sanity is boring. Besides, I fell in love with a sociopath. There must be at least a little insanity in me somewhere." You grinned at me.
"Well thank you." I smiled. "Most people dislike me for that very reason."
"Well I don't blame them." You smirked. "Insanity isn't for the weak."
I smiled again and there was a long silence.
"We can't sit here all night." You said, after a while.
"No?" I asked, though I knew you were right.
"You have no other ideas of how to get to her?" You asked.
"None. That's why I was sitting here in dispirited silence when you came."
"Well, something will turn up. I'm sure."
"I waited two weeks for this chance,
(F/N)."
"I know. It's really disappointing. I'm sorry." You replied.
"I'm scared." I admitted. "I'm not used to being scared." I sighed. "This woman- whoever she is- she wants to be noticed. She's desperate for attention. When I saw her getting into that cab, she waved like it was all just one big game. She gets her high off of narrowly evading capture."
"Sounds like a lot of psychopaths."
"But that's the thing. I don't think she's a psychopath. It doesn't quite fit."
"Then what is she?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm scared."
You sighed. "We need to get back, Sherlock. It's late."
I glanced at my watch. 11:03.
"Yeah." I agreed, distractedly. I stood and started walking back the way I'd come, you following close behind.
"How much of a ruckus did I cause?" I asked, slowing enough for you to walk by my side.
"It was pretty bad." You smiled. "And I wasn't even there for the aftermath."
"Well crap." I muttered.
You laughed. "You do know you're going to have to go back, right?"
"I can't go back (F/N). They'll kill me."
"Oh quit it. They love you."
"But I destroyed everything."
"You bumped into a..." You hesitated, "few people. You're probably on YouTube. But you didn't destroy everything." You smiled. "Come on, let's go find John."

Your POV:

The moment you walked back through the door, both of you dirty, your outfits destroyed, John and Lestrade both attacked you.
"Where did you go? Are you okay?" John asked, frantically.
"We're fine." You had barely enough time to answer before Lestrade broke in, a look of frustration and exasperation on his face.
"Why in God's name were you chasing Mary?"
"Mary?" Sherlock asked, staring curiously at the inspector.
"Yeah, Mary Wellington. You chased her out the building."
"You know that woman?" Sherlock asked, seemingly in disbelief.
"Of course! I'm not just making up a name. She's a photo journalist, she's been to the Yard a few times. Sweetest thing ever."
"She also happens to be a stalker. Our stalker." Sherlock replied, coldly. He nodded at you as he spoke.
"Mary? She wouldn't hurt a fly."
"She's been following us for weeks. She sent me her photographs of the two of us in the post. She's a stalker, Greg." He didn't have the time or patience to play name games right now.
"I'm sorry, I can't believe that." Lestrade shook his head.
"Are you basing your conclusions on sentiment, Inspector?" Sherlock raised his voice.
"Of course n-"
"Then give me her address." He cut in.
"Why would you need her address?"
"Because we're going to pay her a visit." He smiled a little as he spoke. "I think I have everything I need to close the case."