Inconsistencies In Sentiments

Chapter 5

(Y/N) blinked at the bright light peeking through the curtains. She tied her (H/C) hair up in a messy ponytail as she passed the bathroom and into the kitchen. She had thrown on an oversized yellow sweater hoodie, striped shorts and differently colored socks the night before and this morning one of the socks came off. Today, she planned to stay at home even if Mycroft had to drag her outside to "obverse Sherlock". She honestly couldn't care less if Sherlock got hurt. He accused her of murder and she was not going to have it. She downed a cup of coffee to help her keep her eyes open and her body standing.

There was a light tapping in the door that she decided to ignore. Nope. Not today. It was a repetitive tapping that gave her splitting headaches. She reluctantly trudged to the door and grabbed the doorknob to find a man in a black trench coat and a blue scarf around his neck. 'Go away.' She said as she slammed the door in his face. She headed to the living room and switched on her phone. She tucked in her earphones and put on some Chop Suey! by System of The Down. The tapping continued and she turned up the volume. However, her earphones were not sound proof and she heard the tapping through the lyrics.

'What?!' She scolded Sherlock as his hand stopped in mid-knock. He looked down at her. She still had that figure of eight snake around her neck and her foot was missing the other sock.

'What are you wearing?' He winced at her choice of pajamas. She rolled her eyes at him and raised an eyebrow.

'You seriously came here to give me fashion advice? That's rich coming from the guy who wore nothing but a white sheet inside Buckingham Palace.'

'No. I actually came here to apologize.' She scoffed.

'I don't accept.' She slammed the door again. Sherlock heard muffled footsteps walk away from the door and he huffed. This was not going to be easy. He went back downstairs and into his flat, where John was spoon feeding baby Rosie porridge in her high chair. Her bib said I'm hungry! on it in pastel pink font. Right now, he felt the opposite as he poured himself a cup of tea. 'Didn't go well, did it?'

'You know me, John. Apologizing is not my forte.' He sipped on it as he thought of her in those pajamas. She had always been the one to be in oversized things. 'And she was drinking coffee. Who the heck drinks coffee?'

🔱

'It's a male this time.' John stared at the corspe for awhile before kneeling down next to it. This one smelled like antiseptic and iron. Sherlock was busy looking through his phone, fixed on finding something.

'Based on the hospital ID, he's Dylan Thistlewhait at St. George.'

'The mental hospital?' Lestrade nodded and went outside to deal with the press. John pressed his lips and looked up at Sherlock. 'Is that Lestrade's phone?'

'Yes and I can't seem to find the thing I'm looking for.' His voice trailed off as his focus redirect itself to the screen.

'And what is that exactly?' John got up and walked over to him. He peeked on the screen to see the contacts list.

'Since we saw (Y/N) at the crime scene yesterday, I figured that she would give Lestrade her number but I think I was wrong.' He switched it off and placed it next the body. Sherlock walked out as John followed him. Lestrade mumbled angrily under his breath. Sherlock heard "phone" in the sentence somewhere and smirked.

'Wait, why?'

'I figured that if I texted her my apology, she might accept it.' John snickered and clicked his tongue in amusement. Sherlock furrowed his brow, slightly offended. 'What?'

'The worst thing you can do is text her. The best case scenario is her blocking your sorry arse.'

'Then, what are you suggesting?' He opened the cab door and got in, shuffling to get comfortable. John closed the door behind him, cracking his aching neck.

'Leave that to me.'