Sherlock had noted that some of the things on Sadji’s desk were rather expensive, but did not heed her warning. In fact, he was operating somewhat on auto-pilot as he felt the outburst coming on. Outbursts were unlike him but a tell-tale sign that he’d reached the end of his rope. Usually he never got physical with a client or potential culprit when he was still able to logically reason his way through the questions that remained. After all, outsmarting a person put him in less danger and brought them to their knees so much more poetically than brute force and Sherlock, composer of both music and intricate psychological traps, could appreciate the art in it… unlike most poetry, which grated on his nerves, especially when it was rife with emotional or existential crises. But he’d shot a man in the head, killed him then and there because there were no steps left to take, nothing he could do to subdue him, no better way to assure John Watson and his country’s safety. To say that this had never happened before would be a putrid lie.
It was true that there was still some restraint, however minuscule it was, that he exhibited when searching her. Maybe it was because she was a woman, maybe because it was because she was unfamiliar, maybe it was because he had to take precautions to ensure his safety, may be it was his British manners but mostly, he thought that if he took her by surprise and made it clear he could overpower her, touch her how he liked, established that the time for play was over, that she would lose her nerve and start to talk. Well, it had gotten her talking and his breath was still quick, he was ready to inspect her more thoroughly if he had to but he hoped what she said would make this situation easier on the both of them. It didn’t. She seemed to defy the way he crowded her by sitting up and she denied having the syringe on her, let alone, injecting him with anything. It couldn’t be true. An injection was one of the fastest delivery systems out there and had it contained a component like lysergic acid diethylamide, it would hit hard and mercilessly if injected.
She hadn’t touched him, it couldn’t have been absorbed through his skin, because she was the only thing he touched and if she’d placed it on her garments, she’d be affected to. In any case, it took a long time to seize hold when absorbed through the skin. She wanted a prize for luring him here and tricking him? He would’ve laughed if his face wasn’t twisted into a snarl. When she grabbed his shirt, he didn’t stop fumbling, trying to feel behind the cushion on the couch but suddenly, he was yanked from his position off his feet entirely. He wondered when he’d hit the ground and note that she was trained in a form of ancient martial arts that allowed her, a five-foot-four woman to take him, a man just two inches shy of six-feet-tall from his position, easily.
He stopped bracing himself for impact after a moment and realized that she was easily lifting him off the ground by his shirt-front in one hand. Hiss jaw dropped and he stared in unguarded horror at her, at the way he dangled from her grasp like that and his hands went to her’s trying to uncurl her fingers to no avail, she had a steely, unnatural grip on him. He could feel the shirt’s material straining against his body and started to squirm while clasping her hand, helplessly pulling at her fingers. Then he was unceremoniously dropped onto a couch, landing gracelessly, long limbs slightly akimbo as he just stared at her, slack-jawed, a hand over his heart almost protectively, the other gripping the edge of the couch for dear life. All he could hear was his own breath filling his ears and the room almost tilted for a moment. No, he had to stay here, keep a grip on himself.
He was not allowed to go mad like this, even though he felt the chaos threatening the edges of his consciousness. Sherlock wanted to say something back but he attempted to a couple of times, no sound coming out at first. He swallowed thickly, still as a statue, gaze glued to… whatever she was. He wouldn’t say it. He refused to say the word.