[Unfortunately, this cat is not in the mood to be pet. If the situation were less serious, the way he does the cat thing where they sort of squish themselves out of the way would be kind of goofy; as it is, it's a smooth dodge away. His fur is too raised, he's too focused on the person his neurons, shaken and twisted into new electrochemical pathways by stress and trauma, are telling him is an enemy.

He takes a deep breath, at the apology, then lets it out in what for a human would be a tch, but for him, it's a hiss.]

I know -- that you weren't yourself.

[It's a grudging admission. He kept Emporio locked in a room for a day and a half because of what the song did to the people who heard it.]

But was there no other way? You -- you did not even know me, I-I could barely pull myself together to go to work for weeks! I did not know if you were even truly real, much less where to find you, to settle the matter--!

[Oh, God. Was this what Ianthe had felt like? He had not known to look for Ianthe, but from her perspective, it was probably not so unlike this...this seething anger with nowhere to go, wanting to do something, anything to calm the furious and frightened animal in your chest, so that it doesn't stay the way it was when you were pulling yourself together, feeling out your wounds...

At least the gun stays low. But Sherlock really feels like he wants to punch this guy -- and, what's worse, also that punching this guy wouldn't be fair.]