"So, tell me about Victor Trevor," Ella says sitting across from Sherlock in her new office with the stained glass windows.

"Not much to tell. He was a boy. I was a boy. He was my best friend, and we played pirates."

"And you didn't remember him before last month."

"No. I have a sister in prison. Apparently, I repressed the memory of her and him as well. That's not completely true. I remembered his death a bit. I thought that my dog had died."

"Trauma can distort memories. But what we need to do now is to understand how you are going to integrate these new memories back into your life. How will they change who you are?"

"I don't want to change who I am."

"But you already have changed. When you came before, you only wanted to talk about your friend, John Watson. Could it be that your need to save your friend has its origin in your inability to save Victor Trevor?"

Sherlock looks up, face pained. "I...I don't know. Maybe."

"You came to me wanting me to help your friend because he wouldn't come to his session on his own. You wanted to find a way to help him. Now you're beginning to open up about your own problems. You're taking the first step to regaining your own mental balance. This is a good thing."

"Is it? I thought that it was good to help others."

"Not at the expense of your own wellbeing. It's like...imagine that you're on a plane and it's going to crash."

"Oh God, not this analogy again."

"You put the mask over your own mouth before you put it over your child's, otherwise you may pass out, and you both could die. Do you see? You can't hope to help John Watson navigate his grief until you deal with your own."

"I see."

"I think that we've made good progress today. So, same time next week?"

"Yes, yes of course. Thank you."

"No need to thank me, Sherlock. You did all of the work today. Take care."

"Goodbye, Ella."

.

Sherlock leaves the building, and walks down the sidewalk, only to notice a black car tailing him. He rolls his eyes and cries to the closed window. "Good God, Mycroft, I'm not a child! Go take care of your other sibling, why don't you, or is their a fourth sister I don't know about? The South wind perhaps who blows gentle raspberries toward you. Go away!"

The door opens. "I just thought that I would give you a ride back to the flat. No need to be churlish, brother mine. Get in, or I'll tell Mummy that you actually drugged her on purpose Christmas day, and not accidentally as I'd claimed."

Sherlock, looks down at his brother, and then climbs into the car. "I can't believe they bought the story that I accidentally spilled my sleeping pills into the pot."

"I have had decades of explaining away your defects. I've got quite good at it. Now, Sherlock, how did your session go?"

"Why should I tell you? You're going to get the annotated notes by this evening."

"I'm asking you because I want to know how you feel, brother."

"Why the sudden concern? You haven't minded before."

"I have minded, I have simply been… distracted, and now that Eurus is feeling better, thank you for that by the way. Eurus quite likes you, you know."

"I know. It must have been difficult for her having only you around to talk to."

"Yes, well, now that she's better, I can spend more attention on you."

"Oh no, I've never felt a stronger desire to reenter the murder maze than now."

"You had the chance to kill me once, and you passed it up. Thank you for that, little brother. I didn't expect it."

"It was just that I was tired of her games. If we ever find ourselves in one again, don't expect such a happy result."

"We won't find ourselves in one again. I promise you that."

"So is that all you came to talk to me about?"

"No. I came to ask about..."

"Come on Mycroft, spit it out. Since when are you hesitant about … well, basically anything, except clowns."

"That was a dirty trick. No one was supposed to know…."

"About your fear of clowns. I think I've found my costume for every fancy dress ball from now to forever."

"Sherlock, this is serious. It has to do with … Dr. Watson. Do you mean to go through with your plan to make Rosie Watson your heir?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I thought, you might one day wish to have your own family."

"Rosie and John are my family."

"Are you sure? Have you talked to Dr. Watson about it?"

"John, his name is John. I would think that after all these years you would have learned it."

"Says the man who can't remember the name of the police inspector he has worked with for ten years. I think that you should talk to him before making plans for his daughter."

"What plans. It's just a trust fund. She won't even know that it's there."

"But her father should."

"Fine. I'll talk to him. But still, you've called him John before. Why the 'Dr Watson' all of a sudden. Why does he suddenly merit the title."

"I call him that to prevent myself from calling him other names that might be more… unsavory."

"Such as what? What can you possibly have against John?"

"Other than the fact that he beat you so hard that you had to be hospitalized, and he left you in the hands of a serial killer? Other than that, you mean? Quite a bit, actually."

"That was ages ago, and it wasn't like you cared when I was hurt before. That Serbian had a pipe!"

"Sherlock..."

"Okay, okay, I'll talk to him. Pull over now. We're almost there, and I want to pick up a pack of cigarettes before we get to the flat."

Mycroft motions to the driver to pull over, then he turns back to Sherlock. "I thought you'd given them up."

"I had, but if I'm giving up cocaine again, I'm going to need some kind of vice to take its place. We can't all binge on cookie dough icecream like you do."

"It was only the one package!"

"Good afternoon, Mycroft." Sherlock says slipping out of the car.


"And how did he respond after you told him about your plans to make his daughter your heir?" Ella asks.

"He got angry. He was incensed! He said that I had no right to make plans about his daughter without his say so."

"And how did this make you feel?"

"How did this make me feel? Must you follow the therapist script so closely? If you must know I was confused. Certainly this is a good thing, isn't it? I wasn't suggesting taking custody of his daughter, only to give her my money after I died. I don't know what there is to object to."

"What did he say?"

"He went on to talk about people I knew, Irene, Molly. He suggested that I might wish to procreate with one of them and save my money for my own offspring."

"So, do you want to… procreate?"

"Gods no! Did I tell you about my sister who is insane? And if you ever met my brother, then you'd realize that some genes are best left unspread."

"And did you tell this to John?"

"I didn't have a chance. He took his daughter and ran off in a huff when I suggested it. Annoying, because it means that my brother was right. He's going to be so smug after this."

"And how about the drugs. Have you been managing them alright?"

"I'm up to two packs a day on the cigarettes. But no, I haven't returned to the drugs. It was all for a case anyway, and after my sister's home visit while I was high as a kite, I'm sort of craving reality now. The things that I've been experiencing for the last six months would make anyone swear off drugs for a lifetime."

"Well, we can address the issue of the smoking at a later time. How are your other relationships with people getting along?"

"Which people?"

"The people you interact with from day to day."

"My friends, you mean? We're getting along fine. Why are you smiling?"

"You said 'my friends'. When you first came here, you said that you only had one friend. Now you have begun to acknowledge others. This is progress."

"Is it? It doesn't seem like anything has changed."

Ella smiles. "Believe me, it has changed, Sherlock."

"Oh, and there is something that I need advice on. I happened to tell someone that 'I loved them' sort of on a bet, and she said it back. Now I'm afraid to talk to her, and I need to go down to the morgue to look at some bodies so I was wondering..."


"Why Sherlock, you don't seem very happy today. What happened?"

"Why should I seem happy? What is the purpose of it, the utility?"

"Did John say something?"

"Why would you assume that John said something? My life doesn't revolve around him you know. I do have other interests."

"Yes, but... you did request an earlier session than we had scheduled, and it is understanding John and your relationship with him that brought you to me in the first place."

"Why do you think that?"

Ella folded her hands. "You could have gone to any number of therapists, and yet you chose me. Even though you claimed that my education was substandard and my conclusions largely incorrect. I can only interpret this to mean that you picked me not because you wanted me as your therapist, but because I have experience with talking to John. I've noticed the way you comment on his blog, and..."

"You read John's blog?"

"I'm the one who told him to start one."

"Oh right. Good. Thank you, by the way. I like his blog. An amazing insight into John's thought processes."

"And that's what you want, insight into how John thinks?"

"I suppose so. He's not like other people is he?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Because he… he's so stubborn. He still won't take my trust fund money. I think that he must still blame me for Mary, even though he says he doesn't."

"Mary? You mean his dead wife?"

"Yes, she was shot while trying to save me. She shouldn't have bothered. Things would have been better if she hadn't."

"Better? If you had died?"

"I guess… I don't know. It's so confusing. It's as if...there is nothing that I can do to please him. He hangs on to everything bad I've ever done. It must be those 'trust issues' that you spoke of. Funny that he can't forgive me when he forgave his wife who lied to him from the day he met her."

"Lied?"

"Oh, that's another story. No time for that. I do pay you by the hour."

"Yes, and you still haven't clearly told me what's concerning you."

"It's John. He doesn't blog. He doesn't complement me like he used to. He doesn't stay over for Chinese. It's as if he's drawn a line in the sand that he won't cross."

"And this bothers you?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because he's supposed to be my best friend, and I'm beginning to think that he is, only because I don't have any other ones."

"Ah, but you know that's not true. You told me yourself you have friends."

"Yes, but they're not John."

"And you need his approval."

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"Do you think that this is something that we should explore in therapy, your need for someone else's approval."

"What would be the point? It's never going to change."

"It can if you want it to."

"What do you mean?"

"An overwhelming need for someone else's approval. It is a common reason for people to seek therapy. Usually it is a father or a mother, but given your unique circumstances it could be the person who you think humanized you. In a way, you felt that he made you. Made the person that you've become."

"No one made me, I made me."

"Now that is absolutely not true. You have these new memories of childhood trauma with your sister, and several recent near-death experiences. None of them was your fault, and yet you feel responsible for them. Have you never thought what your life would have been like if these things had never happened to you ?"

"I suppose. I suppose that without them my life would have been... dull."

"So then these things, and the people who caused these things to happen to you. They helped make you. But you have a choice. You can decide whether these things control your future actions. You can choose whether to let it guide your future life."

"But… John?"

"You have a choice, Sherlock. You can choose to walk on eggshells, following where he leads, and letting his moods rule your life, or you can find your own path without him."

"No."

"No?"

"That is… I suppose I could try… see how that works. See if it makes things better."

"Well, at least that's a place to start."