Taking a seat for the first time at 221B Baker Street, John ruminated his therapist's all-knowing, all-seeing oration of his condition. Reluctant to agree, his annoyance and growing anxiousness burst out at the first given opportunity; "Damn my leg!" which caused nothing but embarrassment, until his mind turned back to his stifling, dull, useless existence.
Biscuits. The highlight of his day…
'Civilian life', like a merry-go-round and round, with no way out, the speed picking up and round and round.
Round, until the unexpected happens, and fate and serendipity give lives new motivation. Fate, in the form of a tall, force of nature, chalk-toned man came calling, ensorceling John with the chance to exist.
For an elusive moment, alive, John looked into the dead woman's eyes, the last place for finding answers Yet, the words of his therapist waned and vanished, replaced with another voice so utterly true. He was a medical man, John saw in the unseeing eyes, 'civilian life', they mutely stared, 'not highest on the list of things you want to get accustomed to'.
Later, having shot a man, having had his heart plummet down to his knees at the sight of the sodding idiot planning on poisoning himself, but warm and safe now, with Sherlock, John shared and cherished the highlight of a day well spent; Biscuits.