Hey everyone
Heres an idea that has been in my head for a while, hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer- I do not own Sherlock in any way shape of form.
Rain drops trickled down the glass, seemingly in a race with one another to get to the end. People are fascinated by this, people loved watching these little drops and staring out into the open. Normally he would tell people to stop being so stupid, water was nothing special it's a molecule made up of two hydrogen and one oxygen atoms and that looking out of the window made you look like a tween heart throb in some ridiculous movie. Actually he wouldn't say that, he'd say to stop being so boring and make some snide remark. But this was before, now he didn't care and he was now one of these people who just stared out of the window looking at the rain.
'It's been almost six months now, and I don't feel like we have made much progress,' the psychiatrist said, the soothing tone now a drilled into his voice. Dr Richards was what girls would call attractive, short brown hair, fairly muscular and with kind eyes. He had been late to the session today, and seemed slightly out of character. He kept pressing today; he usually just sat and waited for his client to speak. This was something new in his client's life, it was different. His life had been bleak for the last half of the year.
'181 days and 14 hours actually," the usual fire and thrill of proving his genius now gone, his voice was now flat, without emotion. Usually he would deduce the man sitting across from him, early thirties, married but going through a messy divorce proven by the paint flakes on his coat which were present due to his sleeping on the bench in his garden. He used to do this; he used to get a rush from his deducing skills now it brought him nothing but painful reminders.
'Yes, well you've been coming to see more for the same amount of time and so far we spend most of our time with you looking out window," The psychiatrist exclaimed with more bite this time.
"The window interests me." Lie.
"You and me both know that not one fibre of your being finds that window interesting, now tell me something."
"Like what, do you want me to tell you my demons, my fears, my regrets?" he said sarcastically.
"Maybe not today but we can work on that, how about how do you feel today?"
"How do I feel today? Bloody fantastic, all I want to do is sit here with you and discuss my feelings. "
"No need to be so short, fine then tell me anything! Tell me why the earth goes around the sun! Just talk to me!" The psychiatrist's voice raises a few decibels. Six months of relative silence creeping up on him.
He turned away from the window and looked at his psychiatrist; he was interrupting his thoughts, his memories and they were all that was left now.
Tell him something he thought, well if he wants me to tell him something I will. Then maybe he will shut up for once in his life.
"I know your names Dr Tom Richards, but your real name is Tommy but you think it is unprofessional and quite rightly so. I know your father was a real family man, and your mother overbearing I mean who names their child Tommy? You sought freedom so married your childhood sweetheart and moved away. How do I know your wife is your childhood sweet heart? Easy your ring is at least 15 years old and your barely past 30, how do about the ring? it's a brand that has now shut down and its dirty you should really clean it more. But now you're going through a divorce, a messy one which leads to you sleeping in the garden, and it's probably your fault as you don't seem angry enough for her to be at fault. You have a son, evidence in that picture behind your desk, you want to be close but he loves his mother more, shown by another picture where he angles himself towards her away from your touch. He's at least 15 so that means you were young when you had him. He blames you for the divorce shown by you trying to call him daily but to no avail. Oh and you smoke at least 1 packet a day, clear by those extensively dirty finger nails. Would you like me to continue?" He thought to himself there you go, I told you something!
Dr Richards looked affronted for a split second, his mouth twitches but it settles and he puts his calm mask back into place.
"Well that was very good, a few bits wrong but none the less impressive."
A few bits wrong, how did he get a few bits wrong! He was the master of deducing, nothing was wrong. He, however fuming he was on the inside remained his face of indifference. "Now tell me how are you feeling today?"
"You never usually talk this much, something must have happened with your wife…" He pondered. Richards didn't want him to know he was right so continued on.
"How are you feeling today?"
"Fine," he sighed looking back out of the window, no longer bothered or interested by Richards different mood today.
"Look Sherlock tomorrow is six months since…"
"I know what tomorrow is."
"Well why don't you remind me?"
"What's the point in reminding you on something you already know?"
"So we can talk…"
"All you want to do is talk today! Talking won't change anything." Sherlock's attention was now solely on Richards.
"It can help you begin to process…"
"I don't need to process." Sherlock cut in.
"You don't want to," Dr Richards implored leaning forward. This was the most talking Sherlock had ever done, he needed to keep on going but he saw something shift in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock stood abruptly, grabbed his brown coat and made his way to his to the door.
"I won't be needing your services anymore Dr Richards, thank you." He went to grab the door handle when Richards shouted.
"It's been six months since he died Sherlock, say it."
"No, it hasn't been six months since he died. It's been six months since my best friend threw himself off a building to save me, six months since John Hamish Watson died for me." And with those departing words Sherlock left a very shocked Dr Richards behind him.