A/N: First time Private Practice fic. This may be the beginning of something I'm not sure. I only know that there is a dearth of Sheldon fics out there which to me is a travesty. His is one of the most complex characters in tv drama today and deserves to have fanfics written about him. Let me know if you're interested in more of this story.
Disclaimer : I do NOT own.
Read, review, whatever.
Sheldon stared down into the nearly empty tumbler as if it would hold some answer for him, some reason why this thing was happening. He wouldn't name it, he refused. He could hear Sam saying the same words over and over again, and it didn't matter he would not accept it. Sheldon was tired of having to be the good guy, the optimistic guy, the grown up. He wanted to pick up his cut crystal high ball glass and throw it through his office window; he wanted to scream "Fuck this!" at the top of his voice. But he wouldn't. No, he would just sit there and drink his scotch and remain outwardly calm. He wouldn't even get truly drunk he had a patient coming in and then Pete's wake thing, where he would have a few drinks, be the voice of reason, and then go home and let the rage and fear engulf him. Alone, always alone… No matter what he did that's how he ended up, alone... It made no difference how shiny his armor was, or the size of the dragons he slayed, the women he wanted never wanted him.
Stop. If you keep this up you will lose it… Besides what does it matter now?
He laughed; it was a bitter harsh sound full of pain and cynicism. He finished the last swallow of the tawny liquid and set the glass down, closed the bottle and returned it to his drawer. Smoothing back his hair in a nervous gesture he composed himself and put his clinical mask back in place. He had a patient, and didn't everyone else come before him anyway?