I own nothing but my original characters (Trina, Jake, and Jake's friends) and the general plot. Everything else belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. The basic outline of the case in chapter two comes from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Sign of Four.

New author's note: Thanks to those who have taken the trouble to read this story. This is my first fanfiction. I see from stats that a lot of people read just the first and last chapters, and while that may be a typical pattern, to me it says, "Improve those two chapters to keep readers!" So I'm tightening up the first chapter and will try to work on the last chapter soon, too.

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"I understand that you're here because you want me to prescribe an antidepressant. Is that correct?"

I glanced up at him. His look was piercing – as if he were studying me. I hadn't seen him before, but I was in a hurry to get on medication, so it didn't matter to me who I saw.

I looked back down. I couldn't look at him comfortably and admit that I needed something for depression. "Yes," I said, my voice trembling a little.

"I'm sorry to pry, but I can't just give you a prescription without understanding a little more. Why do you think you need an antidepressant?"

I knew I was going to have to go into this. "My husband hasn't been home in several days," I said. I choked back the tears, wishing I could control myself a little better. "I'm pretty certain he's left me."

"Wait a minute," he said, gently touching my right arm, so I looked him in the face. "Why do you think he left you? Have you reported his disappearance to the authorities? Could there be any other explanation?"

I was surprised he asked and a little annoyed as well. I didn't want to spell out how just bad my marriage was. "No, it was intentional. I'm sure," I said. "He took a lot of his clothes, his toothbrush, things like that. Our marriage… it hasn't been..." I trailed off, looking back down at my lap and twisting my hands. Just write the prescription, I thought. Write it and let me leave.

But he wouldn't let up. The sign of a good doctor, I supposed, but I hated all of his questions. "Have you been seeing anyone about your marriage? A couple's counsellor or an individual therapist?"

"No," I said. He was silent, so I decided to just get it over with and tell him everything. "Things were fine until a couple of years ago. We had a baby, Samuel, but he died when he was five weeks old. Cot death. We had tried for so long, and then we lost him," I pressed my lips together, willing myself not to cry anymore. "My husband started going to the pub - alone - every night. He'd never done that before; we only went occasionally together with our friends. At first I was too depressed over Samuel's death to care much. It hurt me that he hardly spoke to me and left me alone so much, but I thought that was his way of mourning. I guess it was, but when I finally felt up to asking if I could join him, he told me to leave him alone. He told me that I was too moody and that I was getting on his nerves. He also said I was too clingy." A tear fell on my lap. Get ahold of yourself, Trina!

"Has he abused you?" he asked.

I hadn't expected this question, though I should have. I looked him in the eyes. I wanted him to know I was telling the truth. Because I loved my husband. I wouldn't be so upset about all this if I didn't love my husband... and even if I didn't, I wouldn't feel comfortable letting anyone think things about him that simply weren't true. "No," I said. "He's been cold and sometimes angry at me, but not abusive."

He nodded slightly. "So this has been going on for a couple of years. And you didn't get help sooner, because… ." He left me to fill in the blank.

"Because I thought it was normal for us to mourn our son's death, so why should I get help? I was sure things would go back to normal eventually. And they just… didn't. But it wasn't until he left me that I realized I needed help."

He frowned. "I can prescribe an antidepressant, and it will probably help you cope with this, but you really need psychotherapy as well. I'd like to refer you to a counsellor through our surgery. There's a bit of a wait time, but since your assessment says you're not suicidal, I don't think it will hurt you to wait another month or so."

I nodded. Now I can just get my prescription and go?

"Have you ever been on an antidepressant before?" he asked.

"No."

"Right. You've probably heard of SSRIs, selective serotin reuptake inhibitors. They tend to work well, so we'll start with one of those. You'll need to come back so we can evaluate its effectiveness and whether or not you're experiencing any side effects."

I was more than ready to finish our visit, but instead of dismissing me with the prescription and information about when to come back, he looked me in the eyes.

"Since it will be a while before you can see our counsellor, I'm going to give you an additional prescription. Some lifestyle changes, really. How are you doing on sleep?"

"I know I don't get enough," I said. "I often stay up late, but I always wake around 7, no matter how late I get to bed."

"And how are you eating? Enough? Too much? Are you eating the right foods?"

"I tend to run on caffeine and sugar, and I'm often too tired to cook much in the evenings," I confessed.

"Exercise?"

"I run almost every day," I said with pride. Something I was doing right. He flashed me a smile.

"Well, that's something. A success. And it probably does you good." He continued, "How about time with supportive friends, or family members who support you? You mentioned the friends you and your husband used to share, before you lost your son."

I chewed on my lip. "I'm not really close to my family, and I don't see them much," I said. "And my friends... well, after Samuel died, I stopped going out with them. We'd always done things with our friends as a couple; I didn't hang out with girlfriends on my own much. I suppose I should have, but my husband and I were so close, before our son's death. I never felt the need for much girl time. Then all of a sudden, it was just me, and I felt odd, seeing our friends alone, without him. I'd make excuses when they called, and after a while, they stopped calling." My voice cracked a little as I thought about how easy it was for me to lose my friends, how none of them put a lot into pursuing me when I started avoiding them.

"I've been there," he said. "The loneliness, I mean." I was surprised. He didn't seem like the type of person to be friendless and alone. He looked at my chart and continued. "It says on your chart that you're a freelance writer?"

"Yes. I usually keep pretty busy writing and editing, though the work isn't that interesting. It's helped pay the bills, and it's better than any job I could find working for someone else." I tried not to think about how I was going to pay the bills alone.

"Trina Moore," he said, looking at my chart. "Are you the Trina Moore I've seen published in The Guardian from time to time?"

I was flattered that he recognized my name. "Yes, actually. I don't get my work in as often as I'd like, but it's the best part of my job when I succeed. Mostly I do corporate work – brochures and advertisements."

"What about fun? What do you do for fun?"

"I read or watch television. I know I should do more. Lately I've even wished there was a little more adventure in my life; it's become so narrow. But, since things went wrong with my husband… maybe it is because I'm depressed, but I have a hard time leaving the house unless I have to. It's so much easier to just stay at home."

"Adventure, hmmm?" He mused, and made some notes. Then he looked me in the eye. "Okay. Here's what I want you to do. First and foremost, do what you can to get more sleep. If you're waking around 7, you should be going to bed around 11. You'll find things will be much easier to cope with if you get some sleep. Also, you need regular, healthy meals. I know you're tired. You're short on sleep, and your depression doesn't help. But I want you to start trying to eat better. If you go out for something fast, make it a salad. Before you reach for a sweet, grab some fruit. Understood?"

I nodded. I found myself appreciating his thoroughness. I'd wanted to make this a short visit, but now I was glad he wouldn't let it go at just that. I realized it had been a long time since anyone, myself included, had bothered to look out for my welfare.

"Keep up with the exercise, of course," he continued. "And try to find ways to get out of the house and socialize. You're at home alone entirely too much. Perhaps you can reconnect with some old friends." He paused, and I reached for my handbag in preparation for my dismissal. But then he went on.

"Look, you said you want some adventure your life, so I'm going to throw out an odd suggestion to you – one you can feel free to disregard. Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes. He's a famous detective, isn't he?"

"He is. He's also my flatmate. In fact, my job here is just part-time, to keep my hand in the medical field and fill in the gaps between cases. Mostly I assist him with his cases. My job here was really necessary when he was getting started and while he was... gone for a while, but he's back and getting busier, and while I'm not ready to quit the surgery, I'm having a hard time keeping up with everything. I've been blogging about his cases. At first it was my own form of therapy, but lately it's been, well, for Sherlock. He's not really good at self-promotion, at least not in a positive manner, so I've taken that on myself. I'd be glad to pass it on to someone else. If you could take that, we'd pay you, so it would be instead of, not on top of, the freelance work you've been doing, and it might give you something exciting to do, something that would get you out of the house. You'd need to come along on cases as you were able, so you'd be exposed to some pretty brutal stuff, but I found the work... well, I'm a soldier, of course, but there was a time when I was alone and depressed, much like you, and working with Sherlock changed all that for me. I think it might be good for you, as well. You need to know, though, that Sherlock can be pretty... rude. And there will be an element of danger, though if I feel a case will be too dangerous at the outset, I won't ask you to join us. We'll also have to work this around your need for sleep – Sherlock works all hours when he's on a case – but I don't think you need to be with us all the time. Just enough to get a taste of Sherlock's work, so you can write about it. I could fill you in on whatever you miss. What do you say, Mrs Moore?"

For a second, I sat with my mouth practically gaping. This wasn't what I'd expected at all, but I found it exciting. To follow the famous Sherlock Holmes! There was a writing assignment I could relish far more than the brochures I cranked out for industrial and commercial products.

"Trina, please," I said, finding my voice. "Mrs Moore sounds so... old."

"Well then, Trina?" Doctor Watson cocked his head slightly and looked at me, a faint smile on his lips.

Of course, I said "yes."