"I'm glad you decided to come in, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock shifted in his chair. He was sitting in front of John's therapist, a woman in her mid-40s, postgraduate qualified, size 14, only child, recently divorced. He stopped his deductions there as this wasn't about her.

"My friend John said you helped him a lot when he needed it. I was hoping that you could do the same for me."

"Why do you need help, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock said simply: "Because I killed a man."

The therapist's face registered no shock. She said: "Tell me what happened."

"His name was Charles Augustus Magnussen and I hated him. He targeted people who were different. He was threatening to hurt the people that I love. So I shot him."

"Maybe you had no choice," she offered.

"There's always a choice."

There was silence for a minute. Sherlock sensed that she was waiting for him to continue.

"It wasn't clever, what I did. Any idiot with a gun could have put a bullet in Magnussen. I used to be clever, I used to have plans."

"So that's what bothers you? That it wasn't clever?"

Sherlock ignored the slight reproach. "In the past I would have been able to think of another way to deal with him."

"So what changed?"

"Since I came back, I haven't felt right. My judgement has been off. I didn't realise the truth about Mary. I didn't make the connection between the Mayfly Man and the soldier's death until it was nearly too late. And I let Magnussen make me a murderer. That means he's won. Moriarty's won too."

The therapist leaned forward. "Tell me about the moment you shot Magnussen. What were you feeling then?

"I had to protect John Watson. Magnussen was threatening to have his wife and unborn child killed. I promised to protect all three of them. I couldn't let John down again."

"Again?"

Sherlock didn't answer. The therapist waited a minute before pressing him. "Are you talking about when you faked your death?"

Sherlock lowered his eyes. "I didn't realise... what I had done to him, until I came back. Until I saw him in the restaurant. I thought he would just be happy to see me and things would go back to how they were."

"You expected him to be in the same place he was when you left. Instead, he'd moved on. Found someone else."

Sherlock ignored the phrasing, which made him sound like a jealous lover. "I want John to be happy."

"Maybe that's why you didn't want to suspect Mary. Maybe that's why you forgave Mary so quickly for shooting you. Maybe you still feel guilty."

"I never had friends, before John. I thought I wasn't capable of it. I didn't really know what it meant to be lonely. Until I went away."

The therapist looked at her notes. "On your website, you say that caring about others is a disadvantage, a foolish notion that separates the logical from the idiotic."

"I don't feel like that anymore. I have people that I care about." He ticked them off: "John, Mary, Mrs Hudson. Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, even Anderson. I don't want to be alone again."

"And yet, when you came back you found yourself more alone than ever. John had moved on. Perhaps that's why your judgement has been off. Is that why you went back on drugs?"

The question caught him off guard. "The only feeling comparable to solving a case is getting high. I wanted to feel that again."

The therapist made some more notes and then looked at her watch. "I think that's enough for today, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock stood up. "Are you sure? We haven't even touched Mycroft, Redbeard or The Woman."

The therapist laughed. "Next time, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock felt a little lighter as he left the office. He knew he wouldn't return for his appointment the following week, but it had felt good to unburden himself, to voice his fears to himself-

"Sherlock? Sherlock?"

Sherlock jumped. He was sitting in his chair at Baker's Street. John was standing in front of him, the familiar look of mixed exasperation and concern on his face.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Mind Palace?" enquired John.

"Yes, Mind Palace," Sherlock sighed as he got to his feet.

"Well, you'd better hurry up. Lestrade is waiting for you down at the station. Moriarty's face is still plastered across every channel."

Sherlock pulled on his coat and followed John out of the door. There was no point regretting anything, he told himself. He had a new case to solve.

He had another Moriarty to stop.