On Thursday, he arrived early at the alley. He distantly remembered that he had always hated and avoided Thursday afternoons, so he wanted to get it over with. He had the suspicion that Vastra would arrive early as well, just as she had the previous time.

As he walked through the alley, looking above at the roof tops, he couldn't help but think that there was something he was missing. She wasn't in his line of sight (good, good), but he was early, so he wasn't expecting her to be there yet. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking past something.

He was pacing, he knew that, and that wasn't good. He was missing something, so what was he doing, pacing?

Shaking his head, he looked around again, and focused on making sure that he looked at every possible spot. Suddenly, he saw her, looking at him with amusement. His eyes shifted out of focus, and then he understood.

"A perception filter? What are you using that for?" he called out.

"A simple mental test." Vastra then pulled something out of her pocket and messed with it (though he was having trouble actually seeing what she was doing).

He walked towards her and stopped a few yards in front of her. "Why do I need a mental test?" he asked, his voice coldly laced with bitterness. He felt perfectly fine. She had no right to test him.

He then felt a harsh mental backlash. How dare he judge another? What was he thinking?

"To see if you have any underlying condition," she dismissed, taking a step closer to him. "Depression is often coupled with such things."

"Did I pass?" he asked, his voice quiet. He didn't believe that he had an underlying condition. The TARDIS diagnosed him with self-defeating personality disorder. That was the root of his "problems", wasn't it? Did he honestly want to know if there was something else? Did he want her to know, and risk her and River trying to "fix" that too? Or, in a worst case scenario, tell Jenny and Strax?

"Yes, you did," she affirmed. "You noticed a bit quickly, though."

"What does that mean?" he asked, his frown even more prominent than before. She took another step forward, prompting him to take one back. Her eyes flickered to the gap between them, duly noting the distance.

"You're paranoid," she said. "Not that that's a bad thing."

"How can that be good?" He scrunched his nose for a second. "Paranoia is bad, generally."

"Paranoia can keep you alive. An honest amount is healthy," she argued. "Especially if you don't show the same..." she trailed off, and then resumed, "Survival instincts that most others have."

"I was considering suicide," he scoffed, "Didn't even attempt."

"I was talking about your normal reckless tendencies," she said.

"I'm normal right now, and I'm not being reckless," he denied, his hands firmly in his pocket as he resisted the urge to create hand signals to add emphasis of his point.

"You're travelling self is normal," she said with absolute certainty.

"That 'self' no longer resides here, I fear," he said, with an exaggerated sigh. "May I take a message?"

She flickered a smile, and then nodded at him.

"You saw Jenny a few days ago, helped her with the groceries," she stated, her voice monotone, businesslike. "You were 'walking'."

"I thought I had no restrictions," he said. "Am I not allowed to walk?"

"You can do what you like," she assured, as if they could pin him down if they tried. "I'm just curious. You didn't step a foot outside since then."

"I'm sporadic like that," he grinned, knowing full well that she could see through the fallacy of his happiness.

"What were you planning on doing, had Jenny not seen you?" she questioned, taking a small step closer to him, like she was approaching a wounded animal.

"It was only a walk, Vastra," he sighed. "Nothing else."

He knew she doubted that. Why would she believe it? It was incredulous, even as far as a blatant lie.

"Okay, then," she said, buying it doubtfully. "Prove it. Show me your arms."

So he carefully rolled his sleeves up and showed her his arms.

"Nothing, there is nothing to use in the TARDIS," he said.

His arms barely held the faintest reminders of his last encounter with anything sharp, but still, Vastra stepped even closer to him. He wished to pull back, but she would think that he was hiding something, and he was (always), so he had to stand his ground, and let her examine his arms.

When she deemed him fit, she stepped back and nodded at him, as he rolled his sleeves down.

"You pass that as well," she joked. "Of course I did," he said, "I'm brilliant."

"And you haven't had the urge to hurt yourself?" she asked. He shifted his feet, and averted his eyes. He felt her hand go on his shoulder.

"I didn't do anything," he said.

"But you've wanted to," she said, her voice quiet, reassuring.

"I didn't do anything," he repeated. "I resisted."

"Look at me," she commanded. He looked up, into her eyes. "You didn't do anything," she said calmly. "That's what matters right now."

She resumed her previous distance, biting her lip.

"It's getting late," he commented.

"It is," Vastra agreed. "When shall we see each other next, Doctor?"

He flinched. He was certainly not a doctor, but River wouldn't let him deny it, and she would find out if he did, because she always did.

"Your choice," he said.

"Is Monday alright?" she asked. "Always," he said.

Four days, again. He hoped that he would be able to hold out again, with his respite being that vulnerable nerve cluster near his shoulder. Hopefully, just hopefully, he could do enough to that on his own inside of the TARDIS, he could make it.