This chapter takes place immediately after the last one.
"Well." Claire said, her voice its usual mixture of clinical professionalism and slight pride. "Before we start I just wanted to discuss Sherlock's absence last week..."
"It's fine." John said firmly.
"I know you have the file. You have to keep up to date on all our Scotland Yard dealings." Sherlock said cuttingly. "So rather than have me relive the details, don't patronise me and pretend you don't know."
"I'm not patronising you and I resent the implication Sherlock." Claire spoke bluntly. "I understand why you didn't feel emotionally able to attend." Sherlock shot John a long-suffering look, a 'you are the reason I'm here with this shrink' look but John kind of appreciated Claire's input on this. "Just know your lack of presence very much upset John."
"Oi!" John said, deciding he suddenly did NOT appreciate Claire's input as much as he thought.
"Yes yes, I upset John, he forgives me, that's kind of the way it goes." Sherlock's tone was sulky, as though he didn't quite believe his own words were sarcasm.
"In future, if you... either of you, are going to be absence I request that if you can't let me know... at least let each other know. I'm sure John doesn't want me to go into it..."
"I really don't."
"But Sherlock... I do ask that you remember John has PTSD..."
"Oh for..." Sherlock refrained from using the cliché of 'why am I always the bad guy?' but he did feel very victimized.
"Which is my problem. Yes, he could have called, but me worrying is my deal okay." John told Claire. "It's what I do. I worry about my sister when she hasn't answered my call in a week, I worry about Mrs Hudson falling when she insists on storing things on top of her fridge by standing on a chair, and I worry about Sherlock..." He hesitated and realised with a pang where he'd heard this before. 'I worry about him constantly' was not what Sherlock needed from John and Mycroft.
Sherlock seemed to know the last word to that sentence and stared at the wall with his expression steeled, waiting for it, waiting for John to admit to being as bad as Mycroft in this respect.
"I worry about him when he's depressed." John settled on.
"I'm not..." Sherlock started.
"Oh yes you are, don't argue with me. I've known you long enough to know your symptoms of depression and since your... 'suicide' I just... I worry." John finished.
"It's good that the two of you do have an understanding of each other's mental health and the blame game is over, I do apologise if you feel you were being penalised however I do feel it prudent to stress that if either of you are absent and don't inform our office at least an hour beforehand you will still be charged for that session." Claire informed them in her slightly less sympathetic, therapist tone.
"Well, moving on... it seems the two of you have made some progress in the last two weeks. An element of trust has returned to your partnership it seems." She pushed her hair behind her ear as she spoke, something Sherlock thought was akin to a 'tell', an almost idiosyncratic way of saying 'I'm stepping into my role now, I'm a professional but I am approachable.' Sherlock added more information to his mental file on Claire, she was keeping a file on them, he thought it was only fair - Claire was obviously a middle child.
"If you can call it that," He murmured.
"You don't think that John showing that he does trust you in some ways is progress?" She queried, opening her note book on her lap.
"It doesn't count for anything." Sherlock dismissed.
"It counts for a lot." John argued, feeling slightly irritated that his 'breakthrough' was being belittled by the very man who'd been all but begging for his trust since he came back and he had just defended Sherlock against a reprimand he'd probably actually deserved.
"Well, I do think this is something we need to talk about. I think it took a lot for John to admit to that... am I correct?"
"Sort of..." John had to admit the whole analysing of his feelings thing was not his strongest suit, but that was how it was meant to be wasn't it? When men fell out they made up by punching each other and going for beers or something, right? Not for the first time in the past few weeks John wondered if he should be worried about the paths his thoughts took - he openly admitted to being a hypocrite sometimes but did wonder if he had a slightly sexist view on this one, then he remembered that Sherlock wasn't your typical bloke. Punching and drinking would not work with him.
"Yes yes, John has it hard I've heard this bit." Sherlock muttered darkly. John rolled his eyes in response, and Claire sighed and shook her head.
"Okay well, I'm going to impart the 'psycho-babble' on you now." Sherlock clicked his teeth and huffed. "Well, I knew you wouldn't like it but tough luck." She said firmly, still believing the best way to deal with Sherlock was to be firm, to command his respect. "The fact is there's a lot of different types of 'trust'. For example, you might be able to trust someone with your bank details, but you wouldn't necessarily be able to trust that same person to look after your dog for the weekend and there is trust between you, but it seems the two of you are on different levels for this. What we need is to get the two of you on the same page."
"Oh for go..." Sherlock began, ready to complain about the touchy feely claptrap and the pseudo-science of psychology when John cut in.
"I think that's it." He agreed, nodding. "What it comes down to in the end is... I trust Sherlock with my life." The detective visibly swelled, his chest inflating with a misplaced sense of pride. "But I don't trust him with his own."
"John I am not a child!" Sherlock protested indignantly, his pride dissipating rapidly.
"I never said you were a child! I just..." John rubbed his hand down his face. "You don't... you don't realise..." John stopped mid-sentence and took a deep breath. "Sherlock if I or... or Mrs Hudson or... bloody hell even Mycroft, if we were to drop dead tomorrow, how would that make you feel?"
"Well I'm doing my best to ensure that you don't." Sherlock growled. People always overlooked that part, the fact that Sherlock had protected people.
"No Sherlock you're not getting out of answering this. If it were me lying dead on a pavement, covered in blood... think how much that would hurt you and then tell me I've over reacted here. I trust you, but if you don't see how much you dying would... did tear us all apart." Sherlock looked away and John didn't push, because when Sherlock averted eye contact like that it usually meant he'd conceded a point, even if he were too proud to admit it. That or, more disturbingly, he was still thinking.
"I have to say, I understand things are still tense between the two of you but... there's a dialogue now at least. There's an open line of communication and that's a key aspect of any relationship..." Sherlock startled and looked for all the world like he'd been slapped in the face with a large wet fish... or something equally ridiculous (again John worried about his train of thought). Sherlock's pale eyes widened and his jaw slackened in realisation. "A relationship is built on a lot of different..." Sherlock stood up, still shocked by some unknown thought.
"I'm going for a cigarette." He said, voice distant and vague as he made his way across the room, pulling on his coat.
"What, no Sherlock... you quit, you were doing really well." The doctor in John spoke without thinking, knowing it was a mistake the moment Sherlock whipped around, his coat billowing ominously with the motion.
"Yes." Sherlock growled. "I quit. I was doing well. Then I jumped off a building, trusting only my own genius that I'd actually survive, in order to save the lives of people I - heaven forbid - actually care for. I then spent three years on the run, killing people, you of all people know the toll that takes on a person, the whole kill or be killed mentality. I spent three years protecting you all! I ensured Lestrade and Molly kept their jobs! I made sure you got to keep the flat! I had Mycroft push through Mrs Hudson's hip operation! Hell I even had Scotland Yard approve Anderson and Donovan's compassionate leave! Then I come back, I give them the miracle they all asked for, the miracle you pleaded for at my graveside, begged for - only to find that nobody trusts me, nobody is grateful for the fact I sacrificed - gambled EVERYTHING and I lost it." His voice rose to a roar and his eyes glinted with anger and hurt and betrayal and... John wanted to stop this, to cut Sherlock off and comfort him somehow but the very fact that Sherlock was ranting and raging was unprecedented - John didn't know how to calm Sherlock when he was emotional.
"And the worst thing, the very worst thing? People talk about how badly they're hurting, about how what I did affected them. Nobody appreciates it! Nobody just stops and THINKS! So, after all that, if I'm stressed enough to need a cigarette then I will have one, whether you like it or not, Doctor." Sherlock span on his heel and headed toward the door, adding as an afterthought of.
"I'll be skipping the 'reflection period'." He slammed the door as he vanished. John clenched his eyes shut tight and wished Sherlock had punched him, because that... that had bloody stung. Sherlock didn't do emotional outbursts and he certainly didn't do them in front of people like Claire. Claire who was bound to be looking at him sympathetically again and John couldn't stand it. He took several deep breaths and willed his knee to support him as he stood, he was aware Claire was talking to him (her voice sounds kind he thought absently) but he just nodded curtly.
"I'll... see you next week." He mumbled, not waiting for a response as he dashed out of the building. Sherlock was outside, leaning against a wall with a cig hovering an inch or two above his lips as he blew plumes of smoke into the wind.
"Sherlock..." He started cautiously.
"Go. Away." Sherlock hissed and for a moment John thought he'd fucked everything up, until Sherlock spoke again. "I need time to think... time to process... new data... new... emotions, feelings." He spoke in his usual irritated tone, the one he used when he needed to go to his mind palace while in a public place where it wouldn't be convenient. "Let me think." He didn't look at John as he vocalised, taking another drag from his cigarette.
"Sherlock... there's something you always ask me... at the end of these sessions." John suddenly wanted nothing more than eye contact from the detective, to see those glasz orbs with any other emotion than the fury they'd possessed when Sherlock had torn him down. He gulped. "Ask me... ask me again, Sherlock." John pleaded. Sherlock took in a large lung full of smoke and drew his lips into a tight circle to channel it back out into the sky.
"John." Sherlock said softly. "If you have any respect for what remains of our friendship you will leave me right now. I -need- to think."
"I will see you next week... right?" He asked apprehensively. Sherlock stayed quiet. "Because the truth is... I don't know what's wrong with us... I don't know what's wrong with me." He admitted. "I don't know why I'm still so hurt when you're... here, you're living and breathing and... but I think we're close to figuring it out." Sherlock sighed dramatically, annoyed with John for still being present. "And... when you sigh like that and go off to... wherever the hell it is you go when you're in your head I can't help but think you've figured it out already but... I'm not there yet Sherlock and I think we need to keep at this until I am."
"John." Sherlock's voice was even softer now, barely a whisper. "If I promise to come back to this ...insanity next week will you please leave me to think?"
"Yes." John agreed.
"I will see you next week." Sherlock said bluntly. John nodded slowly.
"Next week." John swore and set off at a slightly slower pace but managing to suppress the limp.
Sherlock watched him go, trembling slightly as he sparked up a second cigarette. He wondered how John could see through him so easily some times when he was so dense at others. Truth was Sherlock was shaken to a core he didn't know he had, by the all too vivid picture his imagination had supplied - John lying dead. That had been too much to handle and completely fair of John to ask of him, but that coupled with the talk of 'relationships' had triggered something inside Sherlock. Of course, logically, any two people who knew each other even casually were in a relationship of sorts, whether they were acquaintances or friends or relatives - a relationship simply required two people.
"One word." Sherlock murmured to himself. One word and the anguish caused by very vivid mental picture was all it had taken to tip Sherlock's world view on its rear. It had taken his brain (going a million miles a second) nearly three whole minutes to come to the conclusion he had reached in that office.
Despite every nerve ending in his brain telling him this was a bad idea, possibly the most dangerous thing he'd ever done - the glaringly obvious truth was that Sherlock was in love with John.
A/n: Hey would you look at that - I actually updated! Sherlock has an entire week to deal with this new revelation.