"Tell me about how you've been since I last saw you."
John holds his breath. He sits in a small room with a one-way mirror. He's not entirely sure why, seeing as Sherlock had been told that John would not be joining them right away, and had immediately demanded to know where John would be. Mary had shown him, explaining that John would be able to see and hear everything, and would be joining them later. Sherlock had frowned but agreed to the idea. John had stood at the door for nearly three minutes, watching Sherlock observe the room, before Mary had kindly smiled and asked if he wanted to go grab some coffee.
John was well versed in, "Medical Professional-ese". Coffee meant, "Time to go." So he'd nodded and stepped away, going into the little observation room and ignoring the idea of anything that didn't involve him hearing everything that Sherlock would say.
Sherlock turned and looked at her. "I went to a crime scene." He smiled brightly. "I got to see Lestrade."
"Is Lestrade one of your friends?"
Sherlock frowned. "I think so." He looked over at the mirror, and John smiled. Sherlock was still looking for confirmation, for reassurance. It was as heartbreaking as it was heartwarming.
"Yes." Sherlock looks back to Mary. "Yes, Lestrade is my friend." He sounded confident, and John sagged in relief.
"And how did you feel, seeing him?"
Sherlock smiled. "I felt good."
Mary grinned. "Wonderful! Now, how did you feel about the crime scene?"
Sherlock looks around the room, his lips twisted not quite into a frown. "I... I didn't feel anything."
Mary nods. "OK then. How did you feel about what you saw at the crime scene."
Sherlock watched her for a moment. "It was interesting. I saw blood splatters that were inconsistent with the body they had found. I showed Lestrade, and they found a second body. It was fascinating."
John watched as Mary nodded again, her smile never wavering, her voice never cracking nor faltering. Lestrade had been right. She was amazing.
Mary and Sherlock talked a bit more about the crime scene. Sherlock told her about Anderson, and John, and Mary listened, making occasional notes and always showing them to Sherlock when he asked. John watched her and was struck with the image of Mary, holding a baby, two other young children running around her, and himself walking in the door and kissing them all hello; late nights where there was very little clothing involved and long walks in the park and movie nights and dinners and then even more scenarios without clothes.
At one point Mary looked up and John flushed, almost certain she could see him, could see the thoughts he'd been having. But that was crazy. He knew that, of course she can't see me, and she certainly can't hear what I'm thinking. But that didn't stop him from being embarrassed.
After half-an-hour, Mary signaled that he could come in now. He stood up and took several deep breaths, trying to get his mind out of the gutter and back onto a respectable train of thought.
As he entered the room, Sherlock turned, his face lighting up. John smiled back at him, pulling a chair over to sit next to Sherlock.
"Alright." Mary smiled at him and John thought about a wedding, pulling back Mary's veil and seeing that smile, that gorgeous face all lit up just for him, and he swallowed. "Now I'd like to talk to you for a bit, John."
John looked over at Sherlock, then back at Mary. "Where..."
"He'll be right here in this room." Her smile was softer now, warmer, more understanding of John's position.
He nodded. "Alright. Is there..." He looked behind him, smiling, then turned back to Sherlock. "I see some Lego's over there, mate. Bet you could build something incredible for me."
Sherlock's eyes widened, and he looked behind himself, scanning shelves of toys and books before at last, he found a large plastic bin labeled with bold marker, LEGO'S.
He looked back to John eagerly, and John laughed, nodding. Sherlock was up out of his seat and across the room, coat flaring out around him as he sat himself on the floor and pulled the bin out reverently.
John looked back at Mary. "Sorry, we... we only have a small collection so far. But he loves those things." Mary looked over at Sherlock, smiling.
"That's good. He's engaging himself. Focusing on creativity." She looked back at John. "That's a very, very good thing."
John nodded. "Good. Good."
"Did you bring the journal I asked you to keep?"
"Oh! Right!" John reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small notebook. It had been one of Sherlock's unused ones. "I hope... this is helpful."
"Thank-you. May I?" Mary gestured, opening it up. John nodded. "Thank you. I just want to see a few things."
She scanned the pages quickly, and John found himself staring at her eyes as they darted around the pages. He could fall into those eyes, and never want to surface.
After only a few moments, Mary smiled and closed the notebook. "You were very thorough. Thank-you."
"Of course." John licked his lips. "So... how terrible a person am I? On a scale of one to Hitler?"
Mary smiled. "I'd say about a three."
John laughed. "Oh, is that all?"
Mary tilted her head and... is she flirting with me, no, no can't be, she's... oh god, does she think I'm flirting, AM I flirting?
"Tell me about St. Bart's."
Flirting's over then, if it was even there. "Oh." John feels the blood draining from his face, his neck, his shoulders and torso, all of it coming to rest somewhere around his knees, which suddenly felt very wobbly and jelly-like and he was very, very glad he was already sitting down when she'd asked this question. "Oh." He swallowed, trying to get anything else out. "Oh." He failed.
"I know this can be hard."
"It's... oh." John leans forward, head down, eyes closed. Deep breaths, in, out, in, hold, out, in, hold, out. He looks back up. Mary looks concerned.
"Have you been prescribed anything for your anxiety?"
John frowns. "My... my what?" His breath is coming too fast for comfort, and he fights to control it.
Mary smiles again. "You appear to be experiencing a mild panic or anxiety attack."
John nods. "Right. Right, because... right."
Mary looks down at her lap for a moment before looking back up. "Have you talked to anyone at all? About what happened?"
John stares at her, his breath deep and steady, even as his heart races and he swears he can feel his brain rattling around as it screams at him to just ask for help.
"No." He looks away. "After... I was focused on Sherlock." He looks back towards the toys and sees Sherlock, who is now sprawled out on his stomach, hands moving quickly as he builds and plays. John looks back at Mary. "He needed so much help." John's voice breaks, just a little. He closes his eyes. "And I couldn't... I couldn't leave him. I couldn't bear to be away from him, even when he was sleeping, at the hospital, I just..." John sniffs quietly, feeling a few rebellious tears slips down his cheeks. "He needed me. He needed me there." He lifts a hand and scrubs angrily at his eyes with the back of his wrist, his sleeve, anything. When he looks back at Mary, she nods.
"I'd like to prescribe you something, John. I want you to promise me you'll take it." John frowns, about to protest, but Mary holds up a slim hand to stop him. "If you end up fighting off PTSD - because a trauma like this can bring about PTSD just as easily as being wounded in action, John - think about how Sherlock will react."
John sat back, looking at Mary, and he could see her point. If he reached a breaking point, and we all have them, don't we, that point where we can't take anymore and we just snap, and Sherlock was there...
John took another deep breath. "Alright."
Mary nodded. "Thank you. When you're feeling up to it, I'd like to discuss the event that brought you both to this point."
John nods slowly. "That... that sounds fair."
Mary smiles. "Is there anything else you feel we should discuss today?"
John looks at her and the words are suddenly out of his mouth. "Let me buy you a coffee?" Mary's eyebrows raise at the question. John squeezes his shut, nose scrunched. "Jesus, Jesus, I'm sorry. That... that was a lot less... oh god, I'm so sorry."
He looks back at her and gives her a strained smile. "So... same time next week? Right then." He stands up quickly, walking over to Sherlock and squatting down next to him. "Time to go, Sherlock. But, tell me what you've made first?"
Sherlock looks at him and describes his newest version of 221B (which has the additions of a laboratory and a space ship dock) as John listens and nods and does his best not to look back at Mary.
Sherlock places his creation back in the bin, putting it back on the shelf. He stands up, looking at John quizzically.
"What's wrong?"
John smiles pleasantly at him. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"No. There's something wrong."
John shook his head. "Nothing to worry about."
"John?"
He turned, eyes wide as he saw Mary approaching. She held out a small slip of paper. John looked down at it, confused.
"Your prescription." Mary smiled at him, and he giggled a little too loudly.
"Oh, right, of course."
"Black, two sugars."
John stared at her for a moment. "What?"
Mary smiled. "Coffee. Bring it next week. Black. Two sugars."
John's eyes widened, and he looked back at Sherlock, who grinned at him but gave no hints that the coffee order sounded in any way familiar. John looked back at Mary.
"Right. I can... right. Yes. OK. I... oh." He shook himself and smiled back at her before awkwardly ushering Sherlock out the door.
"I like Mary." John looked at Sherlock, who looked back at John with a very serious expression. "She's nice, John. I like her."
John nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
"Good." Sherlock looked straight ahead again. "Good."
John bit his lip and wondered how he was still on his feet.