Express Chapter Ten

Author's note: this follows on from the story in the latest chapter of Magpie: Two for Joy

"Hello, Miss Hooper; please let me take your coat. Do take a seat."

Diane Goodliffe gave the young woman a welcoming smile, and gestured to the chair. She took in the slightly eclectic choice of clothes, the long hand-knitted scarf, a sensible pair of boots. It was cold outside, but her therapy room was warm enough. She tried to keep it a happy medium between cosy but not so warm as to put her clients to sleep. In early March, it meant changing the thermostat several times a day.

Beginnings were always important with new clients, many of whom would be ill-at-ease and anxious about even admitting that they were seeking help of a qualified therapist. Miss Hooper had contacted her by e mail to request the appointment, and the one brief call they'd had to set the time told her that the prospective client was a little tongue-tied and nervous over the phone. The woman had said she only wanted to pay for only a single session, "just the one" before giving her credit card details. That was fair enough- a lot of clients wanted to try a therapist once, just to see if the relationship would work for them. Diane worked hard at avoiding pre-judgments; it made no sense to try to jump to any conclusions before she'd even met her.

But this young woman certainly looked uncomfortable and on edge, almost as bad as she had sounded on the phone. She sat as instructed and waited for Diane to hang up the coat and take her own seat across from her.

"Um, Doctor Goodliffe, I need to explain something."

Diane smiled. "I'm not a doctor, Miss Hooper. I'm not a psychiatrist, either, just a qualified therapist. You can call me either Diane, if that is comfortable for you, or Miss Goodliffe, if you'd prefer something more formal. It's entirely up to you." She kept her contralto gentle and warm, sensing her need for reassurance.

A flicker of something in the dark brown eyes. Impatience? Diane stilled her reactions, trying to be open to the moment.

"Diane, then, but you have to call me Molly."

The older woman gave an encouraging smile. "Molly…how can I help?"

"I'm not here for myself, but rather for a friend."

Diane tried to keep her face neutral. This could be the truth, but it could also be a convenient dodge. Sometimes "a friend" was a term used by people who were not willing to take ownership of their own problem the first time they met a therapist. She had to be truthful, so said simply "I can't help a person who isn't in the room and hasn't consented to therapy. But I can help you, if you are concerned about someone else and need guidance on how to deal with the situation."

Molly nodded. "That's just the point. My friend is one of your patients. Detective Inspector Lestrade said I should tell you what happened; that you would know what should be done."

Oh. "Greg Lestrade…then you're talking about Sherlock Holmes? How do you know him?"

"I'm a forensic pathologist working for the Guys and St Thomas Hospital Trust. You won't know who I am; no one that you've been talking to will have mentioned me. Not Sherlock; especially not Sherlock. But, I know them all. The detective inspector, John Watson, even his fiancé Mary- I've met her. And I've known Sherlock for years." She stopped, as if debating something. Then in a resolute tone, she continued. "Just so you understand- I was the only one of those people who knew he was alive, when the others didn't. I'm under no illusions, though. He needed me to make his disappearance work, so he told me. But, Sherlock trusted me with that fact, that I would keep his secret for the whole time he was away."

Diane considered that, and wondered about its significance. But it didn't really change her mind. "I haven't seen Sherlock for nearly a month now. I'm not sure whether he would even think that he was still a client. Even if he did, I can't talk about him. That would be unethical."

Molly nodded, but was looking down at the oriental carpet that was on the floor between them. "I know that. I just want to tell you something, and then you can decide what to do with that knowledge. And, if you can suggest anything that I might do, well…that would be good, too."

"If you've been speaking to the Detective Inspector, did he tell you why Sherlock was seeing me?"

That got her a nod. "Yes, of course; he told me about the PTSD and that it came from …stuff that happened while Sherlock was away. The Detective Inspector told me that you'd helped Sherlock a lot; that's why I thought I should tell you that something else is happening. Sherlock is not okay. No matter what he says now about being fine."

Diane didn't want to encourage her into thinking that she could be more helpful than she'd already said, so she did not reply, but rather opened her hands in a gesture that said 'and?'

"I know what Sherlock is like. He doesn't talk about what he feels. I've always wondered if Sherlock was somewhere on the Autistic Spectrum. He calls himself a high-functioning sociopath, but that's not a proper medical term. When he told me that, I was curious and researched. That's what I do for a living; figure out puzzles in people who cannot speak for themselves. He's neuroatypical; even if he hasn't been officially diagnosed, that much I can figure out."

Diane could not confirm or deny, without breaching client confidentiality. "You know I can't say anything about this. But, I can ask you why you are concerned about Sherlock. Let's start there."

"Over the years I've known Sherlock, he's got better at some things, like…well, it's hard to describe. Some of the things- his rudeness, for example- well, if you didn't know him the way I do, then you might think he was just…a bit eccentric, but nothing else. Lots of people just assume he's arrogant because he's a genius, and don't think any further. He was far worse in the early days."

The Sherlock that Diane had come to know as a client manifested few of the things she associated with people on the Spectrum. He was articulate, could communicate well with others and was capable, if reluctant, to express emotion. The recent drug use and the difficulties he was going through adjusting back to life in the UK were related to his being tortured. The PTSD had been the focus of their therapeutic work, and the EMDR treatment a resounding success.

"Has something happened recently to change your view about him?" Diane probed and then waited, as Miss Hooper seemed to need time to gather her thoughts.

"A few days ago, Sherlock came to the lab where I work; he had some questions to ask about John and Mary's wedding. You know he's John's Best Man and is planning the wedding for them?"

"No, I didn't; that sounds wonderful. " Diane was genuinely surprised and delighted to hear the news. "It's a great opportunity for him to work on building a normal relationship with John and Mary."

Molly drew breath. "I don't know about that. I'm not sure he sees it that way. I think it's …I don't know, something that he thinks he owes John, something that he has to do in order to keep John's friendship. But, he's obsessing about it- getting really fixated on trying to control every little detail, and getting anxious about it, too. He used to come to the lab regularly when he was working on a case, or to collect specimens for his experiments. But, he doesn't do that now; in fact, I've hardly seen him show any interest at all in his experiments since he got back. That's not like him."

The young woman stopped for a moment, a frown forming as she looked down at her hands. When she looked back up at Diane, there seemed to be a quiet determination- as if she'd made a decision. "It's probably not my place to say this, but, I'm worried about him. The only time he's come to see me in almost six weeks, and he wanted to talk about the wedding guest list. He was pretty worked up about it. All that wedding stuff he's doing is sort of …I don't know…a smokescreen?" Her hands were twisting anxiously, in her lap.

Diane tried to assess what the pathologist's concern was. Could it be that she had welcomed Sherlock's professional attentions before, and was now upset simply because he was too busy these days with other people? "Why do you think that? Are you saying that he isn't capable of doing something to help his friend?"

Molly shook her head. "No, you don't understand." She looked away again, this time at the vase with the silk flower in it. "Um…that's my fault, sorry…because I'm not explaining things right. He'd do anything for John; he even faked his own death to help protect him. So, the wedding stuff; Sherlock would do something that he's not comfortable doing, because it's helping John. It's not that; it's just… something's not right. He's acting like he's okay, trying to keep people from knowing what's really going on, about how upset he is."

"Miss Hooper, it's common for those who care about someone on the Spectrum to misinterpret their actions- to impute an emotional meaning when one might not have been felt by the person. Is it possible that Sherlock has just been changed by what happened while he was away, that the things he used to enjoy before are no longer as important to him, and that you are just picking up on those changes?"

This time, Molly shook her head vehemently. "No. This is more. I think he's sad again. Sad that nothing is the same as it was, that nothing will ever be the same."

"Sad? Have you ever thought that sadness might be an appropriate emotional response to the situation? This is a difficult time for him- transitions are. The Watson wedding is a life event for Sherlock- a person he lived with, worked with, someone he took such extreme measures to protect- perhaps the only person he considers to be a friend- is getting married. What you see as sadness may be a sign of his emotional intelligence; he could be coming to terms with the change. That would actually be a step forward for him, to be able to express his sadness."

"I've thought of that. But it's more than sad, the way you or I would feel things. I think he is depressed. And that might lead him to do things he shouldn't do."

Diane wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but wondered whether the young woman was over-reacting. Sherlock had showed classic signs of PTSD, complete with triggers and meltdowns. She had not observed any signs of clinical depression. Cautiously, she offered, "Is depression something that you have studied much? I would have thought a forensic pathologist wouldn't have a lot of opportunity to diagnose it."

Molly's cheeks flushed. "I know enough that depression in autism isn't expressed by the usual symptoms. What I saw three days ago is that Sherlock is really struggling. Some of the stuff that I read about people on the Spectrum- well, I've never seen him do any of it, so I didn't think it really applied to him. But, when he showed up earlier this week…it was like something out of a textbook. And I have checked again, reading up on the symptoms." She ended a little defensively by crossing her arms.

"Such as…?"

"Echolalia, to start with. I mean…usually, he's so quick; just bites the head off of anyone who can't keep up. 'You know I hate repeating myself.'- it's like a slogan of his. Yet he kept doing it- repeating what I was saying, before answering himself. And there were a couple of times that his answers didn't come out at the right time- like he'd lost track of the conversation. It was weird."

Molly uncrossed her arms and straightened her back in the chair, her posture showing her determination. "Something's not right; I can tell, but when I asked him, he said he was fine. But he always does that. Then he sort of bolted out of the room. It was so strange…I decided to follow him up the stairs, to see if he was really okay. I called out to him, but he ignored me and kept going, as if he hadn't heard. Then he fell." She stopped, and the frown of worry deepened. "He's usually so fluid in his movement; he's incredibly coordinated. But he just completely misjudged a step and then missed grabbing the bannister. He came down hard on his knee- must have hurt like hell. I rushed up to give him a hand, but he just shoved me off, staggered to his feet and then ran away up the stairs, like he didn't recognise me- almost as if he was afraid. I thought maybe he was having a PTSD flashback. By the time I got outside, he was already getting into the back of a taxi. He didn't even look back."

Diane thought about the sequence, and began to wonder if Molly was right- that Sherlock was having problems.

The pathologist continued. "I once told him I don't count. That was before…before he staged his death. I think he was surprised that I had seen his sadness back then. He showed up on the last night and told me I did count, but I think that he just said it to get me to agree to sign the death certificate when he faked his suicide. Sherlock is…like that. He doesn't...didn't realise that...I would have done it for him, even if he hadn't said that I counted. But, over the years while he was gone, I worried about him, all that time...on his own…He told me that it wouldn't be hard to pretend that he was dead, because it was quite likely that he'd be killed at some point." Molly stopped, her eyes filling. Then she calmed herself. "Of course, I was so happy when he came back."

Diane realised that Molly was twisting an engagement ring on her finger. Oh. The realisation became a revelation. She loves him. And while Sherlock was away, the young woman had done what John had done- found comfort in another.

Diane's heart went out to her. From what she knew about Sherlock, she doubted the feelings were requited in any meaningful way. The pathologist knew that, too- she'd admitted as much when she's said earlier that Sherlock was not likely to have mentioned her.

The therapist had seen over the past three months just what caring about Sherlock meant. Each of those who had come to her and spoken to express their fears, all of them cared so much for him. But, Sherlock had no idea that he could inspire this degree of loyalty, or create an emotional tie in the people who were his support network. They were what gave her hope that he would come to terms with all that had changed and was still changing in his life.

Diane wondered if the same could be said about the young woman sitting in front of her. She decided to seize the initiative. Whatever was going on with Sherlock, there was a person in some distress in front of her, and she wanted to help.

"Miss Hooper, I can see that you care about Sherlock. I know that coming here to talk to me is a demonstration of that fact, and I respect it. Does his return cause you…difficulties of a personal nature?" She tried to ask the question in a fairly oblique style, but if Molly wanted to talk about it, she would see the therapist was willing to do so.

Molly blushed red, and stammered. "No…n…no. You misunderstand. I'm engaged. I'm happy. Tom is a wonderful man. He's lovely… and normal. Nothing to do with bodies…crimes…any of that. He's…good to me…I mean good for me." Then she steadied. "What I think about Sherlock is nothing to do with me and my private life; it's just I am…concerned that no one else sees what I am seeing."

"And what is that, Molly?"

"He's teetering on the edge. And no one seems to know that behind the act, he's coming apart at the seams. Someone needs to do something before it's too late."

"Have you talked to John Watson about this incident in the stairwell?"

The pathologist shook her head. "No. I'm…" She stopped, derailed for a moment by uncertainty. "I'm not sure he wants to hear this. He would think I'm interfering. He wasn't very happy to learn that I knew about Sherlock being alive, when he didn't. He and Sherlock, well…it took him time to get over his anger. I don't want to make him angry at Sherlock again."

"Do you think Sherlock would talk to me about this if I were to contact him?"

Molly gave a little laugh. "No. Not a chance. But you can talk to the others. And I think because you aren't as close to Sherlock as they are, you won't be deflected. They'll listen to you, in a way that they won't to me. Sherlock won't listen to me: I'm not really sure he listens to anyone, which is why I'm here. He's good at avoiding people and… stuff like this. And every one else, his friends and family, love him and wants him to be well, so they don't want to see that he isn't. You're more objective. If you've managed to help him in the past, then you must be good at what you do. I'll trust you to do what is necessary."

The pathologist gave a little nod of her head, as if content now that she'd done what she'd come to do. "That's all I have to say. I won't waste anymore of your time."

"It's not a waste of time if this conversation has been helpful to you."

A firm look took hold on the face of the woman opposite her. "It's only helpful to me, so long as you're willing to do what is needed for Sherlock, Miss Goodliffe." Molly stood up and collected her coat, removing an envelope from her coat pocket, putting it on the little table. Diane rose from her own chair.

"Thank you, Miss Goodliffe. The payment for this session is in the envelope. Goodbye." She didn't look back.

Diane waited until the front door downstairs closed. Then she fished her phone out of her handbag and started scrolling down for Esther Cohen's number, praying that she had not deleted it last month.