AN: Another thank you to all you lovely people! Seriously your thoughts etc really are a huge help, I can't say it enough! :D
Mycroft notifies Dr. Northton of Sherlock's silence, informing her that it's a habit and he'll be talking again in no time; however, she insists he still attends both her session and group. Sherlock doesn't seem to mind, but it's hard to tell. In his silence he's become despondent, lost in the expanse of his own mind as he processes the world around him.
"Sherlock," Ms. Northton begins trying to coax any kind of response from the young man sitting across from her, "I understand your father came to visit..." she leads. Sherlock makes no motion, looking out at the window of the office. "A nod will do, dear," she tries. "I take it the silence is because of him; I imagine it must have been difficult for both of you…"
That earns her a piercing glare, Sherlock's face hard as stone. Sighing, the Doctor comes to a conclusion, "If you don't want to talk, that's fine," she sighs, crossing to her desk to retrieve something. "I want you to write instead," She hands him a notepad. "It can be whatever you want; letters to people of things you wish you could say, memories, or internal monologues, anything." The young man studies the pad thoughtfully, "I want you to write every day and bring it with you to our sessions, ok?"
Sherlock remains impassive for a beat than nods curtly, mulling the whole idea over in his mind. He's not sure it's something he could really do, but it's worth a try. There's so much inside him that perhaps purging some of it would help organize things. When he gets back to Mycroft's he writes about father.
Coming to terms with the fact that your parents aren't the infallible beings you believed them to be when younger is not an easy concept. They're human, and logically you always knew this. However the proof of that reality is striking. The delusion is something that is hard pressed to be rid of, though in retrospect it's glaringly obvious. Mummy hasn't really changed, she's still the only…warmth, I suppose…Grant it, I never realized how distant my parents have grown from one another.
Father is, well, father… The supposed love was only ever implied, never said or spoken about. Not that that really matters considering the concept in general, but it's a sentiment all the same isn't it… He's always the strict clinical man behind the curtain, if you will. Mummy has quite the temper on her as well; but her shouting is far more preferred than the clam disdain that emanates from him, even when he's not cross. It may not be right to say, but these are my thoughts so… I'm glad he wasn't around often; it's hard enough seeing the looks and obvious dislike… More so now, I suppose. He never looks at him like that…
Apparently, Dr. Northton is pleased with the writings; and uses them as discussion topics within the sessions. Sherlock is still refusing to participate in group, only talking to the others when it doesn't pertain to why they're there. The week finally draws to an end and the withdrawal has eased considerably, and the dark moods have yet to set in.
The internship is a welcome addition to his schedule and is proving to be quite exciting. The lab technician giving him free reign to run all the tests for autopsies and such. As it turns out that girl from uni that he utilized was accepted into the program as well. A fact that she was certainly thrilled about, but Sherlock remained indifferent to; there was too much on his mind to deal with silly social rituals and such.
He was still fairly cordial however, assisting her with tests and sitting with her during breaks. She always tried to chat him up, but Sherlock skillfully steered the conversation elsewhere.
"You're looking better," Molly starts awkwardly, "I mean, not that you looked bad before…just healthier." She smiles.
"Mhmm…" Sherlock hums, pushing his pasta around his plate, "Do you think he'll make us come in tonight to run the labs?"
"Oh, um…" She thinks over the sudden subject change, "I'm not sure, it's possible."
He nods distantly, knowing the technician will shirk his duties on to them in order to spend time with his girlfriend. Sherlock grudgingly has to leave for group, but returns promptly after to work the labs unsupervised. It's a lovely experience when Dane isn't putting around and constantly looking over their shoulders.
"I'm going to pop out for a coffee," Molly informs him.
"Fine," He dismisses, looking through the microscope.
"Right," she nods, leaving room.
She's gone for a couple minutes, Sherlock left to his work in pleasant silence when the door to the lab opens and a surprising, yet familiar, face comes in.
"There you are," Cynthia purrs, her heels clicking over the lino.
Sherlock looks up, noticing the short trench coat she was wearing at the session earlier, but minus her hosiery. "Adding stalking to your list of misdeeds?" He asks idly.
"Thought I'd pay you visit is all…" She smirks.
"Not interested," he enunciates, earning a pout from the older woman.
"Come now, I came all this way in the cold," Cynthia clicks closer to his stool.
"It's actually quite warm out," Sherlock states willing her to leave.
"Not when you're wearing hardly a stitch," She whispers in his ear as she straddles him.
"I'm busy and you're only here because you know I don't want you. Now. Get. Off."
"That's the idea darling," Cynthia leers, her coat falling open as she slides her hand down Sherlock's chest towards his trousers, her overly painted lips finding his.
As he was about to push her away, Molly thankfully returned and nearly dropped the coffee as she opened the door. The squeak escaping her lips, startling Cynthia off of him as she quickly redid her coat.
"Um, should I…" Molly stammers as she motions to the door.
"Molly," Sherlock greets, "Perfect timing," he admits in earnest. "Cynthia was just leaving," he throws a glare at the desperate woman.
Another pout graces her features, "Call me later, luv," she winks clacking out the door and sparing a look of disgust at the other woman.
Sherlock shifts awkwardly, while mentally not interested, his body had other ideas as he refocused on his work for distraction.
"Your girlfriend then?" Molly asks, placing a cup of coffee next to him. "She's a bit old isn't she…not that… no, age is just a number and all, um…"
"No she is not," he offers stiffly, "She's an addict," he adds without further explanation; leaving Molly to wonder just what kind of addict he's refereeing to.
Later that night he discloses the incident in his writings, expounding on the fact that part of him was more than interested to see the incident to it culmination; while the importance of the work he was conducting won precedence. Sherlock realized that the only reason he was interested in the first place was because he knew the act in itself could inflict pleasure and other chemical responses that a part of him craved.
Unlike Cynthia, however, he wasn't addicted to pleasure the same way. His high came from more mental stimulation, and while he may crave the more base feelings; he realized that he could ignore them.
"What do you mean here," Dr. Northton points to the passage, "When you say you can ignore what's unnecessary?"
"Oh that," Sherlock straightens, "I suppose it was a sort of epiphany, if you will." He begins, "The only thing that matters is my mind and discovering or learning important things, I just need to find something to set it upon and I'm content. Everything is else is either transport or, like I said, unnecessary."
"What falls under those categories?"
"Eating and things like that are transport, while sentimentality and the like fall under unnecessary."
"What brought about this discovery?"
"I merely realized that while I used the solution for mostly intellectual expansion, the underlying reasons where irrational and could therefore be deleted."
"And those are?" She leads, trying to get him to address his feelings; but only gets a look that says' they're obvious and don't need to be stated. "So you think deleting these "unnecessary" things will cure you?"
"Who said I was ill?" Sherlock shoots back.
Ms. Northton sighs weightily flipping through her notes, "Emotions are what make us human Sherlock… you can't just continue to repress them."
"I'm not repressing them I'm removing them, it's simple really."
"How so?"
"Well I'm not sure about most people, but assuming you can control your own mind… which I can, then you can organize it."
"I can't argue with that," She agrees, but there are things that your brain controls unconsciously, "Breathing for example."
"Boring…" Sherlock sighs, "And that doesn't mean you aren't aware of it at some level, it's a necessary function for life."
"But feelings aren't?"
"Not at all, they are irrational and cloud impartial judgment."
"Even Spock had emotions, Sherlock," Ms. Northton reminds him.
"Irrelevant, he was fictional."
"If you ignore your feelings long enough, they don't go away… they build up until you break… What then?"
"It's unlikely," Sherlock stands his ground.
"I think you'll find it's not, little by little they'll get in Sherlock. Than what, it's back to the needle to numb them away?" She prods, trying to force him to see the reality of the situation.
"No," he shakes his head vehemently.
"There's a lot of people that care about you…"
"I never asked to be cared for!" Sherlock snaps, "I'm in control and this will work," he tries to keep the desperate edge out of his tone.
"Why do you think this has to work Sherlock?" The doctor pushes.
"I don't think, I know." He turns his back on her, the questions she asked breaking through his defensives. "It's the only way that makes sense," he admits to himself.
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