Hey guys, sorry for the late update, what with Christmas and all. And sorry it's not the longest I've ever given you. But I hope you like it all the same! :) ~LS

"Most psychopaths live very normal lives, Sherlock. The murderous ones are the ones that are naturally violent."

"I'm not a psychopath I'm a sociopath."

"You're borderline."

Sherlock sighed, tapping his feet irritably against the cold tiled floor. How he hated hospitals. Briefly, he realized that a bored sigh and an irritated tap don't quite match. Briefly, he cared. "And what do you hope to achieve? By this...therapy? Do you want to make me normal? Doctor, if you were in any way competent, you would now that anyone with any kind of...for want of a better word, deficiency,that is also high functioning is an actor. We act. It's what we do. We act. We act like ordinary people. That means we can't access the good sides. I can't show that I have a brilliant mind if I'm trying to hide it. And you want me to keep that up?"

"All I want to do is help you."

"Why?"

"It's my job."

"I didn't ask why you feel obligated to help me, I asked why you want to help me. To help people. Because truth be told we're all little shits."

"Because I think people are good. And good people deserve to be helped."

Sherlock laughed. "That's like a Christian quoting the bible in an argument against an Atheist. It doesn't work."

"I'm not a Christian. Neither are you. But I don't believe for a second that religion is a bad thing simply because some of us choose to believe that it's not real. Our world kind of hinges on the fact that stories are important, so suggesting that only facts are good takes that belief away. Besides, evolution isn't confirmed. It's as much of a theory as creationism, although it has an awful lot of evidence behind it."

"So what are you saying?"

"A facade isn't always a bad thing."

The hospital was silent. It could have been eerie, but the only people that were around to feel a sense of eeriness were either preoccupied or preferred not to feel. Nobody noticed as the cameras slowly turned to face the white plaster walls, or at least those who did pretended not to notice, as they either did not care, could not care, or knew. And for a moment the screens were black, the silence became white noise, and the hospital could have been inhabited by nothing but ghosts and medical equipment.

And then the door was forced open, and all hell broke loose.

Of course, a frustrated and humiliated Smith proceeded to find and kill Rory. Maybe he had double-bluffed and maybe he hadn't. He wasn't of use anymore either way. Besides, it was painless. He barely had time to beg the older Doctor to spare his life.
And then he waited. He waited for John Watson, who would inevitably be looking for his friend.