Disclaimer: Still not owning a thing. A.N. I know, no bedsharing this chapter, but some things are discussed, and I hope the next one will be interesting!
It's finally time for their first appointment. Sherlock is a fidgety wreck of a man, though John would bet that's to have the excuse to touch everything and shift his eyes all around, amassing all the clues that are there, and even seeing what should be here and instead is lacking. As for him, as always – both on a case and when he's uncomfortable, which is just perfect – he reverts to army training, posture flawless but ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.
Since the detective is not yelling loudly that it's obviously the secretary, because of her nail polish, or something just as outrageous, they'll need to go through with this – and be bait. Which means having therapy, and Ella can testify that he's the worst at it. He asked his partner before if they could just ask doctor Reese to write them up as the most collaborative, successful pair he ever had...only to be told that, while the therapist is aware that they'll be working on his case, he's not aware of the details.
"It'd be useless to go through all this trouble to be undercover if he's likely to betray our identity by looking too much forward to our meetings or some similar idiocy. If I've learned anything in my career it is that clients are always idiots – or they would have solved their problem on their own in the first place," the sleuth retorted, looking as if he'd just bundled John in the idiot department too.
John holds onto this annoyance, however tiny in the usual Sherlock scale. It seems like a good starting point for a session. He'll have to say something, after all, he's afraid. When they're finally sent in, he sits properly – fine, maybe rigidly – on the sofa they're offered. His partner, instead, gives it a look of distaste before sitting on the armrest opposite the side John picked and crossing his legs.
"Drama queen," John mumbles under his breath. He wouldn't even mention these kind of antics usually. Having a cover that allows him to blurt out all the small frustrations, instead of letting them build up until he's forced to take a walk not to attack Sherlock physically is actually a very welcome change.
"Is something the matter, Jack? Feel free to speak up – you're here to learn how to communicate best with your partner. This is key for any successful relationship, you know: sharing is the first step to a healthy bond," doctor Reese urges gently.
Both of his patients roll their eyes in synchrony. It's not that there's anything wrong with what the man is saying. It's just that with such platitudes, it's a wonder he has any successful couples worthy of becoming victims.
"Never mind – I knew that when I fell in love with the bloke, so I signed up for it," John replies, because as much as he likes being allowed to grumble, facing all his complaints is not something that he would ever do willingly. As much as he's supposed to be cooperative, surely some hang-ups in the first session will only make it more believable?
"That is Jack-speak for 'even I know that I am saying stupid things', in case it isn't obvious," Sherlock intervenes.
"Steve, putting down people's feelings without even listening is unwise," doctor Reese mentions kindly.
"Why should I listen when it's always the same old illogical whining?" 'Steve' replies, shrugging. "I'm far from perfect, but maybe my worst defect is lack of patience. If something makes sense, I'll happily listen, but you certainly don't need to tell me more than once. If it's stupid, spare me and the world one more utterance of nonsense."
"Careful, doctor, he admitted to having a flaw. If you have a nuclear bunker, I definitely suggest holing up in there," John quips, with a half-smile.
"You'll forgive me if I go home as usual today, Jack," their therapist answers, with a smile of his own. "Besides, if we get Steve to admit his own flaws it's a very important first step. How can we work on them otherwise? That's what I hope for from the both of you, actually."
"Oh, he does occasionally admit to flaws – just the flattering ones. The actual things he does that would make anyone consider sectioning him, he'll let you discover on your own. And despite that, I still love the madman," John explains. "As for me… I am here to become better. I really am. But is there any need for me to vocalise them, when Steve is always ready to do that for me? We wouldn't want to bore his highness, after all."
"I'm really worried, now, Jack. That's the right title for my brother. It would break my heart if you picked him," Sherlock cuts in, lips trembling. His partner's only reaction is another very expressive eye roll.
Doctor Reese takes his glasses off and massages the root of his nose for a moment. He's used to people sniping at each other, of course. But usually when they do, the affection is buried deep, and it's his job to dig it out, make them remember why they chose each other in the first place. These two idiots are obviously so smitten, they should still be in the honeymoon phase. Why are they even here?
"Let's not jump to conclusions here, Steven. Has Jack done anything – anything at all – to give you reason to suspect he might be interested in your brother? You say you hate illogical speeches, so I must presume you have evidence. Otherwise, wouldn't that be a bit hypocritical of you?" he asks then, putting them back on. He needs to be able to clearly see the interaction.
"What the hell? I've never!" John yells, before the sleuth can answer. They talked about so many things – if he was supposed to be this philanderer scum, why wouldn't Sherlock warn him? And honestly, with his brother? Even if he was the type to betray a loved one, he wants to believe he'd have some standards. He needs to give himself this much credit, at least.
Ignoring his outburst, Sherlock hisses, "And you think I don't hate myself for these ridiculous, unreasonable feelings?" The last word is pronounced the way other might say 'puke'. "No, he didn't give me a reason to fear. But he hasn't given me a reason not to fear, either. I mean, yes, our interests are compatible, but how long can that last? And Mikey has always been the better, less annoying, more giving, even smarter version of me. How long until he realises that, doctor? Do you want to take a bet?"
The blond seems to be unable to even draw breath, gaping and inhaling shallowly when faced with such an accusation. The doctor observes him sharply, rather than engaging with the obviously upset man. 'Jack' stretches a hand towards his partner, before letting it fall, defeated. "I didn't give you a reason not to? What about loving you? Or fucking marrying you?" he says, in a low voice, angry and frustrated.
Sherlock lowered his eyes, looking properly chastened, and for once didn't reply. A few seconds later, he threw his partner a side glance. He was playing with his thumbs, as if he didn't know what to do with them.
Ah-ah. Maybe he'd got to the crux of the problem. "I see your point of view, Jack, obviously. You've demonstrated your love in all the proper ways. All the ways you thought about. But there are so many ways of showing one's love, and some of both of your body language makes me wonder if you do prove it enough… physically. Is absence of touch the first thing you do as long as you're annoyed with each other, for any reason? Some people might not mind that too much, but others react badly," the therapist wondered aloud.
"Well, I don't know…maybe. It's not like I do it consciously. When I get past boiling point I usually go for a walk, rather than exploding… I was a soldier. If my control cracks I could seriously hurt him, and that'd kill me. But do I start before? I honestly haven't noticed. I mean, it's not like I do that on purpose, if I ever do it. And anyway, Mr. "My body is just transport and all its needs are too boring to bother with" should be only too happy about it," John rambled, not even noticing he was repeating himself.
"My body is just transport?" doctor Reese echoed, curious.
"That'd be me. What I am – what I couldn't imagine myself without – is my brain. The body is…a convenient attachment, I suppose. As a brain in a box I would need much more assistance to work," the detective confirmed, shrugging.
"Do you really believe that? Both of you?" a flabbergasted therapist asked, receiving identical sharp nods. He sighed. "I want to have a serious talk with all your parents about reading fables to their kids at the moment. And generally not making you read enough. Ever heard the idiom 'sour grapes'? Or know where it's from?"
"Have you ever heard, doctor. One'd think that for someone lecturing on literature, even for children, you'd at least observe proper grammar," the sleuth retorted snappishly.
John, instead, had seen the doctor's point. "Do you mean that he's so loud about not caring about his body and being downright annoyed by its very existence because he has never got enough attention towards it?" he asked, widening his eyes.
"It's a serious possibility to consider," doctor Reese agreed.
"So…you're not demisexual? Or very, very grey towards A? Or something?" the blogger asked, loving the chance to inquire openly under the cover of therapy.
"Don't you think these questions should be asked in a different environment?" Sherlock replied, blushing deeply.
"If you would prefer, Steve, certainly. I'll see you tomorrow, and I expect you to have discussed your reciprocal desires and expectation from this relationship, about the physical demonstration of affection. Do you feel like you can do it?" doctor Reese intervened, raising his hands in a calming gesture.
"If we have to," Sherlock huffed, standing up.
"Certainly," John agreed, instinctively following his partner but sounding much keener.