Disclaimer: I continue not to own a thing.
The therapist held back a sigh, seeing his next clients come in. He'd been so sure that all they needed was a bit more openness – sometimes people, even when loving each other, had the most illogical hangups in showing it, after the actual courting phase was over. As if their partner would scold them for being too sappy instead of revelling in the continued attentions of the one they loved. Most often than not, their parents' example was to blame. Not that he should complain – he would be out of a job if all people were able to navigate a relationship on their own – but thinking he'd found the way to help and instead seeing a roadblock the size of Everest on the path was frustrating.
The couple sat down, and while they did not maintain an ample empty space between the two of them (only because he'd pointed it out the first time, he suspected) the body language in both of them was so tense that Reese hoped to God no sudden noise would break the quiet of his study. Any more stress and his clients would break – perhaps physically. There was only so much tension the human body could somatise before it rebelled.
This time, he didn't point out the obvious. They might have tried to relax consciously, but it would put them on the defensive, too, if he knew the type (and he did), which would have defeated his point entirely. The situation was worse than the first time he'd seen them, and further regression was not something he desired.
So, instead, he just asked, after the customary greetings, "And did you follow my suggestion yesterday?"
"Of course," the other doctor – now patient – assured, rather snappishly, "as we already discussed, we are able to follow directions."
"Especially basic ones," the other one sniffed, managing to look down at him despite being seated.
"And how did you feel about it? Remember, it's okay to need a while to get used to a different routine," the therapist said, hoping to get to the bottom of what brought them to this state.
"I liked it," 'Steve' mumbled, almost unintelligibly. His husband threw him a sharp, almost surprised look.
"Could you repeat that, please? And elaborate, if you can. It would be really helpful," Reese asked, doodling in his notebook, ready to take some hopefully helpful notes.
"I. Liked. It," the man repeated, enunciating with as much clarity as possible, but throwing him a dirty look for being forced to repeat himself. "Jaw…Jack is warm, and he fits, and…what am I supposed to say? I'm not the mawkish one, of the two of us."
"I'm not mawkish either, if that's what you're trying to say," his partner pointed out, "but yeah, frankly, doctor Reese, I don't see what you want either. 'Could you Elaborate?' Cuddling is not some philosophical lesson. It's just…nice. And only someone more insane than we are would go on a rant about exactly which positions are good, or how pyjamas' different fabrics are likely to influence the experience, or something like that."
"And yet you just mentioned it…as if it's something you've given some thought to. It wouldn't occur to you otherwise," the therapist pointed out, with a small smile.
"I live with someone very scientifically minded, and half the time our kitchen is a makeshift lab. You can't blame me if I can readily imagine experiments about everything in the world," 'Jack' groused, folding his arms in front of him.
"There was absolutely no blame implied, and I apologise if you felt like I was judging you. But it's interesting nonetheless. Do you expect your partner to turn these 'nice' nightly cuddles into a scientific experiment?" Reese queried.
"Wouldn't be the first time he has turned me into an unwitting guinea pig," he replied, shrugging. "Though it might be the first time there would be – at least hopefully – no negative side effects."
"Just because I assumed your help in a handful of cases without making you sign a bunch of papers first, you're going to make him think that I poison you every other week?" Sherlock protested, dramatically pointing at their slightly baffled therapist.
"You did poison me; remember the Hound case?" John replied, raising an incredulous eyebrow.
"Technically, you were drugged because of leaky pipes. I didn't have a role in your delusions that time," the detective pointed out, turning away from his partner.
"Yep, but only because you'd made a mistake. You certainly did your level best to expose me to the toxin," his blogger reminded him.
"Still, that was only the once!" the sleuth whined.
"Do we really need to go through each and every time you used me in one of your experiments?" John queried, sounding exhausted.
"It was for a case, every time! You don't mind when I involve you in my work, as long as it involves chases and adrenaline. Well, guess what, sometimes to catch a criminal I need the results of an experiment first. And if I'm supposed to be taking notes of the results, I can't exactly dose myself, can I? So why are you suddenly upset when I assume you'd be willing to help serve justice any way necessary?" the detective shouted.
"Because I'm worried for you, idiot!" John blurted out, glaring.
"Uh?" was Sherlock's eloquent reaction.
"I mean, isn't it obvious, Mr. Everyone-Else-Is-An-Imbecile?" the doctor groused.
"Your partner might be very bright, but nobody is a mind reader. Spell things out for him, when you see that he cannot figure out your needs. You might be surprised by the amount of adjustments you'll find he's willing to make," the therapist reminded him.
John sighed, "Fine. I'll explain. I'll even use small words. Ex-soldier, love, remember? I had bad days. And I know how to murder people with maximum efficiency. I've been trained for it. All too often, your – necessary – experiments involve some type of drug. Half the time, you're not even sure what it does. That's why it needs testing in the first place. What if I have a flashback and attack you because I can't recognise you? What if I hurt you? What if I murder you? I mean, I know what if, I'd die too, but I'd rather not if it's all the same to you. Hence, no fucking drugs for me, especially not on the sly."
"Oh." It was the 'I just solved a case' oh, and damn if it didn't sound obscene every. Single. Time. Still, if it persuaded Sherlock to finally lay off the experiments, the awkwardness – and the quick stab of desire in John's veins – were totally worth it. "But you needn't worry, I can defend myself, I take on criminals, why would you think any drug side effect might cause a problem?" the sleuth asked.
"Oh yeah," his partner sighed, "great adjustment." He sent a look to the therapist that was a clear cry for help.
Well, doctor Reese wasn't about to abandon his patient. "Steve, have you ever tried to apprehend a criminal without hurting them?" he asked.
"No, why would I? They're already murderers, I'm not going to act kindly if it's in self-defence, that's how you wind up dead," the detective replied, looking as if he thought the other man especially dim-witted.
"And you still cannot see why there might be a difference between your daily job and dealing with your husband under a full blown flashback from his army days brought on by drugs? A situation in which he feels under attack and will do everything in his power – everything he was trained for – in order to, so he thinks, save his own life?" the therapist pointed out, speaking slowly.
"You might have a point. I think we should spar! So you can teach me how to counteract your moves without hurting you, Jack," Sherlock replied enthusiastically.
"And no drugs of any kind unless I've taught you and I am actually satisfied with your preparation? No matter what case might come along before then?" John demanded, his voice commanding in a way that made the consulting detective very happy to be already sitting, as it hid his knees immediately turning to jelly.
"I suppose," Sherlock agreed, with a hint of pout. "Let's hope for the best, because if a case needing that kind of experiment comes along and you're still off limits as subject, I might have a hard time finding a proper collaborator."
Reese frowned. He was pretty sure this was not regular police procedure. Should he report it to the authorities? Then again, it appeared that only his unfortunate significant other had been a victim of the mad scientist in front of him until now, and there was the doctor-patient confidentiality issue to consider…oh damn. He might have to consult a lawyer before taking any initiative.
"You will not touch any drug unsupervised," John declared, in Captain mode.
Sherlock sent him a weak glare, but didn't reply…which might be more worrying than a full blown argument. Of course, their therapist didn't yet know him well enough to realise that. So, his thought was more along the line of, 'Well, that's a relief'. Out loud, he just said, "Since our time is almost up, I'll just say I expect you to continue with the physical affection routine, outside of sex. And it would also be helpful if you wrote each other a letter about things you've, until now, expected your partner to understand without being vocal about it. We'll discuss it next time."
His patients nodded and left. Reese allowed himself a sigh. It was the first time he considered involving the police when the relationship in itself wasn't abusive. He certainly had his work cut out for him.