Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.
The following day, they prepared for their session without so much as breathing too loud in the other's direction. It was starting to become a routine, this co-sleeping, and if either was worried about how they were supposed to cope once they got back home and had no excuse to fall asleep to the other's heartbeat, well. It wasn't something they would discuss right now. Especially not when they had homework to face already. One awkward conversation at a time was more than enough.
Doctor Reese smiled, welcoming them. Jack had his phone clutched in his right fist, the left hand holding his husband's. Which was progress. The therapist wasn't going to mention it, though. These kind of patients were too skittish for that. It would set them back. So instead, he asked if anyone wanted to go first reading what they'd written. He expected the former soldier to jump at the idea of getting it out of the way, since the reason his phone wasn't quietly resting in a pocket was obviously to be read from, but instead it was held in a tighter grip, if anything. The therapist wondered if keys were about to pop out.
'Steven' instead pulled his own mobile phone from his breast pocket, clicked something quickly and shrugged. "I suppose I could," he mumbled. At the others' nods, he read, "My love, it suddenly occurred to me that doctor Reese might have a point, and maybe you don't always get my meaning. So, just to clarify: every time I call you an idiot, you're still not an idiot of Andersonian proportions. In fact, compared with most human beings, you're pretty damn smart. Even when you argue with inanimate objects (which is oddly endearing by the way)."
At that, his partner's lips tugged in a smile he couldn't contain. Nobody spoke up, though, so he continued, "Also, I know I said there are no heroes, but I need to amend that statement. Because you're absolutely a hero, in the literal sense of the word, and the fact that you can be blind to your own greatness is, frankly, appalling. (And one of the reasons I call you an idiot, because honestly – it's so obvious.)" The sleuth rolled his eyes. Modesty wasn't a quality – it was lack of proper observing, which, while all too common, was still frustrating.
"And even if we have our rough patches, sorry about that by the way, I have no doubt I wouldn't survive long if you forsook me like sensible people tend to do, and no, this is not blackmail, just an assessment of the fact that you spoiled me. I'm used to having backup, both during work and to remind me ordinary things, and I'm not sure I can function in either situation anymore should you remove yourself permanently from my life. So if I ever made you feel less than entirely sure of me, as if I could walk away and not self-destruct because I'm an idiot…think again. You're not just my husband. Somehow my whole self has rearranged itself around you, and it's actually scary, but clearly I don't speak up enough if we're here, so it needed to be said," he concluded, putting his phone back.
This fiction was the best thing that ever happened to the consulting detective. He could say anything, and it would be discounted under "it's for a case" fiction alibi. True, he'd confessed to John that the best lies had some truth in them…but knowing John, his friend would probably just take "you're not an idiot of Andersonian proportions" – which, really, nobody with a brain could deny – as the kernel Sherlock had built his castle of fabrications around.
He'd just heard himself speak aloud when he realised that he should have been more careful when crafting his letter. The licence to say whatever he wanted had been too tempting, and instead of rereading and weighing every word like John seemed to be planning, he'd written it almost without thinking. Having his partner so close, and the knowledge that they were about to sleep together (in the most literal of senses) had short-circuited his prefrontal cortex.
Doctor Reese pounced – metaphorically, luckily for everyone – on his wording. "You said the change in yourself since you met John is scary. And what you implied is, indeed, concerning. Do you feel like you absolutely need to keep your partner, no matter what happens or either of you does?" he asked, his voice serious. The therapist had suspected the detective of abuse last time, but such a mentality, if true, didn't seem to fit. If it was just a way to guilt trip the other, of course, it was one more hint that the situation was indeed dire. Now, he only needed to probe to determine the truth.
"Oh, come on, you can't be serious! I mean, if you did, you would label your experiments, I'd think," John cut in, rolling his eyes.
"I am serious. And I do label my experiments…mostly. Okay, forty percent of the time, maybe. And to answer you, doctor, no. I'm not a puppet that could be coerced into anything just because my husband woke on the wrong side of the bed. Also, he's not a man who would attempt emotional blackmail. I think you might have slept through the part where I said he's a bonafide hero. It doesn't mean that I haven't changed, just because I don't obey his every word. Just ask my colleagues. They were all utterly enthusiastic about Jack entering my life," Sherlock snapped.
That gained a smile from his beloved. "Okay, yes, they were. Greg even thanked me once, and I couldn't figure out why for the life of me. Honestly, I didn't think you could be much worse as a colleague. Tact is already not exactly your strongest suit," he teased.
"I didn't think you would underestimate me so much, love. I can make people quake with a sentence – and why wouldn't I when they're idiots?" the consulting detective replied, sitting straighter and looking like a particularly smug peacock.
That puzzled doctor Reese even more. Abusers, in his experience, didn't confess to enjoying other people's discomfort openly. They usually pretended to be the most virtuous people in existence. Maybe this man was really just a deeply frustrating individual. How he had managed to land one husband was, frankly, the question niggling at his brain. But the therapist was supposed to help them, not imply that one's choice was crazy.
The blond's only answer was an irrepressible giggle, and eventually – once he regained his breath – "I should have known better. I apologise, love. You can be as fearsome as the fiercest dragon."
Okay, so it wasn't an unwise choice on one side. They were both slightly unhinged, if the reveal of a somewhat sadistic streak only elicited that. Good thing that his job was to help them function as a couple, not to psychoanalyse one or, God forbid, both. The therapist had a hunch that he wasn't paid enough for that. He repressed a sigh. "I'm glad to hear that you trust your partner so much, Steven, and that he would never play on whatever influence he has on you. I would like to know, though – is there anything he insists on that you aren't comfortable with?"
"That's…well, not so much something he insists I do – his requests are surprisingly modest, considering how much everyone else in my life always insisted I should change – " the detective replied, shrugging, "but something he insists on doing. I know I hurt him severely in the past – believe me, I would give anything to be able to undo it, especially what happened when I was…under pressure from some criminal who thought targeting me was funny. He says he's forgiven me. But he will still bring it up sometimes, and I really don't know how to earn his pardon anymore. Actually, can I add a postscript to my letter? I wasn't playing hide and seek."
His partner didn't say a word, but his face darkened, and he bit his lips. He clearly needed some encouragement. "Jack?" the therapist said, "You're allowed to reply, you know. If you need help letting go of this – or even if you don't want to – well, honesty is still a better option. And that is why I'm here, after all. To help you process things."
"Thank you but no, thanks. You have a point, this might need to be talked about, but…apologies, but it's really no business of yours. Not at first, at least. I didn't think I was hurting him. I'll try talking it out tonight. In privacy. If we can't figure it out, maybe, tomorrow we can ask for help. If it's okay, I mean," the doctor huffed. Body language said he was about ready to run away.
"Or you could do that, of course," doctor Reese conceded. "I just want to help you both, not intrude. Solving this by yourselves would be an important step. Communication is important exactly for this reason – it allows you to face things, instead of letting them fester. I will be happy to hear how you're progressing next time."