Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A. N. First of all, thank you so very much for the kind Readandreview, who reminded me to erase the bloody 'no chapter sorry' notices from the story. I'll be honest. I was just afraid that if my readers didn't see the chapter number go up, they'd assume nothing happened and not read it. As if you all could remember the chapter count after two months. *I* didn't. XD Yep, I'm a complete idiot, and I apologise deeply to any new readers who have been inconvenienced by this. So, now, the chapter count has actually gone *back*, but here's a new chapter, albeit a small one…and more apologies. I've been bitten by a Nanowrimo plot bunny. A big, hungry bunny…and I've learned not to fight the Muse. She always wins. So, there will be no November chapter (this was written in October but late because real life sucks)…and considering the bunny, most probably no December chapter, either. ^^''' I promise to be back in the new year with this plot, though. This case will be solved, if it's the last thing I do!

Reese smiled, seeing the couple come in and cuddle in front of him. Stephen slouched, his head leaning on his partner's shoulder, despite their height difference. Their hands were entwined, too, and he noticed Jack squeezed his partner's before they so much as greeted him. Progress. So much progress, in so little time. "So…I assume that you did talk," he said.

"You could say that," Jack replied, smiling back.

"Do you want to share anything?" the therapist asked.

"No, not really." Stephen's voice was half-choked.

"Let's say that…there were things I was afraid to know. Things he would rather not remember. So, well, it all kind of slotted together perfectly…only it left our doubts to fester. Thank you, doctor, because I don't think we would ever have talked about this in our lives if left to ourselves," the blond said. "Believe me, you don't want to have the details."

"Not if you're not a psychopath yourself," his partner groused.

He'd thought that some gentle prodding might help them, but that last line shut doctor Reese's mouth before he could say anything. Things his patient would rather not remember…his patient who was in law enforcement…psychopaths…nope. Even if the man had opened up to his husband, and thank God for that, there was no way that airing this with him would help. It might even set him back. The big secret wasn't that one time that one of them strayed and had a fling. There were other therapists, better suited to deal with that kind of trauma. And they had private sessions. He would definitely suggest that his client continue with one of them, but pushing now was out of the question.

Reese's hands went up, in a half-placating, half-surrendering gesture. "Your story is your own…and you decide who to share it with. Though I'm thinking some more counselling – private counselling – might not be off the mark. So I'll just ask – do you feel more confident in your relationship, with no more secrets hanging between you? Or is there anything else that needs to be sorted out in your couple dynamic? This is why I'm here, after all."

Stephen snorted, "Can't you observe?"

His partner giggled. "Now, now, love. The doctor is trying to be helpful here." He ruffled his husband's hair.

"Well, what more does he want? I do hope he's not going to ask us to show him we understand all the five languages of love, because some of them might be awkward to do here." Stephen straightened suddenly, glaring.

"I don't want anything. If you're happy with where you are in this relationship, I certainly don't mean to keep you here or make you uncomfortable in any way. I'm just asking to make sure that there isn't anything else you might want to talk about. Often, my patients have a laundry list, so to speak, of matters they feel could improve if discussed in the presence of an uninvolved 'arbiter' of sorts," Reese explained, voice soft.

"If yesterday meant anything, no, we don't have any more grievances." Gosh, how did the double entendre get out of him? John was getting too good at this pretending thing. After all the trouble he went through at home, to remind himself that no, Sherlock and he weren't an item, and the sleuth didn't want him – this case would trick his brain into slipping. What if he accidentally flirted with him again? Hopefully Sherlock would think he was just an idiot.

Sherlock who was, at the moment, blushing a brilliant scarlet. Out of character for him. Let's hope that the doctor didn't think it was an 'issue' which needed addressing.

But no, their therapist pronounced the much sought-after words. "If you're sure, I look forward to…not seeing you anymore. Of course, should you encounter further trouble, you know where I am. But I believe that if you keep in mind that communication is necessary, your love will overcome anything life might choose to throw at you."

His patients grinned like children, Jack thanking him quickly before they both bounded out of the room. Reese remained blissfully unaware that such enthusiasm was caused by the hope of finally being able to bait a serial killer. Despite having requested the famous Sherlock Holmes' help, such a mindset would have him terribly concerned.

Just in case their killer didn't keep updated as he should, Sherlock decided to kiss John right in the therapist's lounge, which they had to walk through on their way out. Full on permanently dry lips. In fact, they lingered until a cough and at least three different couples' glares chased them away. He had faith that his countrymen's upbringing wouldn't make such relatively public displays too common. That a new couple was…even excessively reconciled would hopefully get to their murderer.

In fact, if it wasn't for John's gentle nudging (the man was always way too aware of context and propriety, for the sleuth's taste) the kiss might have lasted until that annoying need to breathe made itself non negligible anymore.

They'd just left the therapist's, when his blogger said, "Wow! That was…"

Since he couldn't seem to find the word, Sherlock finished for him. "A bit not good?"

"Nope. Not at all. It was…well, all kinds of good. And certainly useful for our plans, but – seriously, I'm more and more baffled by the fact that you'd been consistently single when we met." Almost said 'since we met'. They needed to assume a killer was spying on them all the time. It wasn't true, but it would ensure they didn't mess up if he was.

"Well, people don't like most things I'm capable of doing with my mouth," the sleuth quipped.

"Their loss." John shrugged, and his fingers went to enlace with his partner's. He was getting too used to this. "Though I'm starting to get your behaviour. If you didn't piss people off on purpose, you'd have to beat them away with a stick."

"Your talent as a fiction writer improves every day," Sherlock remarked, winking at him.

John sighed deeply. "And here I thought that we'd worked through 'words of affirmation' already. All the words of affirmation in the bloody dictionary, too. But if you think I'm not dead serious clearly I've been remiss in my duty, love."

"Maybe I just need something different to be convinced," the detective quipped.

"As ever, happy to provide," his beloved assured him…and licked his lips.