"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
Sherlock noticed that his therapist had taken off his wedding ring. Another fight with his wife then. She must have spent the night with her mistress again. He filed this information away to use as a caustic response later.
"Sherlock? I can only help you if you talk to me." Dr. Kenning persisted.
"I think if you talked to me you would find evidence of sociopathy. Also some paranoia, and the basic mental capacity of an addict. If I can tell you these things then why do you feel the need to probe my brain for them?" Sherlock sighed rolling his eyes and avoiding eye contact with the man sitting on the other side of the room. He pushed himself up in the chair to perch on the seat, not just because this was his favorite position but also because he knew this irritated his therapist.
To his credit Dr. Kenning managed to avoid a comment about how Sherlock's shoes were ruining the furniture and moved on.
"Well this session isn't about finding your problems so much as it is about resolving them." Sherlock gave another eye roll and found something fascinating to look at out the window.
"Why don't you talk about your withdrawal? Was there anything you found concerning?" Kenning suggested.
Sherlock thought about the hours of shivering and vomiting. The pain that racked his body and the constant craving for what he was told nearly killed him. He thought about being poked and prodded by nurses and doctors, all of them idiots. There was only one doctor he trusted with his health. Well, had trusted.
"I...rather not." He shook his head slowly.
"Alright...we don't need to push it...why don't we talk about your family? Your brother Mycroft? Or maybe we can talk about John?" Kenning asked.
Sherlock froze, looked at the floor.
"...I...would like to talk about John..."
Dr. Kenning studied his patient, the usually sarcastic and unresponsive man only responded when he mentioned his friend John. He'd decided early on when their sessions first began to explore what it was that made John Watson so important.
"Alright. What do you want to talk about?" He asked, trying to coax the detective into conversation.
Sherlock shrugged.
"Should we talk about how he helped you get here?"
There was a negative head shake.
"How about the work?"
"...John was always an invaluable resource to me. Although his knowledge was commonplace he had this way of inspiring brilliance in others." Sherlock tapped his fingers against the arms of the chair in a random rhythm. "He was quite possibly the only person ever to get close to me. It was a mistake I can see that now."
"Why would it be a mistake?" Kenning asked.
"A bit obvious don't you think? No one can get close to me. Not even John." Sherlock scowled. "Anyone that gets close to me only ends up hurting themselves or hurting me."
Kenning chewed his bottom lip. In his opinion, this was the hardest part. Convincing people that the only reason their friends and family did what they did, was because they cared.
"Well...Let's end this season for today." Kenning sighed. "One of the nurses will come by soon to escort you back to your room."
Sherlock nodded vaguely, seeming to be caught up in some fantasy. His eyes were distant. Soon one of the nurses came into the room, when she did Sherlock regained his alert attitude and turned back to his therapist.
"Dr. Kenning, perhaps you should try bringing out your feminine side." He said with a smirk.
"Excuse me?" The therapist asked with confusion.
"Your wife. She's not with another man. No amount of marriage counseling will cure her differing sexuality." Then with a wink Sherlock had left the room with the nurse trailing behind.
Kenning closed his gaping mouth and shook his head. Sherlock Holmes was possibly the biggest jackass of an addict that had ever been committed to the Victoria Rehabilitation Centre.
Dividing up ownership of various furniture and dish sets was not what most people considered a good time, and John Watson was far over it by this point. The many trials and tribulations of divorce seemed to be taking up more of his time than his actual marriage ever had.
In a way he was glad that both Mary and him had a chance to move on. It had been wonderful living with her but now there was just no way they could live together.
Still, he'd leave her everything they'd ever owned if it meant less of this.
He sighed and stretched out his back as he walked, admiring the London air in a way that only a man trapped indoors with a soon to be ex-wife and a lawyer could. He hadn't gone far by the time the black car pulled up alongside him.
The window rolled down and revealed Mycroft Holmes, wearing an even more sour expression than usual.
"Shall we be going?" He inquired.
John's heart fell into his stomach as he remembered the other appointment he had for today, the one that really mattered. His mouth suddenly became dry and his hand shook as he opened the door and slid into the car.
The car drove on, and the two men sat in silence.
"Well then." Mycroft said when the silence became too much. "Nervous?"
"It doesn't matter." John sighed. "I need to see an end to this."
Mycroft looked up at the ceiling of the car and sighed.
"Dr. Watson, thank you's are not something I excel at. However I feel that I do owe you one after your actions." He murmured.
"It had to be done." John shrugged.
"Exactly. I have never been one to ignore what must be done, but when it comes to my brother..." Mycroft let the sentence hang, for once he was lost for words.
"I understand." John replied.
The silence continued again.
"It appears we are here." Mycroft said after a few minutes had passed. John just nodded and looked at his feet as though he expected them to start running off at any second.