A/N: You may notice, I have changed the rating on this journal. As John has a history in the military, it is to be expected that certain themes will come up. I hope this doesn't put anyone off. We are getting close to the illustrious meeting. In fact, you may recognize a few things. Now, don't let me tell you about it. Go on, read!

Disclaimer: Well obviously I don't own it. Nothing I write for Sherlock has ever been filmed... Dammit.

Friday.

So, I know I said I wouldn't go back. I'd like to say I didn't have a choice...but I made the decision to renew my appointment with E. At least once more.

To be honest, I scared myself.

After a particularly vivid dream...memory...

Anyway. When I woke up, it was about four in the morning. I sat there on the edge of my bed for hours, not moving, hardly seeing. The street light coming through the window made everything a translucent orange, like marmalade.

When the sun finally came up, and the lamps on the street popped out one by one, I began my day as if nothing were any different. I got myself a cup of tea, and an apple. I got out my laptop...and stared at the gun in the bottom of my desk drawer.

Before I get ahead of myself, I did not have a conscious thought about doing anything... But, in thinking back on it, I wondered about how horribly simple it would be . Lift the weighty sidearm in my hand, press the barrel to my temple, and... And what—let someone else pick up the mess?

That's not a good response, right?

I spent the rest of the morning staring at the empty screen of my blog, before I decided I needed to get out of there.

I went in for my eleven o'clock appointment at ten after. I can't say it was very helpful. It never was before, and I wasn't expecting that to change.

For the first time, though, I saw...I mean I really looked around and acknowledged what I was seeing.

There was nothing in her office. All of the shelves were empty of books or memorabilia. All of the walls were void of any photographs, placards, or notices of degree. There was a plaster bust by the window, but it was impersonal.

A plant would have given the psychiatrist's office a more believable appearance than that plaster bust.

I tried not to think about it. My work in the service has made me a bit jumpy and paranoid. That had to be it.

We sat in silence for the first few minutes. She was apparently waiting for me to start. That was silly of her. I never volunteer information. She new this. She had access to my military record... She even had enough of an account of my family to know we don't get on.

When she finally caught on that I wouldn't be speaking first, she asked: "How's your blog going?"

I told her―ever so eloquently―that it was a waste of time. Actually, I sort of coughed and evaded the whole thing.

She's not so dumb, though, because she pushed the subject. "You haven't written a word, have you?"

I have never been very good with accusations. I narrowed my eyes and debated not responding at all. But that would get us no where, and she may just start talking about whether the storm this afternoon would affect my leg... I really did not want to talk about the psychology behind a fictitious pain.

"You just wrote 'still has trust issues'." It wasn't an answer, but I had to say something. The stillness was getting to me. Like the anticipation before an attack.

It didn't matter that I hadn't responded to her question. She latched onto the comment and went with it. Psychiatrists. "And you read my writing upside down. D'you see what I mean?"

My face pinched out a tight smirk. It was pointless. I knew she was right, and she knew I'd never admit it.

I didn't mention the thing about the gun this morning. I think, maybe I suspected she would overreact...

Instead, I talked about needing more permanent housing. The bedsit found by the exit officer who organized my retirement was fine for temporary residence, but I was never supposed to be there more than six months. I didn't want to live out of a bag, like I was staying at a hotel-indefinitely.

She couldn't offer any suggestions. Just non-committal references about reintroduction to civilian life. She actually had the nerve to ask me to write about it in my blog. A first entry to commemorate my first independent move after the army. She said, "writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."

Why the hell was she pushing this blog idea?

Nothing happens to me.

A/N: This really should have been posted hours ago. I got held up at work, and didn't have the chance until now. Gameson221B, I hope I didn't tease too much with the early notice. :)

I hope you all enjoyed this little addition (little, ha...it's almost twice the length of the previous entries). Please let me know what you thought. Don't let the word "review" daunt you, comment, dialogue, quote... express it any way you like. I do like to know!