Session #4. Two Weeks Ago
Dr. Doyle and Sherlock sat across from one another, once more in uncomfortable silence for several of the first minutes of the session.
Finally, Sherlock spoke. "Have you had any interesting chats with your wife lately?"
Doyle smiled coyly but said, "We're here to talk about you, not me. You missed last week's session. Care to talk about why?"
"You're matching today," Sherlock said, motioning to the doctor's well-coordinated suit and accessories. But Doyle's face gave nothing away.
"So . . . Molly." At Doyle's saying of the name, Sherlock inhaled and exhaled loudly, already looking exhausted of the topic.
"I don't know where to begin."
"How about where you left off last time? You had mentioned that, while you were pretending to be . . . " Doyle consulted his notes searching for the name, " . . . Janine's boyfriend, you engaged in some sexual touching, but that you felt guilty about it when you thought of Molly. Why don't we start there?"
Again, Sherlock breathed in and out dramatically. "She's always had a sort of crush on me, I suppose."
"Ok. Is this something you 'deduced' or did she come right out and tell you this?"
"Deduced, at first."
"So, you could have been wrong."
"I know you desperately want me to be wrong, Dr. Doyle, for your own sake, but I'm telling you, such errors on my part are exceedingly rare."
Doyle ignored Sherlock's call-back to his deductions of two weeks prior concerning himself. "Ok, how did you deduce that she had a crush on you?"
"She gave me presents. She attempted to make herself more physically attractive when I was around. She made it known that she was available to help me whenever I needed her. There were a host of behaviors that indicated that she fancied me. And then she became engaged to a man that bore an extraordinary physical resemblance to me."
"Ah, yes, I do remember that she had gotten engaged. I never knew what became of that."
"Thankfully, she ended that horror show of an engagement before it was too late. But, all of those things suggested a partiality on her part."
"And what about on your part?"
"I am not made for that kind of relationship."
"Well, that remains to be seen, but you said that you deduced her crush on you, 'at first.' Does that mean there came a time when she came right out and said as much directly?"
"Yes, in the worst possible circumstances."
"Oh?"
"Remember I told you about my sister Euros and the series of tests she put myself, John, and my brother through?"
"I don't think I'll forget that story until my dying day."
"Well, there's one test I perhaps glossed over or, rather, omitted entirely." He had Dr. Doyle's attention as he retold the story of the empty coffin and the fateful phone call. When he completed his narration of the events, it was Doyle's turn to be stunned into silence for several minutes.
The doctor cleared his throat, before he said, "That was rather horrific. For both of you."
"Yes."
"Clear up the timeline if you will, for me please. When was your relationship with Janine?"
"About a year and a half ago now."
"And the events you just described at the hands of your sister?"
"A little over six months ago."
"Uh huh."
"What?"
"I suppose it shouldn't matter either way, but why, if you say you are not made for such relationships, would you feel guilty about having sexual intimacy with one woman because of Molly? Was she jealous of Janine?"
"Not that I know of. I don't think she knew anything about her. That is, until Janine sold ridiculous stories about me to the tabloids about sexual exploits we never actually had."
"Then why did you feel guilty?"
"It's hard to explain."
"Try."
"I didn't want Molly to think it was about her, that she was in any way lacking."
"So, if I understand you, you'd swear off all sexual pleasure with a woman rather than risk hurting Molly's feelings? Isn't that being extraordinarily deferential to her feelings?"
"No, not exactly. That's not what I mean. If I could be with any woman, it would be Molly Hooper. But I can't."
"That's quite an extraordinary statement. I still don't understand why you can't be any woman, Molly or anyone else."
"I've explained this to you in the best way I know how."
"Entropy?"
"Partially, yes."
"Because it might end? Because one or both of you of might get hurt?"
"It's a consideration, certainly."
"Not a good one."
"Excuse me?" Sherlock's nostrils flared.
"Here's something I don't understand. In our first session, after relating the story of your sister and horrible torture she made you endure, you said you still visit her regularly. Why do you do that?"
"Because she's my sister."
"But she's a sadistic psychopath."
"She's a troubled human being. Trapped in a mind that doesn't allow her to make even the most basic of human connections. You're a psychiatrist. You of all people should understand that."
"And what if somehow she once again gains the ability to hurt you in some horrific game of hers? Will you again return to see her and offer her whatever brotherly affection you can?"
"I, um, what are you . . . I don't understand what that has to do with . . . "
"All relationships of value have the capacity to inflict great emotional pain on us. But the corollary is that only relationships of value have the capacity to visit monumental joys upon us. I didn't know John Watson's wife at all, but I know from mutual acquaintances that they appeared to be deeply in love."
"They were."
"Do you think John would trade the pain of her loss for the possibility of never having known her at all?" Sherlock slumped in his chair, unable to reply. "Sherlock, do you love Molly Hooper?"
Sherlock uttered a weak, "Yes."
"Are you sexually attracted to Molly Hooper?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to have a romantic relationship with Molly Hooper?"
"Yes! Alright, yes. But that's never going to happen."
"Why?"
"Because she hates me now."
"Are you sure of that? How do you know that?"
"Because I read people, doctor. Just like I can read your life. Admit it, I'm right."
"This is not about me, Sherlock."
Sherlock stood, now fully animated with anger. "All the human effort wasted chasing some ridiculous ideal of love! I wouldn't be half the detective I am if I had wasted my years chasing the kind of illusory happiness that people like you and John spend years investing your sweat and your intellectual energy on and for what? So you can spend even more time then in denial over the burning embers of a love grown cold and distant? I'm sorry if I don't find your example and the example of people like you inspiring."
"Sit down, Sherlock. Please, sit down. If you want to know if you're right about me and my wife or not, you'll sit down."
Curiosity won out and Sherlock sat down, but not without one final kick at the doctor. "I know I'm right."
"You are, about a number of your observations. I am indeed colorblind. What you see here," Doyle said, pointing to his newly coordinated clothing, "is the result of my daughter being on break from University. I asked her if she'd help me dress better while she's home. I used to be so vain about my clothes. Not quite as much anymore. Probably because I was teased about it growing up. But that's for between myself and my own therapist. You're right as well that my wife used to do this for me and no longer does. And you're also right that she used to cut out any funny psychology-related cartoons she came across in her readings. She loves to make fun of me and my profession and is an avid collector of all psychiatric humor she can find. But it's not because she doesn't love me anymore that she doesn't help me coordinate my clothing or cut out funny cartoons for me. About five years ago she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and about two years ago, she went effectively blind from the complications from MS. So she simply can't do those things anymore. And while no human being can ever know for certain the mind of another—not even the great Sherlock Holmes can do that—I am as certain as anyone can ever be that my wife adores me. And I am absolutely sure that I am hopelessly in love with her. I've no doubt you're right that had I not had the distractions of a wife and a daughter all these years I would written more articles, perhaps advanced further in my career and been a more successful psychiatrist. But I tell you sincerely that I wouldn't be nearly as good a man as those women have made me."
Clearly fighting back tears, Dr. Doyle looked across at Sherlock, slunk low in his seat. "Our time is up for today, Sherlock. Will I see you next week?"
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