Session #5: One Week Ago

Sherlock seemed more agitated than usual, Dr. Doyle thought. "Where would you like to begin today, Sherlock?"

"I suppose I owe you an apology."

"For what?" Doyle asked, genuinely confused.

"For what? For being such a cock in my wrong deductions about your marriage."

"Oh, that. You don't owe me an apology. I asked to hear your deductions. I meant it when I said I wasn't in the least bit angry at you. I told you about my wife's condition not to upbraid you or make you feel bad, but to show you that you can indeed be wrong. Might you not also be wrong about Molly's feelings for you?"

"I wish I were."

"Has she told you she hates you?"

"Not those words exactly, but close."

"What were her exact words?"

"She called me a bastard. She said she couldn't trust me anymore. That she doesn't want to see me."

"I see. Some event clearly precipitated that, I should think."

"I kept something from her, something that I thought she'd be better off not knowing and she found out in the worst possible way."

"What were you keeping from her?"

"I can't say."

"Is it about her case?" Sherlock nodded. "Ah. I respect your wishes to keep the details of the case from me for whatever reasons you have, but it does make these sessions more difficult. Sometimes I feel as though therapy with you is like seeing through a glass, darkly."

"Well, in all fairness, sometimes I feel my entire life is nothing but seeing through a glass, darkly."

"How so?"

"I may think what I'm doing is for the best in the moment but then the consequences—I don't think through the possible consequences."

"As with keeping that information from Molly?"

"Yes, that, as well as so many other ill-thought-out decisions."

"For example?"

"Many years ago I did something, something based on nothing but my sentiments, my sentimentality, for a woman and now it's come back to destroy everything I love."

"Can you tell me about that?"

"It was a case involving a very powerful and very connected prostitute. A dominatrix."

"Really?"

"I can't give you many details about the case because it intersects both with national security and the present case I'm working on."

"I see. Well, can you tell me anything about it?"

"It was probably the first time I had a bit of an infatuation with a woman."

"Is that so? What was it about her that was special?"

"Her mind. She was as good at playing the game as I am."

"The game?"

"The game—the plot—the strategy—the wonderfully complicated dance between criminality and its detection."

"Ok. So she had a particularly sophisticated criminal mind?"

"Yes, very sophisticated."

"Is that all that attracted you to her?"

"No, not all. She . . . she effected a frank admiration and awe of my own intellectual abilities. Nothing is so beguiling as a worthy adversary looking upon you as if you were a God on Mount Olympus. For someone as with as healthy a self-regard as I do, it was difficult to resist her charms."

"You say she 'effected' it. Was is an act, then?"

"Yes and no. She did have some real affection and admiration, but that didn't stop her from using me for her own needs."

"It must have been very painful when you realized that."

"I felt a proper fool."

"Is that the act of sentimentality you regret?"

"No, something much worse. I saved her life."

"Why is that bad?"

"Because now, if I don't stop her, she's going to end Molly's life." At that, Doyle took a deep breath of obvious concern.

"Oh dear."

"I've already said too much."

"You say you were infatuated with her, but you didn't list her as one of the women with whom you have had sexual contact. Did you never act on your infatuation?"

"No."

"Why is that? Did you never have an opportunity?"

"I could have had her any time I wished."

"Really? Then why didn't you?"

"I didn't want her to have any more power over me than she already did."

Doyle thought about Sherlock's words for several seconds and then asked, "Do you always associate sex with having power over someone?"

"Certainly it functions that way for many people. 'The Woman' being a prime example."

"Yes, that would seem her primary use of sex, both as a dominatrix and a person using it to some other advantages. But, that doesn't describe all sexual relationships, surely? Do you think any sexual relationship would involve someone gaining power over you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"If someone knows you want something—that you need something—they can use it against you."

"But, if it's a truly mutual relationship and not one of dominance or manipulation, the point is that the other person needs you as much as you need them. No one 'uses' it against the other because the love and mutual respect between them prevents it."

"All relationships are fundamentally unequal, though. One always needs the other more."

"All relationships? Including non-sexual, non-romantic ones?"

"Yes."

"What about you and John?"

"What about us?"

"That's a relationship, is it not?"

"Yes, a friendship."

"Is it an unequal one?"

"Yes."

"So one of you needs the other more?"

"Yes."

"Which is it in this case?"

"I need John more."

"Why is that?"

"Because," Sherlock said, uncomfortable, "I don't make friends easily. John is much better at social interaction. He's almost like an interpreter of human behavior for me."

"Are you an alien life form in that scenario?"

Sherlock laughed. "Perhaps."

"What do you think he gets from you?"

"He gets the excitement of being a part of the game."

"But surely there's something he gets from you, as a person, outside of your investigations together."

"I don't know. I've really never been able to understand why he tolerates me."

"What about Molly? Why do think she loves you?"

"She doesn't anymore."

"Ok, let's say that's true. I don't know that it is, but let's go along with that for now. Why do you think she loved you?"

"Mental illness, perhaps?"

Doyle laughed. "So you don't know why John likes you and you think Molly's crazy for loving you? That suggests you have a very low opinion of yourself."

"You'd be the first person ever to suggest that," Sherlock said, incredulous. "Most people would say I'm a conceited, self-important bastard."

"When it comes to your intellectual capabilities, you may well be. But, of your emotional capabilities, I think you are very insecure," Doyle said, stopping to consider something for several long seconds. "Sherlock, I want to do an experiment. You're going to hate it, but I need you to cooperate."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grumbled, "What is it?"

"I'm going to ask you questions in a quick-fire manner. And I don't want you to think about the answer, just spit out the very first thing that pops into your mind, no matter how embarrassing, no matter how much it may or may not make sense to you. No editing. Understood?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Ok, remember: no editing, no censoring. First thing that pops into your head—be they words, images, anything."

"Fine, yes, just get on with it."

"What's your favorite food?"

"Easy. Chips."

"What kind of pet would you like to have?"

"A dog."

"Where do you like to vacation?"

"London."

"Really?"

"I don't like going anywhere else."

"Ok. Favorite place in London?"

"My flat." Doyle couldn't help but chuckle.

"Second favorite?"

"The pathology lab at St. Bart's."

"What's John's best quality?"

"Loyalty."

"What's Molly's best quality?"

"Kindness."

"What's your best quality?"

"My mind."

"Why don't you want to have sex?"

"I don't want to be laughed at."

Dr. Doyle paused in his rapid-fire delivery to appreciate the moment of honesty from Sherlock. "Do you think Molly would laugh at you?"

"No . . . I . . . I don't know."

"What would she laugh at, specifically? Your lack of experience?"

"Maybe."

"Does that sound like something Molly would do?"

"No, it doesn't, but . . . "

"What else would she laugh at?"

"How needy I can be."

"Would you laugh at her?"

"Why would I laugh at her?"

"If she was needy?"

"No, of course not."

"Do you feel like you need her Sherlock?"

"I don't want to."

"That's not what I asked."

Sherlock wouldn't answer, but instead sat in the chair, shaking his head angrily. "So what if I do? I still can't have her."

"Because you think she hates you?"

"Yes."

"Ok, let's pretend either that she doesn't hate you—that you're wrong, which you can be—or that you can in some way apologize to her for whatever has her hating you at the moment, what frightens you about a potential romantic relationship with her?

"Everything."

"Such as?"

"That it'll end our friendship."

"That's a valid concern."

"That she'll find me cloying and needy."

"That's a valid concern, but it can be addressed and dealt with. What else?"

Here Sherlock blushed. "Maybe she won't like. Maybe I can't . . . "

"You need to say it, Sherlock."

"Maybe I won't be any good at it."

"'It' being sex?"

"Yes, I've never been good at any sports, after all."

Doyle couldn't help but smile. "I can assure you, Sherlock, physical prowess in sports in no way correlates to sexual performance." Sherlock just crossed his arms, unable to look directly at Dr. Doyle. "You know, Sherlock, I've been a practicing psychiatrist for seventeen years, not including years of training and education before that. I've counseled hundreds of couples with sexual issues and do you know how many of those issues involved complaints about 'bad techniques'? Maybe one or two. And even those people had much bigger issues. Sexual problems are really covers for bad communication, lack of honesty, lack of trust, lack of intimacy. Sex is neither rocket science nor physical jiu jitsu."

"None of this matters. It's not going to happen."

"I think that would be a profound loss, perhaps for both of you. I have had a few patients that are legitimately 'asexual,' that have had no real sexual or emotional desires for either gender. You are not one of them, Sherlock. I sense in you a great need for emotional and physical connection. And I think if you continue to resist it, you'll always feel an emptiness."

"Your concerns have been noted," Sherlock croaked out.

"I'm afraid our time is up," Doyle announced.

"You've no idea how true that is," Sherlock said sadly as walked out of the office for what he thought would be the last time.

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