Three Is Company

The Prescription of the Psychiatrist

Despite his promise of a speedy arrival it still took John at least a half hour to unlock the pharmacy. By then he was about an hour off the advertised opening time, though thankfully there was not much of a mob waiting outside. In fact there was no one upon the sidewalk, as if the rest of the town had much of the same idea. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, not one made for getting to work on time. John flipped the sign, turned on the lights, and slid into his formal lab coat. As per his usual routine he complained about the size of the thing, feeling silly with his hands barely sticking out of the sleeves and his heels getting caught up in the hem. It was embarrassingly oversized. Nevertheless John went about his daily duties, stocking shelves, counting receipts, and taking tabs of all the prescriptions that were supposed to be picked up today. He was pleasantly surprised to see the list kept growing, as the townsfolks started to realize that they didn't have to travel a half hour down the highway just for their blood pressure medication. It was about ten o'clock when the first costumer arrived, though John had not seen this man in his present or past life here in town. As it was unusual to see a new face John stayed attentive, keeping his head downturned politely on the paperwork he was doing but every so often looking up to make sure the stranger was behaving. He was an older man, not so much of a flight risk, though the way his circular glasses caught the light gave him a rather suspicious look. He was dressed very formally, in a three piece suit, as if his reputation was on the line even when he made a trip to the pharmacy. John quickly turned his head away when he noticed the man suddenly turn away from the cold and flu section, perhaps only having bided his time politely before he began to his way to the front counter. 
"Can I help you?" John wondered, giving his best smile as the man's oddly long face studied him carefully behind the slightly reflective tints in his glasses. 
"Yes, I would like to switch a prescription to this location." The man agreed. 
"Wonderful. We have all the major brands, most anything that the bigger companies have in stock." John said with a smile. 
"It's not for me; it's for a patient of mine. In fact, Doctor Watson, I should like to transfer not only the prescription, but the process, if that is possible." 
"Process?" John wondered. The man sighed, his pale cheeks showing some splash of color as if this was an embarrassing subject to spend very long upon. Eventually the man reached into his front pocket, producing a small paper business card that he pressed flat upon the counter. John gave it a passing glance, reading over the man's credentials enough to gauge his true purpose. 
"Reginald Musgrave." The man introduced. 
"A psychiatrist?" John clarified. Musgrave nodded, though he left the card upon the table for future reference. 
"I need you to fill a prescription for a patient of mine, and yet for the sake of his mental health he cannot truly know what is inside the bottle." The man explained. John squinted suspiciously, seeing many red flags rise within a single sentence. 
"Sir, I'm afraid that is unethical." He insisted. 
"The other pharmacy did not have trouble. You see, if my patient realizes the extent of his illness he will only fall much farther. To truly grasp his condition will set him off the cliff he is now teetering upon the edge of. It would be a disaster, to put it kindly." 
"I don't see how withholding information will further anyone's recovery." John insisted stubbornly, to which the Doctor's lips downturned into a frown. 
"It is my professional opinion, sir, that this is quite vital. You can either take my business or linger in your faltered consciousness." Musgrave snapped. John blinked, not having expected such harsh words from a man who claimed to have the best interests of men in mind. The pharmacist hesitated, not liking the idea of losing out on yet another flow of income. 
"Tell me more." John muttered in some exasperation. He wasn't ready to make a commitment, though he would at least try to hear out the Doctor's explanation. 
"I am currently prescribing my patient with this." Musgrave explained. "Excuse me if the pronunciation surpasses my vocabulary." The man held a slip of paper towards John, allowing the pharmacist to read what was typed out very neatly upon a typewriter. 
"An antipsychotic?" John clarified. 
"Indeed. To help with...delusions." Musgrave agreed. "However, if he were to know of his true state, these delusions would grow worse, perhaps even violently. Therefore, on the bottles, I have instructed the past pharmacist to write the name of any popular drug that helps with amnesia. The exact brand does not matter." 
"That is very deceitful, Doctor Musgrave." John warned, and yet with his due explanation it did not appear quite as sinister as before. 
"I'm afraid it is very necessary." Musgrave sighed. 
"I suppose it is possible." John agreed at last. "Though unethical, I see your reasoning." 
"Wonderful, Mr. Watson." Musgrave said with a smile. He dropped the name of the prescribed medication on the counter; as if that was the only official documentation he had for the patient's supply. 
"And one more thing, if it is no trouble." The Doctor added. John hummed, already having taken up the paper and the card to stash in his 'to do' pile. 
"I should like you to separate the pills into three separate bottles, if you could. Some with a little more than the others." 
"Three separate bottles? What's he doing, keeping one in his purse?" John scoffed. 
"This is also quite important." The Doctor warned. John sighed, grabbing a pen and paper from the underside of the counter so that he could write down the exact instructions from the pharmacist. For a moment he penned down the exact stipulations of the bait and switch, though he left plenty of room for the rest of the strange doctor's whims. 
"What should I put on these bottles, then? Breakfast, lunch, and dinner?" John joked. 
"No. No. On the third bottle, the least full of the three, I should like it addressed to Victor Trevor. The second bottle, only partially full, will be addressed to Irene Adler. And the last, a full bottle, to Sherlock Holmes."