Three Is Company

Get Ready to Be Refused

Thankfully Sherlock was allowed to meet Musgrave in his office for their next session, as this gave him a place to be and an excuse to get dressed. When he was stuck inside Sherlock never bothered with proper clothing, usually lounging around in whatever he had chosen to fall asleep in the previous night. Though with a meeting to attend Sherlock went through the routine of making himself presentable, taking all of the steps which were widely regarded as good, healthy choices. He took a shower, brushed his hair, flossed his teeth, and even tried to iron his shirt before giving up and accidentally dumping a vat of boiling water onto the floor. Before long, and while avoiding any excess tragedy, Sherlock appeared at his front door in his most confident outfit, the clothes he would need to wear it he was willing to face the content of this video on his own. Musgrave collected the weekly films every Sunday, and from there Sherlock did not know what he did to develop them. Perhaps the psychiatrist was skilled at developing film himself; perhaps he had his own dark room. Either way the tapes were preloaded into the television by the time he arrived, usually arranged to hit upon the most troubling sections first. Sherlock knew even as he loaded himself into his small Volkswagen that the dream would be the first priority on Musgrave's mind. It was this very knowledge that made him hesitate to even start the engine. Perhaps today was the day he left for another continent. It was a sort of autopilot that eventually landed Sherlock in his Doctor's office, a preprogramed, step by step instruction of how to get from his front driveway and into the cozy armchair. Without intending to he had navigated his way to the office, greeted the receptionist, climbed the stairs, made formal introductions, and sat numbly within the cushions that he was assigned to. Until this moment nothing had changed. His routine, his arrival, remained perfectly and comfortably constant.
"Sherlock, how are you?" Musgrave began. It was an innocent line to begin with, especially since Sherlock could answer it just as simply.
"Fine." He sighed.
"Do anything fun over the weekend?" the Doctor wondered, just biding his time until he could get the television turned on.
"No."
"I got your prescription changed. You and both of your roommates will have to pick up your pills at John's pharmacy from now on." Musgrave explained. Sherlock's hands caught the edge of his chair, suddenly all of his muscles tensed.
"No! No, no you can't tell him about me! I don't want him to know about me! Reginald, I told you I didn't want him to know!" Sherlock exclaimed, nearly leaping out of his chair before his surprise gave way to the usual forces of gravity.
"Sherlock, he's a pharmacist. If he was there to judge anyone based on their medications then he wouldn't be in the business. It's a professional matter. A matter of convenience."
"It's a set up! You just want me to talk to him more! You're setting some sort of trap!"
"He's your friend, Sherlock. I'm not trapping you into anything. I'm only shortening your trip." Musgrave insisted. Sherlock snarled, hunkering down into his chair and looking desperately across the room. For some reason he was obsessed with the exits, how feasible and how accessible they were. The Doctor followed his eyes, his gloved fingers pressing the power upon the television remote.
"I don't want him to know." Sherlock repeated quietly. Musgrave ignored that little comment, instead turning his attention on the video that was beginning to play. As expected it was Saturday's report.
"You had another lapse?" Musgrave clarified, leaning forward onto his knees and balancing a clipboard between his hands. Sherlock was quiet upon the subject, though he knew that his lips could not stay shut forever. Musgrave was prepared to handle his difficulties. The Doctor stopped the clock when Sherlock clammed up, insisting that their hour was only finished if they had a good conversation throughout the duration. An hour's session could last the whole day if Sherlock was stubborn enough. Even now the Doctor's hand was moving towards the stopwatch, the one he kept within full view of his hesitant patient.
"Yes. Yes." Sherlock interrupted, hating to see Musgrave go to such desperate measures. He treated his patients like children in this fashion.
"How long did it last?" Musgrave wondered.
"From some time in the night until lunch. I don't remember getting up, or getting ready." Sherlock explained. Musgrave nodded, writing this all down for formality's sake. He had watched the tapes, surely he already knew. Sherlock was already beginning to blush, understanding what was surely going to be asked next.
"Do you think this lapse had anything to do with your dream?" the Doctor wondered, sitting back in his chair as if to try to act more casually. He could sense that Sherlock's anxiety was mounting, though both men knew there was no avoiding the conversation.
"I don't know." Sherlock admitted.
"Now we've seen, remember, a correlation between these things. Between sex and..."
"Don't say that word!" Sherlock whined, covering his ears and balling up into his chair. He drew his knees close to his chest, sticking his fingers far enough up his ears that he couldn't even hear the Doctor's protests. Eventually Musgrave had to get to his feet and shake the man back into reality, pulling Sherlock's hands away and giving him a slap upon the head for good measure.
"Honestly, Sherlock! If you act like a child you'll be treated as such!" Musgrave demanded.
"I don't like that word!" Sherlock insisted. "Please just...use something else."
"I will be happy to substitute it. Though I would be happier if you were to express this concern to me in the proper manner." Musgrave pointed out. Sherlock straightened up, looking down to see that he had wrinkled the shirt he spent so long trying to iron. He frowned.
"Now, as I was saying, we've discovered a correlation between intimacy and memory lapses. So, I have to assume that this dream had something to do with...intimate imagination." Musgrave suggested. Sherlock's cheeks stung, and immediately he averted his eyes.
"Perhaps." He agreed.
"We're both adults, Sherlock. There's nothing to be ashamed of." The Doctor assured, though already his pen was poised to write. He just loved to hear secrets, he loved to quote humiliations! Sherlock quivered, running his hands through his hair all the while he tried to look anywhere but into the Doctor's cloudy grey eyes. He knew the moment he made eye contact all the secrets would spill.
"I had a dream about...about someone from one of Irene's dirty videos." Sherlock admitted at last. "She keeps those horrible things under the television, and one time she didn't label it properly! It was recorded to be The Price is Right, but when I turned it on..."
"That's alright, stop there." Musgrave assured. He must have heard the strain in Sherlock's voice, the sheer panic at the idea of recounting such a memory. "And this dream, it had to do with this video?"
"I was...I was in it. And they were filming me. And they were laughing at me."
"Did you have a partner in this dream?" Musgrave wondered.
"Reginald." Sherlock whined, shaking his limbs in defiance.
"Sherlock, it's a proper question to ask!" the Doctor defended.
"Yes, I had a partner! And that's who was laughing. They were laughing because I was confused, and I was saying that it wasn't right, that I wasn't supposed to be there. And I...I didn't know what to do."
"Was it a man or a woman?" Musgrave wondered. Sherlock bit hard upon his lower lip, squirming in his chair as his brain began to tear itself apart. He didn't want to be conscious to hear this reaction. He would rather slip into a bout of amnesia than hear himself admit.
"A man." Sherlock whispered regretfully. Musgrave merely hummed, as if he could have anticipated this answer before he even asked the question. Perhaps he just liked to hear Sherlock squirm; perhaps he liked to see the man panic.
"Well then." Reginald huffed. "I think I see our problem."
"There's no problem." Sherlock snarled. "Dreams...they're nothing. They're ridiculous. I could have easily dreamt I was a fish, but you wouldn't go diagnosing me with that, would you?"
"Sherlock, I think we've both seen this coming for some time." Musgrave pointed out.
"I'm not...no! No I didn't see this coming. It's utter nonsense. I'm not." Sherlock insisted, crossing his arms across his chest so that he could protect what was under the most intense observation. He didn't want his heart to be seen during Musgrave's ultimate diagnosis.
"Sherlock, you said it yourself. This dream made you feel something..." Sherlock interrupted with a rather reptilian shriek of protest, though the Doctor continued despite this. "...and that's not very common for you. Never once in our interviews have you mentioned a woman who had the capabilities to make you feel similar. In fact, I'm not sure you've ever had a relationship with a woman before."
"Well I've never had a relationship with a man, either. So there. Logic." Sherlock snarled.
"This is not something we have to argue about. I'm not assigning any identities onto you that you don't want to have, but it is my professional opinion that you may be homosexual."
"Well thank you for your professional opinion." Sherlock sneered. Musgrave heaved a great sigh, abandoning his clipboard so that he could fix his glasses more securely to his nose. Certainly this wasn't in his job description, though therapists should be prepared for all things that come along. Sherlock just wished he wasn't so audacious as to spew all of his thoughts out loud.
"Sherlock, there is nothing wrong with being gay." Musgrave pointed out. "It's very common these days, and it's becoming accepted much more widely."
"I'm not." Sherlock whispered, shaking his head dramatically. His arguments were getting worse, though in some ways he knew he had to keep denying it. For some reason he thought that he would deny it all the way to his grave, no matter how many more dreams he had. No matter if those dreams somehow turned into a reality. For some reason the word left a bad taste in his mouth.
"There is a difference, Sherlock, to what you are and what your father was." Musgrave explained. Sherlock winced, hating to even be compared to that wretched villain. "Your father was not a homosexual. He was a pedophile. His motives were power, control. He did not feel love for you, not as would be necessitated in a relationship."
"Thanks, Reginald." Sherlock spat. "Thanks for drawing that most horrendous similarity."
"I'm pointing out that there are no similarities." Musgrave defended. "Do not hate the idea of homosexuality just because of your father's actions. There is no correlation."
"So what...what in your professional diagnosis, would accredit for this? All mental problems are caused by trauma, so what do you think happened here?"
"It's not a mental problem. It's a trait, a personality trait. You were born with it, as many are."
"I'm not committing to that." Sherlock snarled.
"And I'm not insisting you do." Musgrave defended. He raised his hands in surrender, though his grey eyes still looked menacing. Sherlock hated when people judged him, he hated the fact that anyone could make an assumption. And this might be the greatest assumption of all. The most groundbreaking.
"I will do my research upon the subject." Musgrave promised. "Though I do wonder if there is a correlation between repressed feelings and mental illness."
"Wow. Okay. So this is my actual diagnosis? You're going to give me the gay pills and everything will be fine?" Sherlock chuckled, forcing a smile upon his face. Forcing a joke to be made, trying to ease the tension.
"Perhaps I will do the opposite. This isn't an illness, so it should not be treated like one. In fact, a professional would suggest that it is not repressed any farther. It should instead be acted upon."
"You, my psychiatrist, are actually suggesting I leave this office and hook up with the first man I see?" Sherlock wondered, his eyes slanting hesitantly. Musgrave chuckled, shaking his head and twisting his fingers together.
"No. That's a way to get arrested, and perhaps get a disease. No, instead I want you to think. That's your only task for this week. Think about what I said. Think about what you might prefer in partners, and perhaps determine if there is a specific man you would like to focus your attention on. I think it is healthy to have a relationship, I think it would do you well." Musgrave admitted.
"Why didn't you suggest I do that when you thought I was straight?" Sherlock snapped.
"I have, if you don't remember. I have told you multiple times to go out and meet new people. You always refused. Perhaps this is why."
"Well, get ready to get refused again." Sherlock grumbled.
"With you, Sherlock, I'm always prepared for it." Musgrave assured. There was a smile on his face, one of his cocky little grins. That smile that tried to demonstrate that it knew best. That little victory screech that was echoed from the shining of his front teeth.