normalcy is hard to attain, especially since he’s back in 221b. he only works
occasionally here now, partly due to sherlock and partly due to her. he won’t
forfeit his professionality, though, so he builds walls. to keep all the anger and
resentment inside, the walls need to be high, thick and cold. he doesn’t have to,
he knows, he has every right to be angry. is it his fault that everyone he holds
dear has to betray his trust?
no, he does this for her, or against her, rather. he won’t give her the satisfaction
of seeing any of his feelings, only a cold, hard shoulder. and he doesn’t want to
be angry, not if he could so easily have had happiness, and he blames it all on
her which makes it impossible not to be angry.
it’s one of the few days that they actually work at the same time. it’s hard not to
look at her and not scream, run out of the room, fall to her feet; the minimum of
communication is too much.
when the patient leaves, he sinks back in his chair, mentally preparing for what’s
coming. straight face, walls up, chin high, he walks out of the office and hands his
wife at the counter a clipboard. he should quit this job, he thinks to himself for the
millionth time this day