Eurus had put the last several days to good use. She had pushed John hard through her texts, making him feel guilty, hence adding more pressure to the mix of emotions that were threatening to make the man explode at any moment. When he had put an end to their texting, it had been right on schedule just as everything was that she sought to control.
The new house was ready with its former occupant out of the way permanently and said occupant's patients’ appointments had all been cancelled due to a serious illness. She was prepared to play therapist to John Watson using the information she had gathered on him. She had even deduced he would come to her when the crisis came, well, he would think he was seeing the therapist who had lived in this house, but it was all the same. All Eurus had been waiting on was for the death of Rosamund.
When Rosamund's death came, it surprised Eurus because it didn’t come from any of the entities she had contacted, but from an old woman who, by the account on Mycroft’s secure system, had been embittered and had worked for years from behind the scenes to scrape together money for her old age.
It was fascinating to have made an error. It was one of six she had made in her life, most of which had been made when she had been a child. She didn’t have time to dwell on her error, however, as John was due for his first appointment with her soon. She felt something she decided to call anticipation as she waited for him to arrive.
John’s anger had been palpable from the moment he entered the house. It radiated off of him from where he sat across from Eurus. It was something she knew she could shape with her words in much the same way a sculptor shaped clay.
At first, she simply used formulaic psychobabble to put John at ease, but soon enough she implemented the technique that never failed to make her targets vulnerable and exceedingly open to suggestion. That was where John was now, open and listening. She could say anything and he would believe it.
“It doesn’t make you a bad person to be angry, John. You lost your wife. Your daughter lost her mother. Anyone would be angry in those circumstances,” Eurus told John, prodding him.
“Most people's wives aren’t murdered because their best friend won’t shut up!” John's left hand formed a tight fist and his right leg ached.
Eurus nodded. “Sherlock, yes. You should avoid him for now. Keep him out of your life. Keep him away from Rosie. He can only hurt you more with his reckless behaviour.”
John nodded. “I don’t trust him. Not anymore. He promised to protect Mary.” He was angry and he meant it, but part of him knew it was a lie.
“You can’t trust him. He lies. You said he's promised to keep you and Rosie safe. That’s a lie as well.”
John felt torn apart. Some part of him still wanted to trust Sherlock, but what his therapist said made sense. He couldn’t trust him. He couldn’t. His anger flared higher.
“You may have to intervene some day, John. Only you have any hope of controlling Sherlock. Someday someone’s life may depend on it. Until then, stay home. Keep to yourself.”
John started to shake his head, but Eurus continued.
“You don’t have anyone, John. You’re all alone. There’s no one for you but the memories of your dead wife. Wallow alone with her in your grief.”
Tears started running down his cheeks and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. He was alone. Completely alone. That would never change.
Eurus brought him out of his suggestive state, knowing he would remember none of it, then resumed the familiar psychobabble.
“We are nearing the end of our session, John. I want you to work on two things: taking care of Rosie and taking care of yourself. That’s all.”
John nodded and didn’t say anything further. He felt wrung out. When the therapist handed him a card with his next appointment written on it, he took it and silently left.
Eurus watched him go. Just a few sessions and she could unleash Smith. In the meantime, she would watch Sherlock and see how her little experiment affected him.