He didn't want to be here, he was only here because Clara's tear filled eyes had extracted a promise that he would and although he would often lie the Doctor was not a man to break his word once he had given it. That didn't mean he had to cooperate, in fact Dr John Smith was determined to do the exact opposite. He was here as he promised; he would sit here for the allotted half an hour session that Clara had blackmailed him into with those large brown eyes of hers.
He wouldn't submit himself to questions; if necessary he would sit here in stony silence.
Then he would go home, he would allow Clara to nag him into eating something and he would smile and pretend that he had found it useful. Then he would vanish into his study to get some writing done and Clara would know he was lying. He hadn't written a word in months. Yet the study meant sanctuary. It meant shutting out the world and avoiding that disappointed look in Clara's eyes as he brushed aside her hand on his sleeve and told her to go to bed without him.
Tapping his fingers against the polished wooden arms of the armchair he was currently occupying John glanced down at the antique Rolex currently decorating his wrist. It was one of a large selection of timepieces had had collected over the years, each one purchased after a momentous occasion in his life.
This one had been picked up during that trip to New York after his third book had topped the bestseller list…another life…another man…or at least that was how he felt most days.
Yet now it's only purpose was to remind him how far the mighty had fallen, oh and to highlight that his new therapist was late, almost three minutes…three minutes that he had better not being charged for. Still it was difficult not to feel conflicted, he hated being made to wait, yet every second this Doctor Saxon took to arrive was one less second he had to spend under the microscope.
Finally the door opened and John's scowl only deepened as in walked a slender brunette with a model's cheekbones, sashaying into the room in ridiculous heels before setting down a sheaf of folders on the large mahogany desk.
"I'm sorry we are a little short-handed around here today one of the secretaries has gone down with the flu…have you been offered a coffee?" The surprisingly familiar lilt of a Scottish accent had John take a second look, and then a third as very blue eyes met his gaze with quiet confidence.
"No." John grunted dismissively, dropping his gaze and flicking a piece of lint from the cuff of his suit jacket. "But if it isn't too much trouble." He doubted this woman had been hired for her coffee making skills and his already low opinion of the absent Dr Saxon fell further.
Yet that didn't stop him from surreptitiously admiring the view as she leant over the desk and pushed the button on the intercom. It really was a nice skirt…fitted…and John pushed aside the fluttering of guilt that even by noticing such a thing he was betraying Clara. The girl who had impossibly stuck by him after everything that he had put her through over the last year, a person he still loved deeply, yet it just wasn't the same as it had been…