Author's Note: This was written as part three of a multi-part Christmas present for a dear friend of mine, based on writing prompts she sent me. This story is based on the following prompt: "At a therapy session (because he could probably use some), Rory meets a man in the waiting room. But what do the Last Centurion and an Army Doctor have in common? Well, just a few sociopaths." This is for her.

I own neither Doctor Who nor the BBC's Sherlock, though I do love both quite a lot.

The door to the waiting room opened and a young man walked in, carrying his coat under one arm. He was tall, with a shock of untidy brown hair and a slightly oversized nose, and looked vaguely nervous at finding himself in a therapist's office.

"Um, hello? Rory Williams, I have an appointment," he muttered at the secretary behind the desk. She chirped back, "Have a seat and we'll call your name when the doctor is ready!" He looked behind him at the waiting room. For some strange reason, there were only four chairs in the entire room, and the only open seats had neighbors. One seat was next to a man holding a cane. The other man was reading a magazine about rifles.

He sat down next to the man with the cane.

After a few awkward minutes spent, quite literally, twiddling his thumbs, Rory heard, "Um, excuse me," coming from his left and looked over at the man sitting next to him. The man had a vaguely sheepish look on his face as he asked, "I'm sorry; I know this is terribly rude, but you look extremely familiar. My name's John Watson. Have we met somewhere before?"

Rory frowned to himself as he studied the man's face. Now that he thought about it, the man (his name was John, he reminded himself) looked sort of familiar as well. "Have I worked with you before, maybe? I'm Rory Williams, I'm a nurse."

"Oh! That must be it!" exclaimed John excitedly. "I'm a doctor, so I've been in and out of pretty much every hospital and surgery that's had openings for the past few years."

"Really?" Rory asked, intrigued. "Do you just like moving around or-wait a minute. Were you the doctor who did that major heart surgery with Carstairs about a year ago?"

John laughed, surprised but delighted. "Yes, yes I was! Were you there as well?" Rory nodded, and John snapped his fingers together in recognition. "I do remember you! You were fantastic that day; I remember thinking it was a shame I never worked with you after that. Granted, I did leave that position soon after that surgery, but you were excellent." Rory grinned in pride.

"Thanks, that's very kind of you. So why did you leave the surgery? You did an excellent job that day yourself, and all of the staff enjoyed working with you." John raised an eyebrow and gave a wry smile.

"Do you have time for a long story?" Rory checked his watch, and nodded. John grinned, and began, "So I have a bit of an unusual flatmate..."

Ten minutes later, Rory was still trying to wrap his head around the picture John had painted with his story. "So your flatmate's a consulting detective who's ridiculously intelligent and a self-proclaimed sociopath who helps Scotland Yard solve crimes only when he feels like it?" John thought for a second, then nodded, and Rory couldn't hold back a smile. Puzzled, John tipped his head to one side and raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "Why is that funny?" Rory shook his head at himself as he stumbled over his words trying to explain his reaction. "Well, it's just that all the people I've met who others would call sociopaths would never call themselves that of their own volition. It's not something people are normally proud of, see."

John couldn't help but agree. "Normally, no. With Sherlock, the word 'normal' sort of gets thrown out the window." Thinking back on his own experiences, Rory nodded in agreement and laughed, with a touch of bitterness in his tone. "I recognize that laugh," John said slowly. "You know exactly what I mean when I say normal gets thrown out the window. There's a story behind that, or I'm not an army doctor." Rory laughed again and shook his head, trying to steer John away from that topic, but he wouldn't be shaken. "Come on, out with it. I can tell there's something."

Rory tried to simultaneously calm his nerves and the voice in his head whispering He's going to think you're crazy! "You said your flatmate had this saying that once the impossible is eliminated, whatever remains must be the truth?" John nodded. With a deep breath, Rory asked, "What d'you think about aliens?"

Twenty minutes later (and neither of their names had yet been called), John was still enthralled. "You guarded the box for two thousand years?" Rory nodded. "And you were made of plastic?" He nodded again. "And all of this happened in an alternate timeline, so it didn't really happen, but you remember it anyway?" He nodded once more. "And your daughter is now a time-traveler as well?" For the final time, Rory nodded. John burst out laughing and clapped him on the shoulder. "My God, man, that's amazing! You've got to tell me more about this Doctor of yours; this is incredible."

"So you believe me, then?" Rory asked tentatively. John nodded vigorously.

"How can I not? You mean every word you're saying, and if this is a lie, it's the best lie I've ever heard. I never considered any of this possible, but it's fantastic."

"John Watson?" called an attendant from the door of the waiting room. John grimaced and turned to Rory.

"Sorry, I've got to go. Say-" He pulled a card from inside his jacket. "Drop me a note sometime. I'd love to hear more about what you've seen, and I think Sherlock would be interested to talk to you as well." Rory accepted the card and tucked it in his pocket.

"Um, John? Thank you," he said quietly. "For listening, and for believing me." John accepted his thanks with a nod and a smile.

"The same goes for you," he replied. "Keep in touch." Grasping his cane, he levered himself out of the chair and limped towards the attendant standing in the door.

"Rory Williams?" called another attendant who had just left the other doctor's office. Rory collected his coat and stood as he walked towards the man with the clipboard.

"Yeah, I'm Rory," he said as he reached the door.

"Follow me, please, sir," said the attendant, and they both exited the room.

Unluckily for the two men, the third man in the waiting room had excellent hearing. As he sat alone, he pondered over the oddity of the things he had overheard. Then again, he thought, as they called his name, there had to be stranger things in the world than having the angel of Thursdays as a bunkmate.

End note: Sorry about the unexpected Dean Winchester. I couldn't resist.