A hand, with cold, thin fingers reached for the metal handle of the glass door, causing the door to swing open, and a blast of warm air thawing the iciness of his body.
A woman at the front desk, feeling the winter air, looked up. "Hello, sir. Do you have an appointment?"
Excessive jewelry and makeup. Blind date tonight. Nail biter. Desk cluttered, but her clothes and shoes are extremely clean. Therefore, she's living with her parents.
He got this much deductions from observing her before he was interrupted by another "Sir?"
He quickly muttered a name, and was ushered to the waiting room.
Taking his scarf off, he plonked himself down into a chair. But before he could gather his surroundings, a door opened on his left opened. An middle-aged man with the name tag "Doctor Smith" pointed the man in.
He took a seat in front of the Victorian wooden desk, and waited for the Doctor to sit and start talking.
"Hello Sherlock."
Sherlock Holmes nodded in return.
Worry lines on his forehead, a deep sigh. Must be having a moody day. His worst fear is my weekly appointment.
"You know, you could request for me to get transferred to another Doctor."
Doctor Smith heaved another sigh and smiled weakly.
How silly of me to forget, Doctor Smith is the best therapist in Britain. Requesting a transfer would be losing face.
"Let's get started for today, Sherlock. Have you done anything I've asked you to do?"
Sherlock turned his head to the ceiling. "Boring."
"I see."
Sherlock snapped his head back and faced Doctor Smith. This was not an expected response.
Doctor Smith didn't allow Sherlock to see his smirk as he flipped through various notes.
After an eternity, Doctor Smith knit his fingers together and placed them on the desk. "Sherlock, if you continue to isolate yourself, you will get serious depression. Now, your mother and your brother want you to detach yourself from these bad habits. And as you won't cooperate with any of us in the center, we have chosen Plan B."
Sherlock kept quiet. None of this interested him. He was probably going into a Friends Program.
He tuned the Doctor out while he examined the posters around the room.
The Doctor needs to upgrade his posters. That information on the human brain has been out ruled in 2005.
"Sherlock." A harsh voice broke through his thoughts.
"Yes, yes, do what you like. I'll wiggle out of it anyway."
Doctor Smith almost laughed out loud.
"You can't wiggle out of this, Sherlock. You're going to spend time with an orphan everyday. Your mother and your brother and some other social workers will be following you and the child every time."
Pupil's dilated, Sherlock shot forward, his hands gripping the edges of his desks until his knuckles were white. His nose just barely an inch from the Doctor's.
"Say. That. Again."
Amused, and slightly aroused, Doctor Smith patiently repeated his words.
Sherlock drew back and shook his head. "No. I'd kill the kid."
"Well, that is exactly what we're training you not to do."
Doctor Smith glanced at his watch. "That's it for today! Next week, the kid will be here. You're taking him to the aquarium."
With that, Doctor Smith, with a dramatic swishing of his doctor's robes, strutted out of the room, leaving Sherlock to wallow himself in frustration and anger.
How to wriggle out? How to sneak away?