Note: I am a terrible writer, enjoy.
"I am fine." Sherlock said, throwing his hands in the air like he was about to be arrested. He was paler than usual, his curly hair plastered against the side of his face and his thin body shivering beneath the long black trench coat."
"Did you forget I'm a doctor?" John looked him over. If he wasn't on drugs again, something worse had to be happening. "Mycroft is on his way over."
"Mycroft? Really, John?
"Really, Sherlock."
The two men stared each other down for at least a minute before Sherlock exploded, "Doesn't he have more important things to attend to, like oh I don't know, matters of national security?"
"With you involved," John scoffed, "it bloody well is a matter of national security."
"It bloody well is a matter of national security," Sherlock tried to mock John, but only received a glare in return.
"You're acting like a child."
"You're treating me like one." Sherlock plopped himself onto the couch, crossing his arms and pouting. "I said I'm fine."
"Yeh? Well you say a lot of things. You're not getting out of this one."
John heard greeting someone downstairs and went to check if Mycroft had arrived yet, leaving Sherlock to mumble under his breath alone in the living room.
"Sherlock, your brother's here, get ready for the-" John stepped into the flat with Mycroft not too far behind to find it completely void of any trace of Sherlock Holmes, "-cab..." He finished.
"Check his room," he ordered Mycroft as he walked into the kitchen where there was still no sign.
"Dear Watson, you and I both know my brother is smarter than that." Mycroft twirled his umbrella in his hand. "Look at the scuffs on the floor there," he pointed toward the hall, "and the piece of thread caught on the archway..." he pointed toward John's room, "there."
"He's hidden himself in my room?" John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
"Normal people are so dull." Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. "He wouldn't leave such an obvious trail behind."
"So it's a diversion."
"Hmm, yes." Mycroft mulled something over to himself before marching toward the bathroom and pushing open the door. "I see your window's open," He said, glancing over the edge, "Sherlock, do get down from there. "
John rushed his way into the bathroom and peered out the window where Sherlock stood, just barely balancing on the moulding of the building. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, reaching out to bring him back him.
"Yes, we don't need you on another ledge now, do we, brother dear?"
Sherlock grimaced at the two of them as they watched him with hawk eyes and marched him into the street, where a cab was idling in wait.
"You know I'm not much for cabs anymore these days." Sherlock said as John forced him into the middle seat.
"Yes, quite an unfortunate incident you had a few years ago." Mycroft sniffed.
"Not unfortunate, no. Brilliant," he turned to John, "which reminds me, we need a new case."
"We don't need anything right now. You need a doctor."
"I have a doctor."
"A different kind of doctor." John sighed.
"Why would I need any kind of doctor? I'm perfectly fine. Perfectly normal."
"Normal's not an option for you."
"Then what are we wasting this time for?" Sherlock's voice wavered ever so slightly, not enough for a stranger to notice, but enough for John and Mycroft. His face was drenched in sweat, but he didn't seem to care.
The cab came to a halt in front of a small white building, one which gave off the impression of order and cleanliness just by looking at it. White crown moulding against white siding, a door with 8 neat window panes and a neat grey sign hanging alongside it. "Emmy Kole's-Group Home For The Disturbed" it read in a simple black Verdana font.
"No funny business." Mycroft said as they stepped out of the cab and onto the cobblestone pathway.
"Oh please, Mycroft. You don't even know what humour is."
"I'll have you know I pride myself on my sense of humour."
"That must be the funniest joke you ever told."
"Girls, girls," John cut in, "this isn't funny."
"It's a little funny," Sherlock said. "What are we even doing here, John? I'm not disturbed."
"You're disturbing."
"I'm not going in there."
"Yes, you are."
"Why?"
"You're sick, Sherlock. This woman can help."
"Maybe you're the sick one."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"I know you are but what am I?"
"What?" John narrowed his eyes at him in confusion before giving up and ringing the doorbell.
Shuffling could be heard inside, the barking of a dog rang out from somewhere in the back of the building. John turned to Sherlock, "I found the cocaine in your sock drawer yesterday."
"What are you doing looking through my sock drawer?"
"What are you doing with cocaine?"
"Making crafts." Sherlock retorted, turning up his nose, "For God sakes, John, I didn't use any of it."
"But you could've. Then there's the eating."
"What eating?" Sherlock asked.
"Exactly." John stole a glance at Mycroft, "And with everything that's happened with Eurus..."
"Nothing's happened with Eurus." Sherlock said quickly.
"It's going to have residual effects, Sherlock!" John yelled, "It has had residual effects and you know it."
"No, I don't."
"Don't be silly! You know everything!"
"Well, I'm flattered you think-"
Just then, the door creaked open, revealing a woman wearing a bright yellow shirt and white Capri's to compliment the sudden thick scent of lemon pledge.
Sherlock took one look at her before saying, "nope," and trying to spin on his heel back to the street. John grabbed the back of his coat just in time..
The woman was still bustling about, trying to keep a little papillon dog from rushing outside. Mycroft cleared his throat and her gaze travelled upwards, "Ms. Kole, we'd like you to meet your new patient-" he smiled and took a breath.
"Sherlock Holmes." She finished for him, her eyes wide in awe.
