Chapter One: It's Mental

"Iraq or Afghanistan?"

He felt a shudder run through his body as images of bullets and grenades flashed through his mind. He turned towards the source of the voice: a tall man with thick dark curls and piercing grey eyes. "I'm sorry?" John asked the man.

"Iraq or Afghanistan?" the man repeated, looking intently at John.

"Afghanistan," John replied. "How did you...?"

"I read you."

"Read me?"

"Yes, I read you."

"Oh?" John said, confused.

"If you're wondering how I guessed, it wasn't a guess. Really it's quite obvious. You walk with quite a limp, as though you had previously been shot in the leg. I bet your psychologist thinks it's likely mental. She's right, by the way. Don't fret though. It's quite common with PTSD. And my guess would be that's what triggered your alcoholism. That's what you're here for, isn't it? Alcoholism?"

"Yeah," John murmured, taken aback.

"Right. And the timing made war the likely trigger. Plus it can be seen in the way you carry yourself. The way you observe the world around you. The way loud sounds make you jump. You're a soldier."

"Doctor, actually," John corrected. "But for the military, yes. And I did see quite a good amount of combat."

"Clearly," the man corrected. "Enough to land you here."

"Can I ask why you're here?" John asked of the curious man.

"Ecstasy, cocaine, the usual," the man replied simply, turning his hands toward the ceiling with a slight shrug as though participating in drug habits was a nonchalant matter. "Well really, I'm here because my brother forced me. Used his government powers to land me here. An abuse of privilege, if you ask me."

"Who are you?" John wondered aloud.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man said, standing to introduce himself and extending a hand.

John grasped his hand and shook in greeting, all the while remaining wary of this unusual character. There were many unusual characters in rehab, but it was clear that this man was far different from all the rest. It could be seen in the intelligent sparkle in his eyes that suggested he knew more secrets to the world than one should possess.

"John Watson," he replied. "This is my first day out of the initial isolation phase."

"Congratulations, John," Sherlock responded, staring him in the eye. "Your handshake suggests you're trying to establish dominance, which is respectable, but you should know that I am always the alpha. My superior intellect insists I am the most suitable choice for leadership, since I am simply above the rest of the average minded population."

John raised an eyebrow, wondering what the cocaine had done to this man's brain, and, in effect, his ego. How arrogant, he thought to himself. But he also got the sense that this Sherlock character wasn't trying to be arrogant. He truly believed he was a superior genius.

"Yes, well, I better be going," John said, ready to get away from this strange character. He turned around to head to the cafeteria, estimating in his head how long it would take for him to get out of the rehab center and go home.

He only moved a few feet before he heard Sherlock's voice again. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Sherlock called to him.

John turned around to see Sherlock holding John's cane in his hand. He had propped it against the wall to talk to the stranger and had forgotten to pick it back up. "Right, thanks," John muttered as he quickly grabbed it and hobbled away.

"Mental, I told you," Sherlock reminded the retreating figure, then went back to reading the encyclopedia he had been looking at before John had entered the room. John looked back once, shaking his head in amusement.