As soon as Sherlock strode into the waiting room of Hanley Psychiatrics he began to plot his brother's death. Although loathing Mycroft and planning his demise was honestly not going to get him out of his current predicament, it would make him feel immensely better. He thought it over for exactly two seconds and then realized that unfortunately there was no plan he could legitimately see being worthy enough punishment, so he just settled for commenting on his brothers weight gain during the next unwelcomed visit. Sherlock absolutely resented the fact that Mycroft had manipulated him into agreeing with the almost comical request that he see a Psychiatrist. He scoffed at the very idea of someone thinking they could analyze him. The noise caused the receptionist to glare at him. She was mid-twenties, over worked, and judging by the puffy eyes had clearly been crying. There was a broken picture frame in the trashcan beside her desk of her and a man, most likely her boyfriend…correction ex-boyfriend. Sentiment, it ruined people.

'Excuse me,' He said walking over to the receptionist's desk. 'Where do I sign in?' The receptionist blushed slightly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, as Sherlock gave her an apparent smile.

'Is this your first time visiting Hanley?' She asked opening a filing cabinet. Sherlock bit back the obviously that was on the tip of his tongue and just nodded yes. He was not in the mood to deal with foolish receptionists who felt the need to go home, cry, and watch something wretched like "Love Actually", to get over a pathetic break up. 'Alright then, if you could just fill out these forms, and take a seat over there," She said while holding out a clipboard and pointing to a row of uncomfortable plastic chairs. 'Dr. Watson will be right with you.'

He sighed, and sat down at the very end of the row of chairs, observing his surroundings. There was no one else in the room except for a younger girl, who was curled into a chair at the opposite end reading. Her nails were bitten down to the nub, she was about a stone underweight, and she was fidgeting. It was obvious she had been dealing with emotional abuse, and was struggling with an anxiety disorder. He noticed that she was wearing long sleeves, and subconsciously kept pulling them down. She self-harmed. The girl was most likely suffering from Borderline Personality disorder. Sherlock wondered how long it took this young woman's idiot psychiatrist to figure that out.

As he contemplated ways he would be able to get confidential information out of a psychiatrist a woman began to walk out of one of the hallways leading to the psychiatric offices. She had blood shot eyes and a tremor, and as she walked closer Sherlock noticed that her salivary glands were swollen. She was an alcoholic defiantly, but as she walked out of the office she did not discuss her next appointment with the receptionist. She was most likely not a patient, so she must have been a family member of one of the Psychiatrists. Was it his Psychiatrist? It wasn't as interesting as a murder, but at least the possibility kept him occupied.

'Mr. Holmes,' the receptionist called from behind her desk. 'Dr. Watson will see you now. He's the second door on the right.'

Sherlock stood up and began to walk down the corridor. He paused outside of the office door, and began to devise a plan. He could knock on the door exactly three times having spaced two seconds in between each so he will be perceived to have OCD, or he could barge in so this so called doctor will think he has traits of a narcissistic personality. Either way he has-

The office door swung open cutting of Sherlock's train of thought.

'You must be Mr. Holmes. I'm your psychiatrist Dr. John Watson, please come in.' Sherlock followed the shorter man in and took a seat across from him. Then the silence began. He was absolutely comfortable with silence though. The quieter it was the easier it was to analyze the so called Dr. Watson. From what Sherlock had gathered so far this man was almost completely boring. Judging by his stance while walking into the room he was military, recently released, possibly for physical or personal reasons. Maybe his contract had just run out. He was in his early thirties, and had one sibling. The sibling also happened to be the alcoholic who had recently walked out of the building, which could most likely attribute to the stress that was evident on Dr. Watson's face. He began to wonder why of all people Mycroft chose this man to 'fix' him. Sherlock watched him grab a yellow note pad out of one of the drawers in his desk and readjust himself onto the couch across from Sherlock.

'You can talk anytime you like, and it can be about anything you want. Or you could not talk at if you prefer. It's fine whichever you choose. It's all fine.' Dr. Watson looked expectantly up at him, but Sherlock just grimaced at the feeble attempt of conversation.

'I know it's fine thank you, but I have nothing to say as of yet.' Sherlock glared at him in determination. He decided to forgo acting out a personality disorder of any sort. It would be much more fun to take up this man's time by ignoring the entire purpose of being here.

'Well if you have nothing to say then why-' Sherlock cut off his absurd question.

'Afghanistan or Iraq?' Didn't these people have to have some level of intellect, he thought.

'Afghanistan, how did you know that?' He asked while writing down on his absurd notepad is highly intelligent…does not care to conform to conversational norms.

'If you're just figuring out now that I have high intelligence, Mycroft has poorer taste than I thought.'

'It's interesting that you focus on that, and not the more offensive statement of you not conforming. Who is Mycroft by the way, and why does he have poor taste?' Dr. Watson asked while stretching himself out on his sofa.

'He is my malevolent brother, and also my archenemy in everyday life. He decided upon you as my psychiatrist, and manipulated me into coming to this session.' Sherlock crossed his arms feeling content now that it was blatantly obvious he did not want to be here.

'Do normal people have that, archenemies I mean?' Dr. Watson put down the notepad, and began to lean forward clearly interested in where this conversation was going.

'I don't know, do psychiatrists normally have alcoholic sisters?' Sherlock asked, smiling triumphantly. This is it I'm about to be kicked out, he thought.

'No, I suppose not,' He chuckled. Sherlock looked up in surprise. He was laughing. He was actually laughing. 'That's really amazing though. How did you know that?'

'I saw her walking out. You both have very similar physical characteristics; below average height, sandy blonde hair, and broad shoulders. She has much better fashion taste than you though. Your jumpers are hideous.' He just shrugged as if it had been brought to his attention on several previous occasions.

'And Afghanistan, how did you know about that one?'

'Your stance as you opened your door was clearly military, and the fact that you have a tan line on just your hands and face says you've recently been overseas.' Sherlock sighed leaning back in his chair, any moment now it was going to be too much and he was going to get thrown out.

'Brilliant, absolutely brilliant,' Exclaimed Dr. Watson smiling earnestly.

'That's not what people usually say,' said Sherlock crossing his legs in shock.

'Well what do people usually say?' Sherlock didn't know if he should answer a question that would actually give this man insight. Even if he said it jokingly he knew psychology, and he knew how this would be perceived. Something about this man though made him care not all that much.

'They usually just say piss off,' Sherlock said giggling uncontrollably.

'Th-tha-that wouldn't be very professional o-of me would it?' He asked in between laughs.

'No, no I guess not'.

They both took a few minutes to calm down when finally Dr. Watson Spoke. 'Look we only have a couple minutes left. It's a short session, but I would really love for you to come back.' Sherlock sighed and began to state how unlikely that was when Dr. Watson cut him off.

'I know this is obviously not your cup of tea, but I think you could benefit from this. Just think it over. You can either schedule an appointment here after you leave my office, or when you get home, but I would like to see you again.' He got up and opened the door for Sherlock to leave. 'See you next time, maybe?' he asked hopefully.

'Possibly, I must warn you though that I do not intend on compiling with the typical psychiatric model,' Said Sherlock standing up and walking out of the door.

'Yes, well that much is expected,' Dr. Watson smiled at him, and Sherlock knew that he would be back.