(I used the convo that started the idea for this fanfic. Just FYI. And take note that I'm only a small amount aware of drug rehabs in the USA and that's what I'll be going off of. I have no idea if the UK does the same or completely different.)
The needle Sherlock used pulled cleanly out of his skin. He undid the tie string around his arm and rid himself of the paraphernalia. He stretched out, straightened his button-up shirt, and wandered out of the bedroom into his living room. Standing in the middle of the room was Mycroft. His hard eyes didn't need to see the red mark under Sherlock's white shirt to know the look in his younger brothers' eyes.
Sherlock didn't break stride, used to men randomly in his apartment especially since Lestrade seemed to have a stick shoved clear up his rectum about Sherlock's drugs. The man held a drug raid nearly every month trying to bust him. Thankfully Mycroft had been aware beforehand and fixed the problems such a fiasco it would cause before they even had a chance to start.
It was not often, but not unusual for Mycroft to show up around these times, which was why Sherlock thought was the purpose for this visit.
"The way you acted in the crime scene least week was very unlike you." Mycroft said about as dull as usual. Sherlock ignored the urges to shrug of tell the man to bugger off. If his older brother wanted a rise from him, he'd have to try a different tactic.
"I was high, Mycroft. I acted like a man who is high."
"I'm sending you to rehab." Sherlock leveled a heated look at Mycroft and judged the man was serious.
"You won't send me to rehab, Mycroft. Your little brother being exposed as a drug addict is a scandal you want to avoid." Sherlock straightened his fancy shirt, preparing to finish getting dressed. Lestrade had mentioned a new case earlier and Sherlock intended to be there within the hour.
"Surprisingly, Sherlock, my reputation is not more important than you. I've set up a clinic to take you this morning. I came to inform you and I brought a cab. Everything has been paid for. All you need is a bag of clothes and bathroom amenities."
"Don't be absurd, I will not be going."
"I knew you'd resist, brother mine. Which is why I'm prepared to have to taken into custody and forced into the clinic. LT Lestrade is downstairs with his team. I informed him that, should you not come willingly, I give him immediate access to search your flat. I leave the choice to you."
Sherlock straightened and looked eye to eye with Mycroft. The man was infuriating, to say the least. Forcing his hand in such a way was nothing new, Sherlock had to admit. The question was, would Sherlock take the cab? Well, of course he would. He may be high but he wasn't out of his mind. If he was going to end up in the rehab clinic either way, Sherlock would rather have as much slack from the workers as he could get and being forced with handcuffs would not allow that.
With a flourish, Sherlock finished getting dressed and tossed his coat onto his shoulders. He grabbed the few things he needed as well as his scarf. His brother patiently waited. Once Sherlock was finished the brothers left the flat, locking the door, and went down the two flights to the front door and stepped into the dreary day.
"I will be keeping tabs on your progress." Mycroft slipped into his own car and was off. Sherlock looked at the three police cars, saw Lestrade giving him a friendly yet serious head nod. Sherlock made no notice towards him or anyone else. Without having told Mycroft in the smallest amount via body language or words, Sherlock slipped into the cab and headed to the clinic.
There had been a few times in the past Sherlock had spent time in a clinic for rehab. He was not a stranger to the way things worked. Obviously, this clinic was aware of him and his tendencies.
"Mr. Holmes, welcome to Willowbrook Rehab Clinic. We've already set up your very own room and given you the rest of the day to get set up and get relaxed." The lady at the counter didn't waste a second the moment he entered. Mycroft hadn't slacked on informing the place. "We've set up a few classes for you to start tomorrow. Attendance is mandatory." She handed him a pamphlet.
Normally it was a thin piece of laminated paper but what she handed him was closer to a file. There was a map of the facility with colored areas for where a patient could go: building and grounds. There was kitchen hours as well as the medical room hours in case he got a headache or gained a cut. They simply handed him literal access to all the information he normally would have fought to gain either by wandering around himself or demanding from the superiors. Mycroft had them well informed.
Two orderlies, both dresses in soft blue hospital-type outfits escorted him through the main areas into the bedrooms. Every room had two beds but when they stopped in front of what Sherlock assumed was his room, there was only one bed. The room looked spacious. Once the door was closed, the orderlies informing him he was free to leave whenever but they urged him to settle in the room first, Sherlock went to the singular window and peered out. Bars lined the window, shades were pulled all the way up to let as much sunlight in. The view was of a gated pool that must have been at the back of the building. Lounge chairs and towel racks lined the walls. There was a type of park a little farther away and a wooded area that looked to have a trail heading into it. People, most likely from the center, wandered about the grounds.
Once he'd settled, Sherlock studied the map and found this was a fairly large area. Four buildings connected by glass walled walkways. There was a parking area for visitors, an area for the staff and an area for the clients that may have driven themselves. There was a pool, obviously, and a trail in the woods with benches to rest, a playground for "children at heart." There were areas in the buildings for working out, watching TV, reading, etc. The main building was one of the least for bedrooms, the other buildings were almost completely for clients' rooms. There were seven meeting rooms for clients to meet with visitors, if they didn't have the privilege to be out-and-about. There were three offices for the counselors. In the main building was a large living/lounge space (there was a small one in each building) that had a cafeteria attached as well as the entry room where he'd been greeted and a medical space.
There was a building across the street that privileged clients could go, with an escort, for a spa day. There were a few buildings within a mile radius, such as restaurants or shops, that a privileged client could go with an escort.
Sherlock had to admit, this was looking to be a very nice, relaxing center. Too bad he didn't like it.
The next day after having spent most of the previous day either in his room or checking out the living space, Sherlock agreed to let an orderly escort him to the first meeting. It was a group session about drug addicts and Sherlock lasted about 30 seconds before getting up and leaving. No one followed or told him to come back.
When he'd not shown up to any of his other classes, an orderly showed up at his room with a stern-looking elderly man.
"Mr. Holmes, if you would follow me." Sherlock rose from where he'd been sitting in the chair he'd taken from the lounge and did as was told. From his studying of the map, Sherlock was able to determine they were headed for one of the offices for counselors. With a deep sigh and an eye roll, Sherlock let himself be led into the one the older man encouraged him into.
Once inside, the door closed right behind him. It was a soothing room he found himself in. There was a dark leather couch against a wall and two padded chairs before a large wooden desk that was organized wonderfully. A tall lamp was the only source of light, which seemed all the more relaxing, for the darker hues in the carpets and walls, as well as the furniture seemed only to shiver in the light. There was, though, more than enough light to see the man behind the desk clearly.
Sandy short hair atop a very serious-expression face. Fingers interlaced under his chin, he studied Sherlock with brown eyes. A pencil was nestled between his fingers, the long sleeves of his white jumper stuck out like a sore thumb. Sherlock was almost immediately intrigued by the man.
"Have a seat, if you will." The man spoke and Sherlock couldn't help the almost painful reaction his body had towards the voice. It wasn't outright sexual but sounded more of an innocent and hidden sexuality.
Sherlock did as was requested, but he also played as if bored. There was a drawing on the wall of a beautiful landscape, the pain view was of a tree on an island far off into the distance, small waves lapping at the shores of the beach the painting seemed to have been drawn on. Birds barely visible against the sunset.
"Normally a counselor such as myself isn't brought into the attention of the client for some time, unless the client is rather difficult. Looking at your report and why you were brought here I can't imagine they were having a hard time with you."
"I don't particularly find group discussions interesting enough."
"So says your folder, yes. You find people in general boring." Sherlock looked at the man curiously. The expression the man had on before was now replaced by a fascination of sorts. No one had looked at Sherlock that way before, except maybe the lab woman, Molly.
"Beg pardon, but I believe I have things to do." Sherlock attempted to rise up but the man raised a hand. For some reason Sherlock stopped trying to leave.
"You know much of how this system works, don't you?"
"I'm aware. Though I've never had a counselor. Normally I was left to my own devices and eventually Mycroft would remove me from the area and I'd go back to my flat." There was a wonder as to why Sherlock told him so much.
"I'm not a regular counselor, at least not anymore. Now that you're here, anyway." The man leaned back in his chair, his eyes suddenly alight with a sparkle Sherlock would have figured lit in his eye at a new and rather intriguing crime scene. "My name is Dr. Watson, I'll be overseeing your treatment. We'll be seeing a lot of each other."