Brief language and some sexuality.

About half an hour after the addict fell asleep, the doctor left the room and informed everyone that Sherlock was having a session with him. Due to high levels of anger and the high, it was going to be a long session. Dr. Watson signed Sherlock off on his afternoon activities so it didn't look like he was skipping. Again.

It took a total of five hours for Sherlock to wake back up again. When he did, the soft shuffling of papers greeted him. He cracked open an eye and saw the doctor fast at work, going through papers and files. The desk was practically overfilled with open files. His hands worked fast, writing here or there, switching around papers, opening or closing files. It was a calming sound. It was calming to watch.

The clock on the wall stated he'd been asleep a little more than five hours. He hadn't meant to fall asleep but he was very glad he had done so. Except for the kink in his neck and the stiff feeling between his legs. He was with clear head now, completely unlike when he'd outright attacked the man. Soft bruises lined the doctor's neck already. There would be a darker color to them later on and the repercussions of such an act would come to bite Sherlock in the ass.

He would lie still until the pressure in his pants receded. Hopefully his neck wouldn't start to ache much more.

"Your breathing changed. Did you sleep well?" Dr. Watson said softly, actually startling Sherlock.

"Yes."

"Your records show you sleep less than four hours a day, never all together. I'm honored my office could give you enough comfort to allow so much sleep."

"I slept off the high."

"Do you have any more heroin?"

"No." The doctor looked at Sherlock, gauging his response.

"I'm going to allow myself to be available every day between eight in the morning and five at night. The office has my number if you have any problems when I'm not in." Sherlock sat up, giving the doctor a strange look. "You won't be allowed any more drugs, Sherlock. Your real therapy starts right now. The moment you feel the need to get high, you need to have someone contact me."

Sherlock stood and stretched a little. The pressure from his morning wood was almost completely gone so he felt safe enough. After stretching, Sherlock turned to the door but paused right before the handle.

"Dr. Watson, how many points do I have?"

"You can call me John."

"John." Sherlock tested the name, finding he liked it more.

"You have 100 points." From the look on Sherlock's face, John could practically taste the surprise. "You gained fifty from telling me about the woman. And you spent over five hours in the office with me."

Sherlock nodded and left the office. John wasn't being nice. He was simply rewarding Sherlock for having told about the woman. Any points he may have received sitting in misery at the meeting was lost due to the whole attacking situation. Anything he'd gotten at the appointment for behaving was probably lost as well. Then again, why was he getting points for sleeping in the mans' office?

After relaxing in his room the rest of the night, Sherlock waiting nearly impatiently until eight when Mycroft would be just getting into his office. The woman at the desk smiled politely as she gave the phone to Sherlock.

"Hello?" Mycroft answered the phone. Sherlock wasn't even remotely surprised that the call was directed straight to his office. It would have been irritating to have to go through the desk clerks and receptionists.

"I have a word to discuss with you."

"Ah. Sherlock, listen to me when I tell you this. I will only tell you once." Sherlock frowned at the sound in his brothers' voice. It was more serious, more anything than he'd heard before. "I don't care if it takes the rest of your life. You will stay in that facility until you are better. If you become a problem for them I will have you moved to a much more secure location. You follow their rules, brother mine, and you will find it not so bad."

"Your humor is dry, Mycroft. This place isn't helping me at all."

"I'm getting reports every morning about your days. I personally think you're doing fine. Do you like the doctor I found? I'm told he's quite unmovable."

"He's a rather large pain."

"Much like you."

Sherlock gently laid the phone on the cradle. It was painfully outdated, fit with a cord. There was no need to make the woman behind the desk any more jumpy than she already was. The detective, between his high and withdrawals, gave a five-second look at the receptionist.

Married, she constantly touched the ring but it wasn't old. She looked worried but not too much. There were three small cuts on the knuckle of her hand. Her hair was carefully tidy and she had a nice scent about her. The expression she gave hinted at not happy but at the same time satisfied. She was cheating on her husband, young. He didn't know and her lovers probably didn't either. She had a cat, only one. She dressed nice for her job but she'd visited a man-not her husband-before work. It was obvious by the nervous way she moved and glanced at people who walked by that she wasn't happy with her job and had taken it possibly for the money.

The man next to her was so boring Sherlock practically got bored glancing at him. He was more than happy to be at work. He didn't have a girlfriend and probably never spent time with family. It didn't help that Sherlock saw the guy almost every day and the guy was around for nearly 12 hours each. He took so much joy at work he pushed everything else away. Sherlock could relate but at the same time it made him very boring. His job was the same every day. Sherlock was positive his job was much more enthusiastic and full of unexpected turns.

On his way back to his room Sherlock kept a smirk plastered on his face. Every person he walked by he could read like a book. Words popped up around them and spun in his mind. He didn't give half a shit what he said when he was high, he would never want to be completely rid of his mind. It was a wonderful thing.

Looking forward to stretching out his brain until he was physically ill of others, Sherlock sat in the dining hall and watched people. After living with them for a few weeks, he was finally deducing them. They lived boring, sad lives. The people who actually lived in rehab were more interesting. Not by much.

In a rather fine mood, Sherlock actually ate a few bites of food, smuggled a few bottles of water into his room and thought about how long he'd be stuck here. Mycroft was very intense about his stand on the subject. Which meant Sherlock had to please John.

After not sleeping at all through the night and being told five different times throughout the night by orderlies to "go back to bed, Sherlock, or so help me..." Sherlock finally woke with the others. He tried smooth talking himself outside to get some fresh air, to which the reply from everyone asked was "no, you don't have the points for an outing."

"Does everyone know about my point status?" Sherlock angrily grumbled out as he slipped into one of John's chair.

"You having problems wiggling your way out of everyone's reach?" John asked sweetly without flinching at the slammed door or the sudden intrusion of the addict. Sherlock gave a dark glare to the man. John took in a deep, steadying breath. "You'll earn the points."

"How much until I can go outside?"

"Considering how hard it has been for you to get points? 100 for an outing in the yard. 500 for off-grounds supervised."

"Not cutting a lot of slack, are we?" Sherlock rubbed his temples, trying to steady his migraine and stay inside his skin. The beginning withdrawals were starting to become a steady thrum rather than an in and out type of thing. As per usual, Sherlock hadn't contacted John at all up until now.

Due to the look he was getting from John, Sherlock guessed the doctor was well aware of the withdrawals plaguing the man sitting in his chair. The look of gleeful irritation was nearly painful to withstand.

"As a matter of fact, I'm treating you the exact same way as everyone else. The only difference is they gain points faster."