"Hello Mr. Holmes, I'm John Watson. My clients usually just call me Dr. Watson, though. Do you have any questions for me before we begin?"

The man sitting in front of him seemed to be completely at ease, relaxing into the red leather chair as if he had been familiar with it for quite a while. His legs were spread lazily apart while he bounced his right foot repeatedly with impatience. While some might believe this stance was an open one, Dr. Watson recognized it as somewhat of a challenge. Sherlock Holmes certainly did not want to be in therapy today.

"Mr. Holmes?" Dr. Watson gently pressed after a few seconds of silence had passed. Sherlock removed his gaze from the window directly beside him that made the office's fourth wall and set it upon Watson. The calm exterior could not extinguish the burning frustration and annoyance that danced within Sherlock Holmes.

"Isn't that your job, Doctor?" He responded avidly. Sherlock's voice matched his physical demeanor almost exactly. Impressive self-control, Watson thought to himself.

Sherlock turned back to the window, fiddling his bottom lip with his hand. A nervous or thinking habit? Watson intended to find out. He loved a good mystery and this man was definitely that.

"Alright. What brings you in here today?" Watson continued.

Without turning to look at him Sherlock practically spits the answer back at him. "Scotland Yard."

"Can I ask why?"

"Don't you already have this information in a file somewhere?" Suddenly an irritated gaze was upon him. Watson froze in a new sort of shock. How could eyes hold so many colours? Blue, gray, green...Focus.

"I prefer to hear your side of things if that's alright." That got him an eye roll but Sherlock still held the entrapping gaze.

"I'm a consulting detective for the local police department. I've been walking them through their cases for years and now they want to make sure I'm of sound mind. Why, you ask? Because they're morons. Implemented required regular therapy checks for all consultants or immediate termination of assistance. Which might be well for all the other useless idiots but for me it's a waste of time."

Watson was impressed at how much Sherlock could say in one breath. This was definitely the path to take to get the man to talk. "I can understand how this would frustrate you. Have you ever been to therapy before?"

"Once. As a child. Didn't last long." Back to the short speech. Watson makes a mental note to discuss Sherlock's childhood in the near future.

"How have your recent cases been going? With the department?"

A fire seemed to ignite behind Sherlock's eyes. "I thought it was fine." It.

"What does the department think?"

"They're always stumped on something - nothing new. How are your cases, Dr. Watson?" Avoidance.

"Fine, all fine." Watson has expected this turn of speech. A man like Sherlock is uneasy talking about himself. He's the investigative type - Sherlock asks the questions.

"Do you have any more questions?" Watson asks gently.

Sherlock seems confused at his reaction. Was he expecting frustration? Anger? His pale but strikingly, multi-coloured eyes squinted at Watson as if he was a new and mysterious specimen to be carefully examined under a microscope.

"Tell me, Doctor, do you think I am insane?"

"No, quite the opposite actually." The man's eyes widened ever the slightest in surprise. Watson wondered why.

"So am I free to go then?" His black curls softly bounced forward as the detective leaned forward with anticipation.

"You can leave whenever you like. However, if you mean 'is this appointment considered complete in that you may return to work'? I'm afraid not. It's only been ten minutes and this meeting isn't a measure of sanity. It's to discover any hardships you may have - mentally speaking - and to give you the tools to work through them. Mental health is not black and white."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, eyes squinting even harder. Watson had become a barrier between the detective and his work. Sherlock's work seemed to be his passion. In other words, Watson was now prey.

"And what about you?" Sherlock asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I notice all, Doctor. For example, the occasional tapping of your fingers despite your efforts to remain still - along with the dark under eyes and the lingering stench of smoke. Not a smoker, for sure, definitely a gambler. A serious one at that, your addiction seems to have chased you into living at your workplace, yes, a workaholic. Your nightclothes seem to be peaking from behind your desk. A bit rushed, are you? Must have been a late night. And no ring I see, but something tells me you were engaged once. And by something I mean the residual mark from the ring that hasn't yet gone away. Your observance is admirable, Dr. Watson, but don't for one moment think you understand anything about me."

It took a moment for Watson to speak. Sherlock seemed to be used to this reaction, however, because he immediately went back to staring at the window. "I see why you're a detective" was the only thing he could push out after several silent seconds had passed. That earned him a chuckle.

"Yes. Quite a simple skill, deduction, yet it seems I am one of the rare few who are capable of using it."

"Brilliant."

Sherlock harrumphs quietly. Watson makes another mental note to investigate the consulting detective's reaction to compliments.

"I think this session can be considered complete. Please understand, though, Mr. Holmes.. an impressive intelligence is remarkable but it's not a reflection of good mental health. The two are independent of each other, you see."

Sherlock stands up and straightens his suit jacket in a professional manner. His body appears lean, even fragile in its length, but even from those small movements Watson could see the concealed strength just bulging through. "Thank you for the chat, Doctor. I assume I can return back to work without a bother until next year?"

"Actually..." Watson began. Sherlock froze in place."It is my professional recommendation that I see you at-least once weekly until I am ready to give the go-ahead- and yes - this is going in my report to the department. Do Thursdays at noon sound good to you?"

"Fine." The man angrily grumbled as he slammed the office door behind him. Watson let loose a deep breath he had unknowingly been holding. What was this feeling? Intimidation? Intrigue? Why did this case feel different than all the rest?