Dance Again

Chapter 2 - The Mental Institution

•Sherlock's POV•

The flat was small and tidy. It smelled of dust and tea and old books. I studied the door as I went past it. Black, sleek, shiny. Typical London door.

The gold letters on it read '221B.' Flat 221B, Baker Street. Sounds simple enough.

I followed Dr. Watson up the stairs, hearing them creak dangerously under my weight. I didn't even weigh that much!

"So, here's the kitchen, sitting room, bathroom...that's my room, and that's yours," Dr. Watson explained, showing me around on a quick tour. Cozy. Quaint. I'll enjoy it here, while it lasts.

"Dr. Watson," I murmured, "I'm here for 'a number of reasons,' as my parents put it. There will be violent violin pieces in play at roughly 3AM, noisy pacing around the flat, and me sitting on the couch for hours saying nor doing anything. Just a heads-up."

"Sounds nice," John nodded, "I've dealt with so much worse. This is a relief!"

"No, you're wrong, Doctor," I insisted, "I'm more difficult than any patient. I don't try to be, I'm not stubborn, but I've gone through 17 therapists in just 3 months. I'm not a 'relief,' Doctor, I'm a 'pain in the arse.'"

Dr. Watson chuckled, "Don't be hard on yourself. Let's get you settled. By the way, feel free to call me John."

I snorted almost inaudibly. He's doing what all the other therapists did - they all tried to pretend they're my "friends." Well, I don't have "friends," and if I did, it wouldn't be with my therapist.

One thing Dr. Watson is doing different is keeping me in a flat with him for "24/7 treatment" - as it said on the brochure. This is bullshit.

I brought my stuff into the room but I didn't bother putting it away. I just left the suitcases on the floor and reluctantly went to meet Dr. Watson in the sitting room, taking a seat across from him in a dark green leather chair. He sat on his own chair, sipping tea.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me how I'm feeling?" I ask, impatient.

"Do you want to tell me?" Dr. Watson asked.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Then I won't ask."

Whatever game he's playing is confusing me.

After a few long minutes of watching him read the paper, I decided he wasn't going to ask any questions after all. I resorted to what I usually do in my spare time - absolutely nothing.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't even notice him get up and leave the room till I heard his bedroom door shut.

I looked outside. Dark. Did I really lose myself for four straight hours?

I guess so. It's midnight, so I suppose he's gone to bed. Fine by me. I won't be sleeping myself for another few hours. I never get much sleep.

I went to my room to grab my violin and music sheets, dragging them out to the sitting room. I played a simple melody, branching off into more complex pieces as I continued. I warned Dr. Watson about this. Violent violin-ing at 3AM. I wasn't kidding.

I just hope he won't come in and yell at me to be quiet, like dad does. My father doesn't understand that musical inspiration only comes to me at night, and during the day I have no intention of playing. Personally, I could sleep easily with someone playing the violin, that is, if I could sleep easily anyway.

**Ay.

How are you all? Let's do a personal reflection: How was you guy's week of school?

Mine was shitty. End of story.

*heavy sigh* If I had a swear jar, somebody would be rich.

Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning so I feel like a misshapen pillow.

So please excuse my moodiness.

HEY.

WHAT DO YOU GET WHEN YOU MIX THE DOCTOR WITH BRENDON URIE?!

Banana Milk.

Heeheeheeheeheeheehee.

I'm going to Hell for that.

Remember, y'all just keep being y'all!

XOXO, Garnent•.•**