"Don't let me drown, don't breath alone. No kicks, no pangs, no broken bones." ~'Interlude I' by Alt-J

John

"Why would a clinic specializing in eating disorders be littered with this rubbish?" Sherlock seethed as he flipped through a tabloid. "While you wait for us to nurture your low self-esteem, feel free to look at stick-thin models and celebrity fad diets!" He quipped sarcastically, mimicking the squeaky voice of a nearby receptionist.

John shot a glare at the surly sociopath sitting beside him. It had only been fifteen minutes since John had found Sherlock playing pirate. Since then, the duo was directed to Prime Eating Disorders Clinic on the fifth floor. Sherlock had lost it, attacking the receptionist for "judging him based on his physical appearance and her shallow prejudice".

The onslaught had continued in the elevator, with Sherlock's condescending deductions directed at annoyed strangers. John had to apologize to a burly man "with Mummy issues" in order to save Sherlock from a black eye.

Needless to say, the detective's sour mood had not lessened one bit since they arrived at the clinic.

"Mr. Holmes?" A man appeared in front of them, a friendly grin on his face. John smiled back in relief, quickly standing and shaking his hand enthusiastically.

"Hello! Yes! Hi!" He rambled, grateful to find another human being that didn't look murderous towards them.

The man gave him a quizzical look over. "You're our newest... patient, Mr. Holmes?" He asked skeptically.

John turned a deep shade of red as the humiliation set in. "No... I'm not..."

The man let out an amiable laugh. "Don't worry, mate! I'm just messing with you! I knew the bloke behind you was really the patient," He gave him a wink. "I can always tell who's the problematic one in the relationship."

John drew back, somewhat startled. What the hell was that supposed to mean!?

"I'm Dr. Daniel Redison, by the way," He grinned, "But you both can call me Dan."

"Dr. John Watson," He replied, then gestured behind him. "And this is Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock just grunted, not looking up from the magazine on his lap. John gritted his teeth, his lack of sleep and patience starting to take its toll.

"Be polite, Sherlock!" John barked, ripping the tabloid from his friend's hands.

"No, wait!" Sherlock whined, grabbing for the magazine. "I need to know how Angela overcame her childhood trauma!"

John was about to give his friend a slap when Dan burst into laughter. "Damn, you two are a laugh riot! C'mon, let's get you to my office before this gets domestic."

Dan turned and led them into a corridor, John dragging the fuming Sherlock behind him. They followed the good-natured man into a room with a leather couch, a desk, and a wall-sized window overlooking London. The walls were covered with motivational posters and colorful drawings.

"Please, sit!" Dan said, settling into his desk chair and swiveling to face them. "And let the interrogation begin!"

Sherlock

While John rambled on about something insignificant, Sherlock studied Dan.

Tall-ish. Athletic. Forty-something. A frequent runner. Thinning blond hair and sunburned skin suggests frequently on holiday. Tight khaki trousers and an obnoxiously loud patterned shirt. Effeminate voice and excessive friendliness, especially while talking to John. Most likely...

"Gay," Sherlock said, unaware that his last deduction was made aloud.

"Oh God, Sherlock, not this again," John groaned from the other side of the couch.

Sherlock hated the tone John had been using with him since last night. It was like he considered him to be a troublesome burden rather than a friend.

"It's true," Sherlock spat, and turned to the therapist. "You, sir, are a closeted homosexual."

Dan just laughed, and Sherlock bristled. Did anything piss this guy off?

"I get that a lot, actually," Dan chuckled. "But I'm really not. In fact, I have a wife and three daughters."

Sherlock snorted, "So? That doesn't mean-"

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, "Shut up!"

"Make me!" Sherlock snapped back.

"You little-"

"Whoah, boys! Calm down!" Dan stood up, holding up his hands as if to surrender. "I think you need some couple's therapy more than anything!"

"For God's sake, we are not a bloody couple!" John moaned, massaging his forehead with his palms. "Can we please just get on with it?"

"My apologies, mate!' Dan said, and turned to Sherlock. "So, Mr. Holmes, what brings you to my office today?"

Sherlock pointed an accusing finger at John. "He dragged me here against my will. And the lobby's receptionist. You should have her fired. She's terrible at her job."

Dan ignored him and turned to John. "So what's the story?"

John

He tried to recount the past few weeks to Dan in a brief, formal manner. When he got to last night, he couldn't help but look over at Sherlock. He was frozen, staring at John with misty green eyes.

John felt all the aggression festering in his stomach melt away as he remembered Sherlock's fragile frame asleep in his arms. He took a deep breath and slowly commentated the film humming under his eyelids.

When he finished, Dan was looking at John solemnly. It was strange when he thought about it. Why wasn't he looking at Sherlock with pity?

"Hmmm, this is a strange case," Dan pondered, rubbing his chin. After a moment of thought, he addressed Sherlock, "How would you describe yourself, detective? Three words."

"I only get three?" Sherlock complained.

Dan looked surprised, "Um, ya. Three words to describe you."

Sherlock looked at John with a cocky smile. "How would you describe me, John? Amazing, fantastic, brilliant-"

"Only you, Sherlock," Dan interrupted.

"Fine." Sherlock thought for a second, "Well, since I have a superior intellect, I'd say intelligent. Then resourceful would be a good one. Hmmm... Lastly I'd say sociable."

"How the hell are you in any way sociable?" John asked incredulously.

"I have to talk to idiots on a daily basis," Sherlock replied. "I should get some credit for that."

"Well!" Dan let out an amused sigh, "I believe this is an interesting case indeed! You seem to not be lacking at all in the self-esteem department."

Sherlock's ears pricked up, "Does that mean I can escape this insufferable hellhole?"

"No, we have to get your weight first," Dan said, completely disregarding the insult. "Nurse!"

A woman appeared in the doorway with a perky smile and a clipboard.

Sherlock scowled, "No. I don't want anyone to weigh me."

"You have to, Sherlock," Dan said patiently. "We need to know if your weight is healthy."

"If it's healthy, can I leave?"

"Of course."

"Fine," Sherlock stood. "Coming, John?"

"John cannot come with you," Dan said, smiling apologetically.

Sherlock shot Dan a death glare, then stomped out the door after the nurse.

"Well, John, I think this will be a real challenge!" Dan said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs.

"I could have told you that sooner," John deadpanned, and Dan chuckled.

"This is unusual, though," Dan continued. "For starters, this is the first time a male came here for treatment."

"What!?" John did a double take. "Are you saying you have no experience with treating men?"

"John, please!" Dan smiled reassuringly, "We may not have considerable expertise in that area, but that's normal! Most men with eating disorders never seek treatment, so we aren't the only clinic packed with teenage girls. But don't worry, Sherlock is in safe hands."

"How could you say that?" John cried, "Sherlock is hardly human. As you saw before, he's a pompous arse with the insane ability to know a person's life story with one glance. He can't be one of your bloody case studies. He's too..." John choked on the last word. "Special."

"We aren't looking at this to fulfill ourselves," Dan said calmly. "We really do care about Sherlock's health. I just want you to know that there are considerable hurdles we have to jump over."

John was about to respond when Sherlock came storming back into the room, flopping down on the sofa in a huff. The nurse appeared in the doorway, her face white as a sheet. She quickly handed the clipboard to Dan, threw a nervous glance at Sherlock, and left the room.

"Okie dokie then," Dan hummed, skimming the papers on the clipboard. "Well, Sherlock, you are indeed anorexic."

Sherlock jumped off the couch and snatched the clipboard from the startled therapist. "Let me see that!" He narrowed his eyes and studied the notes. John managed to make out the numbers over Sherlock's shoulder. 

John felt the all the air leave his lungs. "He's that underweight?" He managed to ask, looking at Dan with pleading eyes.

Dan nodded his head, "He's in the 5th percentile compared to others of his height and age."

"Tell me what it means!" Sherlock demanded harshly, now pacing the room in a frenzy.

"It means you aren't healthy," John said, forcing himself to act like the doctor he is. "We need to feed you or else you could die."

Sherlock

Sherlock didn't care about the number. He didn't care when Dan started discussing treatment options and the need for inpatient care. He didn't care about the endless garble of meal plans and therapy sessions.

All he really cared about was the way John was crumbling.

"You aren't healthy" had made John take a shaky breath.

"We need to feed you" had made John firmly meet Sherlock's gaze.

"You could die" had made John's blue eyes pool with tears.

He was the reason John was crumbling.

In the end, that's why Sherlock was screaming in the middle of an eating disorders clinic.

He cared far too much.

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Hello!! Is this long? I think it's long. Either way, I'm excited to get this up! It was hard to write (too many parallels to my past).

Vote if you liked it, then comment if you loved it! *Hugs* ~Meg