A/N: *rises from the grave in a dramatic display of fangirl rebirth* You called?

I owe each and every one of my lovely current readers a huge apology. A two month hiatus was not okay, and I have no excuse (besides my formal education and thus my terrifying future). I understand if you want to murder me (my buddies @macncheese91 and @abigailscastle have already tried *shudders*). So, to make it up to you, here is an extra long chapter, and another one will be posted ASAP!

Vote if you believe I am worth your forgiveness. Vote if you think I'm not. Oh ya, and leave some sweet comments telling me whatcha think! Thanks for sticking with me! I love you guys! :D ~Meg

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"For you know it's a simple game you play, filling up your head with rain. And you know you've been hiding from your pain. In the way, in the way you say your name." ~'Song for You' by Alexi Murdoch

John

When a character in a film utters the cliché phrase, "At least things can't get any worse," it always begins to rain.

When John thought these accursed words to himself, the London streets were already filled with puddles. The bad sign was the mobile buzzing in his pocket.

"Sorry, Sherlock. I got to take this," John said to the silent man sitting beside him.

Sherlock gave him a half-hearted grunt and continued to stare out the cab window. He had been strangely quiet ever since he was woken up an hour ago. John assumed it had to do with first-day nerves, or perhaps the nightmare he obviously had last night. John couldn't figure out what that was all about, but he decided not to pry. He knew how much bad dreams could shake a person.

John pulled out his phone and was surprised to see a text from his boss. 'Please report to the hospital immediately. I apologize for the late notice, but an important meeting is being held that you must attend. Thank you.'

He reread the text three times, stunned by how completely inconvenient this was. He's never been texted by his boss. Now, of all days, he had to go in for work. If he didn't go to the meeting, he risked losing his job. If he lost his job, nobody could pay the rent or buy groceries. He had no choice but to go.

'Shit, how am I going to tell Sherlock?' John thought nervously, glancing over at the detective.

"Who was that?" Sherlock asked suddenly, causing John to jump.

"Oh, um," John hesitated. "It was a text from my boss."

"About?"

"Work."

"I assumed that much," Sherlock snapped, turning to John with icy eyes. "It must be more than a friendly work text, judging by how pale you are. Were you fired?"

"What? No!" John said quickly, "In fact, quite the opposite. I have to go to a meeting."

"Oh."

"Now."

"This moment?" Sherlock's face clouded with confusion.

"Yes," John cringed. "I have to go to a meeting right now or else I could lose my job."

Sherlock stared at him blankly, his mind seeming to slowly process this information. "But you promised to come to the clinic with me today."

"I know," John sighed. "But I can't go. I'm really sorry, I really wanted to-"

"You lied to me."

"No, I promise-"

"Stop making promises you can't keep," Sherlock growled angrily, but his eyes were filled with hurt. He leaned forward and yelled to the cabbie, "STOP!"

"Jesus Christ!" The driver barked and slammed on the brakes.

Sherlock immediately pushed his door open and stepped out into the pouring rain. He stopped to turn to John. His face was a furious storm framed by inky curls.

"I don't need your help," he whispered, his deep voice blending with the sound of raindrops. "I can do this on my own."

With that, he slammed the door and trudged away.

"Well at least things can't get any better," John groaned and slumped in defeat.

Sherlock

"Where's John?" Dan asked the second he appeared in the clinic waiting room.

"Not here," Sherlock growled, taking off his drenched coat and ruffling his wet curls dry. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

"I wasn't implying that," Dan joked. "Just making sure you didn't kill him or anything."

"John would be the last on my list to murder," Sherlock replied, throwing a glare at the cheerful therapist. "Now, can we get this over with?"

"Of course!" Dan motioned for Sherlock to follow him into the barren corridor. "You're the first one here, so we'll just have to-"

"Wait, what?" Sherlock exclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks. "There will be other people?"

"Oh, ya, I didn't tell you that before?" Dan glanced at him over his shoulder, "This is a group meal session."

Sherlock felt his stomach twist. "No, I refuse to eat in front of an audience."

"There will be other patients eating too."

"I don't care," Sherlock snapped. "I never agreed to this."

"I apologize, Mr. Holmes, but this is part of our program," Dan explained patiently. "If group meals are not a suitable fit for you, then we'll change it up. For now, we just have to see how it goes."

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled reluctantly. "If it's only for today."

Dan threw him an encouraging smile and continued to lead him through the maze of narrow corridors.

They finally reached an empty sun-lit room with a large table surrounded by chairs. The walls were covered in abstract watercolors and motivational posters. Sherlock grimaced. He didn't belong here at all.

"Take a seat," Dan said, leading them to a couple of chairs in the corner. Sherlock was grateful for this; for once he did not feel like being the center of attention.

"So," Dan said, casually leaning back and resting his feet on another chair. "The patients should be arriving in ten minutes or so. Let's lay down some ground rules."

Sherlock bristled at the man's condescending tone. "What kind of rules?"

"Well, as you are already aware, we will be joined by a dozen or so young women. We are the only testosterone-filled blokes here." Dan gave him a little wink and continued, "Most of these girls have low self-esteem and are very concerned about what people think of them. Now, these ladies know me well, and are comfortable around me. You, however, are..."

"A man they've never seen before," Sherlock finished the sentence. He knew exactly where this was going.

Dan just nodded and smiled, "So be on your best behavior, okay?"

"Are you implying that I mean to take advantage of these girls?" Sherlock demanded through gritted teeth.

"Of course not!" Dan said, "I'm just saying that they are unstable, and a man like yourself may cause some of them anxiety."

"What do you mean, 'like myself'?"

"You are a very handsome man, Mr. Holmes," Dan stated matter-of-factly. "Our girls may be intimidated."

Sherlock felt his face flush with embarrassment and anger. "I doubt all of your patients are sex-starved adolescents that swoon at the sight of a man." He argued fiercely, "And have you considered the possibility that a few of them could be gay or bisexual? Would being surrounded by skinny, society-obsessed girls make them feel insecure, based on your flawed logic?"

"What are you trying to say?" Dan asked, smiling that irritating grin.

"Stop judging people based on your shallow prejudice!"

"I'd say the same to you," Dan said calmly, and Sherlock felt as if he'd been slapped in the face. He remembered that he deduced Dan as 'gay' the day before.

"I am not-" Sherlock was about to retort when he heard a loud slam. A person flew into the room like a gust of wind.

A girl with a mane of wild black curls and glittering amber eyes stood in the doorway. Her ebony skin was beaded with sweat, and her petite frame was heaving with excited gasps. She looked like she had just ran a marathon.

"Hello, Zoe," Dan greeted the girl without blinking an eye. "Took the stairs again?"

"Ya," she replied, heavily swallowing air between words. "I...couldn't take...the elevator."

"And why not?" Dan inquired, but Zoe only shook her head. The therapist gave her a knowing look. "Alright. We'll talk about it after dinner."

Sherlock looked at his phone in shock. The screen read 4:58. Had he really woken up an hour ago? It was rare he would ever sleep so long. Something must be wrong with his circadian rhythm. He mentally filed that away for further inspection.

In the meantime, Zoe had taken a seat next to Dan. Her eyes nervously flitted to Sherlock, as if she were approaching a lion.

Sherlock looked away, already bored. This teenage girl was typical; anxious, spasmodic, and anorexic. And, judging by the way she was meticulously picking at her perfect manicure, she had some degree of OCD.

I don't want to be here, Sherlock thought as he fell into himself. He ignored the babbling of the anxious girl and effeminate man beside him. He turned a blind eye to the steady stream of young women entering the room. Everyone was the same; fidgety, chatty, and impossibly cheerful. How these girls had life-threatening psychological disorders, Sherlock had no idea. They all seemed like normal, hormonic teenagers.

"Okay!" Dan's cheery voice interrupted his short meditation. "Since we have a new friend here, let's make introductions!"

"I'd hardly say we're friends," Sherlock grumbled under his breath.

"Let's start with Zoe," Dan continued, gesturing towards the nervous girl sitting beside him. "You know the drill; name, age, and why you're here."

"Alright," The girl said, giving a nervous cough before speaking at a rapid pace. "My name is Zoe Brennan without a "y" but it sounds like it has one. You know, Z-o-e. I'm fifteen, but I'll be sixteen in a month. I have anorexia, OCD, GAD, and ADHD. But I guess I'm here for anorexia."

"Mia Todd," The girl seated beside her chimed in. She had long chestnut hair and a good deal of makeup on. She was eyeing Sherlock with a look of pure disdain. "Seventeen. Bulimia."

The list continued, each girl sounding like a robot reading off a strange script.

"Rebecca Lutz. Sixteen. Anorexia."

"Jennifer Carlton. Eighteen. Bulimia."

"Alexis O'Neal. Fifteen. Anorexia and bulimia."

"Edith Waaland. Fourteen. Anorexia."

Sherlock realized with a start that it was his turn. He felt his cheeks flush as each girl stared at him, their critical eyes sizing him up. He was used to being on the other side of judgement, and it was never by a group of teenagers.

He swallowed his pride and choked out the words, "Sherlock Holmes. Thirty-three." He flinched, "Anorexia, supposedly."

The room was brutally silent, but the air seemed to be buzzing with suspicion and awkward tension. It felt like ages until it was broken by Dan's sharp laughter.

"Whew! That wasn't so hard now, was it?" He asked, grinning at Sherlock. He gave him a wink than turned back to the girls, "Now, ladies, I realize this may seem like an unexpected surprise-"

"You bet it is!" The brunette named Mia interrupted, "Why is a guy here? He's, like, twice our age. That's weird." A few of the girls nodded in agreement.

"Age and gender doesn't matter, Miss Todd," Dan responded cooly. "He is here for the same reason you are; to effectively handle ED."

"Who's Ed?" Sherlock blurted.

"ED. It stands for eating disorder," Dan explained. "We like to refer to him as that little evil voice in our heads, telling us lies." He tapped his own forehead for emphasis.

These people are all mad, Sherlock thought, his heart sinking in his chest. Why the hell am I here!?

Dan turned back to the room, plastering another smile on his face. This man seemed to have an infinite arsenal of facial expressions. "Okay! Let's get down to business!"

"-to defeat the Huns!" A few of the girls sang, and the room erupted into giggles.

Sherlock felt a sharp ache in his head. This was going to be a long night.

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More on Sherlock's experience in the clinic will be due in a few days. Stay tuned!

Oh, and to all of you itching for more johnlock, no worries... it shall come!

Thanks again for reading, darlings! ~Meg