A/N Hello i am back and with another chapter! Um, not really too much to say about this one except um, no not really anything important to say. Also I really have no information to go on about mental facilities besides the other mental hospital au's that I have read, so if anything here is wrong or offensive don't hesitate to let me know (be nice though, my feelings get hurt easily)
Thanks so much for the awesome comments :)
ok enough random babbling here you guys go
Chapter 2
“Good morning Mr. Watson.” An elderly women said, moving from behind the desk. “I am your new therapist, Mrs. Hudson.” Her tone was friendly, but not overly condescending, like the majority of therapists he had.
“Hello.” He murmured, shaking her hand when she held hers out.
“So, Mr. Watson,”
“It’s John.” He interrupted. She paused, then gave him another smile.
“Alright John. Anyways, like I was saying you will have your own room here. You’ll follow the schedule, every day we have a morning one on one session, and in the afternoon you’ll be part of group therapy. I looked at my chart, and you’re in my group, which is good because then you won’t have 2 different therapists. I understand that it can be difficult to trust one person, let alone 2.” She smiles again reassuringly. John noticed that she had the trademark smile that all of his doctors had- the one where they tried so hard to make you believe that all your problems will go away with a heart-to-heart and a smile. John tried to believe it but honestly it was all a bunch of bullshit. Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to be like the rest though, so John figured he would give it more of a shot.
“Ok.” He nodded.
“Great. I can have an orderly show you to your room, and at noon you can come down and join us for lunch. Right after that is your group therapy.” Mrs. Hudson said all of that as if he had a choice to the schedule.
“Alright.” John nodded again. Mrs. Hudson pushed a button on her desk, and a nurse came again, standing by the side of her desk dutifully.
“Please escort John to room 220B.” She asked. The nurse nodded, and John was led out of the office and down the hallway. It was like any other hospital he had been in, cold linoleum floors, white walls, although in this place, there were bars on the windows of the doors.
“Nice decoration.” John commented dryly.
“Some of our patients have tried to commit suicide by breaking the glass and stabbing themselves with it. Others have used it for other means. It’s a necessary precaution.” She rattled off. John rolled his eyes, cause it wasn’t different here at all. She was just another robotic nurse who was going to put him in another room, doing her job of hiding the crazies away from the normal people. He almost pitied her. The rest of the walk was silent, save the sound of their footfalls. Soon enough, they came across his door, and she unlocked it.
“This is your room; schedule is on your bed. There are clothes in the dresser, enough for 1 week. Clothes are washed every Saturday and you are expected to put your laundry in front of your door every Saturday morning. If not, you will be skipped for that week. Lunch is in 20 minutes, I will stand outside your door until you are ready to leave and escort you to the cafeteria, but you will have to make your own way every other day. If you are late for a meal, we will come find you.” She recited the entire paragraph without taking a breath, and I raised my eyebrow.
“I’m going to infer that you’ve said that a couple times before.” He smirks.
“I am in charge of incoming patients, so yes, I have said that quite a few times.” The nurse almost smiled.
“Okay.” John shrugged, then opened up the door before quickly shutting it behind him. He looked around the room, filtered sunlight coming from a window on the opposite side. He glared at the light, and promptly shut his blinds so the room was almost completely dark. Ah, much better. John waited until his eyes adjusted, then walked over to his dresser and felt for his clothes, pulling out a pair of while light grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He quickly changed, throwing his old clothes randomly on the floor before turning around and opening the door, not surprised at all to find the orderly almost pressing her ear against the door. At least this one had the decency to blush.
“Are you ready?” She asked crisply, composing herself.
“No, but seeing as though I don’t have a choice, lead the way.” He smirked sardonically, holding his hand out in a mocking fashion.
“Follow me Mr. Watson.” She glared, and turned on her heel and striding down the hall. John followed he, habitually falling into a military step. He squeezed his eyes to try and fight the images from invading his mind. He was in a hospital. In London. The sound of gunfire was only in his head…
“Mr. Watson are you having an episode?” The orderly asked, her hand reaching for her pager on her belt.
“I’m…” John took a deep breath to calm himself. “Okay.” He finished after a long pause. The she glanced at him warily, but turned around and finished leading him down the hallway.
“Here you go.” She stated, opening the door for him and letting him walk through alone. Once the door shut behind him with a loud thud, John felt every pair of eyes turn his way, and the chattering in the room died down considerably. John straightened his back and walked briskly towards the line. He was a soldier goddammit, he could handle the eyes on him. Then why do they make you feel to nervous? A small voice mocked inside of him. One hell of a soldier you are. John blocked out the voice and robotically got his lunch and sat down at an empty table. He stared at his sandwich for a good 10 minutes before he heard someone sit down across from him.
“Hello.” A small voice said, and he glanced up to see a brown haired girl staring at him with kindness. She was also tapping her fingers repeatedly on the table.
“Good afternoon.” John replied, looking at her curiously. Why would she want to sit with him?
“I’m Molly Hooper.” She whispered, holding her hand out limply. Hesitantly, John took it firmly in his before letting it drop. They sat in an awkward silence for a minute, Molly fidgeting the entire time.
“I’m sorry.” She blurted out quickly, startling John. “This is extremely awkward but you looked lonely and I’m a horrible person for coming over and talking I’m so sorry I’ll just go now.” Molly almost shot up from the table when a large tan hand rested on her shoulder, relaxing her immediately.
“Relax.” The man whispered, before sitting down on her left and holding out his hand to John. “Greg Lestrade.” He introduced himself.
“John Watson.” He replied, surprised at the firmness of the handshake.
“So, what’s got you locked up with the rest of us?” Greg asked bluntly, a small teasing smile across his face.
“PTSD and Depression.” John shrugged, not really elaborating. He didn’t know Greg to well, even though he seemed like the first truly decent person since he’s arrived here. Mrs. Hudson was nice too, but she was therapist so she was automatically excluded from the list.
“That’s not too bad.” Greg shrugged. John gave him an odd look. “You’re going to have to share an uncomfortable amount during group therapy so might as well get used to it.”
“Who do you have?” Molly asked quietly.
“Mrs. Hudson for both.”
“Lucky.” Greg crossed his arms good naturedly. “I have her for group, but I’m with Mycroft the miserable for one on one.”
“Don’t be so hard on him.” Molly chastised slightly. “You can’t blame him.” John was curious, but didn’t bother to ask. Asking would lead to conversation, conversation would lead to possibly becoming friends. He learned the hard way that you couldn’t get too attached to people.
“Molly and I have group with Mrs. Hudson as well. Along with Sally Donavan and Anderson.” Greg shuddered dramatically.
“What’s wrong with them?” John asked before he could stop himself.
“They’re horrible.” Molly whispered, then looked over her shoulder as if talking about them would make them appear. “Anderson is here for depression because he almost killed himself after his wife killed herself.”
“Not that I blame her.” Greg muttered, and to his surprise, John chuckled for a second. He stopped himself short, eyes going wide. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had laughed.
“Shut up Greg.” Molly smiled. “Rumor is that Sally almost killed herself because she was his lover before he got married and wanted to be with Anderson.”
“I heard her giving him a blow job last night.” Greg sniggered.
“You are insufferable!” Molly exclaimed, but the corner of her mouth was twitched up in the corners as the beginning of a smile. The 2 bickered good naturedly in front of John, and he let his gaze wander around the cafeteria. The people in here reminded him of all the other patients he had met in his therapist’s office, this time with the exception of eating. Most of the patients sat in groups of 3 or 4 chatting with each other, with the exception of one man sitting by himself staring at the food in front of him. John stared at him intently, not able to decipher why he couldn’t tear his gaze from the black mop of curls. As if he had sensed John’s gaze, his head snapped up quickly and John was bombarded with the intense gaze of the blue-green eyes. They stared at each other for a minute or two across the cafeteria until Greg’s voice pulled John back to the conversation, and he all but tore his eyes from the other man’s.
“John, you okay? You kinda spaced out there for a second.” Greg asked, concern evident in his voice. John was almost surprised by the sincerity of the tone.
“Yeah…” Even to his own ears his voice was hollow. “Who’s that over there?” John asked, pointing at the man who was now back to staring at his tray.
“Oh, that’s Sherlock Holmes.” Greg said disinterestedly, turning to the soggy heap of vegetables on his plate.
“He’s a genius.” Molly blurted out excitedly, before covering up her mouth. Her eyes still sparkled though.
“He’s got himself locked up in this place with us though, so he can’t be too much smarter than us.” Greg grumbled, although his voice didn’t hold too much malice. John could have almost detected a hint of envy.
“What makes him a genius?” John asked, and Molly pulled away her hand before speaking again.
“He takes one look at you and he can figure out pretty much everything about your life. The first time I met him he looked at me for literally a second before figuring out that I was here for my anxiety disorder.” Molly then blushed. “He’s so dreamy.”
“Yeah a real charmer.” Greg snorted. He then pointed his fork at John. “He’s in our group with Mrs. Hudson. He’ll look at you and say every personal thing about your life in front of everyone. Try not to punch him.”
“Why is he here?” John asked, unable to mask his curiosity about Sherlock.
“That’s the thing, nobody really knows.” Molly whispered excitedly. “I heard he was here because he killed somebody.”
“That rumor was started by Anderson.” Greg rolled his eyes. “I overheard from Mycroft something about paranoid schizophrenia. He did have a history with drug use though.”
“How do you know?” Molly asked, suddenly intrigued .
“When I was a cop at the Yard we busted him for it a couple times. He was clean though when I was sent here, so who knows.” Greg shrugged. “I feel bad for him, honestly.” If anything, John was even more interested in Sherlock. He let his gaze wander over to where the other man was sitting to find the table empty. A shrill bell cut through the room and everyone started robotically filing out.
“John, do you want to hang out with Greg and I during rec?” Molly asked timidly, her hands shaking.
“Sure.” John nodded, getting up and throwing away his uneaten lunch. Out of the corner of his eye he though he saw a flash of the dark curls from the hallway, but when he quickly turned in that direction, there was no sign of Sherlock.