Breathe Easy (Sequel to I Am Sher-Locked Up)

Chapter Eight - Pretend She's Cluedo

A/N:

Hello lovelies! I am writing again! There's literally no reason not to, I have my own laptop and internet access, so I'm good to go. So happy to be back! 

 A brief summary, since I know it's been awhile and you're reading other fics:

-This is a sequel to I Am Sher-Locked Up. (synopsis: John finds out Sherlock self harms, has an eating disorder, and is suicidal and depressed, and after a stay in a mental hospital they try to help Sherlock recover, as well as navigate the waters of their new relationship)

-John has been trying to help Sherlock after he was discharged from the hospital

-Sherlock has been resistant to therapy and they have had several rows about him tampering with scales, cutting secretly, and the likes

-It was revealed that John had self-harmed too, after the Reichenbach Fall

-John got over it by focusing his efforts elsewhere, and has encouraged Sherlock to do the same 

And that's about it! Thank you for your continued support. I love all of you.

-Hannah

PS could y'all give me some suggestions for what you want to see next? I have a set plot i'm going to follow but I would LOVE it if you gave me some feedback so I can make this fic everything you want it to be :)

***

Sherlock

"Welcome back, Sherlock! How was your week?" Frank asked as Sherlock walked into his office. 

"Fine." Standard go-to answer through a tight-lipped smile.

A brief flicker of annoyance across his therapists face, but he covers it with a strained smile. He guestures to the armchair next to the shuttered windows, and Sherlock delicately sits down.

The office was a friendly, warm place. Low lighting from several lamps, pictures of Frank's kids and dogs, comfortable armchairs and a couch, all designed to be non-threatening and welcoming.

Sherlock has never been more on-edge.

He has three different kinds of hairs on his tweed jacket that needs dry cleaning, so he has three different kinds of cat; he's balding but he's using apple cider vinegar to try to stimulate hair growth and his wife thinks it's a stupid idea--

"So last time you were here, you mentioned John...how is he?" Frank asks, startling the detective out of his rapid-fire deductions.

Sherlock stiffens at his name, annoyed at himself for bringing John into something he shouldn't have to deal with. "He's fine."

His therapist sighs, leaning forward on his elbows and massaging his temples and then lifting his face to look at him.

"Sherlock...I get it if you don't want to talk. I'm some random person with a PhD that wants to make you open up and tell them all your secrets and cry, and then send you on your merry way after pocketing some cash," he says, staring hard into the detective's eyes, making Sherlock squirm a bit. "But whether you like it or not, I am your therapist and if you want to get better you have to trust me and talk to me."

Sherlock nods, saying nothing, too irritated at the fact that Frank was right to formulate a rebuttal. The therapist leans back into the armchair again, crossing one ankle onto his other knee, a non-threatening and open gesture he probably studied in college.