Come at me (Sherlock/Casual )

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock’s mouth fell to a straight line, and he scoffed as he threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. A dull ‘thunk’ was heard as his skull collided with the back of the chair - but the detective hardly noticed.
There it was again.
The therapist. The amount of self pity Mona drowned herself within began to irritate Holmes, and this he obviously expressed with melodramatic tones to his voice.

“Because the Judge is an idiot.” Though he was still staring at the blank, bare, boring ceiling, something in his tone assured that he was directly addressing the therapist. And telling the truth, of course. Most therapists liked that, to know that they were achieving something at least.
“As for who chose you for this situation, I haven’t a clue. But they obviously either have high expectations of you, Miss Dragoti, or dislike you very, very much. Though I dare say the latter is very unlikely, there are a great amount of therapists to be hated more than yourself, and to be burdened with such a task.”
The consulting detective was talking extremely quickly, the words simply flowing from his mouth in that deep British voice.
“And, oh please. You know exactly what it is I have done to be landed in a cramped office with a therapist for two hours.” His head snapped up to attention, and he stared at Mona with bright eyes. Something had obviously caused an almost hyper reaction - presumably the rare opportunity to explain himself.
“They disagree -” he rather childishly said this in a mocking tone, quickly snapping his head left and right on each syllable, “ - of my ways. Or perhaps they just disagree with me. Wouldn’t be the first."

But at this he seemed to zone out, as if only then processing what the therapist had finally said. Glancing down at the chair he currently occupied, a look of confusion clouded his now-energetic face.
“I’m not five.”

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona almost felt sorry for the man who must of felt lonely. He kept it hidden well but Mona knew what to look for. By saying that everyone disagrees with him, meant that he had no one to defend him or stand next to him in his time of need. That must of been hard on him. Mona knew it was hard on her. She had Dolores, but she never really understood what Mona was going through. Everyone loved Lo, and no one loved Mona.

Mona watch the man's almost bright eyes while he tried to explain himself and felt a smile almost grace her face. he looked liked the kid who found a secret decoder ring in his cereal box. Mona didn't believe that he could have a face like that. One so happy and innocent. He seemed more like the type of man who wanted to keep everything inside his own little world.

"I don't think your 5 Mr. Holmes. Your much too smart and tall to be a child"

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

With some sort of new-found energy, Sherlock bounded up from the chair in one swift movement. He removed his coat and slung it carelessly over one of the arms, obviously accepted that he was staying in the room for the remainder of the two hours. And, as it was most definitely going to be dull, he would simply have to make it not so.
If that was a possibility.

Holmes began to pace (a subconscious habit he seemed to have when in thought), though was obviously restricted in doing so as much as he would have liked by the rather morbid size of the room - much to his annoyance. Within only three strides he had found himself stood directly in front of a wall, his nose barely an inch from the surface.
How irritating.
How the therapist managed to work in the office, he had no idea. Nor did he particularly want to know.

Spinning on his heel as the woman spoke, Sherlock walked the other way, slightly shortening his pace.

"I don't think your 5 Mr. Holmes. Your much too smart and tall to be a child"

It was true that the detective was intelligent. He even proclaimed it once-in-a-while (often when his skills seemed to be going unnoticed - regrettably, Sherlock Holmes seemed to be somewhat childlike in certain ways). But perhaps he just liked to hear it said by other people. A possible reason for the almost-smile he wore.
But he didn't think he was very tall. Not compared to some. In fact, compared to most people he was rather average in height.
And there is the possibility of an extremely tall five year old.

"What about you? What do you think of me, then? I'd be interested to know."

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona watched him as he tried to pace around the room and almost laughed at his frustrated expression. It was amusing to see this man so obviously out of his comfort zone. Mona watched him with careful eyes as he walked around like a cat trapped in a cage wanting to get out with all it's might.

"Do you truly wish to know what I think of you Mr. Homes?"

Mona watched him fro a minute before deciding that she would continue no matter what he wanted.

"Think of you as intelligent, it is quite clear to me that you hold that as something that separates you from others. I like that because I find it challenging when speaking with you. But you are impatient which works against or disadvantage because it means people have less time to see all the genius that is stored in your mind. You know how to read people which would be scary if I didn't know that you could never see the emotional aspects of this. Your file says your a sociopath, but I just think you have sociopath tendencies. From your pacing and obvious disdain, I can say that your bored. "

Mona looked at him "You are better at me at reading things about people when it comes to facts, as you have demonstrated. But I know emotions. It's my job."

Mona decided now that it was over to say one final thing.

"But in truth, I think your the one person I've met in this city who values intelligence as much as I do."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Pacing around the room (with much difficulty), Sherlock channeled his focus into listening to the therapist. Though it was difficult to concentrate on anything in the morbidly small office, the detective's best efforts at processing what she said by far exceeded the necessary. Holmes had seemed to come to the realization that it was actually relatively easy to listen to people, rather than half blocking out their words, as he usually did.

Responding to her first few sentences with simple nods (she had already touched upon the subject of his intelligence, and in his opinion needed no further explanation)

"But you are impatient..."
Now that wasn't true. Sherlock Holmes wasn't impatient, the rest of the world was excruciatingly slow.

"You know how to read people..."
Partially fact. He never really 'read' people (unless their thoughts were so obviously visible upon their faces that even an ordinary person would know what was going on inside their funny little head), he observed them. There was a rather large difference.

"Your file says your a sociopath..."
Of course it did. At least the mistake of classing him as a psychopath hadn't been made.
"...but I just think you have sociopath tendencies."
Nodding again, Holmes decided that she definitely had reason enough to believe that. Even he himself was unsure of what category would be correct.

"From your pacing and obvious disdain, I can say that your bored."
Almost clapping at the final thing she had been able to get entirely correct, Sherlock smirked.

"You are better at me at reading things about people..."
Observing things... He observed.

"But in truth, I think your the one person I've met in this city who values intelligence as much as I do."
To this, Sherlock almost laughed. He had stopped walking, and was now facing the wall parallel to the door, his forehead almost resting on the surface. He seemed to mutter something under his breath. Perhaps it was along the lines of:
"At least the entire world hasn't fallen into a pit of human stupidity, it seems."

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona watched the man and felt almost bad that she had to keeping him in her office. He looked miserable, and trapped. But then Mona remembered that she too was stuck in the office and didn't like it any more then he did. Mona let out a soft sigh before moving so her head was resting on the desk. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Mona sat there thinking, trying to find a way to get out of the office, without actually leaving. She could pretend she was out on the beach or in the Library, but what good would that be? Mona didn't like to pretend she was anywhere unless it was when she was reading.

But Mona needed something to do so she pulled out her I-phone, the one she saved for 7 months for, and texted Dolores. When she didn't get a text back she assumed that her friend was asleep, watching TV or at work.

Mona almost let out a sigh of frustration, before she remembered she had a wonderful App called Words with friends. And she was the champion among the other therapists. She was beating one 450 to 100. It was quite sad, but not for Mona.

She let out a small laugh before putting down the word quixotic, against one of her University Professors.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

As if in a sudden outburst, Sherlock moved away from the wall slightly, before suddenly banging his head rather forcefully on the surface. He was obviously bored, and after spending a considerable amount of time (for the detective, anyway) within the office, felt that the walls were beginning to cause a sense of claustrophobia.
Which was definitely extremely, very not good.

As he never stayed in one place for very long (apart from the occasions he buried himself within the walls of the flat, positively refusing to emerge), it was no wonder that Holmes disliked the room very much. And the Therapist? Well, he had definitely seen worse.
Which was a possibly positive thought.

But, unlike Mona (or so it seemed to Sherlock), he did not possess the power of patience. He couldn't wait for things. He wasn't able to sit still, and he most definitely didn't want to stay within the trapping space for much longer. So, as he seemed to conclude that he hadn't made his thoughts obvious enough, the tall man turned around, and paced in a circle. Around the therapist's desk. It seemed to give him the appearance of a prowling cat, almost, obviously trying to find a way to leap out of the cage.

"When can I leave?" He asked, rather bluntly.

[MONA LISA DRAGOTI]

Mona didn't look up from her small phone as Sherlock paced around the room. She was trying to think of a killer word that would crush her opponent in the game. She could be very blood thirsty when if came to matters like this. She only looked up when he asked her a question.

"When can I leave?"

Mona thought about that question carefully. When could he leave? They still had a good section of time left together, though Mona didn't particularly like the thought of being stuck in the office more today. After him she was done with them appointments for the day. She could let him go and be done with it, but that would be unmoral and Mona didn't need to get in trouble with work. Not when she needed the money.

She thought about it for a few minutes while putting her phone away in her bag. She turned her gaze on the man standing in front of her and spoke clearly. "The only way either one of us can leave is if I am with you outside the office for the rest of the time."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Standing stock still, Sherlock gazed at nothing in particular as his eyes unfocused in thought. Even if he was allowed to leave (Holmes would probably find himself doing so somehow even without permission, anyway) where would he go? It was much too early to simply return to the flat, but neither did he have anything to do. No current cases, and subsequently the lack of any form of challenge, meant that soon boredom would set it.

With a half-hearted, sideway glance at the therapist, the detective began to formulate some sort of plan.

She must work with all sort of loonies every day, and most certainly (or at least Sherlock thought so) would think of him as one. So, really, it wouldn't be alarming for her to find out what exactly Holmes did for a living. In fact, as his therapist, she should most definitely have to know.
A slight smile spread slowly across his features, as he vaguely wondered how the therapist could deal with the crime of New York.

And so, in Sherlock's mind at least, it was settled. He had a long time yet to waste, and a therapist to spend it with. The obvious solution was simply to find a good crime scene.

"Well come on, then." He proclaimed as though it needed no further explanation, scooping his coat from the chair as he walked briskly toward the door.