Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Sherlock characters.

John's POV

He knew it had gone badly. To be honest he still had trouble believing that he could have screwed up so royally. All Sherlock had asked him to do was go to the murdered Chris Costello's home and find out if he had any unusual hobbies. How in the name of all that was gracious had he managed to get into a massive fight, give away the fact that Sherlock was on the case to the suspect and as if that wasn't enough he also managed to find himself rejected by Sarah when he had gone to the surgery for help.

He scowled, he'd looked a mess when he'd walked into the surgery needing patching up. Sarah had taken one look at him and directed him to a private room where she gave him all sorts of bandages and some temporary pain medication, the strongest morphine, not that it was really working.

"So what was it this time, more Chinese wrestlers," She joked.

"No, brutal murder case!" he groaned whilst stitching his own abdomen where a shallow scratch had drawn a bit more blood than it should have.

"Do you not think you should be more careful with yourself?" Sarah replied through the crack in the doorway.

"Not really," John had said. "It has to be done…well what I mean is…"

"You have to help the consulting detective," Sarah finished unhelpfully. "You did remember we had a date tonight didn't you?"

John could have kicked himself, but he'd had been subjected to that enough already. Of course he was supposed to take Sarah to the Theatre to see Frankenstein tonight. Ok it wasn't romantic but it he had heard brilliant reviews from all those who had gone and yes he had forgotten.

His silence spoke a thousand words. Sarah sighed.

"This isn't going to work is it?"

John wanted to reply but for some reason the words just wouldn't come out of his mouth, he smiled briefly thinking of just how much people would pay to hear Sherlock go speechless just once. He'd snapped out of his reverie to hear heels walking away down the hall. So that was that then. John's pride from serving in the army seemed to eradicated his wish to beg for things to be set straight. Holding his head level and blanking his face he had left the surgery, guessing he wouldn't be back too soon.

Turning into York Street, John knew Sherlock would have already deduced that something was wrong, he shouldn't have been gone for so long. Grimacing as he rounded into Baker Street he contemplated if it was worth trying to conjure up a lie? Probably not.

Sherlock's POV

So were was the evidence?

Point one, John had been gone for three hours forty two minutes and fifty six seconds longer than he should have.

Point two, John had not texted, or called with any evidence of what he'd found.

Deduction: John had found no evidence, hardly surprising. Sherlock already knew he wouldn't he just wanted John out of the house so he could hack into his laptop and do some toxin research.

What had happened?

Point one, John should have returned now by cab the journey should have taken twenty minutes at the most. He hadn't.

Point two, John's text's or calls, even just to tell him to get off his laptop, had not arrived.

Point three, There had been an alarmed call from D.I. Lestrade to inform him that the suspect had been seen fleeing onto the Eurostar train at King's Cross.

Deduction: John's lack of contact suggested his phone had been broken, he was too careful to lose it. The length of the time John's had been absent showed he must have walked around for a while or rather was walking home. The suspect had fled to Paris so he knew he was being followed. Conclusion suspect must have ran into John at Costello's flat, got into a fight in which John's phone had been smashed, thought he was been pursued and fled. John had walked to the surgery not fifteen minutes away from the flat to patch himself up. Must have been rejected by Sarah otherwise he wouldn't have walked back to 221B.

Analysis, suspect clearly involved but not guilty of murder, fled abroad to warn somebody else. Trail would now be cold, Lestrade was too slow and John really was that bigger of an idiot, as he'd suspected.

Was it worth playing John along for bit? Probably not.

John's POV

He paused outside the door, the brass address and knocker never looked so foreboding. He was sore, cold and humiliated. Well at least it couldn't get worse. He slotted the keys into the lock and turned letting himself in, the heat wave that hit him was very welcome. London was bitter in the winter and far too hot in the summer. He shrugged out of his coat with some trouble trying not to stretch his abdominal cavity muscles too much and remembering that Sherlock noticed everything climbed the staircase as normally as he could. He'd started paying attention to everything he did, in case he ever needed to deceive Sherlock, not it was time to see if it paid off. It didn't.

Sherlock was typing furiously on his laptop when he entered the main suite.

"Couldn't be bothered to get your own again." he stated. It wasn't a question and Sherlock didn't treat it as one.

"So…anything good?" he tried, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for normal.

"No. I see you managed to do a fine job of helping in my current case John." The mixture of bluntness, sarcasm and iciness in Sherlock's tone told him just how annoyed with him the detective actually was.

"Do I even need to explain what happened?"

"No." The laptop lid was closed sharply and Sherlock sat with his fingers steepled in the customary concentration position. This was normally a sign for John to stop asking dull questions. Silence descended in 221B and it was awkward. Neither of them moved for around two minutes, the John decided he needed some tea.

"No milk."

"I'll go and get some then."

"Shouldn't you rest… doctor that abdomen has to hurt. Shallow cut but right on the nerve impulse line, correct?"

John nodded but still made for the door. He knew Sherlock was in no real mood for conversation when he was like this. It was better to leave him alone at times like this. John had just gotten his coat on, when something brushed past him, it was Sherlock. He turned to see the man dressed in coat and scarf, before he'd opened his mouth Sherlock opened the door, stepped out and slammed it shut behind him.

"I think I'd better go to Lestrade and tell him the good news."