A/N: WARNING: THIS IS SLASH! Don't read if you don't like.

I finally got round to this. This is based on a prompt by my friend Pikeru's Angel that I received a few months ago. Yes, months. I'm a bit annoyed at myself for only getting it done now but… This is the prompt! Enjoy the story!

Sherlock nearly died in The Blind Banker. He was strangled to the point of passing out, even if it was just for a second or two. I want to see after effects of that. Like, in the cab he notices he has trouble breathing and can't talk that well and John notices or something like that. Bonus points for slash, and three of John's jumpers if there's some sort of kiss.

Well, I really want those jumpers.

Sherlock lead the way along the street to one of the main streets, where they could get a cab to the next location.

John was walking besides him, sneaking glances every now and then, having noticed Sherlocks' voice trailing of when he spoke for long sentences.

Sherlock let his hands wander to his neck, supposedly fixing his scarf, but really just making sure his neck was in one piece.

He was pretty sure there was a blank spot in his mind between having the attackers hands tightening the scarf round his throat and coughing his way back to life. So he'd been knocked out.

Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what John would do the man if he knew…

They rounded the corner, and Sherlock held up his hand, trying to call for a taxi, but his voice refused to co-operate, and nothing happened.

John looked worriedly at him and called the taxi himself without needing to be asked.

Climbing into the back of the London Taxi, John gave the instruction to get to the next place, and sat back, looking at Sherlock.

In that time, Sherlock had sat back already, hands testing for sore spots on his skin and feeling where the mans' scarf had bruised or lightly burned.

He also noticed that his breathing was shaky, like he couldn't pull enough air into his lungs.

That was when Sherlock realised he could have lost his life if the attacker hadn't let go.

"Sherlock?" John looked over at him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine John…" He winced at the roughness of his voice, and how it failed on him halfway through his friends' name.

John instantly leapt into what Sherlock had come to affectionately refer to as 'Medical Mode', moving along the seat so he was next to Sherlock and carefully starting to take of the scarf.

Sherlock began to move away, but John put his hand on Sherlocks' shoulder, stopping him.

"I've just got to make sure you're okay." John told him.

Sherlock nodded, and John loosely took of the scarf and folded down the lapels on Sherlocks' coat.

Sherlock had closed his eyes, trying to settle his breathing.

John had never been this close before. He'd never been so gentle when helping Sherlock with various bruises he had. All he could feel was Johns' touch, his smell – a perfect mixture of deodorant and just…John. The fact that his lungs were protesting with every breath was making it all the harder to get his breaths even.

So quiet was Sherlock that when John directed his eyes to the Consulting Detectives' neck, Sherlock heard the slight intake of breath.

"Why didn't you call me before it happened?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock choked out a laugh, but stopped when he realised it hurt. "I didn't know." He murmured.

John lightly ghosted his fingers over Sherlocks' neck, placing his cool hands against the bruises. "I think you'll be okay. But next time just let me in?"

Sherlock wasn't sure if he was supposed to read a double meaning in that, or if he just meant it when breaking into suspects houses.

"Maybe." Sherlock smiled. He closed his eyes again, just letting the feeling of John being this close to him. Basically alone.

Suddenly he was completely engulfed by Johns' presence, and felt Johns' hands hesitant place themselves either side of his face.

Sensing what was going to happen, Sherlock slipped his hands round Johns' waist, pulling him close and feeling his whole body spark with electricity.

Both of them had been waiting for this. They both knew the other person had been lusting after them, but neither had been ready to act upon it yet. Until now.

Johns' lips were soft, hesitant, and meaningful. His hands went from Sherlocks' face into his hair, as Sherlock moved one hands tighter round Johns' waist, pulling him as close as possible, and the other up to the back of his neck.

It only last a short while, because they were getting to their location.

John pulled back, but didn't move from his position up close to Sherlock. He rested his head on Sherlocks' chest, hearing his friends – although he now suspected they were a little bit closer than that – heart trying to beat itself out of his chest in response to their actions.

"Be more careful next time you housebreak." John murmured.

"Sure." Sherlock rested his head on Johns, and stayed like that, with his hands round Johns' waist, until they car closed to a stop and they had to get out, although neither of them really wanted to. They'd finally found what they needed in life to keep them going. Eachother. Not in the sickly sweet soft way.

They were two sides of the same coin. Sherlock kept John from feeling the after effects of the war, and John stopped Sherlock from being more destructive than usual.

And it had taken a near death experience and a short taxi discovery to work this out.

A/N: Well Piki, hope that was alright! I'm not too sure about it, not sure why. It's just…

Might have to re-try this one at some point, but until then this is okay.

Let me know what you thought! Anyone! Please?