A/N: This is my first proper casefic I've written so be kind, I do hope you enjoying. It is basically written, and I'm in the final stages of editing. Updates will hopefully be on a weekly bases and we are currently on 12 chapter but this may go up if I resort my chapters around.

With always the special thanks to thepiercedbluecat for her great friendship and ever kind words and edits. Please check out her work, she's on my favourite authors page. : )

This work relates to my short story in series 'it takes John Watson to save your life' - story title 'just transport', chapter 15. This fiction can be read standalone but if you want to check it out the background story please head over to look.

Chapter 1

Sherlock sat back with a huff, cupping his mobile in his long slender fingers he scowled at John. "I can't believe you convinced me to take the case," he grumbled, "It's not even a four."

He stared out the window at the countryside racing past. The fields were white from the overnight frost, being February, the bitter winter still had a good hold over the temperatures. It had been a particularly cold year for England and John and Sherlock were appreciating the warmth of the heated train.

They had left Kings Cross station only around half an hour ago and the detective was already getting itchy feet from sitting in one spot. He dropped his phone to the table between them and twiddled his thumbs with impatience.

"Why did you also have to choose a case half way across the country?"

"Sherlock?!" John looked up from his book, disgruntled. "You know too well why I've got us out on this case."

The detectives eyes narrowed. "A case of a missing dog is hardly going to stretch the deductive skills is it?"

"Exactly."

The doctor let his eyes fall back down to the page, starting to wonder if he was actually feeling a little nauseous. As ever he had allowed his friend to take the forward facing seat, something muttered about his eyes staying in the direction of travel.

John had been determined to find the detective a more mundane case with Lestrade's help, which meant they could leave London. Sherlock had barely recovered from their last escapades, which had resulted in a kidnapping and beating for the both of them. Sherlock's jaw and cheekbone had been fractured in the process and he had not taken well to the recovery at all. Only a week ago John had been given the all clear but the detective had already thrown himself back into work long before that.

John eyed his friend cautiously over his page as to not give away he was looking. He still notices the signs of lingering pain on the detectives face, his eyes glassy and distant and soft creases in his brows. The doctor wonders exactly how much lasting damage the previous case has actually left his friend not just physically - those scars were beginning to heal - but mentally too. Sherlock is still unhealthily underweight, his cheekbones more chiselled than usual, eyes sunken and darkened from nights of missed sleep. He would obviously deny being a human at every point of questioning

During the past few weeks, he had blocked out any of his friend's advance of helping him, ever since John had involved Mycroft in his care when things got serious. He'd even managed to take the odd case without him which worried John more than anything, the man was still weak and with his track record the doctor knew it would only be a matter of time before he got caught up with another violent criminal. Except this time John worried that in the detective's state of health he would not hold up to facing down a murderer. Perhaps a week away would do them both good, he sighed returning to his page, he bloody hoped so.

"This is absurd. The stupid mutt probably just ran off somewhere!" Sherlock shuffled in his seat, fiddling with his cuffs.

"Yeah probably."

John looked to his watch, it would be another two and a half hours before they would reach Leeds and then another half an hour to Skipton on the edge of the Yorkshire dales where they would need to pick up a hire car to drive to their accommodation. The doctor had hoped that even though the case seemed pretty simple they would be able to spend some time away from the city, give Sherlock a chance to recover and get some fresh air. He had a feeling though that keeping the man out of trouble was going to be a full time job as usual.

"The payment will be worth it though," he finally perked up, giving up on the sentence he had just read at least five times over.

"It's not about money," Sherlock snarled, "Can't I just go home now? This is pointless!"

"No," John folded his arms in defiance, "We're going to have a nice long week in the countryside, no crazy criminal pursuits, no guns, no trouble. Just timeout."

"Boring!" the detective cried, standing quickly and grabbing his phone.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk," he replied, pushing his way through the doors of the first class area the detective stormed off down the carriage.

John simply shook his head, deciding to return to his novel, perhaps he could get another few chapters in before he had to retrieve his flat mate from bothering a member of the public.

It actually turned out to be barely one chapter before a young lady appeared through the doors looking rather flustered, her hair tightly curled in on itself and a mixture of anger and worry in her eyes.

"Are you John?" she stuttered, holding her pregnant belly in her petit hands.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "What's he done now?"

"I... I think you should come?" she gestured down the train.

John reluctantly downed his book again and with a long sigh he heaved himself up. His feet were tingly from their lack of use and he stamped them slightly as he left the seat. Looking back at their belongings he quickly asked a fellow passenger to watch them.

John followed the young lady two cars up to find one irate gentlemen throwing verbal abuse at a very cool looking Sherlock.

The detective was standing firmly with his arms folded tightly about his chest, his eyes held a unimpressed bored gaze.

"I simply observed," he droned finally as the man finished his rant.

"I'll give you observe mate!" The shorter man bawled his fists. "You fucking bastard can keep your opinions to yourself next time!"

"It's not about opinion it's fact, you may be married but the child is certainly not yours and..."

"Shut your face."

John rubbed a hand over his eyes and exhaled, "Sherlock?" he said finally, drawing the attention of both to him, "That enough now."

"Is he yours!?" the angry husband pointed.

"Afraid so." John stepped forwards, "I apologise for his rudeness, I won't let him bother you again."

"You better not otherwise I'll deck the prick."

Sherlock chuckled, "I'd like to see you try."

That was enough to push the situation one notch too far, the man rounded on the detective, throwing a fist towards his face. Sherlock dodged the blow with ease and didn't even uncurl his folded arms.

"That's enough!" John's soldier commanding tones seemed to stop the pair of them, "Lets go Sherlock!"

He stormed to behind his friend and pushed him forwards and past the livid gentleman.

"So sorry again," John apologised, his face turning red with embarrassment.

"You better be," the man shouted as they walked away.

John marched them at a break neck speed forwards until they finally reached their space.

"Sit."

He forced his flat mate down and into the chair and leant over the table in an angry stance.

"Are you bloody mental!" he growled, "Are you trying to get your jaw re-broken?!"

Sherlock did not answer, he shrugged his shoulders and turned his body away, staring outside once again at the passing landscape like a sulking child.

John sunk back into his own seat, he was more than furious, his pulse was audible and his ears and he knew it would take him several minutes to calm down.

"I'm not picking your sorry ass off the floor next time," he finally said, "So unless you want to end up in hospital again I suggest staying here for the rest of the journey."

The doctor was met by silence. Sherlock did as he was told and did not rise from his seat.

For the next two hours the detective remained seated and silent. To anyone else observing they would have said the detective was sleeping but John knew he had retreated into his mind palace. Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth under his closed lids and his hands remained steepled on his chin, deep in his thoughts.

He stayed there until the doctor had to rouse him for their stop.

"Sherlock," John shook him, "Time to go."

The detective's eyes were bleary and he followed John without a word, as they traipsed from one train to another.

The second train ride was less eventful, Sherlock remained seated once again and muted and John eyed him carefully. Silence was not unusual but he was still worried his friend was suffering the after affects of the recent injuries. He had taken quite a beating; dislocated shoulder, broken fingers and even a stab wound to the leg among other internal injuries. The whole experience had been traumatising for the both of them, and six weeks of having a jaw wired shut was absolute hell for the detective. The doctor had watched him like a hawk during recovery. It seemed however that right now his friend was just sulking.

The second train seemed to go on the blink of an eye, perhaps because the first had been so long. And before John knew it they were dumping their bags into the boot of the hire vehicle. Sherlock seemed pleased with the doctor's choice of car, a large black Audi, he stretched his legs out in the footwell whilst letting the older man drive.

"We'll head to the hotel first," John said, turning out onto the main road. "Then we can review the case before heading to the client's house. She isn't expecting us until 2.30pm so we've got time for a bite of lunch and to unpack."

"Dull," Sherlock had clearly lost interest. He pressed his head against the glass of the car window and admired the rolling hills of the dales. Yorkshire was known as 'God's own county' and there was no wonder, the beauty of the area was second to none.

"You need to eat something, I don't think you've eaten for at least a day," John tried to make conversation but his words went unanswered.

In fact Sherlock's disinterested face did not change at all for over another hour. John checked them into the local hotel 'The Devonshire Fell', an upmarket old Edwardian house which he thought would be right up the detective's street.

They offloaded their belongings and John insisted they took a bite to eat in the restaurant, though quickly wished he hadn't when he realised the prices rivalled any London hotel. The doctor tucked into a ploughman's platter while he annoyingly watched Sherlock push his salad around the plate, nibbling halfheartedly at chunks of perfectly grilled chicken and bacon.

John frowned deeply at his friend, it had been an uphill struggle during his recovery period and the detective's appetite had reduced, if that was even possible.

With his broken jaw wired closed, John had made liquid food for his friend but Sherlock had flat out refused most days. His weight had plummeted dramatically and his body had slowly given in to malnutrition. At this point - with Mycroft's help - they'd had to sedate the man to place a feeding tube.

The entire experience of the last few weeks had been hell to say the least. Even now, despite back to soft but solid food Sherlock was grossly underweight and weak. John had tried to tempt him with his favourites and Mrs Hudson had made an endless supply of cakes and home made goodies but the detective was resistant. The doctor began to wonder how much pain he was actually still in, he had weaned his friend off opioids only days ago but was beginning to regret it. Now since throwing himself back into cases clearly far too early John had hoped a break may just be what Sherlock needed to take his mind off everything.

It was fifteen minutes later, after leaving the hotel, as John pulled up to gates of a large house that Sherlock's face changed from disinterested to gleaming. As the black car began down the long drive the doctor turned to him with a questioning look.

"What is it?"

"Well this looks rather fun," Sherlock smiled, "Well done John. You have picked a rather interesting case haven't you?"

"The case of a missing dog?"

"Oh, this is more than just a missing dog, it's heading to at least a six or seven now,"

the detective flicked his coat collar up and smoothed it, "Good work Watson."

John did not answer, he smiled smugly to himself, glad of his sudden luck.

Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.