'Sherlock?'

The humming of the car's engine was the only thing that replied to John's voice and the shorter man resisted the urge to sigh. He should have known. He should have listened to himself and brought a bloody map. But no! Sherlock had been convinced of his sense of direction and told John not to worry.

Meaning that now the sun was fading fast behind the horizon and they were nowhere near the hotel they booked for tonight.

John's stomach growled and this time he let the exasperated sigh escape him, earning a glare from Sherlock.

'Oh good, your ears are working!' John exclaimed and Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 'Was worried there for a minute.'

Sherlock, for a moment, looked like he wanted to retort but then he snapped his mouth shut and re-focussed on the abandoned road ahead of him. John rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone again. When they had passed the estimated arrival time and only saw calm green hills around them, he had looked discretely on his phone, checking for a signal which wasn't there. Sherlock had simply glanced in his direction and sighed. 'Honestly John, we're nearly there.'

That was an hour ago.

And still no signal.

'Sherlock.'

John could practically feel Sherlock's annoyance radiating of him and he knew the detective well enough to know he would never admit to getting lost. The madman would drive them to the other side of the country and into the Atlantic before he confessed that. 'Sherlock, we need to stop.'

'Nonsense! We're…'

'If that sentence ends with 'nearly there' I'll stop the bloody car myself and lock you in the backseat.'

That earned him another glare. 'You can't drive.'

'I'll make do.'

'For God's sake!' Sherlock stomped on the brake, causing them both to roughly propel forward and being caught by their seatbelt. John felt his bad shoulder protesting under the sudden pressure and he tried to push himself back using the dash, gritting his teeth. With screeching tires the car came to a stop and they fell back into their chairs.

'Jesus Sherlock!' John yelled, more out of pain then anger.

'You wanted me to stop.'

Oh wonderful, John thought. The five year old is back. He forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. They would get nowhere if he didn't. 'Look, you got lost. It happens. Let's just double back and see from where things start to look familiar yeah?'

'I don't get lost!'

'Well, clearly you do, otherwise we would be having diner about now.' Damn it, Watson! Not good. Before Sherlock could throw a tantrum, John raised his hands. 'Sorry, that's my stomach talking. How much gas is there left?'

Sherlock glared at him for a second longer and John was worried he would continue his fit anyway. But then – mercifully – he simply rolled his eyes before checking the meter. 'Half a tank.'

Thank fuck for small miracles!

'Good, that gives us plenty of range. Do you have a signal on your phone? Mine keeps coming up blank.'

'You should buy a better phone.'

'I will, the moment we conclude the case and the cheque is converted.'

Sherlock huffed, pulled out his phone and – dammit, John did not want to see Sherlock's frowning face right now. 'Please tell me…'

Sherlock thrust his phone in John's hand before taking the wheel and turning the car around. Yeah, John thought when he looked down on the phone and was greeted with the 'no signal' message, just our bloody luck.

'Anything?'

John checked the phone again and shook his head. 'Nothing.'

They had been driving for thirty minutes, bickering, hadn't seen a single car, the sun had fully set surrounding them with darkness making their effort to spot something familiar even more difficult and still the bloody phones refused to pick up a signal. On top of that, John's stomach didn't take kindly of being denied food and was protesting.

Loudly.

'Will you shut up?!' Sherlock demanded through gritted teeth when another loud growl disrupted the silence. 'I can't concentrate.'

John, having lost his patience after Sherlock's third annoyed sigh, snapped. 'If only you hadn't been an idiot and admitted the fact you were lost two hours ago, we would have eaten already. But no, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't get lost, he just keeps on driving and to top it off, he gets angry with his hungry passenger for making too much noise!'

'For God's sake, John, I told you the route description got it wrong. I memorised it before we left and obviously there was a mistake.'

'You'll bloody drive us into Scotland before admitting you got lost, won't you? I should have brought the damn map.'

'I didn't get lost,' Sherlock hissed and John felt his own agitation rise in response. 'The description got it wrong.'

'Well why didn't' you notice the mistake before taking off then?' John felt his stomach constricting again and he groaned. God, this was ridiculous. They would be stuck here all night if they kept going like this.

'How was I to know there was a mistake?' Sherlock exclaimed and he looked at John in disbelief.

'Because you bloody well check everything twice,' John responded angrily. 'You ensured me we didn't need the map, so I assumed you double checked.'

'Well, you shouldn't assume. Besides, you could have made an effort on determining the route beforehand. That would have saved us this inconvenience.'

What the hell?

'Oh no you don't,' John roared and Sherlock met his angry gaze. 'Do not try to put this on me, Sherlock! You got lost, plain and simple. Stop blaming the internet, stop blaming the directions and most of all, stop blaming me.'

'Stop putting the blame…'

A ping from Sherlock's phone disrupted them and both reached out to grab it. Before John could push him away and check the phone, he felt the car slip off the road. He felt his heart pick up speed and from somewhere far away he heard his voice calling out to Sherlock. The man next to him struggled to get a hold of the wheel but John could feel he was slamming the brakes . Finally, finally, the car stopped, well of the road and the hood had been covered by the scrubs that flanked the road.

John felt his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing was rapid and shallow. He still held the phone like a lifeline in his shaking hands and his shoulder and chest throbbed from the seatbelt. But as far as he could tell, he was fine.

Jesus…that was close.

'Sherlock...' John couldn't keep the trembling from his voice and he turned to the man next to him. 'Sherlock, are you alright?' Sherlock's face looked a ghastly pale in the light coming from the dash, his eyes were blown wide open, staring at the branches on the hood and his breath left him in trembling gushes. 'Sherlock! Are you hurt?'

'John…' Sherlock's voice sounded small and unsure and for a terrifying instant John was convinced that he was seriously injured.

'John…I got lost.'

John felt his mouth fall open but no words came out. Sherlock kept staring through the windshield, his hands in a death lock on the steering wheel.

Had Sherlock just…what?

'What?' he repeated his own thoughts

'I got lost, I'm sorry.' Sherlock rushed the words out, refusing to meet his eye.

John stared at him, mouth still ajar, when a loud growl originating from his stomach pierced the silence.

A burst of giggles escaped him before he could acknowledge and supress them causing Sherlock to turn around his head so fast, John feared for his neck. Yet John couldn't seem to stop laughing now he had started and it wasn't long before Sherlock's face relaxed and his deep chuckle joined him. Their postures relaxed while they laughed out the adrenaline and frustration and John checked the phone in his hand.

Signal. A weak one, but they had a signal.

'Jesus, that was ridiculous,' he murmured as he dialled the number of the hotel as Sherlock was slowly easing the car back on the road. 'Hold it here, don't want to lose it again.'

Sherlock complied, still chuckling softly and John was pleased to see some of the colour was returning to his cheeks. 'Sherlock?'

'Hmm?'

'I'm sorry too.'

Late, cold and hungry, and thanks to the clear directions of the hotel owner, Sherlock and John arrived at the hotel. They were both shuffling in embarrassment explaining which exit they had missed as the owners wife fixed them an easy warm meal.

John stomach clenched when the steaming bowl was put in front of him. In between bites he was thanking them and complimenting the meal and even Sherlock looked approvingly at the meal while admitting he must have misread the signs during the way. The owner informed them it was an often occurring problem and Sherlock, spoon already halfway to his mouth, looked up in surprise.

'Oh?'

'Yeah,' the owner explained and John wished the ground would just swallow him whole with every word. 'Apparently there is a faulty description on the site. I asked my son to fix it for me, I'm not really that handy when it comes to computers, but he's off to college.'

'Really?'

John could see Sherlock eyeing him with a gleeful look on his face and he suddenly felt the need to punch him. Smug bastard!

'Yeah, alright, I get it, I'm sorry,' he gritted out, mouth full.

Sherlock was openly grinning now. 'Whatever for, John?'

Oh that insufferable… 'For…oh for God's sake…I'm sorry for not believing you. But you have to admit…'

Sherlock and John, due to their bickering, didn't even notice that the manager and his wife had left their table, shaking their heads with knowing smiles on their mouths.

Anon prompt for .com

"Sherlock is driving and is lost, but doesn't want to admit it. John understands that they are lost. How is he going to react?"