My first Sherlock fic! Woo! It will be slightly slashy probably but mostly it's going to be a good mystery (I hope :) ), I'll save the fluff and smuttiness for the sequel unless demand is strong ;) Let me know what you think, I thrive on reviews.

Disclaimer: Do not own copyright, Fair Use, etc...

Exit Stage Left

"Carry your own bloody bag!"

"Don't be absurd John," Sherlock gestured at the limp left hand in a sling, "I am injured."

"Come off it," John dumped the suitcase unceremoniously. It made a rattling noise that had the airport security staff look at them suspiciously, "it's a sprain and you're right handed."

"It hurts," Sherlock kept on walking toward the exit, "it's taking all my fortitude not to swoon from the intense pain."

He did not even bother trying to act the part of someone about to swoon.

"My leg hurts too," John shut his mouth when he realised how loud he was speaking. He picked up the case and hurried after Sherlock. When he reached him, he hissed, "you don't see me whinging like a little girl."

"Ah, but your pain is only in your head," Sherlock quickened his pace, "mine is real and constant."

"The pain in my arse is constant too," John grumbled. Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. John rolled his eyes, "You Sherlock," he said with some satisfaction.

"If you didn't want me near your arse, John, you should have said so," Sherlock spoke loudly and John did not miss the little smirk on his friend's face as the old lady walking near them towards the taxi ranks gave them a scandalised look. John felt the familiar burn of a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks.

"I hate it when you do that!" John glared. He usually gave in to Sherlock's whimsies but he was to tired mentally and physically to let himself be abused by his flatmate, "When you use my own words against me."

"Do I?" Sherlock looked him up and down, "I thought you were flirting with me again."

"Good God!" the old lady crossed herself and left. Just as John was starting to turn to apologise to her a taxi slid into the parking spot and Sherlock opened the door and motioned for him to get in looking smug.

"I'm straight!" he complained more out of habit by now. He could feel a headache coming on.

"Whatever you say sir, it's all the same to me," the cabbie gestured for them to get in.

"After you, darling," John glared at him but the cabbie was looking at them impatiently. He slid the two cases into the cab and sat down. As he passed under Sherlock's arm, he mumbled, "I think I liked you better when you didn't have a sense of humour."

He did not look at Sherlock when the other slid in next to him. Instead, he fished is cellphone out of his pocket and dialled Sarah's number.

"You have reached Sarah Sawyer's phone. I can't answer the phone right but please leave me a message, cheers!"

He glanced at Sherlock surreptitiously and lowered his voice, "Sarah, It's me, John. We just landed at Luton... I'm so, so sorry. Please call me back? Let me take you to dinner? Love you, call me. Bye."

"Is she still mad at you?"

John gave Sherlock a "don't you start" look that had no effect whatsoever on Sherlock.

"What did you expect?" he said after the short staring match, "You made me cancel our first long weekend away since we got back together to go chase perverts across France."

"I didn't make you do anything," Sherlock actually sounded a little hurt, "I just pointed out how I needed your help if I was to stop a serial killer with a preference for little girls' hands."

John had nothing to say to that so he kept quiet and pointedly ignored the other man, looking out into the darkening evening.

Sherlock was right, if his relationship with Sarah was ruined, he had no one to blame but himself. He was addicted, he realised, he craved the rush he got from running with Sherlock Holmes. Who wouldn't be? He was solving crimes, saving people. He had tried to explain to Sarah how lucky he was that a man like Sherlock Holmes would want him around. He was privileged to be the one person Sherlock Holmes wanted around, annoying though he could be, the man was remarkable. Sarah agreed with that but, as she rightfully pointed out, he wasn't sleeping with Sherlock but with her and with came certain expectations. He could see why she would be furious with him, he would go anywhere with Sherlock at a moment's notice but not to Brighton for a long weekend planned a month in advance with the woman he professed to love. One of them had to give in and there was more of a future with her than with him.

'I must be better,' he decided, 'I must stand by my woman as a true gentleman should and to Hell with Holmes.'