His trousers. Check. His phone. Check. His sweater. Check. His dignity, yeah John had a feeling he would be missing that for a while. The so called 'completely private room' was suffocating him. He couldn't bear to stand still so he took off, flinging the door open and marching off down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock called, craning his neck around the corner and staring down at his flustered little doctor.

"I don't know! Narnia!" John shouted, not looking back. He felt Sherlock's gaze on him as he pushed through the door to the men's bathroom.

"You are not going to find it in there" Sherlock stated. John replied in a noise that was not human, slamming the door behind him in a loud crash. The world shifted around him as he stormed over to the sinks, ducking his head and glaring down the drain. Who-ever else was in the bathroom suddenly felt impending awkwardness and made a move for the door. John listened as the footsteps approached the entry he had so roughly bashed through. There was slight hesitation but the officer thought it best to let John be. Through the pounding of blood in his ears, John heard the man slip outside. He was joined by his mate because they started to chatter in hushed tones.

"What was that all about?" One of them asked the other.

"I don't know. Lovers tiff"

John spun back to the doorway "WE ARE NOT LOVERS!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. The officers on the other side of the door flinched at the sudden explosion they never would have thought would come from the small jam loving blogger. They fled from their perches like startled pigeons, not daring to hang around for the aftershock.

His arms shook as he reached back, grasping onto the porcelain sink. John turned, fingers gripping onto the sides of the basin for dear life.

'Can you keep a secret? We have photographic evidence. Are you with me or not? It would add to the show… Just a minor setback. Not very wifely of you! Fine then' Sherlock's voice rang in his head, repeating itself like a broken record player. "Shut up. Just shut up!" John begged between gasps as nausea ripped through his chest. He looked up into the mirror.

Just. Scrawled in black ink smudged along a forehead. A forehead growing pale. John watched as his sandy hair turned dark, curling up into small springs on his scalp. All the grooves and patterns printed onto his skin, the withered indents awarded to him from lack of sleep, or Afghanistan, or simply just another week at Baker Street began to fade. Warm blue eyes turned icy as they stared back and soft spongy lips grew tight and ghostly. John stared back at a face that wasn't his own.

"Sher-" That was when whatever mighty being on earth slammed itself at John's stomach. He curled over as he did exactly what Sherlock had done, except not on Mycroft's shoe. John throat burned and eyes watered, feeling the acid and poison rise up out of his system and splutter into the drain. John closed his eyes and let his body tense and squeeze down on his insides. After a few more dry heaves, John felt confident that he had seen the last of his stomach content. With a shaking hand, he reached over and turned the tap handle, setting the icy cold water jet streaming into the basin. He waited for the powerful stench to swirl down the drain before opening his eyes again.

The world had fallen back into its usual pace. John blinked salty tears out of his eyes, letting them plummet off the ridge of his nose and into the rushing water below.

The blonde let out a long sigh. He cupped both hands underneath the tap and brought the cool water to his face. The sensation of the beads of water smashing against his cheeks felt soothing, washing away the fiery tension that burned on his skin previously. He straightened up but didn't let his hands fall from his face.

Please don't be there. He prayed and let his palms fall. A familiar sandy haired ex-soldier peeked out cautiously back at him, much to John's relief. There was a soft rap on the door.

"Bugger off" John called listlessly.

"John, I'm coming in" John watched past his reflection as Lestrade moved through the entry, stepping just inside his peripheral line of vision. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine" John muttered, keeping his eyes down the drain. Greg Lestrade wasn't a Holmes, but he certainly wasn't an idiot.

"Really? Cus' when I asked Sally to fetch you she came back saying something about 'scrubbing her eyeballs clean'" That awarded himself a tiny slither of a grin from John. Lestrade felt like a kindergarten teacher at the best of times, always making sure his pupils kept on the right track and didn't kill each other in the process. Every once in a while one of his gentler students would find themselves lost and even though he wasn't the best at it, he knew it was his job to get them back.

"You know, that sociopath out there may seem like he has all the answers but he doesn't" John glimpsed over at Lestrade. "I have not seen anyone get through to him, or change his mind, or even make him think twice about his actions. Except you. Now, he sure as hell can't help us with his blogger hurling up into the bathroom sink" John kept his expression blank, he simply couldn't argue. "Now are you going to just stand there or are you coming to rescue your lunatic?"

John let out a small grin and rubbed his temple. "He is completely hopeless without me, isn't he?"

"As hopeless as he would be if he was performing a dance recital for her Majesty herself" Lestrade grinned back, following John out the door. The two of them walked side by side down the hall. They didn't need to say anything, it was a comfortable silence. Sherlock's voice shattered it.

"Did you find Aslan?" He called sarcastically from the private room.

John glanced to his side, his eyes just sweeping over Lestrade's figure for only a second.

"No. He found me"

"He's missing?" John asked.

"Clearly John, that is what he just said" Sherlock commented, bored by the conversation.

"I know that" John hissed, not bothering to look back at the dark haired figure folded up on the officer chair. "I don't understand what you mean by missing"

"We have not been able to get in contact with him and his wife doesn't know his ware bouts either" Sally explained. She sat across the broad table from Sherlock and John, occasionally giving those long calculative looks that weren't fooling anyone to be just little glances.

"You and Sherlock were the last seen with him. Do you have any clue to where he could be?"

"Well… last night for me is a total blur" John said, twiddling his thumbs. "I would suspect it would be the same for Sherlock" Sally frowned.

"Don't give me that. You must have some idea of where he went; he was with you for god's sake"

"I don't know what to tell you. The last real memory I have was…." He wet his lips and forced out the rest of his sentence "Sherlock's speech". Sally's face lit up in a nasty smirk.

"Oh yes, who could forget that!" John felt a flare burn across his cheeks. "The 'yes' dance will go down in history"

"Ms Donovan…" Lestrade warned but Sally carried on.

"Who could forget the night you both made complete asses of yourselves? Absolute dick heads" John sank back, feeling her words mock him in the way he knew that would happen. It is what he had feared ever since he saw the video, being bullied. Sherlock sprang up from his seat and plucked his scarf off the end of the table.

"I think we have had enough of this for one day" He nodded to Lestrade and sent an icy glower towards Sally. "Thank-you for your time, let's go John" Sherlock swept over, clutching possessively onto John's shoulder and pulling him up out of his chair.

"Now just hold on a minute!" Lestrade called but there was no stopping him. Sherlock marched himself down the hallway with John struggling to keep up at a walking pace. He spoke in an irritably fast pace, not even pausing for breath as he muttered dark and horrible things.

"Sherlock, Sherlock slow down!" John called, braking into a jog. He tried to follow on after his partner, keeping his head down in a failed attempt of being discreet. It didn't really matter anymore anyway; the whole of Scotland Yard had already torn their professional image apart. Sherlock pushed through the sliding door and onto the cold street. The rain was now pelting down, showering over the two of them.

"What the hell was that all about?" John panted. Sherlock extended his arm, hailing a taxi.

"We are going home. We can have some tea and a sit down" Sherlock chewed up and spat out each word, his teeth grinding together. John recognised that tone of voice and said nothing. Right now Sherlock was a thunder storm and John didn't want to raise an umbrella. The two suddenly became three as Sally stepped out into the rain after them.

"Get back inside. We are not done talking yet"

"I'm not under arrest so I have the right to leave whenever I want" Sherlock explained, watching as a taxi swerved out of traffic towards them.

"Oiy! Listen to me. I know I was never the nicest person to you Sherlock" John rolled his eyes at the understatement of the year. "But I need your help" Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"And why would I want to do that?" He growled. The taxi came to a stop next to them. Sherlock turned and clicked open the car door.

"Because" Sally reached out and grabbed onto Sherlock's shoulder, pulling him back to face her. She let go, noting the horrified look on Sherlock's face that she had actually touched him. "I can do something for you" Sherlock raised an eye brow.

"And what" he leaned stepped back, his hand on the dark car's roof. John watched the scene like a fan sitting at home watching the telly, waiting in suspense for the characters next line.

"I thought you would have guessed that I have a YouTube account" Sally let a sly grin paint her face. "One of my videos has recently gone viral. I don't think you need further explaining" Sherlock's expression turned to stone. "Find him and you will never have to see that video ever again"

Sherlock clicked open the taxi door and slipped inside without another word. Sally took a step back, allowing John to pass into the cab. The consulting detective didn't look back at her smug face, he didn't need to. John clambered in and yanked the door closed behind them, cutting off the hiss of the rain. Sherlock sat across from him, his knees tucked up under his chin and his glare now strewn out the window. John said nothing for a while and let the cab rumble back out onto the street.

"Where to?" The cabby called.

"Regents park" Sherlock stated, not shifting his position.

"Any reason we are visiting the park?" John asked, trying to keep the conversation moving.

Sherlock turned to John, a hint of a smile lighting up the corners of his mouth. "We are off to find our wanker, Anderson, John. The first place to start is the zoo"