Hey! I'm really sorry for the delay, but I now officially hate Cyclones. Yasi's a pain. Oh well. Here's the next chapter and I'm sorry for it being so short. It just refuses to stick to the story line. No matter how hard I try. The next one will be longer. I promise.

Chapter 4

"Vauxhall Bridge?" John asked, as the cab wove its way through the pre-rush hours traffic,

'Yeah," Sherlock nodded and the cabbie called from up front,

"What's the rush?" he asked,

"A life depends on it," John muttered and he jumped as the phone buzzed on his lap,

"Mycroft?" he asked, putting the phone on speaker,

'Not Vauxhall," the elder Holmes said, "He's not there,"

'Next bridge!" John said and the cabbie rolled his eyes, and drove to the right to wait for the next turn. Sherlock took the phone,

'Where else have you checked?" he asked,

"All the major ones, Westminster, Tower Bridge, London Bridge, Southwark, Blackfairs Road, " There was thump from Mycroft's end and a lot of swearing on his part,

"And?" Sherlock asked,

"Nothing," The desperation was apparent in his voice,

"How many others do you have camera feed on?" John cut in, listening to the conversation,

'All the ones I have camera feed on do not contain our DI," John swore and stared out the window,

'Dammit," he said,

"Bring Sally into the search," Sherlock said,

"I did, she's up near Lambeth Bridge,"

The cabbie pulled over on the curb and turned to face them, "It may not be my business, but why are you so desperate to find this DI?" he asked. Sherlock was about to tell him to keep driving when John realised they could use his insight,

"Our friend has gone missing, and the last contact we had from him, we could hear water and traffic in the background," John explained and it dawned on the cabbie,

"He won't be near any of the main bridges," Even Mycroft was listening as he continued to explain himself, "What I mean is, if you're going to jump, it might as well be somewhere a bit more private. Where someone won't stop you or drag you off,"

"And?" Sherlock asked, trying to contain his impatient tone

"Well, there are the small bridges to consider. You know, like going over smaller rivers, or in parks," John sat up suddenly, cracking his head on the side of the cab.

Sherlock almost dropped the phone as the thump echoed around the cab,

'Ow," John moaned, irritated, his eyes watering, and head thumping,

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, dropping the phone,

"Are you alright, sir?" The cabbie asked, his eyes wide with concern,

'What happened?" Mycroft asked his voice seemingly far away from the phone as Sherlock dragged John's head around to look for any damage, ignoring his brother,

'I'm fine,' the doctor said, wrenching his head out of Sherlock's death grip and turning to face the cabbie, not entirely sure that the black spots he was seeing was going to cause any major problems,

"Hyde park," he said,

"What?" the cabbie asked,

"Hyde park," John repeated, and the cabbie started the engine. Sherlock continued his scrutiny and John felt himself flush at the look he was getting from Sherlock,

"I'm alright," He muttered, a little unnerved by the steely grey eyes that were fixed on him.

Sherlock didn't even know why he was overreacting as he was. He knew that a hit like that would do nothing more that hurt an maybe cause a slight headache – and yet…he settled back further into the cab trying to get his breathing under control – and yet it was like John had just been shot. The worry he had felt was so intense, it was like nothing else mattered. He wouldn't have cared if he was the one who was shot, just so long as John was okay, so would he be.

Then, deciding to hell with what other thought, Sherlock leant over, grabbed a fistful of John's jumper and brought their lips together for a kiss that blew all thoughts of Lestrade out of the good doctor's mind.

John honestly loved the taste of Sherlock. He did. That coffee taste that lingered accompanied by something that was purely Sherlock – he loved it. Moaning into the kiss, John pulled Sherlock down towards him, bringing more of their bodies in contact. Mycroft was saying something but all his other senses just seemed to shut down.

"S-Sh-Sherlock,"

It took his three attempts to get the detective's name out as they broke apart for air and it was almost Sherlock's undoing, but so far, amazingly, the cabbie had no idea what just happened, and John knew he had to stop this now. Because if he didn't this would lead to events that he would rather not occur in the back of a moving cab as they raced to find their possibly suicidal friend who, with them, was expected to go to boot camp the next day.

"Not here," John panted, as Sherlock moved even further, his weight more than welcome, seeming to tower over John, the greatcoat warming both of them up as draughts of air hit them through the numerous cracks in the old cab, and Sherlock observed John millimetres apart, the laugh lines that ran around his face, the way his eyes were glinting despite there being so little light in his current position, the way his breaths were coming faster the more Sherlock put weight on him, the way his eyes were getting darker...

'Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled, his voice distorted by the phone, finally breaking the spell and making Sherlock move to a more respectable distance, and allowing John to take in a deep breath, his entire body trembling with anticipation,

"Yes Mycroft?" John didn't know whether to yell at Mycroft or thanking him from stopping them, because God knew, he didn't have much willpower left.

"Where are you going?' the elder Holmes repeated, not entirely sure he wanted to know what happened between the moment John hurt himself and that point John finally answered his calls,

"Hyde Park," John's voice cracked and he winced as a swoop low in his belly told him that he really needed to think of something other than the man who was still sitting too close for concentration,

"John, honestly," Sherlock whispered, leaning in so that he needn't raise his voice very much at all, "To think that it only takes a kiss," he breathed. John shifted away from him, and crossed his legs as they negotiated the traffic,

"Sherlock," It was a warning, but only served to make the detective grin,

"What's the matter, John?" he asked, "Don't have a growing problem do we?" he asked, the innuendo all too clear and on the other end of the line Mycroft blanched. Oh this is just what he needed. His brother and John's dirty talk…well…at the rate they were going at, it would take them a while to get to Hyde bloody Park.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking from screen to screen, looking for signs of the DI. At least the ride was going to be something to use as blackmail at the annual Holmes Christmas ball.

It's filler. Not much, I know. But crappy week. No power makes me very grumpy. Anyways.

Love you for all your support! and Moriarty comes in soon...for those Moriarty fans...they don't exist do they? Well...he's cute. In that evil sort of way. Yes. I'm mad. ;D

Aza

xoxo