AN: hey! So I know it's been a while but here is the latest update, mainly to quash rumours that I was dead and being eaten by Alsatians like Bridget Jones.

This was prompted by GRock87 in her awesomeness. Yay the Paralympics! Yay Ellie Simmonds who has won as I type! Yay grumpy presenter in a wheelchair yesterday morning on channel four (He had a right to be honest)!

Out of boredom I got twitter and tumblr today. Follow me horton_rachael and also on Tumblr Not so ordinary Mortal.

Lily

'Come on John!' I heard the impatient yell from a nearby alley.

'Sherlock *pant* I *pant* need...'

'Oh come on! We don't have time for this John!' and I watched the lanky git speed off at a frankly annoying pace. I leant up against a handy wall and stared after him. I honestly didn't understand it. For three years of my professional life I had trained with the Royal marines and I still couldn't keep up with a thirty seven year old man. Bastard.

'I am not a bastard!' I heard shouted from a little way in front of me. I shook my head and laughed.

My breath having marginally caught up with me, I followed Sherlock at a gentle jog. I found some small victory in the fact that even at a gentle jog it was only a very few minutes before I saw Sherlock vaulting and leaping a few feet in front of me, quite frankly it looked a great deal more impressive than it needed to. To this day I have no idea why, when I try to jump over things in the street, I look like what I am, a man the wrong side of forty trying something that is far too graceful for him to even attempt, while Sherlock looks like he should be in the bloody Olympics dancing around on a mat somewhere. It's the same when I attempt judo. I usually end up on my arse, winded, while Sherlock barely turns a hair and has gained a perfect ippon within a few seconds of the start of the bout.

And then, I saw the abandoned baked bean tin, saw the suspect kick it hastily into Sherlock's path and Sherlock's foot hit the polished surface and I have to admit, as much as I love Sherlock, and I do love him, (I would never tell him) just a tiny part of me went hah! But then his back hit the floor with a sickened slap and I remembered the nine grand per year my parents had spent sending me to medical school and ran forward to my fallen lover.

'Are you alright?' I asked, falling to my knees beside the retching figure on the ground.

'Oh I'm fine.' He snarled, coughing miserably.

I ignored the sarcasm and ran my hands down his sides, searching for bleeding 'Does your neck hurt at all? Where did you land, on your back or your sides? Can you move your arms? What about your legs?'

He retched again and put a hand on my arm 'I'm fine John. I don't have a C spine or concussion, I was just winded. Oh and call Lestrade and tell him the woman was a false lead.'

I dropped the arm I had been holding, resulting in a soft crunch and a slight yelp from Sherlock. 'I wasn't checking you for a C spine or concussion,' I said, indignant at this doubt of my medical prowess 'What do you mean a false lead?'

He snorted, making himself retch again (I disguised my giggles as a cough) and said 'Honestly John. Didn't you see how, as we walked up to her she clutched her bag tighter? She thought we were going to take her purse, as she ran she reached into her handbag, I originally thought for a rape alarm or mobile phone, but she took out a sheaf of paper. Parking tickets. We look like policemen John, she has about a thousand pounds worth of unpaid tickets that she can't afford to pay. The victim was obviously murdered for his money, but she has thousands of pounds owing, conclusion? She's not the murderer.'

He climbed unsteadily to his feet and leant a little on my bad shoulder 'Advise Lestrade to check the last withdrawal from the man's bank account. It's a private deposit in a posh Swiss bank, they'll have the name of the person who retrieved it. He'll have his murderer by dinner time tomorrow. Piece of cake.'

'Fantastic!' I blurted, before slapping a hand over my mouth. To my surprise, Sherlock blushed and smiled shyly. He reached down and kissed the top of my head.

'Thank you.' He said, turning away. As he walked away, the aristocratic self assurance returned to his step and he jumped a low wall. I laughed again and started to run past him. I didn't know where the stupid, romantic feeling had come from, but I slapped him lightly on the back as I passed him 'Race you!' I called back.

'You'll never beat me!' he smirked speeding up

'Want a bet?' I called 'Piece of cake!'

AN: I don't know where that last part came from but hey ho. Anyways, review please please please.