Finally an on time update again! I suppose that may be the only good thing about this update... I won't say anything more...except thank you to the people who have read, voted for and commented on this. I mean, over 5,000 reads is amazing. You guys rock!

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Some kind of classical music that John had never heard before was playing softly in the background while he and Sherlock were cruising down some back country road. Sherlock had spent the last hour or so humming along to the music and John had been doing his best to ignore the fluttering feeling he got in his stomach when he heard Sherlock do so. Every so often he would glance over at the detective and see that his eyes were fixed on the road ahead of him, a relaxed smile on his face as he drove.

"Are you still nervous?" John asked, allowing his eyes to linger on Sherlock's face longer than he should've. Sherlock's face twisted into a grimace briefly before he smiled and shook his head.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'.

"You're lying," John said, turning his head to look out the window. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock's head turn towards him. He glanced over at Sherlock, and felt a smile tugging at his lips when he saw the confused look in the detective's blue-green eyes.

"How'd you know?" Sherlock asked, turning back to watch the road. John just shrugged, and continued to smile at Sherlock.

"Because I know you." John reached over and placed a hand on Sherlock's upper arm, and he could've sworn he saw the faintest hint of colour in his cheeks. John figured it was just his "crush vision" playing cruel tricks on him, and ignored it. He sighed, and let his hand fall. These next few days were going to be rough. John began to wish he could head to a pub and have a few pints to be able to endure the emotional agony he was no doubt about to go through.

"Hey Sherlock," he said after a few moments of silence had passed between them, "I don't suppose you have anything…alcoholic in the cooler back there." He gestured with his thumb to the blue container of ice sitting in the back seat, and Sherlock shook his head.

"Of course not. I don't drink. You know that." John chuckled and nodded his head, remembering the one time he'd seen Sherlock drunk. He felt his ears get hot, but luckily Sherlock was still looking straight ahead and didn't see John blushing.

"Yeah, well… maybe you should," he suggested. Sherlock shook his head vigorously.

"Absolutely not. I hate drinking. It's dreadful actually, due to the fact that I can get completely hammered and still remember every incongruous thing I've done while under the influence." John sat silently in his seat while he thought about what Sherlock had said. If Sherlock was telling the truth, that he remembered everything he did when he was drunk, surely he would remember the things he'd said and done in their hotel room in Fiji. Yet, the next morning he'd acted as if he hadn't remembered a thing. So either Sherlock was lying now, or he'd been lying then. John wasn't sure as to which upset him the most.

"So…you're telling me that you can remember, with detail, everything that happened every time you've been drunk," John said, stroking his chin and staring at Sherlock. The detective nodded his head, and opened his mouth, most likely to make some sort of haughty remark at how impressive his memory was, but all of a sudden his face froze and he remained silent. His eyes briefly met John's and in that moment John swore he felt his heart stop. Sherlock licked his lips, then looked back at the road.

"I think we should make a pit stop," he said quietly, "My leg is beginning to cramp up." John didn't say anything, but his mind was racing a mile a minute. Did Sherlock remember that night in Fiji? The look on his face was enough evidence to support the theory that he did, but for some reason John wasn't quite sure. Sherlock had seemed to genuinely not remember anything, but perhaps he was just a fantastic actor, even when hung over… unless that had been an act as well. John was drowning in a sea of his thoughts when Sherlock pulled over to the side of the road and stepped out of the car. John remained inside, and took out his phone. He dialed Ollie's number, knowing that a conversation with him would be a great distraction from his own suffocating thoughts and questions. He answered after three rings.

"John! How are ya?"

"I'm doing alright Ollie, and you?"

"I'm fantastic." John tried to listen closely to Ollie's speech, to see if his words were slurred at all, but he seemed to be pretty lucid. That was a relief; John wasn't sure if he could handle a drunk Ollie at the moment. "What's the reason for calling?" he asked, and John shrugged.

"None really. Just thought we could have a nice little chat. You did say to stay in touch, didn't you?" John thought back to the conversation he'd had with Ollie while he and Sherlock were in the hospital to see Lucy. John had spoken to Ollie once since then, the day after that, and Ollie seemed to have no recollection of that the exchange whatsoever. John was thankful for that.

They chatted for a while about nothing important, and John had barely noticed Sherlock get back inside the car and start it up again. When they were back on the road he said goodbye to Ollie and hung up, then looked over at Sherlock, and was surprised to see that he had his phone out and was texting while driving.

"Sherlock!" he said, "Put your phone away!"

"Relax, John, I can multitask." As Sherlock said this, however, John noticed the car swerve to the left slightly. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, but just because you can do something doesn't mean you should."

"But Lestrade needs my help-"

"Yeah, well, it can wait," John said, reaching over and trying to take the phone from Sherlock's hands. Sherlock jerked away, accidentally jerking the steering wheel and causing the car to veer off the road a bit. He dropped his phone in his lap and grabbed the steering wheel, but in his effort to get the car back on the road he overcorrected and sent the vehicle flying all the way across the asphalt. Everything began to move in slow motion and John let out a surprised yelp as the car swerved to the other side of the road, slamming into some trees that were less than a meter away from the blacktop.

John heard a loud bang and the sound of glass breaking, followed by what he thought were muffled sounds of pain coming from Sherlock. John felt an intense pain shooting up his right leg and he sucked in a breath, trying to ignore it. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing slow and even, but his concentration was broken when he felt a hand fall heavy on his shoulder.

"John, are you alright?!" The concern in Sherlock's voice was heartwarming. John nodded his head, but kept his eyes closed. His leg was in fact killing him, but he didn't want Sherlock to know. He already seemed freaked out enough from the tone of his voice and the shaking of his hand that was resting on John's shoulder. He slowly opened one eye and looked down at his leg. His leg must have been hit when the car door had been bashed in by the trees. There were a few dark red marks on his jeans, and immediately tried to find his pocket knife so he could cut his trouser leg open and see if the injury was very serious. It didn't take long for him to finish cutting, and he sighed with relief when he saw that the blood was only from stray pieces of glass that had cut his leg. He looked up and tried to give Sherlock a reassuring smile, but when he saw the red streaming down the left side of Sherlock's face, and the bruise that was already beginning to form on his cheek, his entire face fell.

"Sherlock! Are you okay?" he asked, his voice worried and frantic. Sherlock scoffed and furrowed his eyebrows together.

"What? Me? I'm fine. I hit my head on the window is all, but that's not important right now. You are."

Sherlock's hands were slightly outstretched towards John, shaking slightly, hovering in the air as if he wanted to touch John's face or hair, but was hesitant to do so. Despite his better judgment telling him not to, John reached up and gently placed a hand on the side of Sherlock's face that was injured, and used his thumb to wipe away some of the blood that had begun to trickle down.

"Turn your head further," John said, trying to get a better look at his injury.

"John, I'm fine."

"No you're not, Sherlock. Your head is bleeding. Now let me see." When Sherlock refused again, John tried to move his hair out of the way to see what kind of cut Sherlock had gotten, but couldn't do so without adjusting the way he was sitting in the seat slightly. When John moved, however, another wave of pain washed over him, manifesting itself mainly in his right leg and he winced. Sherlock looked down, and his jaw dropped. It was possible that he hadn't seen the blood stains until that moment.

"You're hurt," he said, his voice barely a whisper. John began stroking Sherlock's hair and looked at the driver's side window, trying not to grimace when he saw the cracks where Sherlock had undoubtedly hit his head.

"So are you," he said in a voice that was as quiet and as delicate as Sherlock's had been. Sherlock's face was now mere centimeters away from his, and for a moment John forgot all about his pain as he stared into Sherlock's pale eyes.

"We've got to call an ambulance," Sherlock said, looking away and freeing John from the trance he'd been in. He pulled out his phone and called for help, and John found himself playing with Sherlock's hair while he listened to him speak to the emergency operator. By now the pain in his leg had become a dull ache, and was much more bearable now. He only wished Sherlock's head was the same.

Sherlock hung up the phone and his eyes met John's again. They were full of enough worry and guilt to nearly break John's heart, but he tried not to let any discomfort or pain show on his face, for Sherlock's sake.

"I'm so sorry," Sherlock said, shaking his head slightly. The movement must've hurt, because John saw a frown form on his lips momentarily when he did this. Sherlock sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped. "This is all my fault."

"No, it's not," John said, continuing to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair, being careful as to not accidentally touch the cut and hurt him any further. He knew he probably shouldn't be touching Sherlock like this, with one hand on his cheek and another in his hair, but he found the contact to be quite comforting, and Sherlock hadn't complained yet. He twisted a curl around one finger and tried to give Sherlock a soothing smile.

"How long until they get here?" he asked. Sherlock sighed, then tentatively placed a hand over John's that was resting on his face and closed his eyes. John felt his heart skip a beat when Sherlock did this, but he tried not to let it show how Sherlock's gentle touch was affecting him, just in case he opened his eyes.

"Since we're so far away from town, it'll be a while." John nodded his head and looked down at his leg. The stains were still small, which meant the bleeding was not serious, and for that he was glad. He let his head drop and rested his forehead against Sherlock's chest, not caring how it must've looked. Sherlock leaned forward and wrapped his arms around John, trying not to move him too much, obviously afraid of him hurting his leg any more. They didn't speak, and they stayed like that until the ambulance came.