Disclaimer – Don't own - wish I did.

Sherlock looked around him, realising for the first time how far he had walked. Oxford Street was busy, but on this chilly January afternoon the crowds were already thinning, the bargain hunters had spent all their money and were headed home.

Standing still on the street corner, the consulting detective noticed the shop window, and the assortment of cosy, arran-knit jumpers displayed, and suddenly he couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat.

'John!' The name ran though his head.

He knew he'd been unfair – more than unfair – to the man who had stood by him no matter how hard things were. Worse still he knew that John would have been hurt by his angry words. Wasting no time, he hailed the nearest cab.

"221B Baker Street" he snapped as he threw himself into the vehicle, pulling the door shut and slumping against the window.

"John" Sherlock called as he dashed up the stairs, "John!" but as he reached the door to the flat he froze. One word. That was all that was left. Tearing the paper from the door he read the word, written in John's distinctive doctor's scrawl, his hand shaking.

"Sherlock…" Mrs Hudson stood at the bottom of the stairs. "John's not there, dear. I heard him go out about half an hour ago. He was carrying that heavy kit bag of his."

"Do you know where?" he ran back down the stairs and grasped her arms. She shook her head.

Running back up to the flat he let himself in, hoping for inspiration or a clue, something to tell him where his friend might have gone.

Walking around the house nothing looked different, nothing except the empty drawers in their bedroom, and the bunch of keys on the kitchen table. Sherlock closed his eyes and wished he had held his tongue, John hadn't deserved the insults.

A noise behind him made him turn sharply, his hopes rising, but it was only Mrs Hudson.

"Sherlock dear," she walked past him to the window. "There's a strange lad over there, he keeps staring up at your window."

Peering over her shoulder, the young man recognised one of his homeless network.

"Going out Mrs Hudson, don't worry about him – I know him." And grabbing John's keys he was gone.

On the other side of Baker Street the homeless boy held out a cardboard box with a few pennies in it.

"Spare change, Guv?"

"Why?"

"cause I've seen a doctor crying, mister. In the park." He nodded his head towards Regents Park.

Sherlock threw a twenty pound note into the box.

"It's a very big park." He commented, pulling his coat around him.

"It's warmer in the bandstand, sir, lots of homeless shelter there."

Sherlock nodded and strode away, hearing the voice of the homeless lad following him.

"Hope Doc John's okay…"

Through the park gates, up towards Queen Mary's Gardens and the bandstand beside the open air theatre Sherlock hurried, hoping that he wasn't too late. As the painted wooden structure came in sight, his footsteps slowed, until he reached the steps leading up into the circular building.

John sat, his feet up on the seat beside him, his arms around his shins. Behind him was his old army kit bag, and his head was resting on his knees.

"John?"

The blond head shot up, and red eyes peered through the fading light at the familiar silhouette.

"Don't worry Sherlock," came the hoarse response "I'll soon work out where to go, I won't stay where people will be forced to ask you where I am. It's just…" his voice cracked, but he swallowed and carried on "I need to wait 'til tomorrow, when my army pension hits the bank. I can get a train to Harry's then."

"Don't, John, please…" Sherlock stepped further into the bandstand and crouched down beside his friend.

"Look, Sherlock…"

"John." A slender finger pressed against the older man's lips. "John I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it."

Hope almost shone in John's eyes, hope that warred with disbelief. Sherlock stood and held out a hand.

"Come home…..please?"

John allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and pulled into the circle of Sherlock's arms.

"Don't leave me, John. I love you." He tightened his arms around his friend, his lover. "I need you."

John sighed and relaxed against Sherlock's chest.

"I need you too, you stupid idiot!"

Sherlock placed a gentle kiss on John's head, before leaning over and picking up the olive green kit bag.

"Come on John, home." He looked down into John's eyes. "And to think I almost lost you."