here.

And they’re always sitting in some cab, somewhere.

The driver stopping at a red light, John turns his head to look at Sherlock (one hand raised to his mouth, index finger pressed to his lips in a quietly contemplative expression). He looks at work. Though, after a moment he acknowledges John’s gaze, sighing that you should either think about the case or not at all, in between interferes with my thought processes.

Giving up on the memory of their latest shag, John turns his attention back on the streets outside.

They’re always sitting in some cab, somewhere. In between destinations.