Hello sweeties! So, I was working on a new chapter for Loyalty... but then, this happened. Don't know why I love John whump so much. :/
Aaaaaaanyways, hope you enjoy this little oneshot. I promise Loyalty will be updated soon. Pinky-promise. ;)
Sherlock kept a cool demeanor. Yes, his best friend had a gun pointed at his head while having his hands bound, and yes, Moriarty was a psychopath, but the detective had to stay calm. What good would panicking do?
"Don't you love a bridge at night? The calming water ripples in the starlight, and all three of us are here to witness the beauty of it all. Aren't we all lucky to be alive?" Moriarty said, caressing the gun.
Sherlock wasn't exactly sure what Moriarty was going to do, and he hated not knowing.
"I can see your gears turning, Sherlock. Wondering what I'm going to do with your loyal little puppy dog?" Moriarty cocked the gun. "Well, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." He grabbed John by the shirt collar and shoved him to the ground, causing Sherlock to take a step forward. "Ah, ah, ah," Moriarty scolded, pointing the gun at John again, "I have an itchy trigger finger, Sherlock. At any moment, your puppy's brains might be splattered all over this lovely wooden bridge. BOOM," he said, startling Sherlock. "Johnny-boy's relying on your supreme intellect. The clock is ticking. Who-dun-it?"
Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth between Moriarty, the gun, and John. He knew! But the answer was hidden away! Moriarty forced John to his feet.
"Tik-tok. Tik-tok," Moriarty said with a wicked grin, pressing the barrel of the gun forcefully against John's temple.
Sherlock was frantically searching for the answer, his eyes shut tightly. Tik-tok, tik-tok.
Just then, he heard a familiar sound. A ringtone. Moriarty's phone was ringing. He heard an annoyed scream.
"Again?!" Moriarty yelled, angrily whipping out his phone. "What?!" he screamed into the phone, still keeping the gun held to John's head. Sherlock held his breath. Moriarty's face was twisted into a look of fury. "I WILL FUCKING SKIN HIM ALIVE!" And with that, Moriarty threw his phone in the river. "Sorry, Sherlock. We're going to have to reschedule, again. But, in the meantime, let me allow you one minigame." Moriarty forcefully crushed the butt of the gun into John's temple, immediately knocking the man out. Then, he threw him over the side of the bridge into the water below.
"JOHN!" Sherlock screamed, looking over the side of the bridge.
Moriarty smiled.
"CPR is an elementary skill. Hopefully you allowed your mind to grace its presence."
And Moriarty calmly walked over to a nearby car, and got inside.
Sherlock could care less at this point about where the hell Moriarty was going. Right now, he had to get John out of the river. John needed air. Quickly, the detective threw off his coat and scarf, and dove into the river below. Why did it have to be so dark out?! He couldn't see a damn thing! Sherlock tried his best to keep his eyes open in the dirty river water. The only thing keeping him going was John.
"John!" he tried calling, but the sound came out only as bubbles.
Frantically, he moved his head from side to side, not seeing anything. Then, he saw something. That something… that familiar something… John! Quickly, Sherlock swam over to the doctor, wrapping his arm around his waist, and with as much strength as he could muster, swam to the surface. When his head broke the water's surface, he took in a large helping of air. He hadn't realized how much he needed air. He kicked his legs, trying to keep himself and John above the water.
"John!" he yelled at his unconscious friend through his gasps for air. "John!" he screamed again, lightly smacking John's cheek.
No response. Frantically, he used his free hand to swim over to the grassy river bank. As soon as he was able to touch the bottom of the river, he scooped John up in his arms and carried him over to the dry grass, laying him back down gently. With shaky hands, he untied the ropes that bound John's hands together. He then leaned over, his ear hovering over the doctor's mouth, listening for breathing. None. Grabbing John's wrist, he felt nervously for a pulse. It was, there, but barely.
"Come on, don't do this to me!" he screamed at his friend.
Quickly, he searched through the archives in his mind.
CPR, CPR, CPR… 30 chest compressions followed by mouth-to-mouth.
Sherlock adjusted himself so he was straddling John's still figure. Then, taking a deep breath, he placed his hands on John's chest, and began pumping.
"Come on, John, please," he begged. "Please John."
…26, 27, 28, 29, 30. Breathe!
He hesitated.
Strictly medical.
And then he pinched John's nose fixated his lips over John's, cool, blue ones. He wished those lips had their color back. And then he breathed his breath into John's air-deprived lungs.
"John please!" he screamed. "Don't leave me alone!"
More chest compressions.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5…
"Come on you idiot, breathe!"
…18, 19, 20, 21…
"For God's sake John, breathe!"
…28, 29, 30!
"Breathe John!"
Mouth-to-mouth. John's lips were getting cooler.
Sherlock caressed John's head in his hands.
"Don't leave me, John. Don't you dare leave me! You're strong! I know you are! You can do it John, breathe!"
More chest compressions!
1, 2, 3…
To Sherlock's delight, John started coughing up water.
"That's it John!" he said, his lips forming a smile.
Sherlock swung his right leg over to the other side of John's body, allowing himself to tip John over on his side to help him empty the water from his lungs. When John's coughing fit subsided, he rolled back onto his back, breathing labored.
"Sher… lock?" he asked, coughing again.
"You idiot, I almost lost you!" Sherlock said, tearing up as he wrapped his arms around John.
"No wonder… people think… we're a couple," John chuckled, still coughing as he gasped in air. "I'm wet… it's dark out, and you're… hugging me?"
Sherlock smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek.
"Yes, of course I am. I almost lost you John! Isn't this what friends do when they're glad to see each other alive?"
John chuckled.
"I guess. Glad to… oof… see you too."
When the doctor tried to sit up, he groaned and fell back into Sherlock's arms.
"John, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked, wiping a stray tear away.
"My head hurts like a bitch," John said, fatigued.
Sherlock took John's chin in his hand and turned his head to the side, revealing a nasty bruise on his temple.
"Tell me, John, do you feel dizzy?" he asked, taking a doctor-like tone.
John nodded.
"And nauseous. Concussion."
Sherlock nodded.
"Let's get you to a hospital."
John shook his head.
"Home."
Sherlock nodded, understanding.
"Home it is, then. Can you walk?"
John nodded his head slowly, but when he tried to stand, his knees buckled, and he fell right back into Sherlock's strong arms.
"Alright, you obviously can't walk. Come on John," he said, scooping John into his arms, bridal style.
"Sherlock… Moriarty…" John tried to protest.
Sherlock shushed him.
"You need medical attention. I'll call Lestrade on the way home."
John groaned.
"At least put me down then."
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"You and I both know that if I do, you're just going to fall down again."
John rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile.
"Let's get a taxi," Sherlock said, walking himself and John over to the distant roadside.
Sherlock didn't mind the strange look he got from the taxi driver. He just kept John's head in his lap, stroking his hair the whole way home, keeping one hand on his phone as he talked to Lestrade. As soon as he was sure Lestrade had the arrest under control, he hung up.
He knew it was late at night, so he didn't expect a fully coherent Mrs. Hudson to answer the door. But when her eyes settled on John, she snapped to full attention. Immediately, she had made the bed so John could lie down with ease. After she had made the bed, John dismissed her without a word of thanks. But then again, that was Sherlock. After Mrs. Hudson left, Sherlock laid John down in bed, careful to cushion the head. After Sherlock had come back with an ice pack, he pulled up a chair next to John's bed and rested it against John's bruise.
"Sherlock, I can do it myself," John protested.
"You drowned today John. And you have a concussion. I doubt your motor skills are fully functional," Sherlock said, grimacing at John's bruise.
John, though extremely uncomfortable, allowed Sherlock to hold the ice against his temple. He was exhausted anyway.
"Sherlock?" he spoke again.
"Hm?" Sherlock said, focusing on the ice pack.
"Since when do you care so much?"
Sherlock shifted his gaze over to John.
"Since I had a best friend," he said, smiling. "At least, I think you're my best friend. Are you?"
John smiled back.
"I know you're mine."
Sherlock paused.
"Don't do that again John."
John sighed.
"What, drowning? Don't think I had much of a choice."
Sherlock put the ice pack down and put his hands on John's shoulders.
"I can't be alone, John. You're perhaps the one person I care about more than I do my job. Without you, I'd accurately describe the fantastically moronic word that people tend to use when referring to me."
"Sociopath?"
Sherlock nodded.
"You are a sociopath, though," John chuckled.
Sherlock smiled and grasped John's hand in his own.
"But you keep me in line." Sherlock felt warm tears creep down his cheeks. "I still can't believe I almost lost you."
John rolled his eyes.
"Let it go, Sherlock. I'm here, and I'm… well, not fine, but you know, safe."
Sherlock started sobbing.
"God, Sherlock, I'm the one with the concussion," John joked, holding back sobs himself.
Sherlock sniffed.
"I'm glad you're here with me John."
John let his tears fall, too.
"I'm glad you are with me."
And Sherlock threw his arms around John again, letting his tears soak his shirt. And he didn't want to let go.