"He can't swim!"
Lestrade's shriek had John's heart skip a beat.
In slow motion, John turned back to where Sherlock was. He was falling. In slow motion, he was falling off the edge of the dock. Into the water.
He can't swim!
John's eyes widened as realization hit him. It was as though someone had suddenly pressed play. Everyone went from slow motion, back to normal.
John ran to where Sherlock had just fallen into the water. Without pausing to think, he dove in.
The freezing water crushed all the air out of his lungs. He ignored it and desperatly swam deeper and deeper into the depths. He could see Sherlock's motionless body drifting ever deeper into the unforgiving blackness.
John's mind was impossibly clear and calm in that moment.
He looks like a soul. A dead person drifting off into the abyss. A ghost.
He grabbed his friend's arm, and started dragging him to the surface.
His lungs burned, begging for more air. John ignored it as best he could.
'Six Minutes,' he kept as a mantra in his mind. Six minutes before brain damage.
It was all in slow motion again. Swimming up. Up. Up. Forever. Always reaching towards the light at the top, but never reaching it. He was so close.
Finally, finally, he got to the light. John found himself praying that the deap breath of air he took was from the surface of the water, and not from his next life on the otherside.
He was reassured by Lestrade's sure hands helping him and Sherlock onto the dock.
Once on the hard wood, John took a moment to cough a bit of water out of his own lungs, before the doctor in him took over. He grabbed Sherlock and lay him on his back. John pressed his ear to Sherlock's chest and when he didn't hear breathing, jumped into action.
He put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, tilting his head back. He took a deep breath and pressed his lips against Sherlock's. He breathed out, and repeated once more before he took both his hands and pressed them against Sherlock's right chest.
One, two, three, four. Breath. Breath.
One, two, three, four. Breath. Breath.
He repeated the proccess over and over again, until finally his friend took a clogged gasp of air. Sherlock curled up on his side, and started coughing and spluttering. John patted his back, as he emptied the water from his lungs.
"Hands!" Sherlock gasped.
"Bodies! Mycroft, BODIES! They reached! Pulled-Pulled me under! Screams! THEIR SCREAMS!"
Sherlock was shrieking and spluttering, and trying desperatly to get as far from the water as possible. He clutched at his wet locks and started screaming. Every now and again his screams were punctered by nonsense babbling. John had never been so afraid.
"Sherlock! SHERLOCK! It's me! John! Mycroft isn't here! There aren't any bodies around! You're all right! You just fell off the dock!"
Suddenly, Sherlock stopped completely. He didn't even breath as he turned and locked eyes with John.
"John?" He whispered.
He then flung himself at John, and clutched at his sopping wet coat. Sherlock burried his face into John's cold, wet chest, and sobbed. John jumped in surprise, but quickly wrapped Sherlock in his arms and started murmering reassurances. He looked up in bewilderment at Lestrade, to find him looking with some worry at the two of them.
He didn't know what on Earth Sherlock had been through to make him this afraid of water, but John found himself rather glad that he didn't.
He glanced back at the water, and could've sworn he had seen something deathly white quickly submerge itself into the water. He narrowed his eyes, and could just make out a white hand slowly reaching up out of the water. It's skeletal fingers reached onto the dock, and it's inhumanly long arm stretched over to where they were. To where Lestrade was standing.
It's long fingers slowly wrapped itself around Lestrade's ancle, and John desperatly searched for his voice. Just as it got a firm grip, but still loose enough for Lestrade not to notice, John screamed.
Just like that, it was gone.
The moment his blood-curdling scream left his lips, John saw the dead arm shoot back into the water, letting go of Lestrade.
John closed his eyes tightly, and clutched Sherlock, willing the image to go away. Willing this all to have been a bad dream.
When he opened them again, him and Sherlock were in the back of an ambulance.
Lestrade watched as the ambulance pulled away and drove off. He sighed and started walking towards his car.
He stopped, however, when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone swimming in the water. He frowned and walked back over to the dock. He walked to the edge of it, and peered closely down at the black water.
He didn't have time to scream when an impossibly long arm shot out of the water, grabbed his collar, and pulled him under.
His body was never found.
No one's ever was.
I kinda creeped myself out writing this. I actually wrote it as a Halloween special, then forgot to post it, so...Merry Christmas! (Close enough, right?)
Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes, I don't have a spell-check or beta.
Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, then he and John would already be out as a couple. Maybe married...*drools*
Tell me what you think!