I haven't attempted anything more than a one-shot, but here we go. I came up with this idea rather quickly, but it will be multi-chaptered. This story takes place before Reichenbach, as that is where it fits in best with the show. As for updates, I will most likely be able to update regularly starting in the beginning of June. I will do my best to update, because I have had to stop reading too many great stories due to lack of updates. Throughout this story, please feel free to comment any opinions you have. Hope that everyone is well.
Chapter 1
The room was filling up with water faster than John Watson could breathe.
At first, the water had come from the pipes slowly, trickling into the two by three meter cell and pooling ominously at his feet. Then it had picked up speed, pooling up and climbing up the legs of his pants. That was when he was still calm. He didn't have his phone, but he had his wits. He had tried shouting for help, and when that didn't work, he tried wiggling his wrists free of the handcuffs that bound him to a post in the center of the room. When neither of those worked, he went back to waiting.
"He's dealt with this type before, so he'll know what he's going up against," Lestrade had said when he told him about the case.
He didn't even know if Sherlock would be looking for him after the events of the past week, but he was his best hope, so he waited. Not that he had a choice, but he chose to have hope. Sherlock was coming, he had told himself, even as the minutes passed by and the water crawled up his body. He knew that he didn't have much time before the water went past his head and drowned him.
"It's extraordinary," Sherlock mumbled as he studied the photos of the victims. John brought him a third cup of tea - Sherlock had let the other two go cold. "I've never seen anything like it."
Now, the water was at his shoulders, tickling his neck. He craned his neck upwards, trying to escape the wetness, trying to buy time from a limited supply. No matter how much he struggled, yanked at the handcuffs, screamed, or cried, no one could help him. He laughed, for if he didn't laugh, he would cry. There were only about five minutes left before the water engulfed him. Would Sherlock even realize what had happened to him?
"I can't think, I can't think, I can't THINK!" Sherlock roared, pacing around the flat. John watched, unable to do anything. He turned on John, his eyes lit up like the stars in a night sky. "You," he said.
The water was at his chin.
"Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed.
It was at his nose, and John tipped his head back so that his nose was parallel to the ceiling. Drowning wasn't a good way to go. Through all of the different murders he had seen with Sherlock, he had decided that if he were to be a murder victim, he would much rather be shot than drowned. Drowning wasn't quick, and it wasn't pretty, and here he was. How ironic.
"You know him better than anyone, John," the criminal said. "Where is he?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly. He didn't know.
"Will he come for you?"
Footsteps. There were heavy, fast, and frantic footsteps along with a jumbled mess of voices. "Where is he?" someone demanded. John's heart leapt. Sherlock, that was most definitely Sherlock's voice. He would recognize it anywhere. He tried to call out, but instead ended up with a mouthful of water, and choked. The water swallowed him, and all sounds became muffled.
"Will he come for you?" The criminal taunted as he locked John in the small room, and John didn't reply because he didn't know the answer.
"John!" Came a call, followed by an assortment of voices. John was slipping away, his oxygen was being cut off, and with the handcuffs restraining his range, he couldn't tread water until the water filled the entire room. He tried to stay calm, not struggling against the darkness. He started to see dark spots, and tried not panic. There was muffled pounding on the door that came in intervals, and John just wanted the noise to stop. "John!"
"He doesn't really care about you, does he, Doctor Watson?"
John succumbed to the water.