I'm Glad I'm Not Really Claustrophobic...

"Oh, it's hot," John muttered, following Sherlock to the lift. "We had to come here after hours, didn't we? When everyone's gone and the air's off and even all of the windows are closed."

"Too many people make for too much clutter."

"Oh, yeah, of course. I forgot that you can't think around the stupidity in the room when there's people."

Sherlock smirked, pressing the down button to call the lift. "You're learning."

John only rolled his eyes, pulling at the collar of his shirt. It was too hot. He was sweating already, and they hadn't been there for twenty minutes. He was eager to get back outside, where it was equally hot but at least there was some air moving, and hopefully, into some place that had air, like Scotland Yard.

The lift doors dinged open and John eagerly followed Sherlock into the compartment, resisting the urge to fan himself with his hand. They would be out of here soon-

John glanced sideways at Sherlock when the detective slumped again the wall, presumably thinking.

"Aren't you hot?" John asked dryly.

Sherlock glanced up. "No."

"I have a feeling that you're probably sweating under those ten pounds of material."

"Don't exaggerate, John. It's tasteless."

John smirked, shaking his head. Sherlock never left the coat at home, ever. Frankly, it would have been a bit... awkward, really, if Sherlock didn't wear it when he was out. But still, when it was this hot...

John might have felt bad for him, if it wasn't his stupid stubbornness that prompted him to wear the coat in the first place.

Abruptly, the lift came to a jerking halt. The momentum sent John off balance; he fell against the left wall, just catching the rail to keep from falling entirely. The lights blinked once, twice, and the lift was enveloped in darkness.

"W-What happened?" he stammered, straightening up. His eyes shot towards the doors as he ignored the small spark of panic beginning to flare in his chest.

Sherlock pushed away from the wall (he must have fallen against it as well), taking a step. John was blinking, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He felt Sherlock brush up against him in walking to the doors.

"As is obvious, John, the lift has stopped."

"Yes, I... I kind of guessed that, actually," John replied somewhat sarcastically. He wasn't claustrophobic, per se, but there was something about being trapped in a lift, a suspended lift, in the dark, with no one in the building, when it was broiling hot... that didn't sit well with him.

"Well, brilliant," John muttered. "What-what floor, do you reckon?" He hadn't been paying attention to the floor lights, but they had been on floor twenty-two, to start with-

"Fourteen."

"Oh." Because being fourteen floors up should help with the small spark of panic. Totally.

"Between fourteen and fifteen."

"What?" John looked back at Sherlock. His eyes were starting to adjust.

"We might be stuck between fourteen and fifteen. It's possible."

"Probable?"

"Likely."

"Great." Because being stuck between fourteen floors up and fifteen floors up, and not being able to force the doors because they would be met with a solid no-exit shouldn't cause the spark of panic to swell. Never.

"What now?" John asked, looking at Sherlock. "Emergency button?"

"The emergency button in a lift stops the lift. In this case, the lift has stopped."

"Thanks for the school lesson," John said dryly. "You know what I meant."

"Well, there's no intercom. The building's old... old, faulty lifts. In this case, however, I think it's just a power outage."

"And that helps... how?" John asked. He let out a deep breath, ignoring the feeling deep in his chest that he wasn't taking in enough oxygen. It was too hot, he was panicking a bit, and there was this sick feeling in his chest demanding more oxygen. The air was hot and heavy, each breath oppressive- or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him. He took another careful breath before fishing his phone out of his pocket.

No signal.

Because being trapped in an lift in this sort of heat, between fourteen floors up and fifteen floors up, and not having a signal on his mobile definitely shouldn't send a drive a sharp twinge of panic straight into his chest.

"Sherlock... do you have a signal?" he asked, looking up. "On your mobile?"

Sherlock paused before fumbling for his coat pocket, drawing out his mobile as well. "No."

"Great." John took another deep breath. It shook slightly. He let it out, slowly, forcing away all the thoughts of what could happen and what might happen and replaced them with we're stuck in a lift; might as well get comfortable.

He retreated to the corner of the compartment, sitting down.

Sherlock looked down at him. "What are you doing?"

"Well, we might be here for awhile," he said plainly. "The power outage, if that is what it is, is probably causing problems with the cell towers, so..." He let his voice trail off.

Sherlock watched him for a moment longer before he looked back at his mobile, then stashing it away. "Lestrade knows where we are. He'll figure it out eventually."

"Eventually..." John echoed, shoving his sleeves up. "Eventually could be a very long time..."

Welcome to the second multi-chapter of the day! Another cliche, overused idea! I bet you're probably like Oh, geez, an elevator fic. How dull. I give credit to the season premiere of NCIS [I don't watch it, but it happened to be on, and I noticed the trapped-in-an-elevator thing and thought it might be nice to try]. Hopefully, someone might like the idea. xD

Your feedback is appreciated! Thanks!