The Aar River is so cold.
John scrambles over the rocks, trying to get to the basin of churning water. The roar of the falls is deafening. He is already soaked to the skin by the plumes of spray, and shivers wrack his frame. He stumbles, splashing into the shallows up to his knees.
"Sherlock! Oh God, Sherlock!" John's voice is hoarse with fear. He casts around frantically in the fading light, the basin is already in shadow and growing colder by the second.
His feet are numb, and his fingers are tingling.
"Sherlock you idiot, when I find you-" John gasps out, stumbling further into the water, making his way around the larger rocks. He works around closer to the falls, the hungry water tugs at his legs.
He shouldn't have let Sherlock go off alone. He should have made him wait. They knew Moriarty was near. That was why they were in Switzerland. He should have, he should have. John chokes back a sob.
He had returned to the hotel room to find Sherlock's note;
New lead, gone to the falls. Back soon. SH
John almost loses his grip on the rocks as he remembers arriving at the base of the falls, God, was it just minutes ago? Two figures grappling at the head of the falls, struggling in a death grip. One, John knew was unmistakably Sherlock, his greatcoat flying, dark curls wild. The other was smaller, but John felt in his gut that it was Moriarty.
John had cried out, and then everything had stopped.
The two tiny figures had fallen with graceful slowness. They had plummeted. Plunged. Dropped. Hurtled. Tumbled.
Off the cliffs.
Into the water.
The water that was sucking the heat from John's skin. Grasping at him, trying to pull him under.
He blinks furiously, trying to clear the spray, and the tears, from his eyes. They must be here somewhere. They can't have disappeared. John knows. He will find Sherlock, and he will tell him what an idiot he is, and then he will tell him all the other things he's always wanted to say.
A shout, muffled by the roar of the falls, and John feels someone grab the back of his shirt. Flashing a look over his shoulder, he sees one of the policemen from the town. A young man who has been helping them with their inquiries. The policeman is pulling at him, shouting, trying to drag him from the water.
"No! I have to find him! He needs me" I need him.
Two other officers are inching their way towards him, careful on the slippery rocks. John struggles, but they manage to wrestle him to shore. John has stopped shivering and they wrap him in a blanket as he huddles on his knees.
"John."
"Mycroft. When did you get here?" John shakes his head, trying to make his brain work faster. Hypothermia, a stray thought says.
"Just now. I tried to get here faster, but there were… complications."
"Sherlock, he fell. We have to find him!" John struggles to his feet, swaying.
"John. They fell."
"They might be farther down the river, we have to-" John's attempt to push past Mycroft is aborted by the firm grip of the young officer.
"John." Mycroft's tone causes John to look up, into his eyes. "We found him."