Sherlock woke up tied to a chair with barbed wire. Every move he made, harsh, sharp metal would sink into his skin and bead his body with blood. He tried to speak, but could not. He looked around, and discovered his vision was blurry. He retreated into his mind, but even there, things were not right.
He slowly lifted his head to see a faint, botched image of a man standing in front of him. The man was speaking to him, but no words were getting through to him. Sherlock's head fell down to his chest. A cold rush ran over Sherlock. His lungs seemed to seize up and all at once he became aware. Frigid water continued to flow over his head and down his body. His breathing was ridged, and came out in small gasps.
The flow stopped and he heard a clatter as the person threw the bucket aside. Sherlock kept his head lowered. His hair clung to the side of his face, and one of his curls hung from his forehead and dripped the ice cold water. Sherlock felt two hands gently cup both his cheeks and slowly raise his head. When Sherlock tried to open his eyes, water dripped into them and he blinked rapidly. The person gently wiped away the remaining water with a soft washcloth. His eyes opened, and he saw his captor.
"Don't act like you're surprised." John said with an evil grin.