AN: Ah, in my mind, this will happen so I don't have to cry for months on end after the Reichenbach episode.
John pulled himself out of the water, feeling about three times heavier than he knew he was. He'd somehow managed to keep both shoes on after falling. His clothes were waterlogged though, as was his vision. Everything was so blurry…had he hit his head?
He couldn't be sure if it was sore or not, because every part of his body was sore.
He sat and shook his dirty blonde hair, breathing heavily for a while to calm himself down. He opened his eyes, and tilted his head to the right and the left, looking for one person only.
"Sherlock!" He tried calling, but his voice sounded pitifully like a whisper over the falls and rushing water.
There wasn't any need to panic. Sherlock had probably dragged Moriarty with him some ways and was further down the bank.
John grunted at his aching body and stood rigidly, soaked to the bone and getting colder by the minute. He walked for what it seemed like four or five strides before having to pause to breathe, having held his breath to ignore the pain. His head felt so fuzzy, and it was beginning to irritate him.
He looked up blearily and then blinked. And blinked again. Was it…? He saw a dark figure lying on the bank and he rushed over. Another half-groan escaped him, and he was cursing his damn leg, but he was going to be alright.
And Sherlock was going to be alright.
As he got closer, his pace slowed and his heart dropped into his gut. He sank to the ground next to the washed up, elegant coat and started to laugh. He laughed in short bursts, bringing the sopping coat up to rest on his lap as he rocked back on his heels.
He laughed until tears started forming in his eyes before they fell haphazardly onto Sherlock's coat. "Give him back," John sobbed, shaking his head and pressing his face into the coat. He ground his teeth together, shoulders trembling. "Give. Him. Back." He lifted his head with a snap and shouted at the rushing water. "GIVE HIM BACK!" He started to struggle to his feet, muttering obscenities and nonsense about unfairness and the lack of justice. He brought back his arm, hand possessing the coat, which was bundled in it messily. He was fully intending to throw it back where it came from.
A voice interrupted him. Painstakingly familiar.
"I believe that is mine."
John staggered backward in such shock that he almost stumbled. When he turned to look at his friend, his face was a shade or two paler. "Sherlock!"
"Who else would it be?" The consulting detective asked, dry as ever. He was pale to begin with, but now his skin was translucent. He was also soaked through and he walk was slightly off, stiffer than usual.
"But…you…where did you?" John stammered, lowering his arm as Sherlock got closer.
"I ended up farther down. I was carrying a bit more weight." He raised his dark eyebrows at his friend jokingly, but John was staring at him. "Give it back, please."
"Sorry?"
"My coat."
"Oh. Right." Still in some mode of shock, John handed it back, not missing the violent shivering Sherlock was now doing.
"Sherlock, are you alright?"
"Yes, I am fairing far better than you are, I see. I have my coat now, all is well." John narrowed his eyes at this, watching the way Sherlock's long fingers clutched the garment. "We should get ahold of Lestrade." He smiled vaguely, in his detached, yet sincere way. "I'm glad you're alright."
The words were barely out of his mouth before his clear blue eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled.
John caught him before he hit the ground.
AN: This was way better in my head, unfortunately. Reviews are nice though! Thanks, loves.