Cold. The cold was the first thing John Watson noticed. It was overwhelming, overpowering, like nothing he'd ever felt before. Then he became aware of the pitch black sky. After that, it was the strange structure he was held in- a vertical tunnel of red brick. A well. And there were shackles, chains around his ankles. They were twisted, confining, trapping. He was trapped.

A familiar face appeared at the opening of the well. Too familiar, John realised, as Sherlock sported a wicked grin. When the water began to rise around him, John knew it was his friend who put him there.

As the water began to inch towards his face, there were many emotions John could have felt. But there was only one that registered, and it was hurt. Nothing hurts as much as being killed by the one person you would die for.