John Watson woke and his head was banging. His thoughts were fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was being at work. He opened his eyes, it was dark. So where was he and how long had he been out? He tried to move but he couldn't. He could feel things all around him, he was trapped but it was more than that, it was like his muscles wouldn't respond to his commands. He tried again, still no good. He listened. He could hear distant voices. He couldn't hear what they were saying and he didn't recognise them but still at least someone was there to help him. He tried to call out. He couldn't do that either. What the hell was the matter with him?
John relaxed for a minute. He had to think, to try and figure out what had happened. He remembered being at work, he remembered putting his coat on. Where had he been going then? Sherlock. Why had he suddenly thought of him? Slowly things started to come back. Sherlock was alive! He'd walked in large as life when John was trying to propose to Mary. Oh my god he'd thought he could just walk in like nothing had happened. John remembered now. The angry feelings from the night before were back. He had to stop himself. This was not helping him work out where he was or how he got there.
His mind was still foggy, he needed to remember. Sherlock! Why did he keep coming to back to Sherlock? Think! He put his coat on, left the surgery, where was he going? Sherlock. That was it, he was going to Baker Street. He'd decided to talk to Sherlock, to let him explain. He'd been angry the night before, wouldn't listen but Sherlock had been his best friend and he had missed him when he'd been...dead. He'd decided to listen to him and forgive him. He wanted his friend back. He was still angry and he guessed that wouldn't change overnight but if he didn't try and sort this out he would always have an empty space in his heart. He'd begged Sherlock not to be dead and now he wasn't so the least he could do was listen to him.
John heard the voices again and his mind was drawn back to his current situation. So what had happened? This was obviously hours later. Hours after he'd gone to Baker Street. Slowly the scene came back to him, the man who bumped into him to distract him, being grabbed from behind, the needle, he'd struggled, he remembered being on the ground, then nothing. He'd been drugged. No wonder he felt so confused.
OK so that's what happened but where was he and why had they done this to him? Was this something to do with what Sherlock had been trying to tell him about? A terrorist plot if he remembered correctly. Still didn't really explain why they'd taken him. What purpose would that serve? He decided that that didn't really matter right now, what mattered was getting out of here.
John tried to call out but still he couldn't make a sound. Surely someone would find him soon. The voices were getting louder now or at least there seemed to be more of them. He still couldn't work out what they were saying. He was starting to get a bit nervous. Who were these people? What were they going to do with him? His head was still thumping and he couldn't think straight. He was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.
He saw a light. Just a small one through the cracks in whatever it was he was buried under. It seemed to flicker then it was gone. John tried again to move. No, that wasn't happening. He tried to call out. A small, strangled sound came from his throat. It was a start but nowhere near loud enough to be heard.
Then he could smell something. What was that smell? Familiar, but what was it. He thought he could hear children laughing. He was starting to think he was losing his mind. That smell, what was it? All of a sudden it hit him. He knew exactly what it was and now the panic started. Petrol! He could smell petrol all around him. He started to cry out. His voice was getting stronger but it still wasn't loud enough to be heard above the noise.
John struggled furiously but still he couldn't move. What was he going to do? Then he saw that flickering light again. What was it? As he realised what it was a feeling of desperation came over him. The flickering light was a flame and all of a sudden his situation became all too clear to him. A fire was being lit and he was in the middle of it.
As he saw the flames take hold around him John screamed. Now he'd found his voice. He heard the children again only this time they were screaming too. They'd heard him now but it was too late. The panic was overwhelming. He tried to thrash himself free, to claw his way out but still he couldn't move. He screamed and yelled but no one was going to help him. The fire was blazing now so how could they?
So this was how his life would end. Burned to death. Why couldn't he have just died peacefully in his sleep? As he resigned himself to his fate he realised that he hadn't told Sherlock he forgave him. He couldn't remember exactly what his last words to his friend had been but he knew they weren't nice. Sherlock thought he hated him and he was never going to be able to put that right. It wasn't fair he thought. Two years he'd been without his friend. Two long years of suffering and now he was going to die without being able to tell Sherlock how much he'd missed him and how much he cared.
A tear rolled down his cheek. What about Mary? He wasn't going to get the chance to tell her one more time he loved her before he died. He hadn't even managed to propose to her. John hoped she knew how he felt. They hadn't had long together but she had been his rock. She'd helped him see light through the darkness when Sherlock was gone. Did she know she'd saved him from himself?
The flames were getting nearer now. He could see them clearly. The heat was immense, he could feel it burning on his cheeks. It wouldn't be long now, he thought. As a doctor John had seen burn victims before, he knew he was going to suffer a horrible death. He was still struggling to get himself free, calling for help but it was no use.
As his death was coming ever nearer he thought he heard someone calling his name. Now he knew he was losing his mind. He gave in. No use trying anymore he wasn't going to be saved.
There it was again, his name. He thought it was Sherlock calling him. John laughed at himself. Still he could hear it. And Mary, now he could hear Mary calling. Do all people hear their loved ones calling before they die he wondered.
It was weird but the calling seemed to be getting closer. Then he saw a gap in the fire like things around him were moving. He could definitely hear Sherlock calling. He wasn't going mad. Sherlock was there, he'd come for him. John cried out to his friend. His strength returned to him and he renewed his efforts to get free. He felt a hand grab him. He was being pulled. He tried to help but he still couldn't move properly. It was Sherlock, he could see him through blurry eyes. He was being pulled to safety by his best friend. How Sherlock knew where he was he had no idea but he'd saved him.
John lay on the cool, damp grass his head throbbing, his throat sore but he was alive. Sherlock was there and Mary, they had saved him. His head was spinning, he felt tired and sick. The two people he cared about the most were there desperately trying to make sure he was alright. He tried to talk to them but he was struggling to speak again.
Suddenly the sound of sirens filled the air, John saw blue lights and there were people in uniforms around him. Mary was still at his side but where was Sherlock? The ambulance crew were checking him over. He could hear them talking to him but he wasn't really paying attention he was too busy searching the crowd for his friend.
John was given oxygen and he could hear them telling Mary he would need to go to hospital for a complete check although they were sure he would be fine. Mary was holding his hand now. "How are you feeling?" he heard her ask. He looked at her, she smiled at him. He smiled back.
Then John spotted Sherlock watching from a small distance away. He seemed to be waiting, listening to what was being said. When Sherlock's eyes met his, he smiled and turned to leave. John tried to rip his oxygen mask off. "Sherlock" he called. Mary was struggling to put the mask back in place. "I need to tell him I forgive him" he said desperately.
Mary smiled again. She put a calming hand on his "You can tell him tomorrow" she said as he was taken to the ambulance.