It was pitch black all around them and the room was quiet. It had been hours since they'd seen sunlight or heard another human voice. John and Sherlock sat together in the dark, motionless, breathing slowly. Their captors had been hulking men with fierce scowls and eyes like daggers. John kept his eyes shut, trying to imagine that it was all just a dream. He knew the truth. They were never getting out of here. Sherlock had been so silent, John almost assumed he was asleep, had it not been for the ruffle of his coat on the concrete floor beside him. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh.

"Sherlock?" John asked, concern in his voice.

"Nothing John. NOTHING!" Sherlock shouted, pounding his fists against his legs in anger and pulling his knees closer to his chest. "Nothing," he whispered.

John knew this meant their chances of formulating an escape plan were slim. John threw his head back against the cold wall, his eyes still shut, and fell asleep. Dreaming, John's head was filled with shapes moving faster and faster, shouts, screams, the echoes of explosions ringing in his mind. After a few hours, John awoke, breathing heavily.

He felt something warm lean up against his left side. Shifting slightly, he realized it was Sherlock, who had somehow managed to fall asleep on him, his soft curls tickling the side of John's face. Sherlock jumped slightly at John's movement and lifted his head. Realizing what he was doing, Sherlock scooted over a few inches. John was reluctant to lose the warmth in such a cold space, but quickly shook the thought of Sherlock being so close out of his head.

"Did I wake you?" John mumbled.

"It's fine, John," Sherlock said yawning.

"So...no plans yet then?" John asked carefully.

"..no John...nothing yet."

Sherlock had realized early on in their entrapment that they weren't getting out easily, and so rather than worry John, he had decided to occupy his mind with thoughts that had been hounding him for far too long, like the scent of John's jacket as he rest his head against his side, or John's quickening heartbeat as he slept. Sherlock knew that, if ever there would be a time to say something, it would be in here.

John heard Sherlock scoot over again, this time closer, as he wrapped his fingers around John's.

"Sherlock..what're y-"

"It's cold, don't you think?" Sherlock asked, turning to John.

John could feel Sherlock's breath inches from his face.

"Sherlock, I told you I-"

"But we both know that's not true John," Sherlock whispered, his deep voice making John swallow the rest of his sentence. "I know John. I've known since our first time at Angelo's."

"But Sherlock, everyone will think-"

"Don't you see John?" Sherlock said, closer now. "It doesn't matter what they think. I haven't any idea as to how to break out of this bloody room. It's too dark to see and there's no escape as far as I can deduce. I don't know if there will be one...but John, I do know that in here we're alone. I also know what you meant back at the restaurant all those years ago. Don't you remember?"

John swallowed again.

"I knew it, even if you didn't. Please John," Sherlock whispered desperately, moving his face closer to John's, the darkness surrounding them. "I"ve waited so long..."

But instead of finishing his sentence, Sherlock leaned forward, gently pressing his lips against John's in the darkness. After a moment of shock, John kissed back, no longer afraid. Sherlock moved his hands to cup John's face and gently pulled him closer.

Sparks of pleasure danced across John's lips and in that moment nothing could pull him away from Sherlock. Society be damned.

"You know," John mumbled in between kisses, "I don't know if we're every getting out of here, but I do know I care about you in ways I've never even cared for myself, and to be here with you, with each other-well that's all I have."

Sherlock smiled sadly in the darkness as he leaned down to press his lips against John's once more.

"Maybe each other is all we need."