A/N: Everyone is, understandably, focused on John for Reichenbach. But I can't imagine Sherlock had too much fun in the cave...So, here we are. If you don't know about Reichenbach, then I guess there are some spoilers. Of course, we don't know if Sherlock even hides out in a cave. Yet. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Not my characters, thank Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gotiss for them. c:
I. Am. Soaking. Wet.
Where I am, there is hardly enough sunlight to strip and let my clothes dry. Even if there were ample sun, the water spray from the falls would keep said articles from achieving anything resembling dryness. Still, there's a draft in this cave, it's dark, and it is, obviously, cold. I need to get as warm as possible, hypothermia being a very possible concern. So I walk further in to the cave, rid myself of my drenched clothes, and decide to push on. Even if the stones beneath my toes are frigid, walking will help.
I realize with a start that I left my phone in my jacket pocket. I wish that I could use it (if it's survived the massive dousing) to call John, let him know, beyond a doubt, I am okay. Even though I'm really not. Not without him I'm not. As I make my way back to my discarded heap of fabric, I realize I can't survive without help. I can trust John. I. Can. Trust. John. But he won't be able to help me. He won't. I tell myself this the whole way to my mobile, still not entirely convinced with my warmth-deprived mind. A small part of the logical side of me that hasn't gone in to hiding yet knows that's true. So when I reach my phone, grab it out of my pocket, let out a long exhale when I see the phone is operational, I dial Mycroft's number.
I dial Mycroft's number. I want to dial John Watson's. I do, I really do. But I phone Mycroft instead. His line is absolutely secure. He can help me. He picks up almost immediately.
"Yes, hello Dr. Grossbuerner." Oh, thank God. He already suspects I've faked my own death. "Is this about my appointment?"
"Mycroft. I need help." Four simple words, and still I feel pressure behind my eyes, water seeping out of my tear ducts and my voice is uncharacteristically restrained. I'm talking with Mycroft. I want to be talking with John. John, John Watson.
"Yes, I actually had forgotten about our appointment at...," He pauses for a moment, no doubt checking his stupid little pocket book as to when I should call back. "Three thirty, tomorrow. Thank you for reminding me."
"Mycroft, I don't know how long this battery will last." My teeth start to chatter, bollocks. I need to start moving again. Pacing, yes pacing. Brilliant idea. I start pacing.
"Of course, I almost didn't recognize the number. Calling me on your house phone when you normally use the office phone...," He trails off. He wants me to find a different phone. Of course. This one can be traced. If they see I've called after my supposed time of death, that's the end of it.
"Yes, I understand. I'll... I'll see what I can do." My throat is tight, my breathing is becoming more labored.
"Yes, very good, Doctor. Tomorrow. Three-thirty." Then I hear some background noise. It sounds like John. Oh, God. It sounds like John. My hand flies to my mouth, silencing whatever noises it was trying to make just now.
"Is that John?" I ask hoarsely, my hand still mostly covering my mouth.
"Yes, I have seen your associate." It is John. Oh, God. It's John! Mycroft and John are both here.
"Pass the phone over." I order.
"I'm afraid that's quite impossible. Good-day, Doctor." Mycroft ends the call. I have the sudden urge to hurl it against the wall of the cave. No. That's ridiculous. Wait. That's brilliant! Destroy the phone and they won't be able to trace it. Yes! Genius! Wait...
Caves echo. If I hurl it as strong as I want to they might hear it. Will they be able to hear it? I don't know. I don't want to take the chance. I stop pacing and fall to the floor, the cold beneath me slowly seeping in to my buttocks, the cold behind me working its way in to my back and my damp hair. I don't want to be here. I want to be up there, with John. With Mycroft. With whatever inadequate polizei they've called.
Then I see Moriarty's face. It's a mental image, and I know it, but I don't know that. He's laughing. His laugh is the most frightening thing. I think he's diverted John so one of his underlings can off him. The thought brings about another wave of nausea, and I have to remind myself that John. Is. Okay. He's safe up there with Mycroft. With the Polizei. Nobody can harm him. Mycroft will keep an eye on him. He always has. Why should my "death" change that?
The cold is too much to bear. I stand up and begin walking in circles, trying to warm the area and myself. It doesn't work very well. My mouth is dry. Why is it dry? I must be thirsty. I must be. I notice my pulse is abnormally high, and slow my breathing to try to get it under control. It helps. But barely. I decide to continue walking the rest of the cave. Maybe there will be another way out. Maybe there will be some drift-wood or...something. Not that I have anything to make a fire with. Still, I keep my phone secure in my right hand, and walk on.
The cave is suddenly very dark. Very, very dark. I can't see a thing. I decide to use the light of my phone to see my surroundings, just to gauge where I'm going. It looks like up ahead I should take a left. So I do. When I round the corner I notice a bright orange light. Orange and yellow. And red. Oh, it looks warm and spectacular. I run to it as fast as I can. Then I see a man sitting on a log around the fire. Who is he?
Moriarty. It's Moriarty. I run up to him, grab him by the collar and shout at him. I don't even know what I'm saying, only that I'm shouting. Next thing I know, there is no light. There is no Moriarty. I'm alone in the cave again. And, somehow, I don't feel cold. I feel rather hot. Clammy. Then my legs give out. I don't want them to. But they do. They just fall to the ground, and there's nothing I can do to stop them. I thought I was in better shape. Apparently not.
Then I wake up and the cave is flooded with light. My head is killing me, but I get the strength to look ahead. There's an exit. I fell asleep about two hundred yards from an exit. I try to stand but my legs still feel like water, and I wind up falling again. This time I stand up slowly, very slowly, letting my legs get accustomed to the weight of myself. I've only walked half the distance to the second mouth of the cave before I'm panting, sweating and feeling extremely tired.
I push through the exhaustion, and I finally make it outside and in to fresh air. Fresh air? Haven't I been in a cave all night? Yes, a stifling, damp, stagnant cave.