Elevator

UUUUGH...I literally JUST got home from the gym, and I'm exhausted, so be happy that I'm taking time to copy this down from my journal, instead of showering and taking a nap...be proud of me guys... by the way I know nothing of the mechanics of elevators, like at all, so I'm just making stuff up.

Disclaimer:...I don't feel like doing a disclaimer right now. Too painful. Please don't sue me.

Sherlock and John raced into the building after the criminal they were pursuing, Lestrade and his team just behind them.

The fugitive turned a corner, and the pair of detectives followed just in time to see him fly up the stairs.

"Lestrade, take the stairs," Sherlock hissed. "John and I will head him off." And with that, he grabbed John sleeve and pulled him into an elevator.

They waited in silence as the classical music played, and John gritted teeth. Sherlock looked at him and competing firms and send tenseness and I'm just mumbled "motion sickness. Only happens on elevations."

Sherlock should his head. "We'll be off soon."

Just as he said this, the elevator jolted to an abrupt stop and the lights flickered off. John gave Sherlock a look, saying sarcastically "point proven."

Sherlock pay no attention but looked around in disbelief, shaking his head. "No, no, no! This is isn't- but – the – nyaaa!" he broke off and started pacing. He jumped up and stuck his face in the security camera. "I hope you fix this before it's too late or I will /skin/ you!"

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock get down before it starts up again and you hurt yourself!"

Sherlock sulkily hopped off the side railing and sat on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. "We are going to miss him!" He wine as John went over to sit beside him. John folded his arms and crossed his ankles, much more relaxed than his partner.

"Oh, Lestrade isn't that stupid, he'll get him."

Sherlock left up and started pacing again, growing agitated at the possibility of being beaten again.

John sighed. "Don't work yourself up Sherlock, there's nothing we can do right now."

Sherlock started tinkering with the walls. "Not true, there's always something that can be done, I've studied mechanics precisely for situations like this, I can work –" he paused to punch a specific spot in the wall. "Something out."

He tried to hit the wall between panels again, but John had sprung up and grabbed his fist. "Stop it, stop it! This isn't helping. Think. Calm down and think. The control panels aren't even in here, there's a special room for that. And this is a posh place run by posh people who think that they're so good that nothing could go wrong. There is nothing we can do here."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped further and further as John spoke, and he sat down again, followed by John in their positions before.

He sat for a few moments, and turned to John, a grin spreading over space. "Your deduction skills are improving, John. I've done a fine job in my teachings."

John rolled his eyes, the grand at the lopsided comment. He held out his hand. "Give me your wrist."

Sherlock, confused, held out his hand and blinked in surprise. It was red and bleeding, Sherlock realized that he had punched the metal wall in his haste to escape.

John took his long hand gently in his own callused ones, taking great care of his bruised knuckles. He rubbed his thumb over them lightly, barely pressing down, but just enough so we could feel it.

Sherlock groaned in pleasure and leaned his head back against the wall. "I love your hands." He said.

John laughed. "So I've heard. Several times. I swear Sherlock, you compliment my hands more than I compliment your deductions."

It's true! There calloused and strong, but so gentle. A surgeon's hands. Fascinating."

John blushed slightly, but it wasn't noticeable in the dark elevator. But Sherlock knew, for his long fingers had snaked their way around his wrist, and down to his pulse point.

special thanks to Xx8BlueMoon8xX for her wonderful prompt. I had a lot of fun deciding what to do with that. :D

Keep it up guys, I appreciate it.