So I was bored and this kinda happened. Biology Class is not over, I'm writing up a new chapter currently. Enjoy!

John Watson opened his eyes and blinked blearily at his surroundings. He could see stone walls all around him, coated with moss.

Cold.

He looked down and saw he was standing in freezing, knee-deep water. Glancing up, John could make out pinpricks of light. Stars.

"Christ," he murmured. "It's a bloody well."

He sloshed through the water, attempting to climb up the wall, but something was restricting his movement.

Shackles encircled both feet, grounding them.

"Sherlock!" he called out desperately, glancing upwards again.

No answer.

John shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the fogginess clouding it.

Why am I here? Who puts a well in a house? Right…

Sherlock's maniac sister...what's her name? Erin? Eros?

He must have been drugged, he concluded. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten there.

Something hit his foot underwater. Frowning, he reached down and picked it up.

It looked like a femur. A child's femur, and it looked like it had been there for at least a couple decades. John found more bones at the bottom of the well. His eyes widened the slightest bit when he picked up the small skull. Its eye sockets stared blankly at him, and John dropped it back into the water.

"John? John, where are you?"

His phone! He pulled it out. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, where are you?"

"I'm in a well of sorts, but you should know…"

"Hold that thought."

And Sherlock was gone.

John began to shiver. Who knew how long he'd been sitting there?

"That's okay, shivering is good," he reminded himself.

Water began to pour into the well from pipes placed around the perimeter of the well.

Oh no.

The water began to slowly rise.

"Sherlock?" He tried again.

The water was at his waist now.

"I'm going to find you. I am finding you!" Sherlock replied.

"Well, please hurry up because I don't have long," John said anxiously.

He could hear Sherlock going on about some cipher in the background. He put his phone in the breast pocket of his shirt, and attempted to climb the stone wall, only to be yanked down by his chains and fell back into the water, spluttering. He got to his feet, completely soaked now. The water had reached his chest and he realized with a sickening feeling that the child whose bones he'd found, their head would have been underwater by now. John swallowed hard.

Bones.

He could attempt to pick the lock with them!

He awkwardly knelt and groped around underwater, coming back up with a slim bone, most probably a rib. John took a deep breath and plunged underwater.

He poked at the padlock, staying underwater for as long as could before returning to the surface, gasping. It was no use. The water was lapping at his shoulders now. John yelled for Sherlock, Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Anderson, Donovan, even Moriarty, anyone. His voice bounced around the stone walls, but no one came, leaving John to try and come to terms with his fate.

So this is it, he thought grimly. I'm not going to die from a bullet in Afghanistan. I'm not going to be burned alive in a bonfire. No, I'm going to die in a well in the middle of nowhere, my bones mixed with that child's. Poor Mrs. Hudson, she'll be so sad when she hears. And Sherlock…

"Okay, s-stop it now," he scolded himself. "You're not going to die. Not today."

The water was at his chin. John slipped on the slick algae coated floor, getting a mouthful of water in the process. He coughed, and yelled for Sherlock again. He was shivering violently now, and he was so tired. He raised one of his shackled legs and kicked it about, trying to loosen the chain. The water continued to rise. He wasn't shivering anymore. That wasn't good. John tipped his head backwards, trying to let his mouth inhale a few more breaths before the water closed completely over his head.

Just stay calm, he told himself.

Easier said than done.

His lungs burned, crying out for air. Black dots flickered in front of John's eyes. He fruitlessly tried to swim towards the faint light from above only to be pulled down by the chain. His lungs were screaming now and he did exactly what he shouldn't: John opened his mouth unconsciously, clamping it shut again when water rushed in. He knew he didn't have long left. Sherlock's face swam into his mind before John's eyes flickered shut and he stopped struggling.

"John? John!" Sherlock yelled, peering over the lip of the well. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. He could see John's grayish blond hair in the moonlight.

"I'm coming down," he called, and lowered a rope in, shimmying down it and landed with a splash, treading water. He dove underwater, eyes widening when he saw his unconscious friend. He swam down further, noticing the chains around John's feet. Resurfacing with a gasp, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a lock pick. He never left home without one. It would be difficult to do so underwater however. Floating upside down, Sherlock struggled with the lock for at least a minute and a half before he heard the faintest click and the chains fell. He quickly swam upwards and pulled John to the surface.

"John? John, can you hear me?"

Sherlock checked his breathing and pulse.

"Please don't make me do CPR, John."

His friend suddenly jerked violently, and began coughing up water so hard Sherlock was afraid he might tear something.

"You alright?"

"Y-yeah, m'fine," he slurred through blue lips. Sherlock held John close, to try and give him any warmth.

"Just hang on, okay? Lestrade is coming," he assured John, whose head was now resting on Sherlock's shoulder. The rope was futile now; John had no strength to climb up it. Sherlock pushed wet curls out of his eyes. John looked up at him.

"A-are you o-okay?" he asked.

"What? Me? Yeah, of course I'm fine." Sherlock replied incredulously.

He held John close to him, murmuring reassuring nonsense until he saw flashing lights from the police and knew they would both be alright, if not a bit soggy.