A/N Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! They inspire me and make my day every time! This takes place before Sherlock called John in the first chapter!
Sherlock's POV
30 minutes earlier
When Sherlock regained consciousness he immediately knew something was wrong. First, he didn't know when he had fallen asleep. Then he felt a sharp pang in his head. So, didn't fall asleep then; knocked out. Secondly, he felt restricted. His arms were down by his sides and pushing them outwards, his hands connected with a wall.
Just stay calm.
Take slow, deep breaths.
Just stay calm.
In, out, in, out, in, out.
He opened his eyes, or at least he thought he opened his eyes. There was nothing, only darkness. A quick feel of his eyes assured him that they were indeed open. His hand bumped into something only a few inches from his face. Long fingers roamed over the surface. The walls beside him were wood, but the surface above him was different. More like steel. He was in some sort of box. He had been buried alive.
Just stay calm.
Take slow, deep breaths.
Just stay calm.
In, out, in, out, in, out.
There were flashes of being in the flat with John, then a fight, and finally giving in and going to the store to get milk. After that, everything went black.
He ran his hands along the metal in front of him and felt that it was one solid piece for as far down as he could reach. Walls were on all four sides of him, and the hard floor was not helping his back any. There was just enough room for him to fit in the space with a couple of inches to spare in either direction. The stone slab was too heavy to push up; he was stuck. The top slab was completely flush with the wood walls, meaning that no outside air was coming in. That someone better hurry.
Just stay calm.
Take slow, deep breaths.
Just stay calm.
In, out, in, out, in, out.
Based on the size of the container, and if he could keep his breathing under control, he figured that he had a maximum of 5 hours of air. After that there would be too much carbon dioxide and he would lose consciousness before asphyxiating to death. He had complete faith that someone would find him before that happened. Dying was not something he wanted to go through.
A search of his pants pockets revealed that they were empty. Shit. Panic was not going to help him. John was probably already aware of his absence and would be starting a search for him. But John had mumbled he was going to sleep when Sherlock left the flat. There was nothing in his coffin other than himself. If he panicked he would start breathing faster, if he started breathing faster he would use up the oxygen more quickly, if he used up the oxygen more quickly then he would die more quickly.
Just stay calm.
Take slow, deep breaths.
Just stay calm.
In, out, in, out, in, out.
If he closed his eyes maybe he could just sleep until he was found. He would consume less of the precious oxygen while asleep.
Anxiousness tore threw him. His leg kicked out and something flew against the wood wall. Reaching down as much as he could, his hand grasped and retrieved his phone. Sherlock smiled at this and began to drag his arm up. But as he passed his torso, a wet substance coated the bottom of his hand. He snatched the phone up to his face. Pressing a button the phone lit up. He shined the light down towards his side. And realization hit him.
Blood was leaking from a wound on the side of his ribs. Flashes of memory rushed through him and the sharp pain of what he knew was a stab wound tore through his stomach. How did I not notice this? He knew it was shock. His whole body felt numb. He began to breathe harshly.
Putting the phone down on his chest, he unraveled a scarf from his neck and cried out as he pushed it against the wound. Not life threatening. Yet, he decided.
Keeping one hand over the scarf, Sherlock uses his other to dial John's number. After a few rings his only friend picks up.
He can hear John sigh. "Do you know what time-"
"John."
A/N So now we know there is an injury Sherlock is keeping from John! Please let me know what you thought!