Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any recognizable character and am not making any profit by using them.

This one has partially been rewritten entirely.

Enjoy!

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Heartbeat

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In this part, John and Sherlock are trapped in a small elevator due to a power blackout. We jump right into the situation...

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When it was clear that there was no way out and they really were trapped in this shoebox for as long as the blackout lasted, Sherlock suddenly tensed even more until he stood very still. John could sense it rather than see it in the dim light.

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"Don't speak. Mind Palace."

"Oh, Well, thank you for leaving me here on my own, then."

Sherlock huffed instead of a verbal answer, but it sounded different than usual, clipped, just like the few words he had said. Which told John that something was very wrong there. Sherlock was breathing rapidly now and still stood rigidly.

"Sherlock-"

"Damn it! I just can't get in!"

Yep. Definitely wrong.

Sherlock seemed to be reeling: "What do we do. What do we do. Roughly 3 feet 3 by 3 feet 11, how much oxygen for two people? How long? Breathe regularly, don't talk. Can't stop talking as Mind Palace doesn't work. Need to think, think. Need to think about- what? Need to-"

"Stop!"

In the semi-darkness John had managed to catch Sherlock's hands in his own. Sherlock's were cold and clammy, evidence of his rising panic.

"Stop," John repeated a little more quiet. "You're talking yourself into a frenzy."

"I am claustrophobic, John," Sherlock all but shouted, squirming. He did not try to free his hands, however; his fingers had indeed curled around John's. Cold sweat was beading on his brow.

"I can see that much," John replied calmly. "But if you freak out in here, I'll have to knock you out, and believe me, you don't want that."

"I remember. You once showed me what you're capable of."

"That was only kindergarten," John said casually, noticing how Sherlock was beginning to tremble. "And besides, you started it. Okay... Let's sit down, okay?"

"Sit down, why?" Sherlock's voice was high-pitched.

"Trust me," John said, and Sherlock, who did trust him, complied, much to John´s surprise, really.

John settled against the wall: "Lean against me," he instructed in a tone that was a command rather than an invitation.

"Why?" Sherlock did not sound suspicious, but it was in his nature to inquire.

"Just do it." John was patient; he was used to dealing with scared people. Slowly, he managed to coax his friend down, never letting go of him. Sherlock tentatively shifted until he was as close to John as possible. The doctor cautiously put his arms around him and drew him even closer until Sherlock was leaning against his friend's chest, sitting between his legs. It would have been awkward had it not been an emergency.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, squirming a little again.

"Sit still and look," John said gently. "This way, my back and my arms are between you and the walls, and the ceiling is quite far above. There, where the bit of light comes through."

Sherlock stilled; in his panicked state, that made sense. John was keeping the closing-in at bay. With a shuddering breath, Sherlock leaned against his friend, body still tense. "We are going to suffocate," he stated. "This is strange."

"No talking, remember?" John said softly. "And no worrying. I've got you. No one's going to suffocate. Try to breathe more slowly, Sherlock. In, and out. In, and out..."

After a short while, Sherlock's breathing less resembled the laboured panting of someone who had just run a few miles. John's voice and his familiar scent were reassuring, but Sherlock was unable to relax enough to let go of control completely, and John still felt the tremor in the other's body. The detective was too agitated to think rationally, a rare situation. They were of course not going to suffocate, but there was no use trying to tell Sherlock that. With measured movements, the doctor fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat off Sherlock's forehead.

"Can you feel my heart?" John asked after a moment. He could certainly feel Sherlock's, beating wildly.

"Yes."

"Concentrate on it," John said, "you can count the beats."

Sherlock was going to protest, but then he listened to John's heart which he could feel through the fabrics of their clothes, and it was strangely fascinating, the notion that this small yet strong muscle was going to repeat the same function again and again and again, unfailingly so at that; and nearly against his will, Sherlock began counting. Eventually, the trembling subsided; approximately half an hour after the blackout had begun, Sherlock seemed entirely calm.

"Still at it?" John whispered.

"1.970," Sherlock replied in a tone that forbade any distraction.

John smiled, taking in the faint scent of shampoo which lingered in the soft, dark curls right in front of his nose; it did not feel bad at all, having Sherlock in his arms like this, even if the circumstances were a little peculiar and he was rather certain that the other would not allowed it if he had been himself. John was glad about Sherlock's temporarily reduced perceptiveness, however, since he very likely would have noticed by now that John's heart was in fact beating faster than usual. Sherlock's own heartbeat had slowed down to a normal pace in the meantime, which was good, of course, but John found himself wishing to continue this for a bit longer; there definitely were worse situations he could imagine being stuck in with Sherlock Holmes.

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Fin

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