A/N One more angsty chapter. Oops. It's pretty fluffy for the next few after this, though.
Thanks to innenlebenaussenwelt, johnsarmylady, Motaku1235, Natalie Nallareet, and Mrs. Hudson
Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.
LIX. No Way Out
The water is everywhere, dark, rolling waves of it moving across the already wet cement paving the underground chamber. The only light comes from the swerving beams of the flashlights clutched in John and Sherlock's hands, and even those are beginning to splutter under the pressure of the jets of water blasting down from the cracked ceiling, rendering their bursts of pale light erratic and sharp. Thirty seconds, at the most, is all they have before the roof caves in completely, releasing the whole of the London sewer system down on their heads. Gallons of water—tons of it, not to mention splintered blocks of cement. If they're still here in half a minute, they're going to die.
"Are you sure the door's blocked?" John shouts over the powerful rushing. His flashlight glints off of a particularly thick stream, cascading down like a miniature dirty waterfall. He can't help but recall a much more massive drop, back in Switzerland, its churning vat of foam and dark ripples, and his stomach swerves at the thought that Sherlock's real death could be caused by the same source as his fake one.
John will be dying, too, but that seems insignificant somehow. Unimportant next to the other life that will be lost along with his. The ever-growing icy pool is up to his calves now, soaking through the thick material of his jeans and raising goosebumps on his skin, the dark blue denim plastered to the shape of his legs.
"Positive," Sherlock calls back, ramming his shoulder against the single exit in one more desperate attempt to release them. But the small door, set into the concrete wall, remains as sturdy as always, it unmoving iron handle twinkling as if to mock them.
"…Damn," John gasps, just as another leak springs to life far above his head. "Is… is this in, then? We're going to be crushed."
"Yes," Sherlock replies, evenly, softly. His tone is almost wondering, and it dawns on them both simultaneously that this is it. This is the climax of everything. John laughs, the sound hollow and almost immediately lost in the cacophony of water all around them. He had no idea when he got out of bed this morning that he wouldn't live to see nightfall.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock gets out, "that I—"
"No." John steps forward, his legs dragging in the deep pool, and reaches out to Sherlock, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him as tight as he can—tight enough to suffocate, but that doesn't matter, no danger is relevant any longer. He doesn't feel sad, not in the least, but there are tears for some reason, anyways, hot against his eyes and cheeks. "Don't you dare apologize."
"You're going to die because of me, John."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
The noise of the ceiling finally bursting is tremendous, but John doesn't look up, just hides his face in Sherlock's shoulder, closes his eyes and listens to the twin beating of their hearts and waits for it to be over.