John heard the click of the door latch. Someone was coming in. If he didn't make himself scarce right now, he would be seen. He turned, throwing caution to the winds, and ran back along the ledge. But his foot hit a patch of water, sending him careening over the side. Time seemed to slow down as he fell. John felt like he was just hanging there, suspended in the air. It seemed to take forever for him to hit the ground, but in reality it was only seconds. He landed on his back, hard. Grunting in pain, John slapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying out. It hurt like hell, but he could not risk the bean, or beans, hearing him. Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed himself up. John stood to quickly, however, and a ringing filled his ears as dizziness set in. He had to lean against the side of the sink for support, trying to catch his breath. He was barely aware of the sound of footsteps coming nearer. Then he realized that the water was still running. Whoever it was was probably coming over to shut it off.
John was, unfortunately, quite correct in his assumption.
A shadow fell over him and he looked up, dread and panic covering the pain he felt. An enormous hand moved above him, reaching for the faucet handle. When the water was shut off, it, thankfully, was retracted. John allowed himself to relax, breathing a sigh of relief. But then, a larger shadow fell. Watson felt all the strength drain out of his body, he could barely make himself look up again. When he did he couldn't help but take a few involuntary steps back.
It had been over twenty years since the last time he'd been seen. And it was no less terrifying now. Sherlock Holmes was staring down at him with an unreadable expression.
It was one thing to see his old friend again from a distance, and then only glimpses, but it was quite another to have him so suddenly looming above him. John froze up, he literally could not move. It was as if those steel grey eyes had trapped him in an icy prison.
Then Sherlock averted his gaze for a moment and shifted. A hand was slowly lowered into the sink. John felt a surge of panic, expecting the worst. But he still couldn't get himself to move, run, do anything. The hand stopped just inches from him. He wondered why at first. It took him a moment to realize the hand was holding something and then even longer to make out what it was.
It was his canteen. He must have dropped it when he slipped and it landed on the other side of the sink. Why was Sherlock giving it to him?
His heart pounding in his ears, John forced his hands to move. Slowly, and not a little shakily, he reached out. When his hands wrapt around the simply made item, Sherlock's fingers gently loosened. Then his hand withdrew completely. Clutching the canteen to his chest, John sank to his knees. His heart was still going a mile a minute, but at the same time, he felt relieved. Breathing as though he had just run a marathon, he hoped he wasn't about to have a heart attack.
"So... Do you have a name?"
John looked up, surprised. The bean above him now had his arms crossed on the front of the sink and was resting his chin on them. He gazed down his nose at John, a curious twinkle in his eye.
"Ah, it's- it's John... John Watson."
John watched his expression change from one of amused curiosity to downright disbelief and shock. He tried to smile a little, and not feel at all sad that his old friend hadn't recognized him. John failed miserably at both.
Suddenly that didn't concern him for a moment as his entire view was filled by Sherlock's face. The bean was bent over, leaning into the sink to get a better look at him. John drew back a little, surprised.
"John? It really is you." Sherlock recognized him then. John could see it in his eyes.
"Yeah, Sherlock. It's really me." He had never felt so nervous in his life.
Sherlock withdrew slowly, completely stunned. He just stood there, staring at John, for the longest time. It started to make the borrower very uncomfortable.
Finally, John decided to speak up, "Sooo... glad to see you're still... looking well." He mentally kicked himself for his choice of words. Honestly, was that the best he could do? He was just at a loss for what to say in this situation.
But, his words seemed to have an affect on Sherlock. He blinked, coming out of his sudden reverie.
Clearing his throat, he replied quietly, "likewise."
There was silence again. Sherlock was no longer staring at him, but somehow that seemed worse. To John he looked incredibly sad all of a sudden, and the guilt, once again, settled over his heart. He glanced around fervently, trying to take his mind off it. There had to be something here that could relieve him of these memories and the dreadful feelings that came with them. But all he saw were the steep sides of the sink. John realized then with a jolt just how trapped he was. He was completely at Sherlock's mercy. Unless he wanted to try his luck down the garbage disposal, which he did not.
"John," at the sound of that voice, his eyes snapped back to Sherlock. "It looks as though you could use some assistance out of your current predicament." He smiled a little and John felt a wave of relief wash over him.
"Ah, yes, actually." John laughed nervously.
Sherlock slowly moved his hand until it was inside the sink next to John. The borrower took a deep breath before hopping onto the outstretched palm. He felt his stomach drop as he was lifted into the air. The world became blurry as they moved. John caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face pass him and then he was looking into the large expanse of the sitting room. Sherlock approached the couch and, bending over, he set John gently onto the coffee table then sat down himself. However, he didn't sit on the couch, but rather, directly in front of it. This way he could speak with John directly and not loom over him so much.
Now they could have a proper talk.