Drowning

Drawning

Hello, it's me. So has John come to save Sherlock? Who knows.
Fun fact this is actually the art work that inspired me to create this fanfic.
But anyway thank you so so so much for your vote, you know who you are, it really means a lot to me to know people actually enjoy reading this.

And please remember to comment criticism or comment to tell me what you are enjoying and if you really like it maybe consider dropping a vote

Thank you for reading.

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The cab pulled up next to the bridge and John thrust way more money at the cabbie then was required. He ignored the stunned look on the young mans face as he leaped out of the cab, yelling for him to keep the change as he sprinted towards the bridge.

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, breathing heavily as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the first archway "SHERLOCK!"

Ironically the RNLI Tower lifeboat station was on his left as he leaned over the wall and scanned the frigid water.

A small fancy looking boat caught John's attention, it was stopped in the middle of the Themes just before the middle pillar of the bridge, while John was looking at it it turned its engine on and slowly began to back up in a very strange way before turning 180 degrees and began to drive away, slowly picking up speed as it drove down the wrong side of the Themes.

John looked back to where the suspicious little boat had been.  Panic consumed his chest as bubbles broke the iron surface of the water.

He started running towards the middle of the bridge "Sherlock" he breathed "no no no no, SHERLOCK!" He yelled into the water learning over the railing as far as he could.  Maybe it was just the engine of the boat that had coursed the bubbles?

Horror was all he could feel as another cluster of bubbles rose to the surface.

"Shit" John growled as he climbed over the barrier. He now stood on the opposite side, holding onto the white poll behind him. He was shaking, it was such a long way down and the water would be freezing, it was nothing like Afghanistan. This was a different type of fear, but Sherlock, his Sherlock, needed him and he needed him now.

John took a deep breath and took one step forward.

Gravity pulled him down, down, down until his body plunged into the frigid water.

The cold was the first thing that struck him as he sank into the icy embrace of the Themes.

Fighting the urge to escape the waters deathly grip John started to swim down, his legs and arms burning with the effort, but Sherlock needed him so he carried on his dissent through the filthy water.

He could barely see a foot in front of him, but just as he was about to loose all hope he saw something move, something was gently tipping over and as John looked it sank slowly down to create a cloud of silt in the murky water.

John pumped his legs a few more times until he reached out and grasped the lip of a wooden box, pulling himself the rest of the way down, his lungs were starting to ache as he peered inside, he saw what he expected... and dreaded.

Sherlock.

John nearly let out the air that was building pressure in his lungs. Sherlock was floating, unconscious, at the bottom of the box. John grabbed his arm.

No response.

He dragged him out and hooked his arms under Sherlock's armpits, planted his feet in the soft mud and pushed with all his might. He kicked his powerful legs, propelling him and Sherlock towards the surface.