Love Has Limits

I'm happy you're here (its first)

 When Sherlock heard the sound of police sirens moving towards him, he desperately tried to calm his breathing. He whispered reassuring words to the still unconscious John beside him and waited with battered breath and a thrumming heart for the sound of footsteps to approach him.

After he heard a car skid to a stop near him he called out Lestrade's name as loud as he could.

A mix of different words were shouted back at him but Sherlock only focused on pulling John tighter against him.

Lestrade's anxious face appeared suddenly over the ledge above him.

"Sherlock! What-"

"Hold John."

Silence.

"Quickly now!"

Lestrade had been staring at them in awe for several seconds but flew into action as soon as Sherlock shouted. He gripped their friend with sure force, trying to pull him fully out until he was met with the same tug as Sherlock had.

"Not too hard!"

Lestrade looked around and shouted at people that Sherlock couldn't see and soon other officers joined them and helped the detective inspector hold John securely.

"What are you doing Sherlock?"

"Shut up." The consulting detective hissed sharply, attempting to not sound as broken as he felt.

Then, without another warning, Sherlock dived under the icy waves and was once again immersed.

The water was too murky to see anything properly, so he poked around until he could feel the sturdy grip of the chain in his hand. Setting his feet on the slippery ridge he hauled the heavy weight up until he could feel it rising.

Bubbles cascaded out of Sherlock's mouth as he heaved at the weight, gradually lifting it out of the water with great effort. As soon as he surfaced, the rectangular weight in his hands became much heavier and officers quickly reached down to take it out of Sherlocks shaking hands.

They pulled the chains out of the water, taking John's limp body with it.

Lestrade leaned back down to pull Sherlock out and he immerged, shivering violently against the bitter night.

Shoving off the distressed hand of the detective inspector, he pushed roughly through the small circle of detectives to kneel down at John's side.

He ignored the pang he felt as he thought of the day he was lying where John was, without any show of life as John- his best friend- sobbed at the blood on his face and checked his pulse. He ignored the effort it took for him to reach down to grip John's wrist. He ignored the sour irony.

Because this time Sherlock couldn't fail him. Couldn't leave him again.

"Oh god, oh god...Is this how it felt when-...Oh, John, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry John..."

Lestrade's hand fell gently on Sherlock's shoulder to try and steady his obviously shaking world.

Rocking and trembling, his mind began to blur to surround this new pain until every word and object focused and unfocused around him. The blinding white agony of the mere thought of losing John slashed through Sherlock, distracting him from what was happening and letting a blanket of numbness settle over him.

He was faintly aware of the CRASH as something heavy broke the chains that bound John's foot and the steadying of hands pulling him away, but he couldn't remember anything else.

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" Lestrade's voice finally tore its way through Sherlock's mind and he looked up through blinking eyes.

"What happened?" The detective's question was cautious and scared, not a question from a detective inspector, but from a terrified friend.

Sherlock glanced up and back down, suddenly puzzled at where he was, and grabbed a rag while pushing himself forward to dab at the blood on John's forehead. He waved at the question delusionally, swaying slightly. "Um..."

The slowness of his own brain appalled him. Was this what it's like in ordinary minds? So clueless, so slow- disgusting.

"He was knocked out, forcefully... er, I don't know how long he'd been underwater... but when I got here he was already there." Sherlock kept his voice as steady as he could, only gulping back the lump in his throat when he had stopped to think.

Lestrade leaned down, "Who did this?"
"Phyllis...Um, Dietrichson."

"Who? And why would they-"
"Stop!...Sto- Stop asking me these questions!" The voices in his head were too loud. Too loud. The whispers whirled noisily, surrounding him, numbing him, trapping him deep within himself.

He felt it like a drug, compelling him to this horrid emotion- causing him to sway on his knees as the world weaved in and out of focus, slurring the words he tried to say, letting acid rise up his throat to burn his nose and mouth.

"When is the ambulance coming?" Sherlock asked it too quickly and too strangely for it to be normal, but nothing at the moment felt normal to him. Lestrade glanced up nervously at Sherlock before staring down at John's lifeless body.

"Uh..." The sound of wailing sirens cut him off completely and as they became louder Sherlock reached over to John's arm once again and gripped him even tighter.