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Sherlock ran outside to the well. He knew help was coming and John was safe, but God he needed to see him.
Sherlock gripped the side and looked over the edge at John, the water level at his chin.
"John! Are you alright?"
John's lip quivered from the freezing water around him, "Yeah, yeah I'm alright. Cutting it a bit close there, Sherlock."
The boffin couldn't help the small smirk that pulled at his lip. How badly he wanted to jump down there and hold John in his arms.
Lights from rescue vehicles began closing in, about time, he might add. A rope was sent down into the well for John to hold onto and eventually be lifted out. The problem remaining, however, was the chains around his feet. A couple of men were preparing the equipment necessary to free John when Sherlock grabbed onto the rope and started to rappel down into the well. He heard some protests from the emergency team but paid them no mind.
Sherlock took the freezing man into his arms and was sure to keep his head above water. He could feel John sag but knew it was only from exhaustion.
"It's alright, I've got you. You're safe now." Sherlock laid his cheek on John's head, having no problem keeping his above water thanks to his height. Sherlock took note of the chains he stepped on to assess the situation.
John clung to Sherlock's coat and trembled, everything hitting him at once. He's in the bottom of a well on his best friend's childhood property, having been put there by his best friend's secret sister, along with the bones of his best friend's childhood best friend. Why was Sherlock his best friend again?
He felt the detective wipe water from his cheek and he hoped to God that it wasn't obvious they were tears. He groaned when Sherlock let go of him to free his feet. He wanted so badly to hold onto him forever and never let go.
Why was Sherlock his best friend again?
Why isn't he more?
The sleuth had no issues unwrapping the chains from John's feet and he was quickly returning to holding him. He was surprised at how tightly the other man clung to him. It was as if John were a child during a thunderstorm. So lost, confused, afraid, in need... yet he was still so beautiful. It wasn't long before Sherlock was helping John get out, securing the rope and watching him ascend. Sherlock had often wondered when God would call his angels home and he'd have to watch John ascend like that into the heavens.
That's not true, Sherlock doesn't believe there is a god, and if there were, John Watson would not be an angel.
Sherlock smiled at this thought, water dripping from John's boots down into the well as he continued rising. John Watson is no angel. That's what makes him perfect.
Once Sherlock was out he saw the army doctor wrapped in a blanket and he was quickly handed one as well. He walked up behind John and wrapped his blanket around him.
"Sherlock, what are you doing? You'll catch a cold." John felt the amazing warmth of the tall boffin's arms wrapping around him with two blankets. God, why are they only friends?
"I'm sorry... about everything," Sherlock spoke softly to John.
"It's not your fault, you didn't even know about Eurus."
"Part of me did. I can't believe I'd forget something like that."
"It's not your fault, the mind can do strange and powerful things all on its own."
"So can the heart."
John's skipped a beat.
He turned his head to meet Sherlock's eyes, the sleuth still standing behind him, his hug not faltering. John's heartbeat was almost faster than when he'd been in the well.
"Sherlock..." he whispered, the name a question, the boffin's lips holding the answers. Jesus, what good answers.
The world-famous detective held the world-famous blogger as he kissed him, wet with well water and shaking with the threats of hypothermia. John turned to face him without breaking the kiss. The water on his cheeks were undeniable tears now.
John ran his fingers through the wet black curls before him and smiled, Sherlock matching him with the same love in his eyes that may have been there longer than John cared to notice.
It's funny what it takes to make you honest with yourself. Sometimes you have to be chained to the bottom of a well to admit that maybe you are just a little bit gay, and a whole lot into your best friend and flatmate.