5

John wrenched his eyes open at a sudden noise. The panic came back, full-force, and John scrambled to find purchase on Sherlock's arm.

He only realized what he was doing when Sherlock gave him a very annoyed look, looking pointedly from his arm to John's hand on his arm.

John removed his hand.

"What was that?" he murmured, trying to contain his panic and maintain his slight embarrassment at going to Sherlock for comfort. Sherlock didn't comfort. Stupid reaction on John's behalf.

Another loud noise.

John, this time, unashamedly, flinched into Sherlock with a highly odd sort of whimper escaping his lips. Panic. Panic and terror, sheer terror- they were going to die- they had been stuck here for so long and now they were going to die-

"John, breathe!"

There was a hearty thump on his back and he nearly pitched forward from the movement. He looked wildly at Sherlock for a moment, whom was looking at him with something that looked close to concern in his eyes.

Oh, they were really going to die. Sherlock didn't get concerned. Sherlock looked concerned now, and they were certainly going to die-

"John! John, look at me!"

There was pressure on his shoulders and John flinched, reaching up to shove Sherlock's hands off. Sherlock didn't let John do that- or rather, he did, but followed it up with something very uncharacteristic. He curled his fingers around John's, lacing their fingers together.

"John! John, it's fine. We're fine. They're just working on the elevator. I told you that Lestrade would be here soon." Sherlock was speaking very slowly, making each word distinct to make sure John got the meaning. "We're okay."

John stared back at him, assessing those keen eyes. It didn't seem like Sherlock was lying- but what did John know?

"We're fine. You are fine."

John let out a very deep breath. "Right... Right," John repeated. There was a moment of silence before he added "Your hands are sweaty".

An odd look passed Sherlock's face before he relinquished his grip on John's hands. "Affirmative. You are, as ever, quick to state the obvious. However, John, you are dripping with sweat as well, so if anyone should complain, I really think it should be me."

John almost laughed, slumping back against the wall again.

And nearly jumped again when the elevator started to move. (At a normal elevator pace, mind.)

"Aha..." Sherlock said softly, nearly under his breath. "Couldn't have gotten here two minutes ago..." Sherlock murmured, reaching across the elevator for his coat and jacket.

John hastily got to his feet, although the world swayed oddly when he stood. For a panicky half second, he thought he was going to be the one to pass out, but he, thankfully, didn't. He gripped tightly onto the railing to keep his balance, Sherlock doing the same exact thing when he stood as well.

When the doors dinged open, John quite literally thought he could cry.

"Are you two okay?" Lestrade's worried voice was the first that spoke out of the little crowd outside the elevator. "Sorry we took so long, so many problems..."

Sherlock interrupted him by striding out of the elevator. He brushed past him easily, if not a little unsteadily. "As usual, Lestrade, your timing is impeccable."

"Really?"

"Impeccably slow," Sherlock said. "Come on, John. We're going to go find some air conditioning."

John looked helplessly between Lestrade, Sherlock, and the elevator before muttering a hasty thanks to Scotland Yard. He hated to run away from their saviour party, but...

Air conditioning sounded wonderful.

And perhaps a tall glass of scotch as well.

The ending is very short and very abrupt. I know; I am sorry. That being said, I don't really dislike it. I can only write heat and exhaustion and panic and being stuck in a small metal box for a little bit of time. xD

Thanks for all the continued follows/favourites/author alerts and favourites/reviews. I appreciate it so much! Thanks for following yet another story by me! :D