If the water had been a washing machine before, it was now a waterlogged cyclone. It spun Sherlock around without consideration for his frail human body. It dashed him upon those rocks buried underneath it, threw him aside and pulled him under. It went up his nose and into his mouth, sucking at him to pull him down. He struggled in its grip and frantically swam upwards. Air bubbles bursting in front of his face only reminded him that he had nothing to breath. The water fought against him, trying desperately to lure him further into its capacious maw. Black and yawning, the ocean opened out before him. His skull was bursting with pain as he held his breath and violent water smashed into it from all sides.

His head broke the surface for a second, and he coughed out a virtual torrent. His coat was pulling him down, so he quickly shed it and let it sink. The air whistled in his lungs and he felt relief wash over him. Right, well, he hadn't drowned. So what now? He cast his eyes around. Where was John? Greg? Dimmock? Where was the boat?

He spun around in a frenzied paddling circle, trying to spot a form - a person, or a boat, preferably both. He cast his mind back, trying to guess a direction in which he should battle the waves. John had been holding onto him through the water, he had been trying to get a hold himself. Then John's arm had slipped and he and Greg had tipped over the side the water had taken him and-

Lestrade. He was out in the water somewhere.

And, Sherlock remembered in a sudden rush, couldn't move his leg.

Sherlock felt his heart leap. A wave was steadily bearing down on him, and he closed his eyes, waiting for it to hit. Lestrade. He had to find Lestrade. He let the smashing water carry him for as long as he could hold his breath, hoping that the wave had dissipated, and then struggled back up to the surface. He had to struggle further than he had anticipated and felt his vision grow dimmer. He fought the water in a race to the top, sucking in huge breaths as he felt air on his face one more. Where was Greg?

He began to swim. There was no other option. He screamed Lestrade's name into the howling wind, knowing it was probably no use, but having no other way to turn. He retched and brought up a horrible mixture of bile and sea water, leaving his throat burning and mouth tasting of death and the sea.

At the moment those two seemed one and the same.

"LESTRADE!" he screamed, voice tearing his dry throat, know he had to try, the man could drown.

"LESTRADE!"

It was no use. He felt the waves butt gently against his head, and he turned. They were gentle, yes, but that was no comfort, because they were in the wake of a monster. A ravenous, flesh devouring wave, that tore towards him.

"Sherlock!"

The voice was so distant he could only just hear it at the edge of his mind. He whipped around, trying to find the source.

"LESTRADE!" he screamed, and heard the start of an answer - oh god, why had he screamed? He suddenly realised that it had not been a good idea. He now had no air in his lungs, and the wave was already crashing around his ears. The water - god he hated the water. It sucked him and tossed him and pulled his forward and backward, tearing at all sides in a slippery attempt to tear him in all directions. His lungs were already fighting to burst from his chest, and the water was not relenting.

He strove to the top, shoving water aside to reach the beautiful air. His eyes were burning with the water. Air was there, waiting for him up there. He could almost reach it, but the water was pushing too hard against him, and his head was not breaking the surface, his eyes were misting, his head was bursting and his lungs were screaming at him to breath in the water, to breath in death and oblivion - how he would like to breath it all in, but he couldn't because Lestrade needed his help, he had to get to Lestrade-

He felt air on his face. For a moment he thought it was just the water, that cruel water trying to trick him into breathing it in. But then he heard his name again and could have cried with happiness. Air, beautiful air, it was rushing down his lungs. He pulled his hair out of his face and laughed weakly.

"LESTRADE!" he bellowed, hearing a response from nearby. He struck out, fighting against the waves and trying to avoid the sharp chunks of rocks, half swimming, half scrambling toward where the voice had come from. Thank god the man was down wind. He didn't have to fight the waves so much.

He slipped over the edge of another swell, sliding into the foamy left over of the previous monster. He rubbed the water out of his eyes and opened them, just in time to see Lestrade slip beneath the waves. Sherlock cried out, swimming forwards, trying to reach the man. Come on, he thought, swim back to the surface. Come on, you can do it.

But there was no sign of life where Lestrade had sunk. The man was beneath the waves, longer than he should have been. Sherlock shook his hair out of his eyes, diving desperately forward, being pulled back by the ripping tide. He took a deep breath and submerged himself beneath the waves.

He could just see an indistinct form, thrashing with his arms. But Lestrade didn't have the power of his legs to drive him up, and was making no progress. Sherlock battled the currents, trying to reach him. He was almost there. Stupid water, it was pulling him back. He could see Lestrade's arms begin to tire, the thrashing was weaker - he knew what was happening, no, this was not going to happen. Sherlock stuck out against the water, lungs popping and head throbbing, vision beginning to fade as the water pressed in.

He hooked a hand under Lestrade's now limp arm, and began the slow climb back to the surface. He couldn't breath. His lungs were bursting, his ears were popping and his eyes were growing ever dimmer. He could see the surface fo the water, it was taunting him. He couldn't reach, he wasn't going to make it-

And then his head broke the surface. He coughed and drew in huge lungfuls of air. Lestrade's head broke the water a second later, and he coughed violently, grabbing onto Sherlock's shoulder as his lungs spasmed. They coughed together, the waves sending them spinning, but it didn't matter because they could breath, they was alive. Bedraggled, bleeding and half-drowned, but alive.

Greg clutched at Sherlock's arm as the coughing subsided. Sherlock shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked down at the DI, who was holding onto his arm like it was a liferaft. Which, when he really thought about it, it sort of was.

"Back with us?" he croaked. Lestrade coughed, trying to speak. It was unfortunately beyond him, and he spiralled into a hacking fit.

The waves tossed them, and they clung to each other. Two shivering men, lost in the grip of the endless sea.